#it's our fucking land have the decency to call them by their actual names.

[chorus-communities]

since it's Holocaust remembrance day today, and a lot of locations mentioned in stories and articles are polish, i just wanna share some pronounciations for stuff:

it's not warsaw, it's Warszawa

it's not pronounced kra-cow, it's pronounced Kra-cov

what used to be auschwitz is now oświęcim.

one fifth of the polish pre-war population was killed over the course of world war 2, the majority of which were polish jews.

please at least have respect for our language and our cities.

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Panties

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 1963

Content Warnings - lots of fluff, just a brief smidge of angst, my attempt at humor, relationships with the boys are open to interpretation 

Prompt/Inspiration - none

Summary - You return home to the House of Lamentation one day to find an absolute shit show waiting for you. 

AO3

As soon as you opened the door to the House of Lamentation, you could tell something wasn’t quite right. Raised voices could be heard filling the halls, but you were unable to quite make out what they were saying.

You followed the sound of the commotion to its source and were soon standing in the doorway to the library. All the brothers had gathered there and were too busy arguing to notice you.

There didn’t seem to be any sort of emergency. No one was bleeding at least.

But as your eyes scanned the room, they finally landed on a brightly colored bunch of fabric in Asmo’s hand that he was holding up for all to see.

You recognized it immediately.

It was your underwear.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You were mortified. What the hell could they possibly be discussing that involves your underwear in the middle of the afternoon?! Just as you were about to start tearing into them, you managed to catch some snippets of the conversation.

“OMG Mammon! You’re a panty snatcher! This is like a scene from an anime. I can’t believe this happens IRL.”

“I knew you were a pervert, but this is just depraved. Even for you.”

“Such a scumbag. Isn’t it enough to try and steal their things? Do you have to take their underwear too? Really?”

You shifted your attention to Mammon, who was standing at the front of the group, desperately trying to defend himself. His face was flushed, all the way down his neck. So intense was his blush, that even his tanned skin couldn’t conceal it. You don’t think you had possibly ever seen him so embarrassed as he stumbled over his words, and stuttered out excuses.

Well, this wasn’t going to do.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, and plastered a wide smile on your face. As you made your approach, Mammon was the first to notice you. He snapped his mouth shut as all the color drained from his face. It was bad enough having his brothers yell at him. But now you were here. And he was utterly screwed. His mind started racing, struggling to figure out a way to explain this to you and still maintain your relationship. Before he could say anything though, Asmo spoke up.

“Oh! There you are dear. You’ll never guess what our pervert of a brother was up to.”

“What’s up?”, you asked, playing innocent.

“We caught him with your underwear! In his pocket!”, Levi explained.

“Oh. That.”

You reached for the underwear that Asmo was holding, and unfolded it to get a good look at it, making a show out of confirming it was yours.

“I gave those to him. So what’s the problem?”

You turned to Mammon and returned the clothing to his own hand, and he quickly shoved it back into his pocket. He gaped at you, completely bewildered by what he was witnessing and unable to form a single coherent thought. You looked into his eyes and gave him a soft smile, completely different from the fake one you had on earlier. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but he felt his body relax. For now, he was just going to go with it.

When you returned your attention to the rest of the group, they were completely silent, staring at you in shock. Satan, you could tell was quickly figuring out what was going on, and had realized how badly he and his brothers had fucked up.

“It’s not like y’all haven’t taken any pairs yourself,” you said as one by one, you made eye contact with each of them before they looked away. Only Lucifer attempted to hold your gaze, and you knew that was just his pride refusing to let him look away since a light blush dusted his cheeks.

“HUH?!” Mammon sputtered out. He looked at his brothers and all of them were in various states of embarrassment, now refusing to look anywhere near him or you. He couldn’t believe this. He was used to them picking on him, but for them to be such blatant hypocrites? What. The. Hell.

Levi attempted to defend himself, “wh wh what are you talking about?”

You snapped your head in his direction, eyes laser focused on him, “Do I need to go into detail? Really Levi? Think carefully.” Your tone of voice had turned icy. Playtime was over now, and you were not in the mood to put up with their shit. If they were still going to deny it, you were going to add to their humiliation by revealing the details that you were certain they were unaware you knew.

Levi flinched and decided to keep quiet, shrinking in on himself and trying to hide behind Beel as subtly as possible. He didn’t know why or how, but he had the feeling you knew a lot more than you had said so far and he wasn’t eager to find out exactly how much that was.

“Y’all might think you’re pretty sneaky, but when 6 demons start periodically swiping individual pairs of your underwear it adds up pretty fast. At least Asmo had the decency to take me shopping occasionally, the same can’t be said for the rest of you.”

The brothers continued to stand there in silence. Satisfied that you had put an end to the shit show you had walked in on, you turned to Mammon once again, tugging at his hand, “C’mon we had stuff to do, remember?”

“Uh. Yeah. Right.” He had no idea what you were talking about honestly, but now didn’t seem like a good time to point that out to you. You continued holding his hand as you led him to your bedroom in silence. Frankly he was too scared to speak. And really, really confused. His brothers had been stealing your underwear? And you knew…? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Once safely inside your room, with the door closed behind you and your book bag discarded on the floor, you flopped down onto your bed, and let out a groan. Mammon remained by the doorway, frozen in place as his thoughts started to catch up with him. Even if his brothers were a bunch of lying hypocrites, he still had stolen your underwear. That was a fact. He had been caught red handed and there was no denying it. Not that he was even tempted to try at this point after watching you and how you handled his brothers just now.

What were you going to say to him? Should he just start begging for forgiveness now? Or should he wait for you to speak first? Would you even accept his apology? He was so disgusted with himself. I really am a scumbag, aren’t I? he thought. He was certain you were not going to want anything to do with him after this. He had violated your trust. Never before had he felt guilty about stealing something, but he honestly would have given anything to go back in time and not make the same mistake twice.

“....mmon. Mammon? You okay?”

He looked up to find you right next to him, calling his name and peering into his face with concern. Why were you still so worried about him? Even after knowing what he had done?

“S’rry,” was all he could manage, looking away again.

“Sorry? Oh about the underwear?”, you laughed and took one of his hands in your own, lacing your fingers together, “It’s fine, honest. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?” He looked at you, lost and confused. Why had you been so mad then?

“No, I don’t. I only got pissed earlier because everyone was ganging up on you when they were just as guilty themselves. Well, guiltier, if I’m being honest.”

You were smiling at him, with such a gentle look in your eyes. There was no trace of the anger from earlier on your face. You were telling the truth. And as he stared at you, a thought occurred to him.

“Guiltier? Whaddya mean?”

You laughed loudly at his question, before smirking and asking him, “Do you really want to know?”

He gave you an eager nod and you pulled him to your bed, before crawling in and curling up next to him as he joined you. Usually he was the one holding you when you cuddled during movie nights, or whenever else. But today you wrapped your arm around his shoulder, and he rested his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair. With your free hand you once again reached for his and laced your fingers together.

“Well, Asmo I know has taken several pair. But like I said downstairs, he takes me shopping often and replaces them regularly. He’s probably the only reason I still have any underwear left at all.

Belphie has a couple different pairs that he keeps stashed under the pillows on his bed and in the attic. I try not to think about what he does with them while sleeping.

Beel actually doesn’t have any in his possession...but he has eaten them once or twice. To his credit, I’m pretty sure those were accidents.

Levi, poor guy, actually has a small shrine hidden in his closet behind his one for Ruri-chan. Now that was fun to discover. I’m pretty sure he’d spontaneously combust if I ever mentioned it to him directly,” you laughed at the thought of your precious otaku realizing you knew about his little homage to you. I should probably go check on him later, you thought, he was almost as sensitive as Mammon when it came to being embarrassed.

You felt Mammon laughing as well, and planted a small kiss to the top of his head before continuing.

“So that leaves Satan and Lucifer.

Satan only has one pair that he keeps hidden in a book that he stores under his mattress. I guess he figured I’d never find it there, but the hard lump is pretty obvious when you sit on his bed.

And finally, Lucifer. Dear, sweet Lucifer,” you couldn’t help but laugh as you thought about all the things he had done, unbeknownst to you as far as he was concerned, “Lucifer is the worst offender of them all. There’s a reason he hardly lets anyone into his private study.”

Mammon lifted his head to look at you, and his eyes were sparkling like he had just discovered the best kept secret, “Really? Lucy? He did that?”

You laughed again and continued, “Yeah, I made the mistake of browsing through his books in there while waiting for him once. Never again. I only bring my own books to read now.”

You resumed playing with Manmon’s hair as he settled back down, chuckling at the thought of his brother having a secret panty stash hidden within the bookshelves in his study. He’d have to check this out for himself one day. Just to verify it, ya know. Not because he wanted to steal another pair for himself or anything.

“Anyways, that’s why I’m not mad at you. You were actually the last one to take something from me, and judging by what I saw earlier, it only happened yesterday,” Mammon froze. He had forgotten about what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. And he certainly didn’t expect you to be able to tell what day he had taken them. Though, it shouldn’t have surprised him since the underwear featured a pretty distinct pattern.

“Can you do me a favor though?”

“Hmm?” Mammon hummed in response. He would do anything for you.

“Take me shopping later and help me pick out some new ones?”

[accioprozac]

Prank : Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Y/N and the Weasley twins despise each other, but when one of Fred and George’s pranks land you in the hospital wing, Fred decides to skip class to keep you company. He offers you a chance to get “even,” but some things are sweeter than revenge..

Author’s note: Requests are open! Please interact!

Fred and George Weasley were the most infuriating people ever. Ever since 3rd year, the twins, Fred especially, had made it their mission to annoy and inconvenience you whenever possible.

They’ve dyed your hair, spelled your textbooks closed, replaced your quill with one that writes in disappearing ink, but every prank they’ve pulled had been harmless, up until now, when they decided to toss you in the Black Lake.

So here you were, soaking wet and shivering while you stared reproachfully at the Weasley twins. Your teeth were chattering uncontrollably, “I’m going to kill you two.”

Fred and George both had a decency to look guilty, “We didn’t think it would be that cold,” Fred says defensively.

“It’s the middle of winter, you morons!”

“We also didn’t think you’d lose your wand,” George interjects.

“And that’s my fault?” You shout, enraged.

After the twins had all but thrown you into the Black lake as a “prank,” your wand had escaped your grasp and was carried away by the dark currents.

Fred and George had pulled you out fairly quickly, sputtering and coughing up water. They had meant to get you back for the 24 hour lip lock jinx you had cast on them the previous week.

When you realized you wand was missing, you had insisted that you needed to find it. Neither boy was keen on the idea and Fred had offered to buy you a new wand, which you doubted he could afford.

You ended up diving back into the lake, Fred’s wand in hand, to look for your own. Equipped with a bubblehead charm, a weak warming charm and a detection spell, you located your wand within minutes. The problem was retrieving it from the grindylows that had appeared to have take a great interest to the wand. You shot a few stupefy spells and they scattered, leaving behind the wand which you grabbed quickly, before propelling yourself up back to the surface.

You crawled out of the Black Lake with as much dignity as you could muster under the circumstances, which was not a lot. You could see the boys trying to hold back their laughter at the sight of you.

All but throwing Fred’s wand at him, you storm back to the castle, shivering. The warming charm had long worn off and you didn’t have the energy to cast another. You could hear the boys frantically calling your name and they were soon on either side of you, blocking you from the icy wind.

“Look, Y/N,” George starts uncomfortably, “We’re really sorry.”

“We didn’t mean for you to be in the water that long,” Fred adds, “What if we go down to the kitchens and get you some hot chocolate?”

“Don’t. talk. to. me.” you growl, so you all walked back to the castle in silence. You could basically feel Fred and George’s guilt radiating off of them in waves.

George attempts to discreetly cast a warming charm but quickly put his wand away at your glare.

When you reached the Gryffindor Common Rooms, Hermione quickly spots you and moves out of armchair she was curled up in, setting her book on the table. She stalks toward you, glaring at the twins. “What have you three done?” She demands, gesturing to your sopping wet appearance.

“They,” you gestured to the twins, “Threw me in the lake.”

“That was completely idiotic of you two,” Hermione scolded, smacking both boys with her book. They winced but didn’t dare say anything. “She could have gotten hurt. Hermione glared at the twins with a stare so fierce it could rival Molly Weasley’s.

The next day, you woke up soaked in sweat, legs tangled in your blanket. Hermione sighs and mutters “I told you so,” but helps you to the Hospital Wing and when you arrive, leaving heavily on Hermione, Madame Pomfrey sends you straight to an unoccupied bed.

“Ridiculous,” she mutters when you told her what had happened, “You should have came to me straight away! A spoonful of Pepper Up and you would have been good as new.”

“Never mind,” she continues, “Drink this, you’ll feel better.” She hands you the potion and you swallow it miserably, wincing at the taste.

Madame Pomfrey leaves, and head pounding, you close your eyes and slip into a deep sleep.

You wake up to the sound of commotion. Sitting up in your bed, you can see Fred Weasley being ushered into the bed next to you. His forehead is marred with a large bruise.

“Fred?” You swing your legs off the bed and immediately look at him in concern, ignoring the flair of pain that goes through your head. “What happened?”

He shrugs, “I fainted in Potions. Reckon it might have been Snape’s smell, the man doesn’t know the meaning of soap.”

You let out a snort despite yourself, and Madame Pomfrey gives you both a disapproving look.

When she turns away to grab a potion, you give him a suspicious look and he grins. “Skeeving Snackbox,” he mouths, looking proud of himself as he slowly hands you a wrapper with Fainting Fancies printed on it.

Just as he’s placing it in the palm of your hand, Madame Pomfrey turns around, a potion in hand. She looks between you and Fred suspiciously, “What are you two up to?”

“We’re just,” you pause, “Holding hands.”

Fred grabs your hand, discretely hiding the wrapper in your entwined finger. “Comforting each other in our time of need,” Fred is desperately trying to bite back a laugh and barely succeeding.

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips before sighing, “Don’t get up to any mischief or I’ll send you back to class,” she warns.

Fred gives her an angelic smile in response.

“What are you doing here?” You ask when Madame Pomfrey leaves.

“Potions was boring,” Fred pause, “And I missed seeing my best girl.”

“Best girl huh?” you ask sarcastically, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “You threw me in a lake.”

Fred frowned, “I’m really sorry about that, you can throw me in the lake later if you want.”

You almost laugh at his earnest expression, “I’m not going to throw you in the lake.”

“Why?” a crease formed between his eyebrows, “Are you scared?” His voice was teasing.

“Fine Weasley,” you snark back, “Have it your way. Let’s go right now.”

He looked apprehensive, “Right now?”

You smirk, “Have somewhere better to be?”You’re expecting him to back down, but he just sighs dramatically and stands, pulling you up with him.

You realize your hands are still connected, and both of your faces start to burn. You drop his hand like it’s a hot coal and look away, missing the hurt that flashes across his face.

“What are you two doing up?” Madame Pomfrey scolds and Fred grabs your wrist, mouthing “run.”

When you get outside, you’re both breathless and laughing.

“Ready?” you ask when you reach the lake.

Fred gulps but nods, he starts to pull off his sweater.

“What are you doing?” you can feel your face growing hot as you try to look anywhere but his lean abs, and his toned quidditch arms, and the freckles that dapple his chest like stars in the night sky and.. oh fuck...

“Mum would kill me if I ruined my sweater,” he said, handing it to you to hold. You hugged it to your chest and resisted the urge to bury your face in it and inhale.

Fred prepared to jump in and at the last moment, you pull him away, laughing. He gives you a confused look. “I’m not actually going to make you jump in Fred,” you say, between giggles.

You stumble slightly, feet sliding against the ice, and Fred grabs you. You’re suddenly aware of your close proximity.

You can feel his warm breath fanning across your face, and you’re pressed flush against his chest. His arms encircle you protectively.

You look up at him to find him looking at you as well. A light blush paints his cheeks.

You bite your lip and his eyes flicker to your mouth. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice is barely above a whisper. There’s a certain vulnerability on his face you’ve never seen before.

“Yes,” you breath, and he tilts your chin up with his fingers. He leans in and your lips brush. The kiss is painfully soft and you tremble in his arms, although you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from the emotions coursing through you.

He pulls away, watching you carefully and trying to gauge your reaction. Standing on your tip toes, you kiss him again. He kisses back, his hands going to hold your waist and yours delving in his hair.

You let out a contented sigh and you can feel him smile against your mouth. The sweater had been dropped sometime during the kiss and was balled up, forgotten on the ground.

Still smiling, you shove him lightly and he falls off the deck and into the lake. When he resurfaces, his hair is plastered to his face, “I thought you weren’t going to throw me in the lake,” he whined.

“Sorry,” you giggle, “I changed my mind.”

You reach out a hand to help him and yelp in surprise when he yanks you into the lake. You tumble into the cold water and Fred helps you upright, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face.

When you kiss, you feel nothing but warm, despite the icy water surrounding you.

[delaber]

Just Friends (Part 2)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 3.7K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol).

Chapter Note: Thanks for your kind words! So nice to feel the love in this community. Feel free to ask and hit me up if you want to be on the tag list, have questions, suggestions, etc. /Best!

Tag List: mysearchforgratification lonelydance 

Other Parts: See Masterlist

You were trying to count eight hours ahead but with each passing margarita, the math was becoming harder and harder to do. Eventually you just opened the app on your phone and let it do it for you; it was almost 11 a.m back in England. If you went to the coat-check immediately you could call your old lab-partner Laura on your way home and get a much needed update on the project you'd both been working on before your American exchange program had started. Constantly being eight hours behind was rough on keeping in touch, and right now you missed everything back home - even the stupid yeast cells from your project that had kept dying on you and Laura.

You were just about to message Laura and tell her that she should be expecting a call from you shortly, when you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly above you. You slowly looked up from your phone only to see the snarky blonde mystery man from earlier towering above you, clutching two drinks.

"Hi," he smiled as you looked up at him.

"Mystery man," you nodded in greeting.

He sent you what seemed to be his signature charming smile and you realised that his right incisor was just a little bit crooked. It was annoyingly cute.

"Mystery girl," he winked at you, "mind if I sit?" he said as he made himself comfortable on the cushion next to you.

"Uh, I guess not?" you raised an eyebrow at him.

"I brought you another double Margarita," he handed you one of the drinks he was holding, "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he nodded towards the lit phone in your hand.

"No, uh, not at all. I was just typing up an email for work," you tossed your phone aside.

The blonde mystery man sent you a sceptical look, "who types up emails for work after they've had a million drinks? Not to mention; at 2.30 in the morning?"

"What can I say except welcome to my story: the life and death of a temporally challenged European in America."

Mystery man laughed at your words, "yeah, you're far away from home, aren't you?"

"Oh what gave it away, bruh?" you said slowly, doing your best to fake a Californian dialect.

Mystery man almost choked on his drink, "You're British?" he asked with a smile while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nice to finally see his human side.

"English," you nodded.

"Definitely far away from home then," mystery man nodded, "you here on holiday?"

"I'm actually here for a couple of months in a mandatory exchange program as part of my PhD."

"PhD, huh?" He looked impressed, "damn, I could tell you were smart."

"Well," you said quietly, turning your eyes away from his burning gaze.

He sensed your discomfort at his statement and continued, "What about your friends over there? Why aren't you out dancing with them?" He pointed towards Miranda and her two friends on the dance floor.

You were just about to tell him about your situation with the three girls when you realised something, "hey; how'd you know they're my friends? Been keeping an eye on me, have you?" you laughed at his suddenly stiff smile.

"Well," he ran a hand through his blonde hair while licking his lips slowly, clearly trying to come up with a clever answer, "I couldn't just let you leave before you've found out where you know me from, now could I? Have you given it more thought?"

"No, I actually haven't thought about you at all," you teased him, earning yourself a sincere laugh from the guy, "but... that being said; I'm no closer to guessing it than I was a few hours ago. Although I am sure that I've seen both you and your friend before. So if you have any ideas, I'd be much obliged."

"Hey; I don't know," he shrugged, "I'm just trying to get you to admit to your obvious pick-up line."

"That was not a pick-up line!" you chuckled, "I was genuinely wondering where I've seen you before."

"That's what they all say," mystery man rolled his eyes with a playful smile on his lips, "you're lucky it worked, you know."

"Too bad it didn't work on your friend though," you clicked your tongue, mocking him before continuing in a whisper, "it was intended for him."

He clutched his heart in mock offence, "Ah!" he exclaimed as if he'd been shot, "sadly, that's what they all say too..."

"Aw, you poor man," you smiled and took a sip of the drink he had handed you.

"So why aren't you out dancing with your friends? They seem..." he hesitated as he looked them over, "...fun?" he tried.

"I think you just answered your own question," you laughed.

"Good point," he mumbled.

"Why aren't you out dancing with your friend?" you nodded towards his friend Diggs who was casually moving on the dance floor next to a swarm of girls who all seemed to want his attention.

"Well, I've been patiently waiting for the only interesting woman in here to go dance so I could casually bump in to her on the dance floor. But apparently her ass is glued to this booth. If I was out grinding on Diggs, I wouldn't be able to talk to her - Which would really be a shame as she is without a doubt the prettiest woman in the room," mystery man smiled.

You made a gagging noise at his horrible attempt at flirting.

"Over the top?" He laughed.

"Way over the top!" You joined in, "remember; I'm British. We like it low-key."

"What? You want me to invite you out for tea and scones instead?" he said in a horrible cockney accent.

"It wouldn't hurt your chances," you laughed, "but I'm good with the margarita for now."

"So you don't want to go out with me?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Nope."

"So the way you were staring at me and Diggs earlier really wasn't an attempt to flirt?"

"No," you laughed at him. He looked almost shocked.

Mystery man squinted his eyes as if seizing you up, "You're completely unfazed, aren't you?" He said.

"About what?"

"Well about me being charming as fuck of course," he said with a chuckle.

"Meh," you shrugged. It wasn't true. You were completely mesmerised by him. But he was acting too cocky for you to not give him a challenge.

"Meh?" He repeated.

"You're bloody cute - I'll give you that. But you're a silver tongue, and well... let's be honest; you need the rejection."

"Are you challenging me?" He raised an eyebrow at you, "it feels like you're challenging me..."

"Hey, no need to feel down by the rejection. I'm doing this for you. I have your best interest of heart," you laughed, touching your heart with the palm of your hand.

He looked you over for a couple of seconds, "I cannot figure you out."

"Well that's a good thing, isn't it? Keeps things interesting."

"Yeah, you definitely strike me as a girl who keeps things interesting... What's your name?"

"You can call me -" your eyes landed on the drink in front of you and you remembered the bartender’s words from earlier, "- Margarita Girl. As that is probably how you're going to remember me after tonight," you smiled.

"How about breaking-my-heart-girl?" He smirked.

"Ah see; you're doing it again," you pointed your finger at him and he laughed at you, "you're way over the top. Keep it low-key for Margarita Girl, damn," you laughed.

"Okay, so we're really not doing names?" His smile grew wide. He was probably already thinking about how hot it'd be to fuck a girl's brain out without even having to bother to learn her name first. Textbook fuck boy.

"Let's keep it interesting," you reciprocated his smile with a small shrug, "what can I call you?"

"You can call me whatever the fuck you want," he said cockily, probably realising that by asking for his name, you'd agreed to spend more time with him.

"Okay, Margarita girl and Mystery Man it is."

"Sounds like a superhero duo," he smiled.

"Interesting. What are our powers?"

"Well, in line with our names: you're intoxicating as fuck luring in all the bad guys, and I have the ability to turn invisible."

"Only creeps want to have a superpower where they can vanish on command," you laughed at him.

He was about to retort when he was interrupted by a male voice coming from beside you, "Hey Rafa!"

You'd been so fixated on the blonde man in front of you that you hadn't even seen Diggs approach your booth with a swarm of girls at his heel. So his name is Rafa? Odd, you thought to yourself but had enough decency to pretend that you hadn't heard.

"What's up," Mystery man - or Rafa apparently - responded to his friend.

"The bar is about to close. I'm thinking about grabbing a cab home. You coming?"

Rafa looked at you briefly before answering, "I think I'm good for now, bro."

"Alright, see you tomorrow then," Diggs padded Rafa on the shoulder before heading towards the door.

Rafa turned his attention back on you and stared at you with a small smile playing on his lips, "So bar's closing down in a bit," he said, "maybe we can squeeze in another drink somewhere else?"

"Yeah, no," you shook your head, "I think I'm about to head home. I have a long walk ahead of me. If you're fast, you can still catch your friend and join him in that taxi though."

Rafa looked at you, "do you live far away from here?"

"I live over on the corner of Mayflower and Lafayette," you responded, "it's roughly a 30-minute walk or something."

"Yeah, I know where it is - I live close by," he eyed you carefully, "if you want to, we could walk together?"

"Taxi doesn't sound too enticing?"

"Meh, I'd much rather take the walk," he shrugged

"Alright then," you nodded, "I guess I wouldn't mind the company."

"Aw," Rafa said, "I think that's the sweetest thing you've said to me all night!"

No more than ten minutes later, you were both wearing your coats and were headed in the direction of the townhouse you were sharing with another British girl, Samantha, who you'd met online a couple of weeks back.

"So how do you find California?" Rafa asked you after a couple of minutes of walking.

"I like it. It's different, that's for sure," you sighed, "but I think it's quite great here."

"Different how? Are you from a small town or something?"

"I'm from a small town called London. I don't know if you've heard of it?" you teased him.

"Hey, don't get smart with me," he laughed, "But in all honesty; apart from the obvious, how is L.A. so different from London?

"You know... London's population is almost twice as big as that of L.A., yet somehow everything's just bigger over here."

"Yeah," he nodded, "I could imagine. I remember the first time I was in L.A... It completely blew me away."

"You mean you're not from here?"

He shook his head, "I'm from up north. I moved here a few years back to focus on my career."

"Yeah? What do you do?" You asked curiously.

"Hey; what's the point of not having names if you know all about my career?"

"That's not fair. You already know that I'm a nerd," you winked up at him, pronouncing the last word as he would've.

He smiled down at you, "yeah sorry for calling your field of work nerdy earlier," he laughed awkwardly.

"I work in a lab. It is nerdy to be honest," you laughed, "no need to worry."

"It's just... I don't think I've ever pictured anybody looking like you to... you know.... actually be a nerd," he chuckled.

"We come in all shapes and sizes," you winked up at him and noticed how his smile grew wider, "as I'm sure people in your line of work do."

"Smooth u-turn you just did there," he laughed at you, "Well," he drawled, "if you absolutely must know, I moved to L.A. to focus on my music."

"You're a musician?" You looked up at him. Of course he was. Probably one of those douchy John Mayer-types who brought their guitar everywhere and always had to play Wonderwall at every. single. party. "Is that where I know you from? Am I currently being walked home by a well-renowned musician that girls from all over the world would be dying to be serenaded by?" You laughed.

"I assure you that millions of girls would kill to be in your position right now - but I highly doubt that it's because of the music," he chuckled, "I don't even have an album out."

"What kind of music do you do?"

"Rap mostly," he said proudly.

You looked him over; you would not have taken him for a rapper. "Oh, that's... cool," you said quietly.

He looked at you with a bemused smile, "what? You don't like rap music?"

"I hate it..." you whispered with a chuckle.

"WHAT?" He bellowed while looking at you with huge eyes, "are you insane?"

"Right after accordion-music, it is the worst genre there possibly could be! It's probably what they play for you when you enter the gates of hell."

"I've finally done it," Rafa looked shocked, "I've gone and found the only person in L.A. that doesn't like rap. You're probably the type of person who'd murder me in my sleep!"

It made you laugh loudly, "well how else would I know what kind of music they play you down there." He chuckled at your comment and you continued, "sorry. It's just not really my style."

Rafa clutched his chest, "I'm offended! How can it not be?"

"I didn't grow up with rap music," you laughed, "Name one famous British rapper!"

"Uh, easy!" He started counting on his fingers, "Skepta, Dizzee Rascal, Giggs, Doctor Green, The Streets, Stormzy - should I just keep going?"

"Okay, okay you've made your point. Apparently, I'm uncultured."

"So, what do your uncultured ears like then? Adele? Ed Sheeran? One Direction? Should I throw in some Spice girls?" He joked.

You smacked his arm lightly, earning yourself a low chuckle from him, "oi, the fact that I'm English doesn't mean that I only listen to the pits of British music."

"Sorry," he continued in a chuckle, "but I am genuinely interested."

"Well I'm not going to tell you now. You'll just mock me!"

"If you don't tell me, I'll keep assuming the worst."

"That's not my problem," you laughed at him.

He blinked twice, his charming smile still in place, "You are easily one of the most interesting women I've ever had the company of. You keep surprising me."

"I'll take that as a compliment," you smiled up at him.

"Oh, you definitely should."

You kept walking side-by-side for a couple of minutes, talking about the differences between life in L.A. and life in London. Just like when you had observed him at the bar, he talked with much vigourosity, hands flying everywhere as he spoke, his fingers slightly brushing against yours on several occasions. You had no idea whether he was doing it on purpose or not.

He was in the middle of a story about something that had happened to him earlier that evening when you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks. He looked at you with raised eye brows, "what? Was my story boring you?"

"Not at all. But this is me," you nodded towards the small townhouse in front of you.

He let out a soft whistle, "Nice place. You live here alone?" He took in the building.

"I know it seems childish at my age but since the rent is expensive for a common student I atually have a room mate..."

"Having a roomie is not childish," he laughed, " I know society would have you believe that, but fuck 'em. It's much nicer than living alone. I have a roomie too; Diggs - you know, the guy you met earlier tonight."

"Oh! That's why he asked you to come home with him," you teased him.

Rafa shot back his head with laughter, "you really thought we were an item or something?"

"Hey, who am I to judge?"

Rafa continued to chuckle, "I love the man but it's completely platonic. Also; he's too ripped for my taste," Rafa joked.

"Waaaaay too ripped!" You chimed in, rolling your eyes to match Rafa's.

"So manly!"

"Too manly!" You continued in an over-exaggerated tone.

"...And he definitely doesn't have enough tattoos!" He continued.

"That man is a boring plain canvas," you joked.

"I keep telling him that a tattoo on his pec would do him good. But - sigh - he never listens."

You looked him over and couldn't hold back a small snicker, "Strong words coming from you."

"Yeah? What do you mean?"

"You're not exactly the 'tatted up'-type, now are you?"

"I have several tattoos," he chuckled.

"Eh, you do?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a vibrant smile, "on my chest and arms."

"I did not see that coming," you laughed.

"See - I can be interesting and unpredictable too," he looked awfully proud of himself, "How about you? Do you have any?"

"I do," you nodded, "just a small one. It's embarrassing really..."

"Yeah? Where?" He smiled sweetly. Even though it was dark, you could easily make out his charming crooked tooth.

"Uhm..." you contemplated not telling him but ended up thinking to hell with it, "it's on my inner thigh," you said carefully. Talking about your dumb tattoo that was located at a highly sexual place wasn't exactly something you'd normally do with men you'd only just met.

"Inner thigh, huh?" He licked his lips while examining your face, "not gonna lie; the thought alone turns me the fuck on!" He laughed, "why don't you invite me inside so we can study eachother's  tattoos?" He took a step closer to you. The sweet, charming guy who you'd had the pleasure of walking by your side was suddenly replaced by the fuck boy from the bar.

"You really don't waste your time, do you?" You laughed at him. Men you'd been on several dates with back home in England hadn't even been half as forthcoming as this guy was and you hadn't even known him for more than a couple of hours.

"Sorry," he shrugged while not looking the least bit apologetic, "I might've had a drink too many, but all I've been able to think about tonight has been how I want to take you home and get to know you better," he said while leaning in and stroking his thumb on the side of your arm, "you seem... different."

"Okay; full disclosure," you said with a sigh, "you're cute and all, but I'm not going to sleep with you."

He sent you a pout, "why not?"

"Well, as much a turn-on as it is to have a grown man beg you for sex," (he laughed at that), "I'm not going to have casual sex with someone I've only just met."

"Who says it has to be casual?" He smirked while leaning even closer, "I can do you good."

"God, you're insufferable," you rolled your eyes at him while fighting the urge to just jump him.

"But the good kind of insufferable, right?"

You laughed at his remark while slowly leaning closer to him, "no," you whispered.

"I'm really fighting hard not to kiss you right now," he groaned as he released his lower lip from between his teeth, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth. His put hands on your waist, and he was slowly edging his face closer to yours.

Your fingers easily found the back of his skull, and you softly nuzzled with his hairline, silently telling him that it'd be alright for him to kiss you.

His hungry gaze was fixated on your smile as his lips came crashing onto yours, finally closing the distance between you completely. As soon as your lips touched, he stopped dead in his tracks however; he was clearly waiting for you to take the next step - which you did, but not as fiercely as he would have hoped; instead of attacking him - as he was used to when he normally whipped up this move - you captured his lips in a soft, tender kiss, lips barely touching but still with so much raw emotion spilling into him, that he was left with a weird feeling in his chest. He thought to himself that the way you reciprocated the kiss almost was... loving? It was definitely something he hadn't tried in years.

He was about to pull you closer and advance further into the kiss, when you pulled your face away from his and whispered, "I've had a great night tonight. Thank you." You stepped out of his arms.

"Ah, you're being serious," he said with just a hint of hurt to his voice, trying to pull you back to him without any luck.

"Yep," you laughed while turning away from him.

"Hey," he called from behind you, "will I see you again?"

"You know where I live, don't you?" You looked at him over your shoulder. His hair was a mess and he was looking at you all innocently while you continued to walk away from him.

"What? You want me to make a big romantic gesture or something?" He laughed.

"You have my address, do what you want," you smiled before turning away from him and towards your front door.

You heard him groan from behind you as you put your key in the door, "Hey, I don't even know your name!" He bellowed.

"It's Margarita Girl."

"Aw, come on. The least thing you could do is give me your name," he called from the pavement.

"Goodnight Rafa," you laughed before the door closed shut behind you.

[aliwritesfic]

Our Black Hearts Part 2 (F!Reader x Jack "Whiskey" Daniels)

Summary: You decide it's time to come clean to Jack about the man he's after

W/C: 2k

Warnings: None for this chapter I think, but please tell me if I missed something

Spotify

Part 1

You loved working the towns garden. The feeling of warm dirt in your hands, the feeling of accomplishment watching something go from seedling to edible vegetable in the span of just a few weeks. Hell, sometimes you even relished in the ache in your back after a long day. It let you know you were alive.

It was while you planted a new crop of carrots that you rehearsed what you were going to say to Jack when you saw him next. Hello, I hope you don’t kill me for not telling you as soon as I was sure, but I know who killed your wife, and I think I know where to find him, or at least how to find people who know where he would be. We good?

You frowned as you dug into the earth, unable to escape the guilt gnawing at your insides like a parasite. You know you should’ve told him the first morning, when you woke up encased in his arms. But the way the pale pre-dawn light played on his skin distracted you. Then he woke up and he really distracted you. Then a week passed, and you still hadn’t summoned up the courage to tell him, despite several more rendezvous with him. You knew it would be worse the longer you waited, a somehow larger betrayal.

Of course, you could just lie, tell him you weren’t sure, but that wasn’t in your nature. You hated to lie, and you were fucking terrible at it. You had been since childhood, unable to hide your secrets from the scrutinizing gaze of your mother. Now, every time you tried to lie, you remembered the sharp blow to the back of your head you would receive, and instead you chose to just avoid the truth.

Straightening your back, you turned your gaze toward the cloudless blue sky. It was nearing midday, the hottest and most dangerous hours to be outside would soon be upon you. Already people had sequestered themselves inside, the only ones who couldn’t were those patrolling the perimeter of the town. Large sheets of rusted metal had been erected along the perimeter; the only protection afforded to those who protected the town. It had once struck you as deeply unfair, but now you knew it was necessary. Too many stories of towns being attacked at the suns highest point had reached your ears, chilled you to the bone.

“Chase,” the use of your nickname snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced behind you and saw Sparkie, the middle-aged man who oversaw the gardens waving to you. “Come inside before you get crispy.”

You obliged, abandoning your shovel in the dusty earth. It was only a couple degrees cooler inside the garden house but being in the shade made all the difference. The garden house was arguably the dirtiest building in the whole town, boot prints and stray tools littered the cracked tile floor, the entire thing smelt of fertilizer and no number of open windows could get rid of the stench. You sat yourself down on a plastic crate and turned your attention to the window.

In the distance you could see the perimeter wall of Deepwell, a single speck of a figure under the small metal sheet. No stupid hat, so it couldn’t have been Jack. You had learnt that he was assigned as a guardsman for the town, replacing the guard who had been brutally gunned down in a raid a month before he had arrived. At the thought of that, the image of the dead guard flashed in your mind – shot so many times in the face no one could identify them until a headcount of surviving guards had been taken. Her name had been Lydia, you found out later, and you hadn’t said more than three words to her.

~

A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, signalling it was safe to be in direct sunlight again. Jack stepped out from the small perimeter shelter and adjusted the grip on his rifle. He had learnt protocols during his first day of what was done directly after Midday. First, he had to make sure no one was trying to breach his appointed section of wall. Most days there was nothing, occasionally a pack of wild dogs or boar would be gathered drawn by the smell of living creatures. Once he had found a Skulker, barely clinging to life, sent crazy by sun and hunger and dehydration. Parts of her skin had melted away from time spent in the Toxic Plains, leaving shiny white bone. That had been an easy kill – a single bullet between the eyes before she had even realised he was there.

There was nothing today, only the ever-present patches dead earth and haze of heat on the horizon. Jack adjusted his dark glasses, traded a year back for a half blunt knife. They had become one of his most prized possessions, a saviour for his eyesight.

The next hour passed quietly on the outside of the wall. A single mutt had appeared briefly in the distance, Jack kept his gun trained on the creature until it had slinked away, disappearing over the horizon. He could’ve shot it, sent word to the fetchers about fresh meat, but the dog wasn’t worth the bullet. Its ribs and pelvis had stuck out from its body, more skin and bones than anything edible.

Sweat was beading down the back of his neck and dampening his shirt when relief finally arrived. His replacement was a burly teenager, arms criss-crossed with scars from a childhood spent living in the lawless no-mans-lands. Jack tipped his hat and handed the shotgun to the kid.

“Happy watchin’,” he said with an easy grin. The kid grunted in response, turning to face the vast nothing in front of them.

It was mid-afternoon, early enough for the water troughs to be devoid of most people and late enough that the water wouldn’t be boiling hot anymore. The troughs were close to the well for which the town was named, though the well was just a hole in the ground fenced off by frayed rope. It was the towns only source of clean water, so deep underground it took almost five minutes for it to be pumped up.

The troughs were worked by just one woman, who Jack thought probably had the worst job in the whole town. Keeping the troughs filled and clean, making sure the stores were stocked with enough for the townspeople to clean themselves with. Not to mention having to wash the clothes of anyone who asked. Jack avoided asking for as long as he could, only going to her when the stench became too much for him to be able to deal with on his own.

Today, fortunately, his clothes weren’t an issue. He stripped down, folding his clothes neatly before easing himself into one of the troughs. He dunked his head under the warm water, scrubbing at his scalp with his fingers. He didn’t have the luxury of soap today, having worn through his last bar before he could find a suitable trade for a replacement. Jack didn’t mind though – sometimes the water itself was enough to feel clean.

“Jack,” Chase was standing at the foot of his trough, hands on her hips. Well this is a nice surprise Jack thought as he sat up, pushing his wet hair back. Her face was shiny with sweat and streaked with dirt that seemed to attach itself to any available bit of skin.

“Hello, Doll.” He had taken to calling her that, preferring it to Chase. At least, he preferred it when he was trying to seduce her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, and Jack’s blood ran instantly cold.

“You’re not – you know?” He gestured to her stomach. Chase looked down, confused, before realization dawned on her face.

“It’s been a week, Jack, Maker help me! No. Didn’t you learn anything about how babies are actually made when you were married?” Chase raised an incredulous brow at him. Jack shrugged. “I have a book on that, you should give it a read.”

Jack rubbed at his legs with a scrap piece of cloth, knowing he was not going to read that book. “So, what’d ya need, doll? Come to take another ride?” Chase rolled her eyes.

“No. I need to talk to you-” Chase hesitated, looking conflicted. “Look, just don’t hate me, please.” Jack sat forward, suddenly intrigued.

“Well, don’t leave me hangin’ in suspense,” Jack said.

“I know who killed your wife. I can find him.”

Jack’s ears rang for a moment, he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “You . . .”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Chase crouched down next to the trough as she spoke, her eyes imploring him to understand. “I wasn’t sure it was him; I thought he was dead! But – but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Who is he? How do you know?” Jack tried to keep the pain out of his voice. How long has she known, he wondered, and not told him?

Chase at least had the decency to look ashamed. “He’s – his name is Elijah. He’s missing an eye because ten years ago I stabbed him, thought I killed him too. I tried to kill him!”

“Chase, who is he to you? Are you sure you can find him?”

“I can find him. I still have connections with his old crowd, someone there will know where he is.” Chase rubbed her face, somehow smearing on even more dirt. “If I tell you who he is . . . just don’t hold it against me, okay?”

“No promises,” Jack said.

“He’s my brother. Womb brother, actually.”

“You tried to kill your brother?” Jack was too shocked to feel angry. He was an only child, but from what he knew, the bond between siblings was one of the strongest, especially those bonded in the womb.

“You’ve met him,” Chase shrugged helplessly, “he’s – look I’m not gonna pretend that I deserve understanding for keeping this from you. But now I know he’s alive . . .” she trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Tell me where to find him.” Jack said.

“No, you need me.” Chase shook her head. “You won’t get far without me, I promise you that.”

Jack scoffed at her. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not, I’m being realistic. You don’t know Elijah like I do. He’s paranoid, delusional, he thinks he’s a fucking god. You won’t get within ten feet of him without someone blowing your brains out. If you’re serious about this revenge thing, you need me.”

Jack pushed himself out of the trough and began to dry off quickly in the sun. Still naked, he turned to face Chase, arms crossed over his chest. “And just why are you so damn insistent on comin’ with me? You could tell me what you know, I could hire any number of mercs who could get the job done better than you, and you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty . . . well dirtier than they already are.”

Chase took a deep breath, evidently to calm herself down. “I need to make sure what I started is finished. Someone has to kill Elijah, and I won’t be able to sleep until I know he’s dead.”

The look on her face told Jack she was completely serious. He considered for a few moments, pulling his clothes back on. If everything she said was true, he would need her help, to find Elijah, to get close enough to kill him. But –

“If you tried to kill him, how can you get close without you getting your head blown off?” Jack combed his fingers through his hair and secured it with his hat.

“He doesn’t know it was me. It’s a long story but you just have to trust me.”

Jack considered the woman standing in front of him. Of course, he didn’t trust her – it was stupid to trust anybody. But it was his only chance, he was beginning to realise, and she’d have to come along whether he wanted it or not. Which given his current mood regarding her keeping this from him, he did not.

“Alright, get your shit ready. I’m leaving at dusk.”

Tagging: @sharkbait77 @quica-quica-quica <3 <3

[simplyxdolxstyles]

Halloween Frenzy

 This piece is a bit old but just wanted to post it. It’s also 1st person this time so that a bit different. Let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated.

Warning: badly written smut, d-bag gray, and an overall shitty halloween party but what can you do? 

Enjoy. (also the title is horrible but I just didn’t know what else to call it.

I was at a Halloween party with my friend (Y/F/N), a Halloween party that surely made bingo night seem fun. She was a cat and I was Minnie Mouse.

  Her costume was slutty, though mine had a bit more decency. I opted on doing my hair but decided against it and just wore a red bob wig instead, while (Y/F/N) wore some extensions to her already long auburn hair.

“I heard Grayson is around here somewhere.” (Y/F/N) told me. Grayson Dolan was a dirty, rotten, player. Hot, but a playing jerk. Sure, he may seem so innocent that the teachers and adults seem to fall for, me? It didn’t get very far. To me he was nothing but a good looking bad boy looking for trouble.

“Great…” I trailed of rolling my eyes. Unfortunately, I was like any girl here who had a crush on the schools rebel, I just didn’t show it, or give into his satisfaction like all these brainless zombies seemed to be doing.  Hating to admit like the other girls, I was drooling as I watched him play soccer. He wasn’t exactly the tallest person on the team, but having him sweat and take off his shirt at the end made up for so much.

 Just as she had said that, I heard someone’s loud, obnoxious laugh. I looked to my right to see a boy wearing a white tank top, and baggy jeans with chains. With his back turned towards me, I gave him the nastiest glare I could muster. I had found Grayson.

“Easy there, girl. He won’t like you if you’re glaring,” she teased, nudging me slightly.

“Ugh! Shut up…” I hissed. As if he could feel my stare, he slowly turned around till he too was looking straight at me. After studying me a few minutes he slowly smirked. Red cup in his hand and feeling so cocky, he walked over to me, (Y/F/N) running out of sight. ‘Gee, thanks (Y/F/N)!’

“Well, well. If it isn’t Minnie Mouse. What’s a matter? Couldn’t find a Mickey?” he chuckled at his own joke (boo, sorry for that lame joke xD)

“Last time I checked, this was a Halloween party, not a douchebag contest.” I said grimly.

“And last time I checked, this wasn’t a WHORE house” he retorted. I rolled my eyes and scoffed at him. It wasn’t like the other girls here weren’t dressed the same anyway. In fact, probably more revealing than I was.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to.

“I’m not in costume, but people think I’m a gangster. Either way I don’t care, this is a lame party anyway.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in pants pockets.

“I see, well you could’ve fooled me,” I muttered mostly to myself.  He was hot, but this outfit just made him look like an asshole, well more than he already was.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen. Time for a special performance by the ‘Cupcakes.’” Mark announced.

“Now if you don’t mind, I have to dance now,” I sassed.  (Just think of any song lmao)

  We head out to the make-shift stage out in the backyard. Walking up the stage we got into position. I caught eyes with Grayson briefly, throwing him a sly smirk. Let’s see you now hot shot.

  Showing our stuff this way and that, we were getting a rise out of the audience. With all the eyes that were on us, I could feel Grayson giving the most intense stare of all. Studying me, watching my every move.

  With the final moves of our dance, the crowd started going crazy with cheers and hollers. I saw Grayson give a cocky grin, though he was clapping. Seeming genuinely impressed with our special presentation. Something to at least give life to this dull party.

 As everyone was back inside once again, drinking, making out, and doing god knows what. I went to grab a drink to calm my nerves.

“Hey, you did well out there,” came from behind me. Turning quickly around, I only found (Y/F/N), secretly I wished it was Grayson.

“T-thanks, so did you.” I took a sip of the cheap, stale beer. Certainly not the best, but better than anything.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N), I’m sure by now he thinks you’re hot, he won’t be able to resist you.” I just gave a closed mouth smile. With a comforting pat on the shoulder, she stalked off to go get drunk or something. I snorted at what she said. It wasn’t likely to happen but. She did put an image in my head.

 Not long after, everything started to get fuzzy. I hadn’t seen Grayson since we did the routine. ‘He’s probably bangin’ some chick right now’ I thought to myself. At the thought, I felt myself moisten. Thoughts swam through my mind wondering how he was in bed. Exactly how many of the student body had he slept with? As I exited the bathroom, I froze when I saw who was just on the other side of the door.

“Finally, I found you,” he smirked. He had taken off the biker hat, his messy, charcoal black hair in show. “Yeah right.” I muttered to myself. He walked closer to me as if he heard me.

“I’m serious.” He whispered lowly in my ear. God! I just wanted to dig my hands in his hair and make an even more mess of it. I gulped hard. Pushing a way slightly, I tried to play it as he did. But I was crumbling, like a pie.

“Why, couldn’t find a lay?” this time I smirked. He narrowed his eyes at me menacingly.

“Come with me,” He demanded me. He grabbed my arm and roughly dragged me somewhere. It all happened so fast. He pulled me until we were in a room. Probably Mark’s guest room, and slammed the door shut behind him. Pinning me against the door, he held my writs above my head. Oh my God? Was this happening?!

Nose almost touching mine, I stared into his cold, dark eyes that held anger, frustration, and lust?

 “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he seethed in my face. I was genuinely confused. What was he talking about? His eyes that were usually a warm brown colour was only a thin ring as his dilated pupil was full blown.

“What are you talking about?” I stared at him, a confused look graced my features.

“Don’t play dumb with me! You act like a slut tonight, the dance for example. I know you like me! I’m not fucking stupid. You wanted to get a rise at me, we’ll you will fucking get it now!” he exclaimed with such a dark aura. He pushed me into the door, it was actually starting to hurt.

“Flaunting yourself around in that costume, dancing in front of all those people. You wanna be a slut fine, then I’ll treat you like one!” he pulled me off the door and pushed me on the bed, wig falling as he did so. Oh my god! This was happening!

He crawled on top of me, wrists held by his hands again. He was acting like a maniac, but looked beyond gorgeous as the moon shone light on his face.

“Go ahead, Make your move,” my blood was boiling. I was angry yet so turned on. He just knew how to work his magic.

“Watching me at those soccer games. You think I don’t notice you stare at me? Huh? I know you like me, just like all those other girls. You are the worst one of all, pretending to act all innocent. You are a slut, don’t you ever forget it!” he roared, pressing me further into the mattress. I whimpered in pain from the tight grip. God, it was so hot in here.

“Don’t worry, babe. You’ll soon be screaming my name. In pleasure.” he whispered lowly in my ear. How could a guy with a cute face have a sexy, yet aggressive side to him? I was enjoying every moment of this. He gripped me by the neck, carefully not to cut me out of breath and forced me to look at him. My now free hands landed in his hair, pulling at the roots. I lowered his head till I could feel his breath against my lips.

“Oh yes, I’m a big slut,” I cooed teasingly. He ran his thumb along my lower lip before he placed his lips upon mine. Kissing me twice before he licked into my mouth. I opened my mouth for him as he entered. He kissed me with raw desire, biting at my lips and tugging them, running his tongue against my teeth. I swear I could taste a little blood. After our little make-out session and leaving nothing untouched, he pulled me up and went for the zipper of my Minnie Mouse costume.

He licked a strip up my neck, teasing before he went to a spot on my neck that drove me completely mad. I was at his beck and call, and I enjoyed every second of it.

“Ahhh!” I gasped. I could feel him smirk against my skin. I knew he burst my capillaries, thus know sporting a hickey. He licked over his creation a couple of times before he pulled down the shoulder part of my dress. Grayson kissed my shoulder a couple of times before moving down towards my collarbones, again leaving marks.

I gently pushed him off me before I climbed onto his lap. I kissed from his jaw down to his neck, the same way he did to me.

“You know, you looked so hot tonight. I couldn’t control myself. I would have gone mad.” He whispered lowly. He let out a delicious groan that only infused my hunger. Seeing guys in pleasure was surely a sight to see. Letting go of his flesh I tugged on the hem of his tank top, signaling I wanted the offending material off. He chuckled as he pulled it over his head and somewhere in the room.

“Ha, couldn’t wait could you?”’ he teased. It was only fair if I took of my costume, throwing it somewhere in the room along with his tank top. Thank god I picked the good set of undergarments tonight. “Shut up.” I playfully nudged him.

He now laid on his back as I placed kisses down his chest all the way to his abdomen. His breath increasing, the heat was too much. He gripped the sheets as I got to the hem of his pants. Placing butterfly kisses here and there. Seeing him at his mercy was a pretty hot sight to see.

“(Y/N), please do something. Don’t tease me.” He whimpered, gripping the sheets again.

“Aww, where’s the fun in that, huh?” I cooed. I teased, but I couldn’t wait either. The anticipation was killing me. Popping open the button of the pants, slowly moving along to the zipper and pulling it down at a painfully slow pace.  I tugged down at his pants till it was at his knees, with his help of course. He was wearing black boxer shorts, but I could still see his outline.

The little trails of hair he had that led to the ‘promise land’ were fine, like baby hair just starting to grow. I took the band of the boxers and slowly began pulling down. His member slapped out hitting his belly button and a little past. He wasn’t huge, but he sure was thick. Twitching at my touch, he bucked in my hand. I wrapped my hand in a small fist and began to pump.

“Gahhh! Shit… Oh my God…” he released a loud moan. Eyes shut tight, eyebrows furrowed, biting his lip and writhing in pleasure. Pre-cum started to ooze out of his slit, I took my thumb and rubbed it all over the head of his member, jerking at the sensitive touch. I was about to take him in my mouth when he stopped me.

“Wait! Come here and turn around, you’re back to me,” he instructed. I pouted but did as he told. I took off my bra as I felt him tugging my thong down. Lifting myself to aid him in the process, it was finally off. God he looked so sexy. His cheeks flushed, his messy hair. I would have loved to take a picture of this moment, but that would have been weird. He pulled me by the hips till I was backed up to him, until we were both in line.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby.” I lowered my face, lightly licking from base to tip, the same time he licked up my wet opening. Twirling my tongue around the head of his member urged a groan to escape once again.

“Oh Lord! Don’t stop…” he practically begged. I didn’t. We both worked at the same pace, if I was slow then he was slow, if I sped up then so did he, we met the perfect rhythm. Not too fast not to slow. That was how Grayson worked, regardless anything.

“Ohhh!” I moaned around his twitching length that was in my mouth. He had hit a spot deep inside me as he fucked me with his tongue. Spots were soon seen in my line of vision. We were both close.

“On three, baby. One…Two…Three!” we moaned each other’s name as we wen spiraling into climax. Pleasure filled my veins as we gasped for air. I pulled off his dick and turned around to face him. He smiled a bright smile at me which I mirrored. ‘God, he was so cute!’ I thought. He pulled me up over to him and kissed me thoroughly, taking my breath away. His lips were so soft, it was like kissing a cloud.

“Don’t think we’re done just yet, I still need to fuck you, you’re still a little slut who hasn’t learned,” He gave a hard slap to my ass that made me yelp in surprise.

“On all fours! Ass up…NOW!” he barked, in his smooth, velvety voice. I got into position like he told me to, I could feel myself getting wet with want.

“Now, are you gonna be a good girl and listen? Or do I have to teach you to behave, Hmm?” I was all over the place at this point. He gave me another slap, this time I was more used to it.

“I’ll be good I promise. Just fuck me!” I exclaimed impatiently. He rubbed the head of his member against my slick opening, I couldn’t help but grind against him.

“Bad! Don’t move, or I will slap you even harder,” he growled, from somewhere deep within his chest. I wanted to object but I obeyed. It was probably better that way. He placed it back against my heat, but I didn’t grind this time.

“Beg! I want you to beg. Beg me to fuck you, c’mon. I’m waiting…” Man, he sure knew how to push someone over the edge.

“Please, Grayson, fuck me. Fuck me like the slut I am, I need to learn to behave!” I wailed in agony.

“No! Not Grayson, you will refer to me as ‘Master’ now. So tell me.” He smacked me once again.

“Master! Please, I need you to fuck me. I need to behave, just do something!” I cried out. I probably looked so pathetic right now compared to other’s girls. But wouldn’t you do the same if you really wanted someone. With that, he thrusted himself inside me.

“AHHHHHH!!!” I screamed. He was buried in there good. He gripped my hips steadily, moving in and out feeling everything inside.

“Faster GR-MASTER! OHHHH!” He obliged and started going faster. Each thrust sent me closer to release, sweet relief. He roughly pulled my matted hair in a ponytail, adding more to this sweet pain/pleasure.

 “How’s it feel? Do you feel good, baby?” he asked, smacking me once again. There was going to be an imprint of his hand if he kept that up.

“Yes, so good, master. I’m getting close,” I wailed loudly, the sounds of the party was loud enough to mask my moans so I could be as loud as I wanted. He jackhammered into me, touching all the right spots. I would’ve cum in no time, but sadly, he stopped.

“Ride me!” he spat. He sat up straight as I climbed into his lap once again. Holding himself as I sank down on him. ‘Wow, what a feeling!’

He filled me all the way up, just how I wanted him to. I held on his shoulders as I rocked back and forth. Then he guided my hips in movement as I slowly began to bounce.

“You look so hot right now, god you feel so good. Kiss me, baby!” He said weakly, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. I pulled him by the face and brought his lips on mine. He licked inside, exploring my cavern once again like how I explored his. The sounds of wet kissing and slapping filled room, along with our moans and grunts, we were ready. Grayson savagely attacked my neck and collarbones with kisses and hickies, hickies I would surely have to cover up.

“Ohhh, I’m almost there!!” I mewled as he continued to attack my collarbones. He hadn’t moved but moved his hand in-between us and rubbed my clit in circles.

“Mmm…” he moaned in my neck, biting it slightly. I could feel heat pooling in my lower abdomen. I started bouncing harder, getting him to hit the spot inside.

“I’m going to-ohhhh! GRAY-MMPHH” He kissed me hard, fueling the fire further.

“Scream my name, babe. Scream it!” he rasped. Hot flashed was going through my body, body feeling fuzzy and tingly.

“GRAYSON!!! AHHHH!!” I screamed loudly. I felt him follow not to long after. Feeling him shoot thick ropes of his seed inside as he lowly grunted. Exhausted, we feel back into the bed, feeling the post-sex bliss.

“Holy Shit!” I heaved. He chuckled, pulling me into his chest, muttering a quiet “I know.” I snuggled into him, inhaling his scent. Sweat, a tinge of soap, and himself. It made me smile. He pecked my temple softly as I drew patterns on his body.

“What are doing?” he asked, giggles as I traced.

“Nothing,” I answered cutely. I let go and looked up at him. He pecked the tip of my nose softly before he did the same.

“That was amazing.” I uttered, mostly to myself. It really was, it felt like we had done this before. “It was.” He agreed. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

“We should probably get going though, people might wonder where we ran off to…” although I could see he didn’t want to.

“Alright,” I just had one question, where did this leave us. Was this some hookup or did he actually want something. I had to know.

“Hey, Grayson? I just wanted to ask where this leaves us, you know…” I trailed off at the end. I saw him freeze a little as he went to get his shirt.

“(Y/N), you know I have a reputation to withhold. I can’t just drop it now. Especially because of a party. My head dropped and I nodded glumly. I knew it was too good to be true.

“Listen, tonight was amazing. Sweetheart, please understand that. But I will tell you this, I have never ever felt like this in all my time since we started high school. I wanted you for the longest time, but you are some much better than a guy like me, a lot better. I’m a no good loser who just passes by along every day, you don’t need me to hold you back.” He cupped my cheeks, I willed myself not to cry, though I felt a tear slide down my cheek,

“Don’t cry please, that last thing I want to do is make you cry. Shit.” He muttered the last to himself.

“I-I really l-like you,” I said. He quickly looked up at me as if he hadn’t heard what I said. He heard loud and clear.

“Baby, don’t do this. I can’t just say I’m taken. It’s so obvious.” He tried to reason. I knew he was right.

“I’ll wait for you,” I stared deeply into his as how he stared into mine. He gave a small smile.

“Perhaps, one day. But right now, it’ll be way too complicated.”

“I g-guess.” I sighed looking down. He nudged my chin up to make me look at him.

“Hey, it’s not the end. You know, if you’re always looking, you know where to find me.

“You have something those girls/guys never had. A heart. You see people differently, you see the good in them. I could try and not be too much of an asshole, but that’s about it,” He made a face. I chuckled at that, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I was determined to wait no matter how long it would be.

“Hey…” He began. He cupped my face softly in his hands and kissed me long and passionate, relishing the feelings into this one kiss. He pulled back and smiled a toothy smile, I mirrored it.

“You know, the assembly is next Tuesday, wanna skip and you know, fool around a little?” he threw a cheesy wink a little.  I had to laugh at his childishness sometimes.

“You’ve got yourself a date,” I replied, he pecked me one last time and waited for me as I got my costume back on.

  As we walked out, I saw (Y/F/N) and caught her eye. She looked between Grayson and I, her eyes grew the size of saucers.

“Tell me!” she mouthed. I laughed a little.

“Later” I mouthed back.

From then on, Grayson and I had a different relationship, sure he still did stuff here and there, but besides that. We had something that no one could or would understand. A Connection.  Everyone was too quick to judge just because he was a player, but I knew he was more than that. He was willing to work it with someone. On the day he is finally ready to take that step, I would gladly welcome him with open arms.

[wayward-mikaelson]

Sixth Gear

Word Count: 4287

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Characters: Jensen, Reader, Marie (OG Character), Nathan (OG Character) Dylan (OG Character), Donna Ackles, Alan Ackles, Mackenzie Ackles, Joshua Ackles, Jared (Mentioned), and Misha (Mentioned).

About: Reader goes home for the holidays only to be introduced to Jensen, the star of Supernatural. The Reader and Jensen hit it off that first night where one thing leads to another until the readers Brother walks in on them about to rip each others clothes off. For the next few months the Reader and Jensen get to know each more. Then the Reader decides to go home for the Summer just to see Jensen and he shows her his motorcycle and how it all works where one thing leads to another.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Unprotected Sex (be responsible, wrap it up), Drinking, Oral Female Receiving, Mention of Drugs

DISCLAIMER: This one shot does contain a toxic parent and everything that comes with a toxic parent. That means there will be manipulation, gas lighting, emotional/psychological abuse, etc. If you live or have lived with a toxic parent and or person please read at your own discretion. 

DISCLAIMER 2: Any of the shorts that are hot and steamy, I want to put out there that it's in no way disrespectful towards Danneel at all. I love her to death and respect the crap out the marriage between her and Jensen. So when reading those shorts, know that it all takes place in an alternate world where they aren't married at all.

A/N: If you have a small request, shoot me a message. Request close 7.11.2020 at 11.59pm US central time

A/N 2: Do you want to be tagged in future fanfics posts? Comment Below!

A/N 3: This took me 3 to 4 days to write so I really hope you enjoy this hot and steamy motorcycle ride.

Requested by: @magssteenkamp​ 

Tag List: @hobby27​ @elansaidaris​ @donnaintx​ @myinconnelly1​ @squirrelnotsam​ 

*18+ CONTENT. YOUNGER THAN 18 MOVE ALONG

**DO NOT COPY AND PASTE MY WORK ANYWHERE ELSE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION AND IF YOU GIVE CREDIT TO ME. I WORK TOO HARD ON THESE STORIES TO HAVE MY WORK STOLEN

***PLEASE READ WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS BEFORE READING.

I sit in the airport thinking and wondering how I am going to make it through the weekend with my parents. My Mom is toxic as hell while my Dad is just now waking up to her toxicity after nearly thirty years of marriage. He has told me many times over this last year that he was considering on leaving her but somehow she always found out and manipulated him to stay. "Maybe I can convince him to come home with me?" I whisper to myself. I have an extra room for him. I rub my face knowing it will be a long shot to get my father out of that house.

When my flight is called for Dallas, I stand up, picking up my bag and making my way to the gate. I hate holidays that require me to come home. Like Thanksgiving and Christmas. I make up excuses for all the other ones just to stay away from home. I was much more happier in Portland. As I arrive at the gate, I pull out my ticket and let the lady scan it. As I walk towards the plane, I think, I still have time to turn around and just say screw it and not get on. It will most certainly make my life so much easier.

I sit in my seat and send a quick text to my Dad letting him know that I was on my way. In return he say's he's excited and that my brother Dylan was coming too. I turn my off and sit back. My brother. The black sheep of the family is finally coming home for a holiday after five years. It'll be nice to hug him again and see how he's been holding up. I smile and close my eyes. This trip is going to be amazing and entertaining.

When my eyes open, I feel the plane preparing to land. I look out the window to my right and see the Dallas airport below. No time to turn back now, I think. Should have high tailed it when I had the chance. When the plane lands I wait until it's time to gather my bag and make my way back to baggage claim. As I do, I pull out my phone and text my Dad to see if he's here. I sooner I get out of this crowed airport, the sooner I can get home and lock myself away until dinner. He texts me back saying he and Mom are circling around and will pick me up when they see me.

"Great," I say stuffing my phone away. "Her highness is here to talk down to me and talk nothing but herself."

"I don't know your situation, but you can tell her highness to go screw herself," A voice next to me says. I turn to see a man about a few years older than me and highly gorgeous pulling up a few bags. He looks oddly familiar.

I laugh. "If only that will work," I see him give a small smile before I walk off.

I walk outside of the terminal waiting to see my Dad's small grey SUV. When I do, I get this sick feeling when I see my Mom. She is the soul reason why I stay away from home and avoid her. She belittles me and makes me feel so small. She judges the way I dress and do my makes. Even thinking about it makes me even more sick.

My Dads SUV pulls up next to me. He smiles at me and I return the smile. "Hey," I say as I buckle up.

"What? No hi for your mom?" My Moms tone said it all. "I see how it is. And is that what you wore on the plane?! That's just horrendous. I would never wear that!" Oh I wish this trip was already over. "At least your brother had the decency to show up in an actual outfit. You look like you're looking for drugs."

I smile sarcastically. "That's exactly what I'm doing Mom," My Dad glares at me from the rearview mirror but, I ignore it. "There's a guy I know off of 4th. He deals the best drugs! He's the whole reason I'm here."

"YN!" Dad says my name firmly and I stop. Guess I took it too far. "How was that flight?" He asks softly.

"I slept the whole time. I'm not big on flying." I say reaching into my bag to pull out the mini bottles I hid. I take one out and shot it back as fast I can before either of my parents see.

The rest of the drive home was in silence. Which, when riding with both my parents, isn't relaxing. When we pull into the driveway of my childhood home, I am out of the car before Dad puts it in park and bolt inside.

"YN," I hear Moms voice call after me. "You're not going to let your father carry your bags in all on his own."

"Marie!" I hear Dad say before I shut the door behind me. Then its all muffled voices.

I run upstairs and into my room. I can hear the music in my brothers room already. He only has music on when he and Mom get into it. That explains why she tagged along for the ride to pick me up. I close the door and drop what bag onto the floor and flop onto the bed. I didn't have time to close my eyes when I heard knocking.

"What?" I groaned. I did not want to get up off my bed.

"We will be having company over in a few hours so makes sure you presentable." Moms voice is overly heard. Dylan's music stops.

"Who?" I hear Dylan ask.

"The Ackles," She says. "They used to watch you guys when you were little. You guys got along with their kids."

"Who?" Dylans door opens but I can't shake that the name Ackles was familiar too. "You talk like we should remember them."

"Why do I even try?" Moms voice is irritated for whatever reason that is known to her. "Just be ready in two hours. Dylan don't wear look too goth. YN, don't wear pajamas. Make it look like you guys actually love your family."

I hear her footsteps retreating when a Dylan cracked the door. "Are you decent?" He asks.

"Yeah," I sit up on my bed and rub my face. I see my older brother walk into the room. He's wearing dark skinny jeans and a black button up shirt. I have no idea why Mom wouldn't think that's not goth like. "I think your outfit looks good." I toss another mini bottle of hard liquor towards him. He, of course, catches it flawlessly.

"Oh thank God," He cracks it open and tosses it back. "I do plan on wearing this and stuff like the whole time I'm here."

"Speaking of you being here," I pull out another mini bottle and toss that one back. Sadly its my last one. "Why are you here? I mean you've seen me a few times these last few years."

"Dad," Dylan says. "He says he's finally telling Mom he's high tailing it out of her life. Has the papers all drawn up and stuff. He wanted to see if he could live with me in Arizona. I automatically said yes because I want to see the look on Moms face when she sees her money source walk out on her."

Now I wish I packed more mini bottles. "Hopefully not in front of our dinner guest," I kind of hope he does secretly.

"No," Dylan stands up. "He won't do that. He will do it after they leave most likely. Now I will let you get ready and make sure you make yourself look like the fucking Queen that you are and slay that shit. Mom hates that."

I laugh. "As long as you do it too. Then we both can slay it together. And yes I will let you use my dark eye shadow palette."

"You're the best sister ever," Dylan walks out of the room. "What would I ever do without you?"

"Crash and burn, sweetheart, crash and burn."

Two hours came and went and both Dylan and I are ready. As we walk downstairs we hear the muffled voices of our parents and our dinner guests. This feels so much like my teenage years, I think to myself as I round the corner to the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks.

There stands the attractive man from the airport. In my kitchen. In my house. He's wearing a red button up shirt with jeans and nice semi-casual shoes. I zero in on his already darkening five o'clock shadow and begin to imagine what it would like in full. He notices me too and give me a smile.

"YN, Dylan," Moms voice sounds. She really never lets Dad talk at all. "I'm sure you remember the Ackles children. Well, they aren't children anymore but, you understand what I mean."

Everyone gives a light chuckle. "I'm afraid I don't remember. I don't remember much of my childhood to be honest." I say giving handshakes to everyone. I notice my brother Dylan hesitate to give the attractive man a handshake. Then I notice his small blush. Damn, I think, it would be my luck to see the same attractive man to learn he could be gay. I guess I'll see when my brother hard core flirts with him during dinner.

"I'm Jensen," he says shaking my hand.

"YN," I say smiling and he smiles back.

I get everyones names and Mom and Dad say dinner will be ready in about an hour or so. In that moment I excuse myself to the back deck to mix myself a drink. Mom glares at me while I walk away. I also notice Dylan trying to flirt with Joshua who was equally as attractive as his brother.

Once on the back deck I take a deep breath and head to Dads bar and start mixing a drink. Then I hear the door open and close. The sound of footsteps tell me its a male.

"So, the whole telling her highness to screw herself didn't happen, I assume," Jensens voice is super smooth.

I look up from my mixing. "If you're meaning my mother, then no it didn't. In fact she accused me of buying drugs."

"Really?!" Jensens voice sounds surpised. "Wow, isn't a plane ride supposed to be comfy?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "That's why I was thinking." I make the mistake of looking as he licks his lips. I turn away quickly and grab the other mixer. "Want a drink? I'm pretty good at mixing."

"Surprise me," Jensen says soft voice as he raises an eye brow and looks me other.

For the next half hour we talk. We talk about random things. We talk about his time on his hit shower Supernatural. A show for some reason I have never seen and now am very interested in. We talk about his life in between shooting his show and being home. I share that I am rarely ever home due to Mom. I don't go into details but I think he get's the gist of it.

"So, I have this huge vinyl collection. Passed down to me from my grandfather before he died." I say mixing another drink. I am slowly starting to feel the effects of this drink. Jensen is still working on his first glass. Such class that is getting horny. "Would you like to see it?"

Jensen smiles and sets his drink down to follow me inside. Dad looks up from listening to Jensen's dad. "What are you two up to?" He asks.

"I'm going to show Jensen grandpas vinyl collection he gave me." We waltz pass them and up the stairs. At the top I loose my balance and fall back into Jensen who grabs me with both his arms.

"One two many drinks?" He asks chucking.

"I promise I can handle my drinking," I begin to walk again. Once in my room I go to my closet and pull out a few boxes and open them. "My Dad was or is still going to be sending these to me but, have a look at them all you want. I don't have them organized."

Jensen looks at the records and with each one he finds that excites him, it excites me in places I never thought to be excited in again. I watch as his smile takes up his whole face and how his eyes crinkle when that happens. I guess I'm staring too long because Jensen looks up a few times with his eyes. I know I should I look away but I honestly can't. This man is just too handsome and sexy to just look away.

Jensen sets down a Sinatra record and comes over to sit next to me on the bed. I am very aware now of how close he is but I still can't stop staring. I rack him over with my eyes and take a deep breath and exhale. I look away and take a huge drink. Nope, no tonight, not in this house, I think to myself. Mom will find out and she will have my ass for having sex yet again in her house. l turn to apologize for staring when I feel his hand on my face pulling it in towards him.

His lips are soft. His lips are eager. His lips move around mine like they were made to be there. I sigh and part my lips and I feel his tongue shot right into my mouth and explore every part it. When he starts to pull back, I nip his bottom lip. Jensen sucks in a deep breath and within seconds he has me straddling his lap. The two of us trying to get our shirts off when my door opens.

"YN, Mom says dinner is,..." Dylan's voice snaps the both of us out of whatever trance we are in. "Well, I see that you skipped right on to dessert. Please continue." I look over to see Dylan checking Jensen out leaning on the door frame licking his lips.

"Don't you know how to knock?" I hiss at him fumbling to fix my shirt.

"Don't you know how to put a sock on the door?" Dylan asks smirking, still checking Jensen out.

Dinner was good. I couldn't keep my eyes from glancing at Jensen as he talked about his show and his co stars. Mom was just over the moon and always ask questions that were like "Oh Jared this" or "Oh Misha that." I will need to look those guys up too.  I could also tell that Jensen was getting uncomfortable. So I brought the attention to myself which of course Mom hated. Her death glare let me know it too. Dinner ended on a high note though.

"Here, put your number in and I'll do the same," Jensen held out his phone. "That way we can talk while I'm shooting." I take his phone and give him mine. We put our numbers in and say goodnight and goodbye. Hopefully, I think, I get to see him again.

The rest of my time home actually went to hell. The next morning we wake up to Mom screaming at Dad. He had given her the papers and told her she either had to sign now or sign in front of lawyers. Mom tries everything in the book but Dad stood his ground. In the end, Mom storms out screaming and calling Dad all sorts of names and saying she has nothing to her name and that he can't just up and leave her. Says that he can't live life without her because he is nothing without her.

After Mom left, I changed my flight to leave before Thanksgiving. I wanted nothing to do with what was going to go down. According Dad, Dylan already has space for him set up in Arizona. I felt better about him having a place. Two days before leaving, I pack up what I else I wanted to take to Portland with me. Everything else would be put into storage for later or donated. Dylan helped me ship them off.

The day before I left, Mom tries to talk to me but I told her she did it to herself all these years. The manipulation. The gas lighting. The mental abuse. The emotional abuse. The whole deal. It was all her that lead to this. She huffed and called me a bitch and that I am no better than Dad. So by the time I make it home, I am a wreck.

Over the next few months, I bury myself in my work and ignoring Mom. Dad on the other hand was doing much better. Already got a job out in Arizona and is saving up to get a small apartment. Dylan tells me he's the happiest and most easy going person without Mom. Mom on the other hand still refuses to sign the papers and has gotten cocky lawyers involved. She wants him to alimony and when he dies she wants me to continue to pay it. I said hell no. Dad stood his ground until the very bitter end.

While that was all going on and when it was finally over, I spoke non stop to Jensen. I even caught up to the current season of his show and tell him what I think of it all. We talk about anything that will keep us texting or talking all into the hours of the night. Neither of us mention that night in my room. Dylan thinks I'm falling for him with how much I talk about him. I doubt it but then again I might be.

Jensen, has been the only person to make me feel like I am not crazy. He has called me or facetimed me to help me through the rough days or the out the blue panic attacks. His entire existence keeps me from doing anything stupid. So, yeah, you can say that I'm falling head over heels hard for him.

By the time summer started to come around I am sitting in my apartment trying to get my AC to work when my phone rings. I answer without looking at the caller ID.

"Whats up?" I even hear the irritation in my voice.

"Hey," Jensens voice instantly calms me. "Everything okay?"

"No," I groan and flop onto the cold tile in my small kitchen. "My AC broke and the landlord won't have anyone out until next week. I told him he won't see rent until it's fixed. Now he's threatening to evict me if I don't pay. But it's so damn hot that I'm practically naked right now."

"I'd love to see that," Jensen teases, making me laugh. "I'm sorry your AC is jacked up. Do you have plans on visiting Dallas?"

I sit up on my elbow. "Should I?"

Four days later Jensen is picking me up from the airport in a rental car. He paid for my entire flight and AirBnB taken care of. "I thought you would like to have control of what your AC temperature should be. Hotels normally run super cold to the point that Misha has tried spooning with me." I laugh. "I do hope it isn't weird that I am also staying that AirBnB."

"None at all," I say feeling my face warm up a bit. It didn't take Jensen long to convince me to come. I really wanted to see him and I really wanted AC.

When we get to the AirBnB, I can't help stare at it in awe. It's almost like a mansion. Then the garage door opens and there sits a motorcycle. I am much more interested in this Jensen guy. I get out to grab my things but Jensen shoos me aside saying he's got it all. I then walk on over to the motorcycle and trail my hand on it.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Jensen asks. I look and he's staring at me, well, more like slowly running his eyes over my body.

"Yeah," I answer looking back at the motorcycle. "My Dad used to have one when we were little. My Mom forced him sell it for whatever reason."

Jensen takes in a deep breath and walks by me. "I can take you around the block if you want." I am suddenly aware of his closeness. I feel my face burn hotter and I get all tingly down south. I look at Jensen and he's already holding two helmets. I smile and take a helmet and strap it on.

In minutes, I am sitting with my arms wrapped around Jensen. He's backing out of the garage and with a small rev of the motorcycle, we took off. It isn't too fast or too slow. But I still tightened my arms around him and closed my eyes. I have been on a motorcycle a few times but, I still get a knot in my stomach.

When we get back, I take my helmet off and take a deep breath. "That was fun," I say as Jensen manages to slide of the motorcycle. He takes his helmet off as well and I can't help but stare at his sweaty hair. That's when I notice he's been growing out his beard. I can't imagine what it would feel like on my skin. Again, I must be staring to hard or to long because Jensen smiles like he knows what I am thinking.

I swing my legs to the side as he walks towards me. As he reaches for my face I drop the helmet and grab hold of his shirt and pull him closer to me. The moment our lips met, my brain starts to set off firecrackers. It felt like a freaking life time since the last time we kissed.

Jensens hands run down my front to the hem of my shirt. I raise my arms up and he slowly slides off. I do the same to him. I've seen him shirtless a few times on his show and internet pictures but seeing it all in real life, damn! I bite my lips and Jensen licks his lips. I slide off the motorcycle and shimmy out of my shorts and underwear. Jensen watches with lust in his eyes and does the same thing. Jensen grabs my hips and sits me back on the motorcycle as he kisses me deeply. The longer he isn't inside me, I more wet and tingly I become.

As if reading my mind, and without breaking his lips off mine, I feel Jensens fingers slide between my folds and begins to rub it before slipping  two fingers inside. I suck in a deep, sharp breath and let out a soft moan. He starts to pull in and out and twist his finger around softly but firmly. In seconds, I am starting to tighten up around his fingers when he pulls them out. I whimper at the lose of contact.

"Not yet," he says against my lips.

Jensen grabs my hips and picks me up. I wrap my legs around him as he slides himself onto the motorcycle. This is going to be interesting and fun. Jensen adjusts us so that we both were somewhat comfortable before lifting me up and positioning me just above his length. I place my hands on his shoulders as he lowers me on him. I close my eyes and drop my head. I hear a low groan come from him as he's fully inside of me. I look up and see him staring right at me.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says and I smile. His hands grip tight on my hips. They will most likely leave a mark and I am fine with that. He lifts me up and slams me back down. A yelp escaping my mouth.

We repeat that for what I think is nearly a half hour. I am a whimpering mess and trying to hold back my louder moans. Jensen is grunting and the lifting up and down thing, well, thats starting to get irregular and sloppy. Our breathing is getting ragged and the the leather from the seat is start to rub on both our skins. One slam. Two slams. Three slams. I feel myself tighten harder around Jensen. My fingers dig into his shoulders, also going to leave marks. After one more slam into his lap, we both come undone. His arms wrap around me and I drag my nails down his back.

Once our orgasm fade away, I push back and look Jensen in the eyes. "That has got to be the best sex I have ever had," I plant a small and gentle kiss on his lips.

"Good," Jensen smirks. "I got some more ideas for the bedroom later." He must of seen the look on my face, because I am seriously intrigued now. "But first," He slides both of us off the motorcycle. "We should clean up. We have dinner with Jared and his wife."

[ultfreakme]

Some To Veer the Tides notes

Yes I know no one cares about this kinda shit but I worked hard on creating this fic and need to get this out of my system because it’s literally only in my brain and echoing in there and disrupting my life. This is just word vomit. If, for some reason, you actually got through all the currently 50k + words of my akafuri fic and want some more, here’s some notes-

Overarching themes:

1.       Sun and Moon

When it comes to AkaFuri, I use a lot of comparisons to sun, the sunlight, and metaphors regarding the sun. It plays a huge role, at least in my fics, in defining their relationship. Akashi seems to be influenced by the sun a lot. In his manga introduction, he was standing right in front of it, the light hiding his face(as far as I remember), and it stayed in my mind. He’s unreachable, and even if you manage to get close you get burnt. It can be cruel and kind, and it colours the sky in so many different colours and the one I most often remember when thinking of Akashi is the setting sun when the sky is red but the sun is this blazing ball of orange. (something like this)

Furihata’s always been filtered sun rays, the ones that peek through clouds, coming down like rain through leaves of trees. He’s Komorebi. His aesthetic and presence are meant to be gentle in the manga and he looks it. He looks sorta wispy and soft, the most beautiful and gentle form of sunlight to me. But it’s not something too many people think about because you get caught up in the grand colours of the sun.

(the pictures are here to make this less tedious. Also, nature’s cool.)

But they’re the one and the same. In the end they’re of the sun, from the sun.

In To Veer the Tides, a lot of the hard-hitting and emotional scenes happen based on the sun.

-          Their first conversation was in the dead of the night which is neither of their domain. They haven’t met eye to eye it’s a dodgy interaction where both of them are hesitant. Their first kiss was in the night too. A kiss may seem like progress but it was the worst possible decision to have been made then.

-          The time at the field was in full sunlight and it was the first time they met eye to eye.

-          One thing I was giddy writing, was Furihata’s birthday. It starts at night, they aren’t meeting eye to eye, Furihata’s not having a good time and everything sucks. But as the night goes on and it gets close to sunlight, they slowly start to understand something with each other. Furihata was so averse to Akashi until the gift moment and suddenly he’s like. “Okay fuck what is happening I was planning on avoiding you forever.”

Was it annoying trying to line up events to time of days? Yes. Did I do it? Abso-fucking-lutely because I’m horny for symbolism in stories.

Now the MOON. In this fic, Nijimura is the moon. Sun and Moon parallels are the bread and butter of romantic analogies and the “we’re totally bros” (a no-homo cannot fix this) build-up in queerbaiting anime targeted at boys which are enjoyed better by people who aren’t cishet men.

Akashi and Nijimura are like that. One can’t live without the other, they depend on each other. They are seemingly different but of equal importance. I straight up said it in chapter one. In this fic, NijiAka are the soulmates. But the fic is called ‘To Veer the Tides” right? It’s about defying fate and what’s supposedly set in stone. It’s about Akashi learning that just because you are always winning doesn’t mean you can’t lose, and that just because you hit rock bottom doesn’t mean you can’t get back up.

Also, I do love the idea of two people being made for each other, fitting perfectly, but I love the idea of two people loving each other enough to say “fuck it!” to fate just to be together more.

Had the siege at Rakuzan not happened, NijiAka would’ve been satisfied and happy together, it would’ve been perfect. For Akashi and Furihata to be anything real, I feel like something radical would have to happen because, as we all know, it’s a crack pair.

(Even MayuAka falls into the Sun & Moon, Light & Shadow analogy. No hate to both ships, y’all actually have canon backing ;_; which is always fun.)

We as shippers and artists are what made it something legit. You could hypothetically ship Kawahara and Kagami but literally no one does and just the idea of it sounds a little ridiculous right? Well AkaFuri is like that for people who don’t get it. But then we made it into something plausible (and the cute art and fics dragged me in, man akafuri creators are convincing).

ANYWAYS- something stupid and impossible needs to happen for AkaFuri to have a chance- and where did our beloved ship originate? When the blessed Chihuahua-Lion thing happened and Akashi, THE AKASHI SEIJUUROU, miscalculated. Something that shouldn’t be happening, happened. And Akashi fell so hard. It was a ripple effect from Furihata standing up against Akashi, the making that basket, Seirin getting pumped up again, etc(I’m not saying “uwaaaah Furihata caused that” cuz he didn’t, Kuroko’s responsible for pushing Akashi to change but shipper brainrot dictates that I mention it).

So something like that needed to happen. Thus, Akashi fell.

2.       Flowers

I started it for the aesthetics. Pretty boys in flowy clothes surrounded by flower symbolism. That’s how it began and then I accidentally put plot in it. It’s not as heavy as the Sun and Moon comparisons, but they do have a level of significance. Chrysanthemums are symbols of royalty and prestige in Japan, so obviously the Akashis get that. Camellias are for faithfulness. Zinnias, are for loyalty and perseverance. The flowers define the House, the state they’re in and the clans.

The biggest moment was with the Kiku and Niko story in chapter 12.

3.       The concept of  being truthful

The story, to one extent, is about how hypocritical and broken some of the land’s ideologies. If you look at it past the romance, it’s about how literally no one is sticking to the virtues of the land, or the basic decencies of being a human being. In canon, Akashi’s the ‘villain’.

I disagree.

The true villain of KNB are the adults. Teikou pushed middle school children into hierarchies in a basketball club just to keep up the prestige of their name. The coaches never approached the kids when they were emotionally broken and needed someone to ground them. Akashi’s dad pushed him so far that he developed a mental disorder.

We never see the actual villains and they’re never defeated. This is because in reality, the children are powerless. KNB lasts just one school year. What about when they get out? What happens when they face the real villains?

That’s what happens in this fic. They’re all more aged up, but Akashi suffered his worst defeat as a child in the conflict of adults. Now that he’s grown up, he stands a chance. The entire fic is, to an extent, the cruelty of the adults and the powerful.

People go on and on about honesty, truthfulness and being honourable but no one is, and no one should try to be so rigidly perfect. These phrases or virtues according to which people are supposed to live are taken to be used whenever it’s convenient for them.

Seirin is the biggest example of this because that’s where a lot of the story takes place. “Honesty Above”, but they’re always gossiping and rumours keep spreading like wildfire there. False and romanticized rumours. It’s what Akashi depends on to brush up on his reputation and it works.

Akashi didn’t really do much good in the grand scheme of things but his closeness to Furihata, Kawahara and Fukuda along with ratting out on Yuito and Toshi was enough to sort of sway their opinions on him. People used to be terrified of him in the main house but after a while he gets respect (though imposing and kinda scary).

Yes I’m trying to be a pretentious fuck but I’m no….idk insert awesome writer who actually can handle these kinda things. Writing like this is difficult ngl and I accidentally create analogies I don’t intend because of the already existing stuff.

Eg: To Veer the Tides- Nijimura’s the moon. What can ACTUALLY veer the tides and is associated with it? The moon. But Nijimura doesn’t have that big of a part in the story.

 Anyways, here’s my word vomit. You can use these analogies for your fics to and jump off these ideas cause’ I need more fics dang it ;_;

[terresdebrume]

Witcher of the rings - Snippet 6

Previous snippets: In the tag

Note: “These are just snippets, not actual fic” I tell myself as I do research for a thing that’s barely shy of 1 500 words and doesn’t evend o what I wanted to do

Me @ me:

Ping list: @formerlyknownas-delight @theheirofashandfire @somedrunkpirate​

It takes five fucking days before they get to stop running. Not that Geralt is at the end of his rope here: he's been well fed and well rested since he and Jaskier came to Middle Earth, mostly thanks to forced idleness. He could probably keep going for another five days at that speed if he really needed to.

He'd grown used to being treated as nothing more than an odd looking person though, and while they've barely spoken thee words between them since they came across Pippin's broach it's been easy to feel the change in demeanor from his traveling companions, the gap between them that wasn't there before, that Geralt should have known to expect. They've been tracking the new Uruk-hai without pause for all that time, and Geralt is still firmly determined to do whatever he can to save or avenge the Hobbits, but there's a new weight in his chest that grows heavier every time Aragorn says something like "The land must groan under their hated feet."

Geralt might, perhaps, miss Jaskier more keenly now than he did when he was traveling the Continent alone with Roach after their fight.

Things change eventually though, even old things like him, and their chase was never going to be long lived. On the fifth day, their path cross with the horde of riders they heard and saw the night before. It passes around them like they're invisible until Aragorn stands up and shouts:

 "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

 In less than five minutes, the long line of rider turns around and circles them, forcing the Three Hunters—fuck but this sounds ridiculous—closer to Geralt, who makes a point of remaining still. Not that he thinks the other three are scared—they smell like nerves, not outright fear—but they are evidently more willing to comply with implicit directions than he is.

Geralt is, quite reluctantly, pleasantly surprised when Aragorn doesn't show any outward reaction to a spear waved directly in his face.

 "Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" The chief rider asks.

 He's tall, though not so freakishly tall for his people, and the way he speaks in the Common Speech they use here sounds a little like Boromir in his more formal moments.

 "I am called Strider," answered Aragorn. "I came out of the North. I am hunting Orcs."

 Geralt grits his teeth when that prompts the rider to dismount, the plume of his helmet swaying in the wind, and take his sword out before he stares at Aragorn like he's deciding whether to be impressed or not.

 "At first I thought that you yourselves were Orcs," he says, and Geralt snorts under his breath. "But now I see that it is not so. Indeed you know little of Orcs, if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well-armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey, if ever you had overtaken them. But there is something strange about you, Strider."

 Geralt watches the Rohirrim stare at Aragorn, clearly seeing something Geralt has been missing. Then again, he doubts his eyes, or any part of him for that matter, are all that well suited for a world that sounds more like Jaskier's songs than Jaskier's songs themselves.

 "That is no name for a Man that you give," the man says, quite audibly puzzled. "And strange too is your raiment. Have you sprung out of the grass? How did you escape our sight? Are you Elvish folk?"

"I'm an Orc," Geralt interjects before he has to subject himself to yet more courtly speech in a wilderness that doesn't even have the decency to be properly wild. "Cousin Lambert owes me a debt, we're here to have him repay me."

"Be quiet, Witcher," Gimli hisses.

 To his credit, the dwarf sound more concerned with maintaining some decorum than trying to put Geralt back in his proper place under someone's boot. It's still not enough to keep the conversation in its track: the Rohirrim squints at their group, noticeably stiffer than before.

 "If you speak in jest, then it is in poor taste, and ill-conceived besides. We have no love for Orcs, nor they for us."

"So I noticed," Geralt deadpans. "I'm used to it."

“No one here is an Orc,” Aragorn interjects. Geralt represses a snort of laughter. “Nor do any of us have any dealing with them save for the hunting. As for Elves, only one of us is: Legolas from the Woodland Realm in distant Mirkwood. But we have passed through Lothlórien, and the gifts and favor of the Lady go with us.”

 The smell in the air changes from puzzled to wary, and Geralt widens his stance for stability before the rider’s mouth is done falling open—then he frowns, face hardening, and he says:

 “Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell! Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favor, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers maybe.”

 Honestly, if it weren’t for the sudden tension in the company surrounding them and an acute awareness that his chances of survival in case of a fight are ridiculously slim, Geralt would be offended. As it is, he doesn’t have to: the rider demands to know why only Aragorn is speaking and Gimli, like an idiot, springs to his feet.

 “Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine, and more besides.”

“As for that,” the rider says while Aragorn glares at the side of Gimli’s head and Legolas tenses where he’s still sitting on the ground, “the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Éomer son of Éomund, and am called the Third Marshall of Riddermark.”

“Then Éomer son of Éomund, third Marshall of riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf Glóin’s son warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you.”

 The riders around them close in, and Geralt would kick Gimli in the shins if Aragorn didn’t stand between them. As it is, it’s all he can do to brace for the inevitable escalation when Éomer growls:

 “I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”

“He stands not alone,” Legolas protests, getting up and notching an arrow in the same fluid movement at a speed even Geralt doesn’t think he could equal. “You would die before your stroke fell.”

“Would you two knock it off?” Geralt all but barks, turning more than one set of eyes towards him, Gimli looking almost betrayed by his outburst. “He’s ignorant about the place. Make your peace with it so we can start asking about the Hobbits—and put your fucking ax down.”

“For one who claims to be an Orc,” Éomer says after a long, tense silence, “and whose mouth seems foul enough to belong with them, you seem strangely averse to conflict.”

 He lowers his sword—doesn’t sheathe it, but it’s something—and takes a small step back from Gimli. Legolas lowers his bow as well, and Aragorn sets a comforting hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. Geralt rolls his eyes.

 “The three of them wouldn’t survive a fight, and I’ll be gone faster if we negotiate. The Orcs we’re looking for nearly killed one of our companions and took two others. We’re here to get them back or avenge them. After that, these three—” Geralt jerks his head where Aragorn and Gimli are both glaring at him, and Legolas’ lips are pressed hard enough together to almost disappear, “—will do what they want, and I’ll be making for Edoras to meet my friend again.”

“Your friend?” Éomer asks, and Geralt doesn’t miss the way everyone around him has relaxed—only marginally, but progress is progress.

“A bard named Jaskier,” he says, and the air grows lighter again, a few of the riders whisper between themselves in fond tones. “’Bout my height, blue eyes, never shuts up?”

“I have met him,” Éomer says in a tone that suggests he didn’t hate the experience. “He seemed to me quite a strange fellow, but he has the high esteem of Boromir, son of Denethor, and that is enough of a testament for me. Pray, stranger, are you the White Wolf the bard sings so much about?”

 Geralt lowers his hood, and doesn’t react when Éomer flinches away from his eyes: he’s used to it, and it’s not enough to counteract Jaskier’s particular brand of magic.

 The negotiations go much faster after that.

[slytherin-puffskein]

hope’s lullaby.

summary: The summer between Laurent King’s fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts was the one that hurt the most. Luckily, comfort came to him.

- - -

notes: a huge thank you to all my beta readers for the wonderful feedback they gave me!

- - -

Hope, as Laurent King had recently found out, is nothing but a lie. A stupid invention. A cruel lullaby meant to soothe you with unrealistic scenarios and to make you believe that everything is, in fact, alright when it is clearly not. He had made the mistake of hoping through all summer, of creating himself nonsense --illogical yet comforting scenarios in his mind-- and the truth about hope was finally hitting him full force: it’s sole purpose is to leave you, to abandon you, and to leave you stuck with your own feelings and disarray.

These were his thoughts as he laid before him the many letters he had just received. Spending the entirety of August at his aunt’s place, he had taken care to inform all of his friends of his new address. As he had expected, tons of messages have been sent to him, filled with love and friendship, now awaiting to be read. Even though he knew he should be feeling happy he felt a terrible, selfish bitterness take over his being as he realized something. Fucking called it. But why am I disappointed, if I had already sort of expected it? This doesn’t make fucking sense. None of this does. Why why why? Before him laid letters sent by Penny Haywood, Rowan Khanna, Tulip Karasu… none of them bore the name he had wished most ardently to see.

Barnaby Lee.

Throughout the course of the entire summer, Laurent had no received a single letter from him. It was as if, suddenly, Barnaby had vanished from the surface of the Earth. Or, as Laurent was thinking, as if he, himself, had vanished from the surface of the Earth. As if Barnaby had forgotten about him, had told himself he wasn’t worth it in the end, and the worst was that he didn’t even had the decency to end whatever they had via a letter. 

Whatever they had, he was using that phrase because he simply couldn’t find any other words to use. Friendship? They had more than that, ever since their date at the end of their fifth year. Love? No, they never kissed. And now it would probably, most definitely, never happen. You lost him. You lost it all. What did you do wrong? Everything, probably. It’s just as your dad tells you! No one will ever love you, not with how you currently are. A sob threatened to break through his lips, but he miraculously succeeded in holding it back. Instead of sitting on his bed and crying, he simply slipped the letters under his pillow. He’d read them later.

He didn’t have the time then, because it was time for his shift at his aunt’s bakery. Thank Merlin, I’ll have something to do to take my mind off this shit.

* * *

“Turn that frown upside down!”

Cyril Colin, Laurent’s cousin, was an all too optimistic guy, and at that very moment Laurent was finding himself feeling deeply annoyed. What does he know about what is going on anyway? I didn’t tell him shit. He has no business to try and comfort me. Of course, in another state of mind, Laurent would have appreciated that gesture, but right then the only thing he wished for was to be left alone, and to focus on the croissants he was baking.

In the face of his cousin’s silence, Cyril pouted, and insisted: “C’mon, Laurent. You know you can tell me everything, right? You’re here for me, it’s only fair that I should be here for you. So what’s wrong? Is it related to a wi--”

But before he could finish that final word, Laurent had shoved the first thing that landed in his hand, a macaron, in his cousin’s mouth. “Hush! Don’t say that word out loud, you know it’s supposed to be a secret!” And just like that, the conversation was over, much to Laurent’s joy.

However, by the end of his shift, Laurent still only held one wish: to curl himself in his blankets and to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Oh, yeah, that sounded just like paradise, at least to him. This is so ridiculous. Why am I so affected by Barnaby not sending me any letter? It’s not like he’s… my boyfriend or anything.

But that is something you wish for dearly, don’t you? a wicked voice whispered into his mind. You want to touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he figured out just how of a terrible guy you are. Remember what your father said: you act without thinking, and in your eyes the devil slumbers! That must be true, right? It surely is, since Barnaby’s left you!

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

And all of a sudden, it felt as if his throat was closing right up. He was suffocating, suffering, hurting, and only one thing became his priority: to get the hell out of here and get some fresh air. 

Even if he still had fifteen minutes left on his shift and should have waited until he was done, it was as if his body had a mind of its own, shaky fingers untied his apron and let it fall to the floor. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he was standing outside of the bakery, his cousin’s voice faintly calling for him from the inside, worry painting each of his syllables. He hated that. He hated that Cyril always felt the need to worry over him. I’m fine, Cyril. I’m fine, I keep telling you that and you won’t LISTEN. But the truth was, Laurent wasn’t feeling alright. Not at all. He was just too proud to admit it to himself --too proud to come to terms with the fact that he was truly affected by Barnaby’s radio silence.

Too proud to admit that you’re in love.

“Damn, did you just come back from a marathon or something? You could have warned me, I would’ve come with you. Y’know I love running.” That voice. That all too familiar voice. No, it couldn’t be. Wait. Could it be? No. I spoke to him on the phone last night. Surely, he didn’t come all the way here… or…

As he raised his head and locked gazes with the man standing in front of him, it felt as if his heart was about to burst. Not because of the sadness that had been piling up over it, but because of the pure, bright joy that had suddenly taken over. With a sigh of relief on his lips, he threw his arms around Oscar Whelan.

If people declared Laurent King to be mischief incarnate, that only meant they had yet to meet Oscar Whelan --trouble incarnate. Any ounce of chaos put a smile on his face, every action of his was a mere result of his impulsivity, and his entire aura said one thing and one thing only: ‘let’s run away, you and I. Let’s flee this world and build our own’.

At least, that was what it said whenever Laurent was with him, so he came to assume that it was the same with everyone else.

Born a Muggle, Oscar had known Laurent ever since childhood. They grew up together and he’d been the shoulder Laurent cried on when his mother gave out her last breath. Following her funeral Oscar had brought him to this family’s small apartment where a sleepover without any actual sleep had taken place. Through comforting words and gentle laughter, Oscar had done everything in his power to make Laurent’s smile come back, while also helping him deal with his grief.

When his Hogwarts acceptance letter came, Laurent had been overwhelmed with the wish to tell his friend everything, but he knew very well that in no way that could happen. Instead, he told him that his father had decided to make him a student in a strict boarding school, and that as a result he was meant to leave for ten months, ever year for the next seven years. Are you serious? Oscar had exclaimed. You mean, like, a boarding school with uniforms and such? Lying to his best friend had been the worst thing for Laurent, but he was also well aware that it was for the best. If he were to reveal the existence of the wizarding world to someone outside of his family, just what would possibly happen? Oscar wasn’t a loose lipped person, but no risks could be taken.

No, that’s a lie. A risk had been taken, but an entirely different one. By hiding his true life from Oscar, Laurent had harbored the fear that a wall would build itself between them, separating them and preventing them from fully understanding each other. From his perspective, that imaginary wall would only lead to one outcome: the destruction of his friendship with Oscar Whelan, and that was something he knew he couldn’t possibly handle.

Years had passed and the wall still had yet to make its appearance. But Laurent had kept on fearing, and at sixteen years old he was still terrified. Even with Oscar currently hugging him close, the anxiety related to losing his friendship sprang forth and threatened to take control of his brain.

How unjust, that I cannot tell him everything!

After several minutes of silent hugging, Laurent pulled away at last, but his hands remained splayed on Oscar’s chest to feel his heartbeat. His friend’s arm, wrapped around his waist, provided him with unimaginable comfort. “What are you doing here?” Laurent’s eyes were pretty much filled with question marks at this point, and Oscar could only smile.

“C’mon now, Lau. I know you. When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong, so I took it upon myself and decided to pay you a visit. Least I can do, right? Though I gotta admit, the thought of stepping into your bakery was also very enticing.”

“It’s not my bakery, Oscar.” Laurent giggled. “It’s my aunt’s, you totally know that.”

“Right. Otherwise you would have added many more flowers for decorations. You should talk about it to your aunt, I’m sure it would look great.”

Oscar’s words remained in Laurent’s mind: When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong. Yes, Laurent had spoken to him on the phone, but never had he mentioned the letters or anything else related to them, for that matter. Had he sounded that sad? He almost wanted to ask, but decided not to.

“Are you done with your shift?”

“Only a few minutes left. Had to get out to get some fresh air.”

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m here, Laurent. To give you some fresh air. Finish those minutes left, I’ll wait for you here.” But he was smiling. Smiling, because he was seeing the glint of mischief already floating in Laurent’s eyes.

Laurent couldn’t help but smile back. “How about we go now, mhm?”

* * *

They spent hours together, and Laurent hoped that this day would never end. Because, finally, he was reunited with his friend. Finally, things were feeling less heavy, and he knew all too well that the distress would return as soon as it had left if Oscar were to leave. He obviously had to, at some point, and thus Laurent was mentally preparing himself for it. At least, he will be left with memories --wonderful memories to cling into. He would lie on his bed and replay them; hearing their laughs again, tasting the ice cream that Oscar bought for him again… and listening to their conversation again.

As he walked through the city with Oscar, a smile curled his lips when he remembered a conversation which occurred only a few minutes ago. They had been sitting on a bench, in Laurent’s favorite park because of its many trees, and he had decided to tell Oscar. Not the whole wizard business, obviously, but bits and pieces of the life that he had never told him about.

His new friends, for example.

“You have Penny Haywood.” He had told with a smile while still eating his ice cream. Caramel, his favorite flavor. “She’s, like, the sweetest girl ever, I’m telling you. Rowan’s is the best nerd, he helps me studying whenever I struggle with something. At some point, he even practically held me hostage in the library so I could finish my paper! My only focus was to walk around the school, take a breather… but Rowan had other plans in mind. Tulip is the greatest prankster, I think you’d like her. I know I do, she’s one of my closest friends. And--”  The words had died out, however, as he had realized that he had been just about to mention Barnaby Lee.

Oscar had noticed the sudden change of atmosphere. “Something wrong?”

So much. I’m so worried, Oscar. No! I can’t tell him about this. It would be… too complicated. He shook his head. “Nothing, I just… I just feel bad I never told you about them sooner” Lying by telling the truth, what a funny concept. “…about anything related to my school, in truth. It… it must suck, right?” Yes, lying by telling the truth, because he wasn’t telling Oscar the real reason behind his sudden change of emotion, but he was still talking about something that was truly bothering him.

Besides, he had to mention it at some point, right? He had to address his insecurities regarding his friendship with Oscar, the magical thing he cherished dearly, or else it would truly turn to dust.

Much to his surprise, Oscar giggled and gently nudged him. “You can tell or not tell me whatever you want, Laurent. I’ll never take it personal.” He suddenly paused, his brows knitting together in worry. “You… you didn’t tell me all of this because you felt like you had to, right? Because that ain’t right.” Laurent had been unable to not smile.

“No, not at all. I wanted to tell you about ‘em. You’re my best friend, after all. As you said, I tell you everything I want.” Maybe it had been a shadow, but he believed Oscar’s smile had wavered at those two words: best friend. Why, exactly?

He was still thinking of a reason, but he snapped back to reality as he realized that it was getting late. The sun was beginning to set, coloring the sky with beautiful orange and pink hues, and offered a sight that never failed to take Laurent’s breath away. He stopped in his tracks to just look up at its splendor. To memorize all of that beauty. Oscar did the same with a smile on his lips. 

“Beautiful, right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I can show you something even better.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Teasingly, Oscar placed his index over his own lips. “Curiosity is a bad thing, Laurent King~”

“Says the most curious guy I know!” And just like that, his worries were gone again.

* * *

Oscar insisted that they waited until the sky turned black and, once it did, Laurent let himself be guided by his friend, holding his hand and trying to figure out just what he had in mind. That, however, was the problem with Oscar Whelan: You never knew exactly what he was planning. Every second with him felt like a toss of the dice, with no idea as to which result you’d get.

They stopped in front of a huge building that Laurent recognized as one of the many gymnasiums of the city. Pulling out a pocket knife from his leather jacket’s pocket, Oscar got to work, quickly succeeding with picking the lock and granting them access inside. Luckily, no alarm system began to blare, and Oscar turned proudly to Laurent, offering him his hand once again. “You trust me, right?” The fact that Oscar had picked locks frequently was not only apparent from the skill he had demonstrated, but also from the absence of shock from his friend.

Now, Laurent was having a faint idea of what his friend had in mind. And without hesitation, he reached for his hand. “Of course I do, Oscar.”

And that was how they found themselves in the gymnasium’s public pool, moonlight spilling inside through the windows and reflecting itself on the calm water. A beautiful sight, truly, one that rendered Laurent still with wonder for a moment. Oscar was right. It’s so beautiful.

“You’re crazy.” But the joy in his voice was impossible to not notice.

“Love you, too.” Oscar replied as he began to undress.

Laurent was quick to do the same and, once they were only in their underwear, he realized just how cold the air was, and how much colder the water would surely be. Oscar probably had made the same realization, because his wicked smile graced his features once more. With the moonlight illuminating the side of his face, he almost looked ethereal. Like a dream. A dream that Laurent found most comforting.

“I dare you,” Oscar’s said, voice filled with challenge, “to jump.”

Oh, you’ll see, Oscar! Laurent immediately turned to look at him, fists on his hips in an attempt to make himself look more intimidating. “I dare you to jump. Wait, no, double dare you!”

“Oh, is that the game you want to play, Laurent? You know I love games.”

The teasing, the stifled in giggles that their voices were containing, it all reminded Laurent of the many blissful moments they had spent together ever since they met, moments he'd missed dearly at Hogwarts. After months of being without his best friend, everything was now falling back into place. He had Oscar, everything was alright.

That wonderful chaos he loved sharing with him had also made its comeback, it seemed, as Oscar suddenly reached for him, his arm wrapping around his waist and bringing him closer --much closer. “You brought this upon yourself, Laurent!”

And with Laurent’s roaring laughter filling the air, Oscar jumped, inevitably dragging his friend along with him.

They broke out of the water’s surface, laughing, splashing each other; and, before Laurent knew it hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, for a reason he knew all too well and yet didn’t dare admit. Oscar realized he was crying fairly quickly, and swam closer to wipe them away. “Did you really not enjoy that at all?” He was telling this to make him laugh, it was evident in his gaze.

And it worked. Laurent giggled, then sniffled and nodded. “Yup, truly terrible.” A smile came, but he decided, at last, to tell him what has been haunting him. “I just… have a friend from school ignoring me. A friend I like a lot, and… and it sucks.”

By saying it out loud, finally acknowledging his feelings, it felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he could feel himself breathing with much more ease. Oscar’s features softened, and his hand landed on Laurent’s wet shoulder. An awfully comforting touch.

While Oscar Whelan usually talks an awful lot, at that very moment he was silent as he hugged Laurent closely. Despite how little they were wearing, Laurent found himself unbothered. He’s my best friend, it would take much more to bother me.

And so, they hugged, and soon enough Oscar was whispering to him the lyrics of his favorite song. Ground control to Major Tom. Laurent let that song lull him into calmness, into total peace, and his eyes fluttered shut as they both stood still in the pool, surrounded by water. Calm, soothing water.

Maybe hoping wasn’t such a bad thing. With his friendship with Oscar, he had the hope --the belief-- that everything would turn out alright. That Barnaby would talk to him again. That he would be allowed, somehow, to love him. Those thoughts soothed him to the core.

They sang quietly.

For here am I sitting in a tin can,

Far above the world,

Planet Earth is blue,

And there’s nothing I can do.

* * *

Never write to him or even speak to him, again. Or I’ll kill him.

Barnaby’s grandmother words had kept ringing in his ears ever since the beginning of summer. He sat in his room as the moon shone bright in the sky, and caught himself staring at it.

And hoping.

Hoping that things will turn out alright.

And that he’ll soon, somehow, be with Laurent again. To touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his.

But hope is a futile, useless thing. Isn’t it?

[quakerjoe]

Dear Biden Bro Rape Apologists

This includes you politician motherfuckers backing Biden right now.

A CUPPA JOE for CINCO de MAYO, 2020

During all this time you spent bashing me because I supported Tara Reade, I’d like to point something out at this time that clearly y’all missed in your ever-glorified shit-slinging fest defending your GOP insider, Joe Biden.

No ONCE did any of you motherfuckers ever ask one simple question of me and it was this:

“Do you actually BELIEVE Tara Reade?”

Rather an important question, isn’t it? Here’s what separates me from you shit guzzlers who are so fucking terrified and scared of trump that you’re willing to back any piece of shit just to be rid of him. 

You see, dumbasses, my answer would have been “I don’t know; I wasn’t there.” But like most feckless twats, you all missed the point and now it’s too late for you all. The train left the station. That ship has sailed. The point was that we needed to take the accusation seriously, for the sake of all women and all Survivors and investigate the matter because it would have been the right thing to do, not ignore and scorn her and try to cover it up. I’d expect that of the GOP, but come on, Democrats! You were supposed to be better than that! EPIC FAIL ON YOUR END HERE. 

Since clearly you left-wing trump-tards-for-biden types need it spelled out for you:

Whether of not Reade’s story is true or not is, at present, immaterial. What matters is your conduct and the conduct of the fucking assholes in the DNC and the party, and you all failed at being decent human beings.

You failed to take the accusation seriously when it was YOUR guy while not that long ago you were all screaming for justice to the victims of people like Bret Kavenaugh, trump, Cosby, and Weinstein to name but a few rich and powerful types who adhere to trump’s “philosophy” of how you can grab ‘em by the pussy and get away with it when your famous.

YOU FAILED. Not me. You.

What’s worse is that good people like Al Franken had their careers burned for far less. You failed him, and not you’ve shown that you’re willfully ignorant, selfish cunts, just like trump supporters. JUST LIKE THEM.

You see, there’s supposed to be this process when it comes to vetting people for things. Employers tend to do a general background check before hiring employees. When I joined the Navy over half a lifetime ago, my life was thoroughly put under scrutiny because I’d volunteered to serve on submarines. They looked into every detail of my life from my family to my schooling to my jobs to interviewing my friends to get a feel for whether or not I was trustworthy enough to work on classified equipment, also checking my finances to ensure I wasn’t vulnerable to things like being tempted to be a traitor by selling secrets to foreign adversaries because I was in a tight spot. They wanted to make sure there was no dirt anyone could have on me that might compromise me in some way.

Trump got ZERO of that. I was only an enlisted fuck serving on a sub. Why is it we do not hold the Commander-in-Chief to an even higher standard when he’s going to have the “football” within reach at all times with nuclear codes?

As I’d mentioned, the investigation involved looking into character. Biden is a CREEPY CHARACTER, but clearly like trump supporters, you Biden Bros are fine with Biden being creepy and possibly even RAPEY. But the point is we’re talking about an outright RAPE here. RAPE. Biden is accused of cornering and then digitally penetrating a woman’s vagina against her consent. Does that mean ANYTHING to you? Especially you women who are betraying your own supporting this fucknugget! Where’s the concern? Where’s the desire to delve into the vetting process and enact this “DUE PROCESS” you once screamed for?

I don’t know if Reade’s story is true or not. However, where we part ways is that I, for one, took it seriously. I firmly believe, in good conscience, that Biden’s got enough going against him as it is that that Due Process will either vindicate him enough that people like me might be able to choke down the vomit long enough to force myself to vote for him OR he’ll be proven to be a rapist and should, by rights, step out of the way for someone that’s NOT a rapist.

You assholes backing him FAILED. You failed not only women everywhere who are Survivors, you betrayed MeToo, TimesUp, the already weak and tarnished reputation of the Dem. party, and overall and most importantly- your country.

You FAILED to be a decent human being. So, to end this, you clearly need me more than I need you or Biden. If you can’t represent what I hold dear and adhere to a code of conduct becoming a representative of the US Presidency, then I won’t be bullied by you or tolerate you forcing me to betray my code of decency. You won’t tarnish my moral compass. But, in the end, you’ll still need me.

Like trump supporters, you need what I represent- “The other”. I’m the one you’ll blame in November when Biden tanks and we get 4 more of trump because somehow in your addled brains you equate MY lack of support as support for the other side. I support neither because to me, they’re one in the same all working to promote the GOP agenda of utter shittiness. None of my values are being represented by Biden except by way of paltry lip service in order to get elected to his likely one term where he promised to literally change nothing. Yay. A real go-getter to save the working class and save the world from disease, poor education and climate change. Woo-hoo!

So don’t you worry. I’ll be here for you to blame. I know you will because taking personal responsibility for your loss is just what trump supporters do- deny mistakes and blame someone else; trump style, but you know what? I don’t give a flying fuck in a rolling donut. I for one as will others like me will know that the fault is yours for not standing up to the fuckery of the DNC and always taking a knee to bow down to corporate/establishment Democrats who truly don’t give a fuck about you. I’m here for them too; the Great American Scapegoat, that’s me. You people will never learn and you’re no better than the GOP, trump, or his dumbass supporters. Blame me and my kind all you want because we’re not only not afraid to stand up to trumplefuckstick, we’re also not afraid to stand up to Democrats and call them out on their bullshit, either. You Biden Bros had a simple job- sell us on Biden. Earn our votes. Convince us in a meaningful way. Instead, you’ve demonstrated that you’re pieces of shit like trump’s cultists.

It’s not MY JOB to vote for someone, especially if I don’t believe him or if he represents NOTHING I want from my representative in the White House as POTUS. It’s THEIR job to convince me to HIRE THEM because this is a big fucking job interview, not a round of fucking Candy Land. So far, I am about as impressed with the Democrats as I am with the GOP and you’re not helping. To me, you’ve gotten to be more of the same than you were back in 2016. It’s as if trump has actually set a new standard so low that Dems are racing them to the bottom.

If Democrats want my vote, they’ll front me at least SOME of what I want in a POTUS. Biden offers ZERO for me, and if you weren’t so terrified to trump like scared little children, you’d get your heads out of your stupid, well laid asses and see that Biden’s just not into you either.

~Quaker Joe

[wheelygoodteddys]

I don't want to do this!:

I absolutely hate writing about religious discrimination!

Frankly, I wish that I wasn't putting fingers to keyboard about any discrimination.

I also desperately don't want the focus to be on discrimination against everything Islamic and Muslim.

However, sadly, it's the most venomous hated that I have ever encountered, second only to racism against the black human beings of our world.

All my life I must have lived under a rock, maybe I live under a rock now, yet the vileness and outright lies that come out of those obsessed with hating all Islam and Muslims, plus anyone who stands up and says this is wrong, is obscene.

I am disgusted in the way these people respond.

I have had differing opinions with both Muslim men are women yet been addressed with respect and politeness. They are peaceful and not intimidating in any way.

Speak to a person who is anti Muslim, they refuse to listen to anything that may contradict what they want to believe, they will call you a liar and slander you. They intimidate and bully, call you names, question your mental stability, stalk your FB and target your children. The insults and illogical reasoning is unbelievable.

I am horrified that there are people like this in the world!

More horrifying still is for once I can see the appeal in hating the West.

Imagine a young Muslim man, born here, and rather then allowing him to explain what his religion means to him, to try and teach people, that hate everything about him, that he deserves to be not discriminated against, he gets told what his religion is, he is called a murder, a terrorist, a paedophile, a Mysoginist, etc. His sister is spoken to about her husband beating her, being oppressed, asked if she still has her clitorus, threatened with physical abuse, has her hijab torn off, threatened with rape, told she is a bad mother because she sells her baby girls to be raped by old men.

And no matter what they say to try and explain their actual beliefs the abuse flows. And this is from their own countrymen.

Mate, I would want them all gone too! Be honest, who wouldn't!?

Yet if they report abuse or complain about their treatment they are accused of wanting to change things. "They come here and try to change everything", is the cry from the haters!

1) There is NO law that insists that ALL women wear a Burqa in Saudi Arabia: Hijab is only compulsory for Muslim women. Anything else is a choice for those in a practicing Muslim family.

2) Women are not allowed to get an education in Saudi Arabia: I urge you to look up any TV broadcast from local Saudi Arabia telecasts. Women, in hijab, reading the news. This suggests an education. However, both men and women are encouraged to gain knowledge in Islam.

3) WTF does Saudi Arabia have to do with every other Muslim world wide, especially in Australia?

4) FGM (female genital mutilation) is an Islamic practice: Far from it! The Islamic religion urges that both men and women enjoy sex and that a man sexually pleases his wife. FGM is a tribal practice. However, MGM (male genital mutilation) has and still is widely practiced in Australia.

5) There is NO "no go" zones in Australia!: This urban myth was started by a female, Canadian Islamphobe. It was said to be proved when the police removed her from Lakemba for disturbing the peace. The police weren't working for the Muslims to enforce their "no go" zones! How ridiculous. Others tell totally unbelievable stories about women walking there and being spat on for not wearing hijab. Firstly, not all Muslimah wear hijab, even in Lakemba. Also there are numerous non-Muslims that go to these fabled areas to eat, visit, shop, do business, etc. This rumor is absolutely ludicrous!

6) Muslim women are oppressed, even here in Australia!: It is naive that there is no abusive people in any religion or walk of life, however, Muslimah are not oppressed as perf the usual course. Quiet the opposite! Historically, and as it is today, Muslimah have the freedom to do and be whatever they want, just like Muslim men. There is no distinction between what male and females can do. In fact, men are encouraged to wash their own clothes, cook and do housework. Also the Qur'an makes it very clear that the mother is the head of the household.

7) It is always claimed that Muslims want to change things: Yet, the question, "what have they actually changed?", goes unanswered. Muslims are required to live by the laws of the land, and as such, really don't want to change anything but the way they are treated. Especially how the women are treated. Our hero Islamphobes always target women and children because Muslimah are more recognizable.

8) Why are these people so threatened by the hijab or niqab?: For fuck sake it's a piece of material! It's not what's on a woman's head that oppresses her. However, who are those that want to oppress Muslimah? Muslim men or the Islamphobe? I say without hesitation, the Islamphobe! They don't ask a Muslim women how she feels, they don't ask what she may want to wear. They rarely comprehend the meaning of the hijab to a woman but rather try to twist it into some sexually perverse. They proclaim that Muslim women shouldn't wear a head covering. As Australia is a free country, with a freedom of religion and freedom of lawful individually, the real oppression and discrimination, is telling Muslim women what to wear.

9) Telling Muslim women what they are: The idea that, to Islamphobes, Muslim women are stupid and therefore, don't know that they are oppressed, would have to be the most Mysoginist slap in the face ever! All I can say is, "at least Muslim men know a woman's worth is awesome".

10) Muslim men marry girl babies of 5 to 6 years old and Muslim mothers allow it: Firstly, American is the place booming in child brides at the moment. With some states having no minimum age for marriage and also no divorce for women. Compared to Malaysian Clerics, years ago, raising the age of concent to 18. Also contrary to European/western/Christian culture, women have been granted divorce since the 700s in Islam.

11) Women wear the Burqa in Australia: This is actually one of those urban myths, started by Pauline Hanson. To see a Burqa in Australia would be very unusual. Most Australian Muslimah are from cultures that don't don the Burqa. The Burqa is an Afghan tradition and is very rare in Australia. Then why fight "ban the Burqa"? In one word, principle! It is against a woman's basic rights to tell her how much she can or can't wear, within the laws of public decency. There is also a security argument, as a Burqa is rarely worn that argument is rather moot.

12) Muslim men have lots of wives and children and just live on welfare: This is so silly that it's laughable. Once again, it is rare for Muslim men to have more than one wife these days as it is financially impractical. Also most Muslim men prefer one wife. In Australia, on average, the Muslim family consists of 2 children. With all this being said, usually Muslim men and women are educated and professional people. If not they strive to own businesses. The stupid welfare claims are unfounded and actually go against most Muslim traditions and cultures that have a hard work ethic.

13) They come here are get more welfare than Australians with no waiting period: This information can be researched on government websites. There is a waiting time for new Australians, Muslim or otherwise, which often means charitable families that sponsor them and take them in during this time. When they do receive any benefit, before getting on their feet, it is no more or less than anyone else.

14) They receive a thousand dollar iPhone and designer clothes as soon as they arrive: Is this one even worth answering? I just shake my head in disbelief!

15) Muslims have been Australians for generations: It amazes me how many people actually believe that no Muslim is Australian born. The history of the Islamic people in Australia predates white colonization. Islamic men from Indonesia travelled down and through Australia. There was intermarriage with the Indigenous peoples and even revertion to Islam by some. A more constant move to Australia, by those of the Islamic faith, started in the 1800's.

16) All Muslims are the same because they read from the same book: this is like saying that all Christian denominations are the same because they read from the same book. Most know that this is not the case.

There are many different varieties of Muslim. Yes they have the Qur'an yet addition books vary between the sects.

There are 72 different sects, numerous sects within the main sects, different traditions, different cultures, different regions, different regions, different countries and different families.

As for the Qur'an: there is the subject context, further context, overall context, historical context and spiritual context. Then all the different ways it is interpreted. Also interpretation can be manipulated and cherry picked to suit an agenda or bias. This can be said of the Bible also.

Where interpretation is important is in the understanding of Arabic. To translate a language as complex as Arabic into simple English leaves the meaning truly lacking.

For example: Islam is a very sexually moral religion. Men and women are not meant to sexulise each other, There is no unsupervised dating and dressing is modest. However, it is commonly thought the men will receive a bus load of virgins to have an orgy with in paradise. However, "virgin" more correctly translates to "pure". This is a "spiritual" context and "heavenly beings/angels is probably a better translation into English.

17) Muslims want to kill all Jews and Muslims. The Qur'an tells them to kill all Christians: Unfortunately people are so off the mark on this one. Islam actually says that Muslims cannot destroy a place of worship nor hurt religious "ministers". The Qur'an refers to Christians and Jews as the "people of the book". In fact, the only other women a Muslim man is permitted to marry is either a Christian or a Jew. The wives of these two religions are also not expect to revert as they are seen as sisters to Islam. Christian and Jewish men and women are thought of as brothers and sisters to Muslims.

There is a long list of urban myth, propaganda, rumors and out right lies that are used as ammunition against Islam and Muslims.

The arrogance of the Islamphobe is to tell a Muslim what their faith is! With no other religion would a person, outside that faith, verse another in their religion.

[arbeaone]

For “Great British Baking Show” Contestants, The Real Loss is the Endless Trolling

by Rae Robey Published on December 2, 2019 at 11:51am

Against the vast backdrop of high-octane and anxiety-inducing cooking competition television programs, The Great British Baking Show is an aberration. Internationally beloved for its affable contestants and endless supply of baking-themed anglicisms—“soggy bottoms” and “saucy puds” abound—the show follows a dozen or so home bakers as they compete to be named Britain’s best amateur baker. When the 2019 season premiered with a record-breaking 9.6 million viewers, each contestant was thrust into the public eye; most have racked up tens of thousands of Instagram followers since the season began in August. For American audiences in particular, The Great British Baking Show’s intrinsic wholesomeness makes it a cultural phenomenon: We could never be so well-mannered in a televised competition, but we do enjoy pretending.

The Great British Baking Show is, at most, an estranged cousin to American cutthroat cooking competitions like Chopped, Iron Chef, or even Cupcake Wars. In the Baking Show tent, contestants help each other finish their bakes, are graceful (even grateful!) in defeat, and despair when their purported rivals are dismissed from the competition. Each episode is predicated on kindness, love, support, and the freely-given home-baked comforts of the feminine domestic realm. Even the grand prize—a cake stand and some flowers, no cash—highlights the show’s near-pathological humility. Produced by a team called Love Productions, decency is, we can only assume, woven into the show’s DNA. But when Baking Show airs on TV, long after the last bun is iced and the final bap prodded, the trolling begins.

Each season, the bakers spend months immersed in icing sugar, bavarois, and ganache, frantically preparing for the 30 challenges of the competition. In addition to the generalized stress of executing difficult pastry skills while trying to impress professional judges on an international stage, the bakers are told by producers that they’ll likely deal with some backlash from a handful of disproportionately peeved viewers. After all, it’s a competition. But the backlash goes beyond competition, and, despite the warning, most bakers are blindsided by the frequency and ferocity of their trolling. And though adoring fans are certainly in the majority, online trolls yell the loudest. Stacey Hart, a Season 8 semifinalist, dealt with severe online harassment as soon as the season began airing. “I’m smug, I’m a bitch, I’m a worthless piece of shit, I’m a useless baker,” Hart told Bitch, describing the comments that strangers sent her. “[The show] was the best experience and the best thing—at the time—that I ever did. It became the worst thing I ever did.” Trolls loathed her pink, glittery bakes and how often she brought up motherhood; their caustic DMs and comments drove her into a months-long depression. “I’m quite a self-conscious person anyway, and it made me question myself,” says Hart. “Am I good enough?”

Before Hart, there was Ruby Tandoh, a Season 4 runner-up who was deemed a “filthy slag” who traded sexual favors and weaponized “female tears” for preferential judging. Tandoh wrote a piece for The Guardian in October 2013 describing the waves of “lazy misogyny” that followed each episode’s release, but shining light on the problem change much for future contestants. Claire Goodwin, the first to leave the tent in Season 5, was inundated with fat-shaming comments. Season 6 winner Nadiya Hussain, a first-generation British Bangladeshi, was told to “go home” on Twitter. Candice Browne, winner of Season 7, regularly endured comments from strangers who “fucking hate Candice, reckon she’s a right bitch.”

In a 2018 joint study with Element AI, Amnesty International named online trolling of women a human rights violation—one that social media platforms like Twitter continuously refuse to be held accountable for. The trolling of Baking Show contestants generally reflects the Amnesty International findings: White women are trolled hard, but women of color are trolled harder. Commenting on the viciousness of a particularly nasty troll, Hussain offered a succinct explanation: “I’m Muslim, brown, working-class and a woman! I may as well have ‘punching bag’ written on my torso.” In general, men are less likely to be trolled and, instead, are more likely to be trolls themselves, due to years of learned misogyny and—according a Brunel University and Goldsmiths, University of London report—a higher rate of narcissism. But on Baking Show, trolling often extends to the men with nearly as much vitriol and regularity as it does to the women.

Dan Beasley-Harling, a 2018 contestant and self-identified “gay-at-home dad” received the overwhelming bulk of Season 8’s cumulative harassment. “It was about five weeks of people just saying horrible things about me constantly. I had some really overtly homophobic comments,” says Beasley-Harling, referring to unoriginal jabs about queer sex and the suitability of a queer parent. Trolls can generally find a problem with any woman, but two types of bakers stand out as exceptionally deserving of harassment: women who don’t land neatly in the realm of palatable, perfect femininity, and men who aren’t stereotypically masculine. Beasley-Harling’s experience suggests that Baking Show trolls might take a more nuanced approach to their vocation.

Perhaps it’s not just about harassing women online—it’s about re-establishing gendered power dynamics and punishing those who flirt with the domestic on public-facing platforms. Domestic work has historically been an unpaid at-home venture delegated to women, so Baking Show contestants are either women overstepping their household boundaries or men crossing gendered labor lines. For a troll, either is a damnable offense. But with each record-smashing episode, Baking Show subverts the assumptions of where femininity belongs, who it belongs to, and how much it’s worth—roughly £24.2 million in predicted revenue. Still, exploitation is often and easily disguised as empowerment. Lest we forget, Baking Show contestants aren’t paid, and the grand “prize” has little to no real-world value.

To an extent, we all participate in the uninformed and unkind public judging that trolls have championed. We experience celebrities and public figures—especially women—as dehumanized subjects ripe for public dissection, each one existing in a vacuum sealed behind a screen. After all, the Baking Show contestants are filmed, edited, and packaged by professionals into easily digestible archetypes for the sake of a comprehensible and compelling storyline. For example, the latest season featured Michael Chakraverty as the optimistic goofball, Steph Blackwell as the irrationally insecure savant, and Helena Garcia as the spooky, whimsical free spirit. While these personas are fully inspired by who the bakers actually are, they’re ultimately deployed to create drama and tension where it doesn’t exist—that’s just the mandate of reality-TV editing.

But trolls live in the extreme, and for them the editing spurs online abuse. Beasley-Harling, for example, saw the trolling as a direct extension of Love Production’s editing. “I felt like the editing choices were very much treating me like collateral damage,” Beasley-Harling says. “I phoned Love Productions and said, ‘I don’t think you’re representing me fairly, I understand why people don’t like me.’ And they said, ‘No, you’re crazy, everyone’s getting a fair, balanced view on the show. It’s all in your head.’” Gaslighting, the Old Faithful of emotional abuse is regularly deployed against women, people of color, the LGBTQ community and other marginalized groups, is remarkably efficient at restabilizing power dynamics—exactly what trolls seek to do. A representative for Love Productions stated via email that: “Love Productions has always taken contributor care seriously and has robust protocols in place to protect and support those taking part in our shows throughout production and after transmission. These protocols evolve to acknowledge and address the changing media landscape and scrutiny.”

Depending on who you ask, however, the robustness of their protocols fluctuates. According to Beasley-Harling, past contestants have speculated that the Love Productions team tailors their level of attention and support based on the profitability of the contestant in question. After leaving the tent halfway through the competition, Beasley-Harling felt like Love Productions was less interested in protecting its contestants from trolling when money was to be made elsewhere, a behavior not dissimilar to reality television at large. “I barely left my house for three months. I was a shitty parent for three months,” Beasley-Harling says, describing the impact of his trolling. “To me, that felt like, ‘We’ve used you for the entertainment value and now we’re disposing of you.’” But Hart, the semifinalist who received the brunt of Season 8’s trolling and suffered a depressive period similar to Beasley-Harling’s, found Love Productions reassuring throughout airing.

“Every time I called them, they were wonderful. Didn’t matter what time of day,” says Hart. But she does concede that the emotional scarring from her online abuse outlasted Love’s self-proclaimed robust protocols. “They’ve got no idea how it’s affected me to this day,” says Hart. “I don’t think that’s their problem anymore, is it?” It remains to be seen how this year’s cohort of bakers will fare. Airing in the United Kingdom continued through October, and this year’s crop of bakers appear as chipper as ever, even online. So far, trolling appears to be minimal—maybe the bakers can avoid it if they subscribe more closely to normative gender expectations. “When I went on the Bake Off I wasn’t worried about my hair or my makeup or what I was wearing,” says Hart. “Maybe if I had made more of an effort, people would have been nicer to me.”

[demaury]

the best of me (chap.6)

Eliott and Lucas have never worked up the courage to actually make a move, and thus spent years dancing around each other without ever acknowledging their feelings. However, an engagement party gone a little too wild, an hotel room and a very bad idea might be all it takes to make everything blow up. (read on ao3)

I think we already did.

The words sank and Lucas’ heart sank with them. His fingers tightened around nothing as Eliott’s eyes trailed over his face, and then just like that he was gone, leaving Lucas to stare at his back while he was retreating towards the elevator. His eyes started to sting painfully but he felt his blood boil at the same time, as if his body didn’t know very well how to handle that new rush of emotions.

He found himself following behind, feet moving forward before he really got behind what was happening. “You’re right,” he said.

If all was lost he deserved to be honest.

He deserved to let go of all the things he had been holding back for years now.

Eliott scooted around, and Lucas’ heartbeat picked up as he fought as hard as he could possibly do to keep his voice in check. “Our relationship is a burden. It’s too much and I don’t think I can take it anymore, but it doesn’t have anything to do with you getting depressed,” he pressed on, speech rate going a tad faster. “What I can’t take anymore, it’s all those people who constantly walk over you and that you keep letting in anyway. They don’t deserve you. They don’t deserve who you are, they don’t deserve your kindness.”

Julien, Eliott’s first boyfriend after Lucille, considered that Eliott’s drawings and animal characters were a waste of time and potential and had no trouble to speak up his mind about them. The girl he had dated alongside that boy had dumped him shortly after the third one had left them, simply because she got bored from dealing with a heartbroken Eliott. Hell, even Eliott’s parents didn’t have the decency to respect his wish for privacy and had blatantly told a friend of their son’s they had never seen before that Eliott was psychologically unstable.

“I was mad. I still am,” Lucas said again, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips as he made an evasive gesture with his arms. “Seeing you with them makes me mad. Having to make room for them in our relationship makes me mad. It’s not- It’s not even because I don’t want to share you, I just don’t want to share you with people who don’t give a fuck, but here I am, doing that every three weeks or so, and I’m tired. It’s exhausting and it’s unnerving, and it has no fucking end, and the worst part is that I just don’t know what my spot in all of this is. I find myself searching for words to explain your boyfriend or your girlfriend that you can’t deal with them at the moment, and I don’t care if it makes me look like the bad guy, I don’t care if it makes me look like I’m the one intruding in your relationships, I don’t care because that’s what you need from me, but all I want is- all I wanted was to know what my goddamn place was.”

Was I your best friend? Was I your found baby-brother? Was I just another part of your polyamory thingy? These were the questions he was dying to ask, but none made it past his lips, dying in his throat instead. He wanted to be honest but honesty was fucking hard and he didn’t know if he had any bit of energy left at this point.

“What am I for you?” he insisted again, and his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. What was I, before you decided to cut me off?

Eliott’s eyes fell to the side, his shoulders hunching slightly forward. “Does it count as something if I can’t name it?”, he eventually said, barely louder than a whisper.

Lucas’ eyes widened slightly and the lump in his throat grew ten times bigger. “You can’t name it,” he repeated flatly. “You wear you fucking heart on your- you know what? Forget it. Nevermind,” he shook his head and took a step back. “Whatever it is, whatever it was, it’s over anyway.”

He fought the tears as he turned onto his heels and strode outside the lobby where Manon was waiting for their cab. Eliott didn’t follow him. He didn’t utter a word, he didn’t say anything at all, and Lucas didn’t stick around any more minute to wait for him to do so.

It wasn’t like there was anything else to add anyway.

*

It wasn’t 11 when they landed in Paris, and before noon when he got back home, crawling back there as if he had been ran over by a bus.

The ride to the airport had been deadly silent on Lucas’ part, but if anything he was glad Manon of all people had been there with him. She had seen him at his best and at his worst across the years; she knew exactly when to push and to stop. The way he shoved his sunglasses on his nose as soon as he exited the hotel lobby was enough of a signal for her apparently. She didn’t ask any stupid question, resisted the social pressure of providing useless comments and sweet nothings, and undertook the small talk with the taxi driver on their way to the airport without asking him to take any part in a conversation he barely understood anyway. If she spotted a few tears streaming down his cheeks, she didn’t say anything.

Two days turned into five, five days turned into a week, a week turned into two, then three. Life went back to normal, or what was supposed to be the new normal. Lucas wasn’t used to normal, although the gap between him and his friends had lessened over the last few years — no, he was used to weird. The consequences of that weekend abroad hit him like a truck launched at full speed when he realized, halfway through the week following their return to Paris that yes, he did break up with Eliott. They were no longer friends. And if by any chance Eliott eventually decided to make his way back to the French capital city, they would no longer hang out together, let alone text each other until ungodly hours. You could decide to remain friends with the person you had stopped dating (although it was a performance he had never achieved himself), but how could you decide to downgrade a friendship out of the blue?

The prospect of having to establish a new paradigm for his and Eliott’s relationship started to occupy half of his time and to take over his sleepless nights, while the other half was more than busy stressing over the new responsibilities stemming from the fact that his boss on vacations for two weeks meant he was in charge. The workload wasn’t all that heavier, even more so because of the summer holidays, but the tiniest task had him regularly stressed out more than usual. Needless to say, he had known better summers. A week exactly after their weekend in Spain, Lucas had the honor, as the future best man and an honorary member of the Cazas family, to be invited to the engagement dinner Yann and Nola hosted for their families. It was all good and delightful, really, until a particularly nosy aunt of Nola’s decided to set him up with Delphine, her niece’s very single maid-of-honor — the cherry on top.

The atmosphere within the gang was still a bit weird, leaving more than one of them uneasy, and it was the extended weekend of the 15th of August before Lucas heard about Eliott again — about, not from. As far as he was concerned, the last time they’d spoke was in the hotel lobby, and the last texts Eliott had sent from that weekend abroad still laid unreturned in his phone. Even his Instagram account had been dead silent since then, which hadn’t happened in a very, very long time, if ever.

“Emma wants to talk with you,” Yann said one evening. “Guess she wants to apologize again.”

Lucas glanced in the distance. “I don’t really want to,” he admitted with a sigh, “but I guess it’d look childish to keep her at arm’s length.”

His best friend studied him curiously. “I never thought you’d be…”

“What? The bigger man?” Lucas snorted.

“-I was gonna say chill.”

Lucas shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not gonna thank her either. Neither her, nor the guys. It was fucked up and it will take a while before I can consider myself over it.”

Yann took a sip from his beer. “No one asked you to laugh it off, it’s okay.”

“Yeah.” He paused and let his beer bottle roll between his fingers. “You were right. About me and Eliott. We didn’t know shit about what was happening. It was best for us to part ways.”

It still felt so incredibly bitter on his tongue. Eliott, who wore his heart on his sleeve, who fell for the first person who gave him attention and support and called it love after hanging out a couple of times and banging halfway through the first date, that Eliott didn’t know how to acknowledge their relationship. It’s not love, it never was, a voice repeated him every one and then, and after some time he had started believing it; it didn’t feel so alien. It just was, period.

“I never said you two needed to break it off,” Yann countered. “All I said was that you needed to figure things out. Put a name on it once and for all.”

“Well, we did,” Lucas waved.

He didn’t want to talk about it anymore and they easily moved onto another subject, which turned out to be the current intern at Lucas’ firm. The girl, Bérénice, was always slipping out to smoke outside, particularly since their boss wasn’t there, which profoundly annoyed him. First, because it was rude as hell. Her job was to welcome hypothetical clients and to answer the damn phone. Second, because she knew very well that although he was hired and he was older and he was in charge he wasn’t the actual boss and had no power to end her internship anytime soon. Third, because he had quit smoking two years ago and now he was dying to go back to it — all because of her, obviously, and not because of Eliott. She just had this ability to disappear in a blink, without a sound, and after nearly two weeks from that treat, Lucas was on the verge of strangling her more often than not.

That day was no exception. A Thursday afternoon overall quiet, the second to last day before his boss came back to work and hopefully knocked some sense into that stupid intern. Lucas had just gone to the archives to fetch a file he needed to complete a current work, only to find their shared office empty.

“Bérénice,” he called out, glancing around. “Bérénice.”

The only answer was the humming of the traffic down the street and Lucas huffed in frustration. That was it. He was going to deck her, he decided, and he slammed the file onto his desk. It sent a paper sheet flying, and then slowly falling somewhere under the table. Great. He hated his life so freaking much. With another huff to himself through gritted teeth, he postponed rushing downstairs to grab Bérénice by her ponytail (he wasn’t violent, okay?) and bring her back to her table work, and squatted down instead to fumble for the paper sheet.

He rapidly unfolded it with a quirked brow, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes stumbled onto the familiar outline drawn in black ink on the sheet. It was a familiar-looking raccoon, sitting alone on a bed, his black pointy ears down and a sad look on his face. Four words were scribbled underneath.

Three weeks without him.

What the fuck was that thing doing here? It was obviously recent, he couldn’t even doubt that it might have been an old one that he would, somehow, have forgotten about. The drawing wasn’t there when he had gone to the archives, which meant-

“Hi,” a voice said somewhere in the office, and it startled Lucas so much that his head snapped up, bumping it loudly in the desk above him.

He scrambled his way out with a wince, still holding the drawing. His eyes slowly climbed up a familiar pair of sneakers. Familiar distressed dark jeans. Familiar everything.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked, a little bit thrown off, as he rubbed the spot on his head while Eliott looked at him sheepishly.

“I, uh, I told your intern to go grab a coffee,” he cleared his throat.

Lucas snorted. “And of course she listened to you.”

Unbelievable, he was really going to deck her. He stood up, and after glancing at the drawing once more, he held it out with a quizzical expression.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Eliott said, biting onto his bottom lip.

I’m at work, Lucas nearly replied. Surely he could have found a better moment to drop by, like lunch time for instance. Instead he just sighed and put the drawing down on the desk. “Alright. Okay, but hurry up, please.”

Eliott swallowed and his eyes fell onto the ground with a small ‘okay’ before he started looking up again. “I should have written what I wanted to say,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Lucas apparently. “I’m sorry. For the way things went down in Spain. For the things I said. I just- I just felt like it was a fucking nightmare. Like I was losing everything.”

Lucas let out a little huff. “It’s not everything. I’m not all you have.”

“You’re a big part of it,” Eliott said again, brutally honest, and Lucas hated the way his heart softened in his chest, as if he was leaning into an invisible touch. “I never realized it bothered you how much I was unloading onto you. I think… I think I didn’t want to see it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door hanging wide open. “The first time I saw you, I remember, you had that… that big smile on your face and you were laughing with the guys, and, I don’t know, I just felt like I wanted to keep it on forever.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head without meeting his eyes. “I didn’t even know you and yet all I wanted was to protect you.”

Eliott’s eyes were impossibly soft, but there was a sad glint to them. They could go back to the way things were, couldn’t they? I don’t want to. He missed having Eliott around. He missed talking to him. He craved for his smiles and for his laugh and for his inspired comments on the beauty of this world out there. But he didn’t miss dealing with yet another fling of Eliott’s. For all he knew, there wasn’t anybody in the picture at the moment, which meant that Eliott had been single for at least a month, if not two. A prowess, if his dating records were any indication, which surely wouldn’t last much longer than that.

“You still haven’t given me a definition of what we are,” Lucas said.

“What we are, what we used to be- Does it matter?” Eliott asked. “Does it matter if that’s not what I want us to be?”

This is so fucked up. Lucas huffed and shook his head, feeling like his chest was constricting. How many times had he dreamt about Eliott confessing his undying love when he was 16, before wrapping his head around the idea that it’d never happen?

“You’re almost ten years too late,” he had a sad laugh. “I liked you. I always did. You were so cool and confident and obviously so fucking far out of my league. But then we talked, and you were nice to me, and you made feel so at ease… I never wanted it to stop.”

“And why do you think I stuck around?” Eliott had a small, almost sheepish smile.

“That’s the problem. People stick around until they leave. They just come and go, and I didn’t want you to leave, ever.”

Eliott looked down. “But I left anyway.”

“But you left anyway.”

“So that’s why you never said anything?” Eliott’s voice sounded sad, and his face almost crestfallen, as if he had just heard a devastating news.

Lucas chuckled, still blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. Why was he such a cry-baby? No one ever cried as much as he fucking did. You’d think that he wouldn’t have much more tears to shed after all this time but apparently he still had plenty. “Nearly ten years spent trying to bury it all and look at me now! A fucking mess.”

Lucas brought his hand to his face and bitterly wiped his eyes. He had never thought he’d start crying in the middle of his work office but apparently Eliott had so fucking much power over him than talking for five minutes was enough to turn him into a babbling, stupid mess.

“A beautiful mess,” Eliott said, soft, almost light-heartedly.

Lucas looked up to glare at him, but before he could even do so, he felt two arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer, closer, closer, until he was pressed into Eliott’s chest. The tension of the past few weeks seemed to lift off his shoulders as he inhaled deeply, losing himself completely in Eliott’s smell. It was familiar. Almost like home.

A small knock on the door made Lucas startle and Eliott and him pulled away from each other. Bérénice was standing in the doorframe of the office, looking vaguely smug. “Sorry to interrupt but, like, it’s already 2.30,” she said casually.

Eliott cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “Right. I’ll just- I’ll just leave.”

Lucas stared, a little bit stunned and a lot emotionally drained, as Eliott threw a glance above his shoulder while walking out. A part of him couldn’t believe he’d just leave like that. He had no problem telling Bérénice to fuck off before, why would he be scared of her all of a sudden? What the fuck had just happened anyway? There had been tears and ‘I’m sorrys’ and a whole bunch of things he was fine with keeping to himself, and now- now what?

“Your boyfriend’s hot,” Bérénice commented, not looking remotely ashamed.

Lucas snapped out of his thoughts, but was a bit too lost at the moment to tell her to fuck off. With a mumble he rounded his work table and dropped himself on his desk chair, just as his phone was lighting up with a text notification. Lucas’ heart literally jumped forward in his chest when he read Eliott’s name. He had never opened a text so fast in his entire life.

Boyfriends

That’s what I want us to be

 I’d like that

I’d like that a lot

[hopewritcs]

that’s a lot of colors.

pairing: thor odinson x reader

word count: 2.3k

request from @gbadwal: “thor dating a fashion designer 👩‍🎨”

summary: y/n and thor have been together for a while, and she’s moved into the avengers tower out of his fear of her being in trouble.  he may not be there always, but in their shared apartment she’s got her own makeshift fashion studio with the hopes of making it big someday.  

notes: there’s set up to the story, but the main setting is post age of ultron.  

marvel tag list: n/a

Of all things you could have pictured in your life, you’d never expected to be living with the world’s greatest heroes--or even that you were dating one of them.  That you, Y/N Y/L/N, were dating a God, literally.  Not just that he was just powerful and protective and looked like a fucking God, but the man was an actual real life God.  

You’d been mentoring students at FIT in New York during the Battle of New York and had been saved by said God in question when, on your drive back to your apartment, an alien creature had used your car as a trampoline to jump from the ground and up one of the other buildings.  The car had begun to spin, and your door had jammed.  But the blond God had landed right by you, stopping the car with his own hands and ripping the door off.  Which, after being grateful for the heroic save, all you could think about was the fact that your car was ruined and you weren’t sure how to explain aliens and Thor, the God of Thunder to the insurance company.  In fact, you were quite certain that your policy didn’t cover the car being used in the middle of a battle.  

Two months later, when the bill for the car came ( and you were right--insurance had refused to pay for any of the damages ) you’d marched yourself over to the Stark Tower and demanded to speak to someone about it.  You were being jumped from secretary to secretary, your eyes wild as you refused to leave the lobby of the building.  Eventually you said you’d speak only to one of the Avengers or no one at all, found a seat, and continued sketching your latest designs.  

It was no surprise eventually, when they all realized you had made their lobby your new studio--papers and pens spread out both on the clear glass coffee table and the couch where you sat-- they called someone from the Avengers to come down and talk with you.  

It happened to be the God himself, who immediately recognized you.  But, being unaware with things such as car insurance and phony claims, he wasn’t sure why you were there waiting in the lobby.  

And why you looked extremely pissed off.  

Upon seeing him you jumped up, a flurry of fabric pens and sketch paper falling in your wake as you’d stalked to the tall God and began berating him for his utter lack of decency and the fact that now you were going to have to pay thousands in damages for your car to be fixed--or get a new car--and you had poured all your savings into getting your designs started and you were still six weeks from debuting them to the world so you didn’t have the money and you couldn’t afford everything.  

And halfway through your wonderfully crafted speech somewhere between the lines “And you just ripped the door off the damn thing!”  and “Do you even have any money here on Earth?”  you’d started crying, the weight of everything falling on your shoulders.  

Of course, the reality of it all was you were indebted to the God standing before you, the God who pulled you into his arms as you started crying and attempted to sooth you as you stilled in your ranting.  You were grateful to him for literally saving your life.  But you were torn by your emotions, feeling the fear of it all, the gratefulness to Thor for saving you, the panic of having to pay to fix the car, and the hours you were working towards making sure your upcoming fashion show was going to be perfect.  You felt bad for crying on the God’s shoulder ( it was really his chest you were crying on, you were definitely not tall enough to reach his shoulder ) after having started off yelling at him for ruining your car.  

Somehow you left the lobby with your things ( neatly packed up to the best of Thor’s ability ) in tow and were brought up to the living area of the tower.  You wound up sitting to dinner with the rest of the Avengers as you calmed down, and left with Tony Stark’s personal information and his promise to pay for a brand new car due to “Point Break’s heroics”, and Thor’s promise to check up on you.  

A few years later, you we living at the newly named Avengers Tower with Thor, when he was there.  He spent a lot of his time traveling between Asgard and Midgard, but did make it a point to always come back to you.  After everything you’d gone through during the Battle of New York, your friendship with Thor had blossomed.  It hadn’t been long before he asked you out ( or, as you’d like to think you asked him to ask you out ).  

You were working on a new collection, and the apartment you and Thor shared in the tower was covered in different fabrics.  From sleek silks to patterns and taffeta.  You were all over the place, the sewing machine going at all odd hours of the night as you ran back and forth from the designs on the wall to where the clothing rack you’d put up for the finished garments was.  

“How can you even see where you’re going in this place?  I feel like I’m inside a tutu, which is not where I planned to be tonight.”  someone’s voice startled you, the measuring tape falling from its spot around your neck as you turned to the wall.  

“Don’t you knock, Tony?”  Your hands were on your waist as you turned to look at him, a pointed I’m in the middle of a possible fashion breakthrough look on your face.  With JARVIS out of commission, Tony was still working on some bugs with the new AI.  When he didn’t move, save to toy with the fabric sitting on one of the couches, you walked over and lightly smacked his hand away.  “Can I help you with something?”  

“Yeah, it appears Point Break’s stuck on Asgard for some princely duties or other.  So you’re going to come to the gala in his place instead.”  Tony said, not looking up from the fabric he’d been looking at before.  Your mouth dropped open and you were about to respond when he tsked at you.  “Don’t argue with me, Y/N.  I always get my way, and it’s settled.  It’s still a couple of days away, that’s enough time to get us all fitted, right?”  

“Excuse me?  Fitted for what?  Who all?”  You dropped the fabric you’d taken hold of and looked at him, stuttering through your response.  

“The rest of the team.  I thought you were paying attention.”  

“Anthony Stark, what the hell are you talking about.”

Tony stood up once more with a flourish and made his way back toward the door, “You’ll be designing our gala wardrobe.  Remember, my signature color’s red.”  

The door closed behind him, leaving you open mouthed and staring right through the door.  You wanted to scream and argue with him.  Less than a week to design something for each individual member of the Avengers?  Stark must have lost his mind.  Of course, it helped that you’d previously taken all their measurements just in case you needed them.  But actually being in charge of designing gowns and suits alike?  It was a dream, honestly, but you weren’t ready.  You needed more time.  

You really wanted to kill Tony.  

It had been a day and a half since you’d seen Tony and heard what he wanted for the team.  After meeting with the rest of them, and from knowing who they were, you’d spent the rest of that day sketching the new wardrobe designs.  You cursed under your breath because damn it Stark this was actually a good idea.  And it got your mind off of worrying about your latest collection possibly tanking as well as it was doing something for the people you loved.  And hell the designs were great, not to toot your own horn or anything.  

Unfortunately for you, cell phones connecting Midgard and Asgard didn’t exist yet, so you had to just stare into space when you were cursing your boyfriend for leaving you alone to deal with this mess.  “At least if you were here I’d have someone to go with.  But no, I’ll be with everyone else and they’ll be wearing my designs and there’ll be paparazzi there and everyone will be asking questions that I couldn’t possibly know the answer to and oh boy are you so lucky I can’t get to Asgard, Thor, because I can only imagine that Tony got this,” you held up the dress shirt you were making for Tony--red silk, with gold thread running through it--to the sky as if for emphasis for the invisible Thor you were scolding, “idea from you.”  

You planned each outfit for each individual person, and included one for yourself at the insistent reminder from both Tony and Pepper that you would also be in attendance.  You’d even made something for Thor, which was partially for him and partially for you.  The design was much colorful than what you’d expect Thor would ever wear without your push.  But knowing that he was likely the one who put this project on your shoulders, you wanted to make sure he had something too.  It made you feel a lot better, if nothing else, since you knew he wasn’t going to be there to wear it.  Hell, you’d even included your own cape for his outfit.  

The day of the gala everyone had attempted to get you ready.  You were rarely ever around for these kinds of events, so it was probably a way that they were attempting to calm your nerves.  It felt a million times worse than when you’d debuted your first collection after you started spending time with Thor.  

Your show had been flooded with the press, and almost half of them ( it was probably more ) had asked mostly about your connection to the God of Thunder.  That wouldn’t have irritated you as much as it had, had it not been the big debut you’d been dreaming of with the collection of solely your own things under your own start up designer label.  If it were someone else’s show, like the designers you’d worked for previously, you wouldn’t have been pissed that all the attention was the blond man on your arm for the better part of the night.  

Tonight was different, it was all about the Avengers.  You were the one tagging along.  You piled into the limo with the rest of the team, awkwardly tapping at your legs and looking around as everyone made small talk on the way to the event.  

You were ushered into the building through the back entrance, thankfully bypassing any sort of press in the front of the place.  And everyone was surprisingly quiet once you all got into the building.  

Before you could ask, you were brought into the main room and looked around.  It looked as though it was set up for some kind of show, and you turned around but found yourself standing alone.  

“Uh, hello?  Where did you guys go?”  You walked around a little bit, looking for wherever it was the Avengers had run off too, but you’d seen no sign of them.  “Hello?” 

“They’re backstage getting ready for the show.”  A loud voice, the voice of your boyfriend startled you as you turned around.  A grin on your face as you spotted him standing behind you.  His long blond locks were pulled back into a bun behind his head and he was wearing the outfit you’d designed for.  Even the color splatter patterned cape you’d made out of pure spite was resting upon his shoulders.  “You know, Y/N, this is a lot different than everyone else’s clothes.”  

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”  You said softly, walking toward him and putting your hands up on his shoulders to give him a quick kiss in greeting, and then when you pulled back, you smoothed out his clothes and fixed anything that was out of place.  

“And you still made me something?”

“I was kind of mad you’d suggested me going to a gala with everyone if you weren’t going to be there too.”  You pouted, looking up at him.  “Sorry.”  

“It’s alright.  I don’t hate it.”  He laughed, putting his arms around you as you raised your eyebrows at him.  “I don’t hate anything you make.”  

You downright awed at the comment, your smile growing as you looked up at him.  “You’re too sweet, Thor.”  You played with the collar of his suit as you looked up at him.  “So how did you get back?  I thought Tony said you were going to be busy and couldn’t come to the gala?”  You turned your head slightly to look around a bit before looking back at him with a confused expression.  “Then again, this doesn’t look like one of Tony’s usual parties.”  

“I convinced Stark to help me out with something.”  Thor said, spinning you around in his arms and leading you towards the center of the room, where there stood a long stage--a runway.  But you didn’t get a chance to speak before he did, his head bent down to whisper to you, “I figured since the last show of your designs was ruined by me showing up, it was only fair that the Avengers threw the next showing.”  

You spun back around to face your boyfriend, putting your hands on either side of his face as you pulled him towards you for a kiss.  “You are the sweetest, kindest, best boyfriend in the entire galaxy.”  You punctuated each adjective with another peck to his lips.  “I love you.”  

“I love you too.”  

[lady-hammerlock]

Through the Looking Glass - Chapter Seven (Telltale Batjokes & DC Comics Crossover)

AN: Hi everyone! The next couple of chapters are going to be a little bit different. You may notice that this chapter only deals with what's happening in the comic book universe. Similarly, the next chapter is only going to cover events in the Telltale universe. It was just an easier way to break things up for this particular section.

Also, I didn't intend for this to be JayDick but feel free to read it as such, or as completely platonic/brotherly if you prefer. Its up to you guys. :)

Thank you all for continued support, and all of your kind comments! I'm terrible at replying to them, but they make my day, and they make writing this sort of thing absolutely worth it. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jason and Dick were already waiting in the Batcave when Bruce and John arrived. Dick was in civilian gear; jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, which probably meant he wasn’t taking any of this too seriously and didn’t consider John a threat. It was harder to tell with Jason. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, but that was pretty much the only difference between what he was currently wearing and what he would wear if he was ‘working’.

It was hard for Bruce to tell how much he and John should be on their guard. He was hoping that things would go relatively smoothly, but he was still fully prepared for the eventuality that he would have to physically defend John from his two allies.

Bruce indicated for John to stay in the Batmobile, stepping out first to meet his two protégés.

“Hey Bruce,” Dick said, immediately taking up a place leaning against the Batmobile’s hood.

“Sup old man,” Jason added, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes not meeting Bruce’s own.

“So,” Dick said, drawing the word out far longer than he needed to. “We heard a rumor…”

“Where the hell is he?” Jason snapped, interrupting Dick.

Bruce looked to Dick, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed on Jason’s behalf.

“Who?” Bruce replied, trying to gauge the level of Jason’s anger as much as stall for time, while he tried to think of a way to stop this all from going to hell.

“The Joker,” Jason said, spitting out the name as though it was poison in his mouth.

Bruce couldn’t blame him. If anyone had a reason to hate the Joker then it was Jason. Still, all of this would be so much easier if Jason could just keep that hatred in check for a short while.

“I’m assuming Oracle told you?” Bruce asked.

“Of course,” Jason replied. “Babs isn’t in the habit of hiding important shit like this from her friends. Unlike someone I could name.”

Jason pointed an accusing finger into Bruce’s chest. Bruce did not flinch or back down at all.

He glanced over at Dick, who was being almost suspiciously quiet. The younger man’s eyes had gone to the passenger side of the Batmobile. Clearly he was just waiting for John to emerge.

“It’s not true though right?” Jason said, approaching Bruce with his hands balled into fists at his side. “You’re not helping him, are you Bruce?”

“Things are more complicated than you might think,” Bruce began.

Jason wasn’t willing to give Bruce time to finish explaining though.

“Damn it Bruce!” he screamed. “All of those times you let him live or saved his life or chose to go easy on him? I looked the other way then, but actually helping him? What the hell are you playing at?”

“John needs our help!” Bruce snapped back before he could stop himself.

Within seconds Dick was insinuating himself between the two of them, his hands reaching out to land on either of their chests. Bruce hadn’t realized how close he and Jason had gotten to each other in their anger until Dick was pushing the two of them apart.

“Okay, let’s just talk this through for a moment,” Dick said. “Remember what Babs said Jay?”

“He’s not…” Bruce said, meaning to explain to Dick and Jason that John was a far cry from the Joker that they were used to; kinder, more vulnerable and in desperate need of their help, but he didn’t get very far, because at that moment he heard the door of the Batmobile opening, and the next thing he knew John was approaching the three of them with a wide smile that was so obviously forced it was painful.

Bruce took a step back, away from Jason and away from Dick’s hand.

“John, this is Jason and Dick,” he said. “Dick, Jason, this is John Doe.”

Bruce saw Jason mouth the name at Dick, as though he didn’t quite believe it was really the other man’s name, or perhaps found it, for whatever reason, at least a little amusing. Dick wasn’t watching Jason though. He was just looking over at John with wide eyes.

“How much has Alfred told you?” Bruce asked.

“Only that he doesn’t approve of any of it and that he thinks the entire endeavor is absolutely ridiculous,” Dick replied, grinning as he did. “But that at least John is polite and hasn’t threatened to kill anyone yet, so that’s a plus. Al said that it was probably better if you explained the rest of it to us. I get the feeling he isn’t buying into whatever’s going on quite as much as you are Bruce.”

“John’s from a parallel universe and managed to accidentally switch places with our own version of the Joker,” Bruce said. “He hasn’t been any threat at all so far, and just wants our help to get home. I see no reason why I shouldn’t give it.”

“Maybe because then we’d be bringing that arsehole of a clown back to our… Hey!” Jason went silent as Dick elbowed him none too gently in the ribs.

“It’s okay,” John said. “From what Bruce has told me the other me was absolutely awful. Don’t worry. I’m not like him at all. I promise.”

“And as much as I’m sure you’d all like to keep John here rather than go back to our version of the Joker, we are going to help him get back to his own world, whether you like it or not,” Bruce said.

Jason continued to cross his arms and frown in Bruce’s direction, but Bruce had a feeling that no matter what he did, Jason wouldn’t be warming up to John any time soon.

Dick however was now openly smiling, and he approached John with that smile still on its face.

“So it is true huh?” he said, grabbing hold of John’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “A version of the Joker that isn’t totally evil. That’s crazy.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what was more worrying; Jason’s anger or Dick’s enthusiasm.

--

John had to assume that the two men in front of him were good guys. After all, they wouldn’t have been allowed in the Batcave unless Batman trusted them.

“Hi,” the newcomer said, sticking out a hand for John to shake. “I’m Richard Grayson but my friends call me Dick.”

“I’m John,” John replied, shaking Dick’s hand somewhat cautiously. At least this guy seemed friendly. “John Doe.”

“Really?” Dick exclaimed. “Not even any snarky comments about my name. Although, that probably makes sense considering people are probably making fun of yours all the time. Which I promise I won’t do, by the way. Oh my god!”

The younger man turned around to face Bruce again. Dick seemed overjoyed to meet John, for reasons that John hadn’t quite worked out yet.

“Bruce, this is incredible!” Dick exclaimed.

Bruce shrugged, and Dick, whose hand was still holding John’s own, turned back to face him once more.

“So then, is Batman evil in your universe?” he asked.

“What?” John replied. “What!? No. Batman is amazing, and the best person ever. There’s no way he could ever be evil.”

“Am I evil then?” Dick asked, still sounding incredibly excited.

“I… I don’t know,” John replied honestly. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

It was at that moment that Bruce’s hand descended on Dick’s shoulder, pulling him a few feet back from John and giving him a little more personal space.

“John’s been through a lot over the past few days,” Bruce said. “Give him room to breathe.”

“No, it’s all right,” John tried to argue. Honestly he was just glad to finally meet someone in this universe who was friendly, and who hadn’t freaked out as soon as he had seen John. “He seems nice. And he’s your…?”

Brother? Son? Crime-fighting partner? Lover?

John wasn’t sure which one he was expecting, or which one he wanted this version of Bruce to say. They all seemed equally likely to him, although really, Bruce didn’t look nearly old enough to have a pair of fully grown sons.

“Why the hell would you be evil in John’s universe?” Jason interjected, looking at Dick as though he thought he was being an absolute idiot.

“It sounds like John is Batman’s ally in his own world,” Dick said. “So if the Joker is his sidekick then maybe his sidekicks, aka us, are evil.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Jason said.

It sounded like Jason was calming down at least. And well, maybe Bruce hadn’t answered the question, but John had an answer now at least. Sidekicks. Dick and Jason were his sidekicks, or allies, or… something like that. Only a teensy, tiny reason for him to be jealous and not a ridiculously big one. He was sure that he could get along with these two well enough. Assuming at least that Jason wasn’t going to try and kill him.

Batman had already left the three of them behind, and had walked over to the Batcomputer. They’d left the Looking Glass by it while they had visited Tetch in Arkham, and Batman sat down, roughly tugging the cowl off before picking up the Looking Glass and inspecting it.

John was torn between continuing to talk to Jason and Dick or running over to help Bruce out with whatever it was he was doing.

“Be careful with that,” John said. The last thing that they needed was for the two Batmans to change place as well.

Although honestly, now that he thought about it, John would be completely okay if that happened. He wouldn’t even care about getting back home if he had his Bruce here. It would be like an adventure, and as long as they had each other they would find a way to get through it all. That was how it always worked with the two of them after all.

For a moment he found himself entertaining the idea of making sure this version of Bruce ‘accidentally’ activated the Looking Glass. That wasn’t a nice thought though; not one that he should have been thinking, and so he quickly banished it.

“Don’t worry,” Bruce said, suddenly sounding even more tired than John felt. “I kept the Batcomputer monitoring the radiation levels of the Looking Glass while we were out.”

Bruce let out a long sigh and fell back into his chair.

“At this rate it’s going to approximately two weeks before it can be activated again,” Bruce said.

Two weeks suddenly felt like the longest time in the world.

“That thing will send him home?” Jason asked. He glared at the Looking Glass. John wondered if Jason spent all of his time glaring at things. It certainly seemed like he did. He could only hope that Jason wouldn’t attempt to destroy it; at least not before John could be reunited with Bruce.

“In theory,” Bruce replied.

“You see?” Dick said, and John jumped a little when he felt the other man’s hand land on his shoulder. “It’s just a matter of time and then you’ll be able to get back home. In the meantime…”

“Whatever it is you’re about to suggest,” Bruce replied. “Don’t.”

He hadn’t even been looking at the three of them, so there was no way that he could have seen the devilish grin that had appeared on Dick’s face just then, but apparently he hadn’t needed to.

“Aww,” Dick said. Jason just rolled his eyes at the other man.

“I don’t intend for John to be here that long,” Bruce replied. “Can you imagine the amount of destruction that the Joker could wreak on an unsuspecting and unprepared Gotham in two weeks?”

Bruce stood up, a look of fierce determination on his face, one that made John’s stomach do interesting little flip-flops, despite the fact that this was a different Bruce to the one that he loved. Bruce clutched the Batsuit’s cowl in one hand and the Looking Glass in the other as he continued.

“In the meantime, I’m going to pay the Justice League a visit,” he said. “Can I trust the two of you to look after John while I’m gone?”

“What, seriously?” Dick asked. “Of course you can.”

Bruce had put the cowl on while Dick had been speaking, and he turned to glare at Jason.

“What?” Jason said, frowning and folding his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not going to try anything, okay? This clearly isn’t the guy that I have a beef with. I mean, I was worried for a second, but fuck, Bruce; this guy didn’t even recognize either of us.”

“Besides,” Dick added. “If Jason does try anything I’ll be there to stop him.”

Jason scoffed.

“Like you could stop me from doing anything if I really wanted to,” Jason said.

“If I come back and find out that the two of you have harmed John in any way…” Batman said, trailing off and leaving an unspoken threat hanging in the air, and ooh boy, that certainly wasn’t doing anything to help the butterflies in John’s stomach, especially when he was threatening the two of them on John’s behalf.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said. “We’re not going to hurt him.”

Batman continued to glare at him.

“Promise,” Jason added.

That seemed to be enough to satisfy Bruce. He stalked back over to the Batmobile and threw the Looking Glass into the passenger seat. Within moments he was taking off, leaving John alone with Jason and Dick.

The three of them stood there waving goodbye to Bruce for a few moments; or rather, Dick and John waved goodbye while Jason stood there with his arms folded in front of his chest.

Once the roar of the Batmobile had faded however, Dick and Jason both turned and smiled at John.

John wasn’t sure which smile he should be more afraid of.

--

“What are the two of you even going to use these for?” John asked, pausing to smile for the camera. He was wearing… well, he wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to be, except that it was green and yellow and red. He assumed it was a crime-fighting outfit of some sort, but it didn’t seem particularly practical and showed a lot of skin, although maybe that was just because it was a bit too small for him.

“Taunting the real Joker when he gets back,” Jason said.

“Taunting Bruce,” Dick added.

“Taunting Tim,” Jason said. “Serves him right for being so sensible and choosing not to come along with us. You know, maybe we should have used his old Robin suit instead of mine.”

“We still could, you know,” Dick said, before taking another photo. John made sure to smile extra wide for this one.

Things had started simply enough. Dick had said that he wanted to take some selfies, which John was absolutely all for, and even though Jason had complained the two of them had eventually roped Jason into a few photos as well.

At first the photos had just been innocent enough and relatively goofy, but then Jason had suggested getting photos of John wearing the costume for… some reason, that John still didn’t fully understand. Still, if taking photos and playing dress-up was the worst that the three of them were going to get up to then John was going to count himself lucky.

“So, you still called the Joker back in your world?” Dick asked a few minutes later, as John was getting changed back into his normal clothes. Dick and Jason thoughtfully had their backs turned, although John wasn’t sure why they bothered when they had all seen pretty much all of his leg just a few moments ago.

Their photo session had come to an abrupt halt when Dick had jokingly (or at least, John had assumed it was jokingly considered how much Dick had been giggling about it) suggested that he and Jason should dress up in their old crime-fighting outfits as well.

“I was for a while,” John confessed. “But that was ages ago.”

“Did you have a costume?” Dick asked.

“Of course,” John replied. “I made it myself and everything! It had this cool purple jacket and a friend helped me make a grappling gun and I had Jokerangs and… well… huh, it was pretty cool. At least, I thought it was pretty cool, and Bruce said he thought it was cool too. I don’t wear it so much these days though.”

“Why not?” Dick asked.

John adjusted his vest as he stepped back out to join Dick and Jason properly once more.

“Well, since I got out of Arkham I’ve spent my time helping Batman here in the Batcave instead,” John explained. “It’s safer that way.”

He caught Jason eyeing him strangely as soon as he mentioned Arkham, but tried not to think about it too much. Jason might have agreed that he wasn’t going to hurt John, but John had a feeling that Jason still didn’t trust him.

“God, this is weird,” Jason eventually said, making an exaggerated stretch and leaning back against a nearby desk. “And I don’t think it’s going to stop being weird any time soon, no matter how much time we spend playing dress-up.”

“You think it’s weird for us?” Dick commented. “Imagine how hard this has to be for John. Finding out that everyone hates him in this universe has to suck.”

John appreciated the sympathy, if not the fact that Dick was talking about him like he wasn’t even there.

Jason just rolled his eyes in response to the sentiment.

“You know what?” he said, pushing himself up from the desk he had been leaning against. “I need a drink.”

--

‘A drink’ ended up only being alcoholic for Jason. Dick had tea, and John joined him, if only because he didn’t want to be rude, and Alfred was brewing the tea anyway, and John really didn’t like the way his brain worked when he had been drinking. It always went to dark places, and he could never think straight.

Tea, or, in Jason’s case, something golden that smelled a little too strong and chemically for John, was consumed in the kitchen, where Dick kept trying to get Alfred to join in the conversation. Alfred kept his distance, and John at least noticed the outline of a pistol tucked into the butler’s jacket.

“Bruce wouldn’t like you having that,” John said, pointing towards the gun.

“I’m quite aware,” Alfred said. “But in this instance I don’t really care about Master Bruce’s opinion on the matter.”

Jason had guns sitting on his belt as well, but that was different. Jason didn’t live at the manor, as far as John could tell, and John already knew that he fought crime. Alfred didn’t. Alfred was supposed to be a butler, and more importantly, Bruce’s butler, and John had learned the hard way how much Bruce didn’t like guns. Boy, John had really messed up with that one, hadn’t he?

He tried to bring up the matter with Alfred; knew that getting rid of the gun would make Bruce happier, no matter what universe they were in, but he didn’t get very far. Conversation in the kitchen after that was stilted and awkward, and Alfred remained distant, no matter how hard Dick tried to include him in the conversation.

The three of them moved to the living room, which was much larger and more obviously lived in than the one that John was used to. It was cozy though, and the three of them lit the fireplace and Dick pulled a pack of cards from somewhere.

They played a few rounds of ‘go fish’, while Jason nursed another glass of whatever it was he had been drinking and complained that weren’t playing poker instead.

There was something about the two men, Dick especially, that put John at ease, and before long he found himself relaxing more than he had since he had been transported to this strange world.

“So you and Bruce huh?” Dick began, grinning at John as he shuffled the deck of cards. “How the hell did that happen?”

“You mean how did we meet?” John asked. “Or the rest of it? Us becoming partners and me moving into the manor and stuff?”

“Holy shit,” Jason cursed. “You and Bruce are a couple in your universe?”

“Jason!” Dick hissed, clamping his hand down on top of Jason’s own and stopping him from getting to his feet any more than he already had. “He didn’t say that! And even if they are a couple would that really be so weird?”

“No, I gotta hear this story now,” Jason said. “Your world is even more fucked up than I first thought if that’s the case.”

“No!” John finally objected. He could feel himself growing hot and embarrassed, and knew that he would be blushing if it wasn’t for his unusual skin. “It isn’t like that. I mean, we’re not… not yet anyway.”

“Not yet?” Jason said.

Ooh boy. John could tell that there were definitely going to be more questions, at least from Jason. He wasn’t sure how much he should say, or rather, how much he wanted to say. He and Bruce had both used the word ‘love’ in regard to their relationship, and there had been the occasional kiss on the forehead or hug that lasted a little bit too long, and John at least knew that he was madly in love with Bruce and wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. When Bruce was ready for the two of them to take the next move then John would be ready as well.

He just wished that he knew when Bruce was going to finally make that next move. Or, for that matter, that he was definitely going to make it.

“No way,” Jason said, still looking at John as though he had said or done something really, really weird. Why did this guy find it so difficult to believe that he and Bruce might be more than friends? Was it because John looked so weird? Was that it?

John wasn’t crazy or delusional, or at least not when it came to his relationship with Bruce. He knew that Bruce was way more handsome than he would ever be, and he was just so darned cool and smart and he had all of that money.

Perhaps that wasn’t it though. Perhaps it was just the fact that this universe’s version of Bruce and the Joker were the worst of enemies that had Jason so shocked.

“You and Bruce are seriously… what? Friends? Kind of a couple?” Jason continued to ask. “Come on John. Give me something to work with here, and please don’t say ‘in love’ or I think I might vomit a little.”

“Knock it off Jason,” Dick said, elbowing the other man in the ribs.

Dick glanced over at John and offered him a gentle smile; one that said ‘sorry’ just as well as any words might have.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Come on Dick,” he said. “You don’t find this whole situation just a little far-fetched? I mean, John might be ‘good’ and all, but he’s not that different from our Joker right? Just a little less homicidal. And you know how the fucking clown likes to go on about how he ‘loves’ Bruce and how they’re supposed to be together and everything right? How do we know that this asshole’s any different? He could just be making all of this up. For all we know he could have the same, fucked-up, one-sided bullshit going on in his universe that we’re used to with our Batman and Joker.”

Jason was talking as though John wasn’t even in the room anymore. John didn’t like it at all. They had all been getting along so well too.

“’One-sided,’” Dick repeated. “You really believe that?”

“Of course,” Jason said, before taking a long drink from his glass. “And don’t you dare suggest otherwise.”

“Bruce’s relationship with the Joker is… complicated,” Dick said gently. “You know that as well as any of us.”

Jason downed the rest of the drink in one go.

“I wish I didn’t,” he concluded, before slamming the now empty glass back down on the table between them. “And no matter what you say, the thought of Bruce actually having a relationship with that clown is fucking ridiculous, and if you dare suggest otherwise Dick I’m going to throw this glass at your head, you understand?”

Dick shrugged and held up his hands in an almost comically over-exaggerated manner, before flopping back into his chair.

John almost felt like the other two men had forgotten he existed. The conversation wasn’t even really about him anymore, he knew, or not about him in any way that really mattered.

“So, you guys want to hear about how Bruce and I met or not?” John asked, eager to break the weird tension that had settled over the three of them.

Dick didn’t reply; just raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction.

“Sure,” Jason said, although he didn’t sound sure; more resigned than anything else. “Why the hell not?”

--

The Watchtower was, mercifully quiet and relatively empty when Bruce arrived. Superman was noticeably absent for a start, which was a blessing in and of itself. Batman had already had to defend his keeping the Joker alive and on Earth to Clark more times than he would have liked.

By this stage Bruce had gotten explaining the situation with John down to a fine art. This time there weren’t even any questions. Compared to what the Justice League usually dealt with this must have seemed like a very small problem in comparison. Bruce wished he could feel the same way.

“You know…” Green Lantern eventually suggested. “You could just… not do any of that.”

Bruce groaned softly.

“I mean, this new version of the Joker sounds a lot nicer and like he’s going to be a lot less trouble than the old one,” Hal continued. “I vote we keep him.”

“Why does everyone keep suggesting that?” Bruce snapped.

“Maybe because there’s something to it?” Hal replied, apparently not realizing that Batman had intended the question as rhetorical and really hadn’t wanted an answer, especially from Hal. Damn it all, he sometimes found himself wanting to punch Hal even on a good day.

“The matter isn’t up for a vote,” Batman replied, trying not to sound, or to feel too much, like he was having to explain advanced moral issues to a toddler. “It’s not fair to John, or to the universe that he came from.”

“Batman is right,” Martian Manhunter said. At least one person here was able to see the light. “It is our duty to restore order, no matter how much we may dislike it.”

“Come on though,” Hal complained. “How many people has that guy killed? Surely displacing one person is an acceptable loss if it saves people’s lives?”

Batman glared at Hal. If Hal was at all bothered by the glare then he didn’t show it.

“You have the object with you?” J’onn asked. “May I see it?”

“I do,” Bruce said, pulling the Looking Glass out from under his cloak and passing it to Martian Manhunter, making sure to glare at Hal again as he passed.

Martian Manhunter took the object in both of his hands and held it still. He was very careful with the object, holding it almost reverentially as he studied it. He did not turn it this way and that as a human might when studying it. Rather he seemed to be observing it in some way that would have been completely impossible for Bruce.

“Curious,” Martian Manhunter said. “Very curious. This object is… it’s very odd. I can’t even tell what its purpose is, or where it came from originally, but I suspect that it was meant to do something far grander than simply transport people between parallel universes.”

“You think that’s just a side effect?” Bruce asked.

“I think it may be broken,” Martian Manhunter replied.

“Can I have a look at it?” Hal asked.

The words had barely left Hal’s mouth when Bruce snapped ‘no’ in response.

“Broken?” he asked Martian Manhunter.

“Well, not completely,” J’onn said, and once again Bruce got the distinct impression that he was observing the object on some level that would be impossible for the rest of them. “But I don’t think it’s working as its creators originally intended.”

“Do you think you could fix it?” Bruce asked. Even as the words left his mouth he found himself wondering whether fixing the object would really be the best idea. They didn’t even know what it would do when fixed, after all.

“Possibly,” J’onn said, finally turning the object this way and that in his hands. “Even if I can’t fix it completely I am sure that I can readjust the energy flow inside of it so that it charges at a normal speed.”

“It’s supposed to charge faster than it has been?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” J’onn said, closing his eyes and doing something that made his hands and the object within them glow a bright green. “Much faster.”

Bruce had been hoping that was the case.

J’onn kept his eyes closed as the Looking Glass glowed brighter and brighter; so bright that Bruce couldn’t stand to look at it any more. Bruce winced and turned away as a flash of bright light flooded the room. When he turned back Martian Manhunter was holding the Looking Glass between both hands and smiling softly.

The strange artefact didn’t look any different, but the serene look on J’onn’s face told Bruce that something had changed.

Martian Manhunter passed the object back to Bruce very slowly and cautiously.

“Be careful,” he said. “It is fully charged now, and as far as I can tell it should continue to charge at a more normal rate. You don’t want to set it off accidentally.”

“Don’t worry,” Batman said. “I’ll be careful. The last thing we need is for this situation to get even more complicated than it already is.”

--

Bruce had heard John tell his story once already; to Poison Ivy and Harley Quin, but that had been quick and factual for the most part, although John certainly had a rather colorful way of telling stories, full of random observations and small sidetracks.

What he overheard when he arrived back at the manor was something different; something more vulnerable and intimate. John sounded relaxed as he talked to Dick and Jason, and Bruce found himself lurking near the doorway to the sitting room and just listening to the other man talk rather than announcing his presence.

“And Doctor Leland, at least at the beginning, she would tell me not to get my hopes up; that I was probably going to be in Arkham for a long time, and that Bruce Wayne was a very important person with a lot of responsibilities,” John said, pausing for a moment to chuckle to himself.

“If only she knew all of his responsibilities, am I right?” John continued. “Well, anyway, she would tell me that Bruce might not… that even though he kept visiting me, that he might not have the patience to wait until I got better and could leave the asylum. But he did. He came to visit me every week, except for a couple of times when there were really bad cases that he was working on, and he was always so patient and kind and understanding; way more than anyone else ever was.”

“How long were you in Arkham in the end?” Dick asked.

Jason wasn’t saying anything. If Bruce knew him well enough then Jason was probably doing a very good job of pretending that he didn’t care. But he’d still be listening.

“Five years,” John said. “And at the end of it Bruce was still there, and I didn’t know it but he’d been talking to Doctor Leland and she’d agreed that I could stay with him as long as we both checked in with her, and when I left Arkham Bruce was right there, waiting for me at the front gate, and smiling so handsomely and… and…”

John’s voice began to break, and he trailed off. Bruce found his heart clenching in a way that was more than a little uncomfortable as he listened to John’s soft sniffles and Dick’s gentle attempts to comfort him.

He had known that John and the other universe’s version of himself had been close, or at least, John had tried to tell him that they were, but it was one thing to be told it, and another to hear the affection and desperation in the other man’s voice.

Bruce closed his eyes and tried to imagine it; tried to imagine waiting five years for someone to get out of Arkham, and then being so damned happy when they were finally able to leave and come and stay with him in the manor. There were people he would wait that long for; Dick and Jason and Tim and Barbara and Alfred, but it certainly wouldn’t have been easy, and it was hard for him to imagine any reason why any of them would be committed for that long in the first place.

He tried to imagine himself waiting that long for the Joker, and if he had felt uncomfortable before then that particular thought had him feeling like his stomach and his heart had just tied themselves in knots.

He listened for a moment longer, as Dick continued to comfort John as best as he could.

Bruce waited for the right moment to enter the room, and tried to ignore the part of him that insisted that the ‘right moment’ had already passed; that if it existed then it had been when Bruce had first arrived back at the manor and before he had decided to eavesdrop.

Eventually he took a deep breath and stepped into the room, trying to pretend that he hadn’t heard anything and that his guts didn’t still feel as though they were trying to strangle themselves inside his torso.

“Good news,” he said, causing all three other men in the room to turn and look at him. John at least no longer looked as though he had been crying, and Bruce noticed for the first time that playing cards were spread all over the sitting room table, and that there was the vague scent of bourbon lingering in the air.

He held the Looking Glass up in one hand, and saw John’s eyes light up as he did.

“It’s time to send you home,” Bruce announced.

--

Previous chapter | Next chapter