#once again this post is SARCASTIC and to be red as such with a british accent exclusively

[aiza-luna]

Assassin's Creed - Syndicate Drabble: Nightly Chat

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"You know? Maybe my stay in London won't be so bad after all..."

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Hello, Hello, everyone! This is Aiza here, once again, this time, bringing something a bit different... A little draft I did of my AC: Syndicate AU and showing a bit more of my OC for the game! I hope you guys enjoy it since is my first time posting a small writting of mine, here! 🥹🩵

Without further ado, let's go!

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The darkness of the London's sky was comforting... At least at that moment. The cool breeze hitted her face, moving her braid softly against the wind.

Her dark copper hair glowed under the faint moonlight that timidly shined through the dark clouds. The weather was always so dark, so cloudly... Was it because of the constant smokes coming from the factories? Or simply the natural disposition of London's climate? She couldn't tell...

She kept cleaning her blade. The red hankchief she carried helping to hide the blood trail. The silver-colored weapon returning to it's shimering with every stroke she performed in it.

"... Y así pasan los días

Y yo desesperando

Y tu, tu contestando

Quizás, quizás, quizás...

... Estas perdiendo el tiempo

Pensando, pensando

Por lo que mas tu quieras

Hasta cuándo, hasta cuándo..."

The woman started to hum idly as she completed her task, her voice was of a Mezzosoprano tone, singing in a melodic but quiet pace.

So immersed on her work, she didn't noticed the light steps approaching her by her back in the cold rooftop. And she would have imediatly draw her blade on the stranger's throat, if it wasn't for the voice she quickly recognized.

- What are you doing here, little Hoopoe? - Spoke a male voice with an english accent, to which made her lower her guard and turn to face him. She looked a bit startled, and annoyed, but relieved it was a familiar face.

- I just needed a moment for myself, Mr. Frye... - The Spanish woman started, raising an eyebrow at him. - ... What are you doing here? Do not tell me you were indulging on those pubs again. -

The woman asked, knowing the Assassin's habit of drinking with his gang members until the late hours. And considering their expantion over London has been quite succeful those days, she was pretty sure he had been out drinking.

Her only reply was a humorous laugh, as he standed besides her, looking down at her as she was sitted in the edge of the rooftop.

- Is that how you see me? As a drunk scoundrel that only 'indulges himself on those pubs'? I feel hurt. - Jacob asked with a sarcastic and playful tone, smirking as he watched the Spaniard's cheeks heat up and gain a faint shade of red, barely visible with her olive complexion and the dim light of the street lights.

- ... You know that is not what I meant... - Solange argued in a murmur, visibly embarassed to have possibly offended him and not following the proper politeness she was taught.

Jacob sitted besides her, taking a look in the view and then at her, before speaking again.

- And you still haven't awnser my question, little Hoopoe. - He pointed out, seeing how vague her reply was, and how strange it was to find her at that hour. It was usual for him and Evie to roam the streets at the late night, but Solange? She usually would spend her evenings indulging herself in those pompous (and awfully demanding) social events of the high-class.

- Wouldn't you preffer to spend your "time for yourself" in your aunt's estate? I believe a warm long bath and the bed of the guest's room would be much more enjoyable than feel the cold night wind while sitting in a dirty rooftop. - The British Assassin commented in a light manner, in his typical charming manner.

Always a charmer, always charismatic...

...Was he always like this? It was both irritating and heart-lighting... Solange envied how well would he take things. How he always had this smooth-talker way of dealing with everything. This captivating energy that neither She nor the Evie had.

- ... Believe me, Mr. Frye... Is nothing. - The Spanish Assassin commented in a serious tone, before sighing heavily. - Starrick's influence in the British court is more than we expected... -

She started with a more firm tone, making the British man frown besides her. - What did you found? -

Solange mimicked his face expression, looking at her blade.

- James Brownlow William Gascoyne-Cecil, the Marquess of Salisbury, is another noble that is joining the Templars. - The Spanish Lady informed, her expression more worried. - We also suspect Lord Wensleydale may be connected to Starrick. Not as a member, but as an ally... Two nobles and a Judge. -

The Assassin concluded worried, clearly impressed that would be more Templars inside the court than just the Earl of Cardigan.

- Starrick is securing his strings in the Parlament too. - Jacob concluded with a more serious and somber voice, the brunette only nodded.

- I believe Starrick also have plans for my uncle, Tía Desirée is trying to use that in her advantage to approach and discover their true intentions. - The Spanish Assassin explained her family's course of action, placing her red hankchief on her lap.

- But in all honesty? I just did not wish to take part in tonight's gathering...- She commented quietly, looking down at the streets. The other Assassin looked at her surprised.

- What? Why? I thought you enjoyed "spending the night dancing your fears always and hoping to find a gentleman to wed."- Jacob commented with a smile, remembering what he heard his partner-in-Creed commenting with her aunt while he and his sister visited their estate. Solange chuckled and held her hands together.

- You're correct. However, is not that I do not like the events, is just that... - The Spaniard started, but her voice died down, as did her gaze. Jacob looked at her, eager for her to continue her phrase. - ... My aunt was trying to find me another suitor. Edward Marjoribanks, the son of the Baron Tweedmouth. -

She revealed, sounding a bit more nervous. Jacob looked at her confused.

- Well, aren't those good news? - He asked, his voice still laced with puzzlement. - You wished for a suitor, doesn't that overjoy you? - The British asked, going straight to the point.

Sometimes, his directness was a bit disconcerting.

- Yes, it was... - Solange confirmed in a tensed tone, before she let out a deep sigh. -... I know I should not oppose to this, and heavens knows how lucky I am a man even try to show interest in me while being... Una defectuosa enferma. - She murmured the last part with bitterness, although despite being in her mother-tongue, by the frown on his face, it was clear Jacob had heard it as well, despite not understanding the words exactly, he could recognize the tone. - But I... I simply do not know. - The brunette concluded in agony.

Jacob frown, still not really understanding.

- You do not know if you wish to wed him? - He asked, and the girl nodded.

- Do not get me wrong, he seems like a good gentleman, but... I simply do not wish to marry him. - She stated in a sad tone. - I... I know a marriege with him would be of great help for the Assassins, and would help strenght our influence inside the Parlament, but I... - She started to explain her thoughts, until she was stopped.

By the Assassin besides her, that had a clear frown and a face of disapproval in his face.

- Oi! Listen to me - Jacob started, sounding weirdly serious. A jarring contrast of his usual carefree tone. - You do not have to marry some Boujee to help the Brotherhood! We can overthrow Starrick without locking you on a Marital Prison! - He stated. Despite his tone becoming a tid more playful in the end, she could still feel the seriousness of his words.

He mean it. He really meant every word he spoke... She didn't knew wether to feel touched by his concern for her opinion, or she pitied him for not knowing the prices of the high-class. Solange sighed once more.

- Mr. Frye, I appreacite your words, truly... - She started, her voice calm and collected as ever, despite her hint of sadness. -... But I know my responsabilities, as my status demand...-

- Solange. - He started, calling her by her name, knowing this would get her full attention. - Before being a Noble, before being an Assassin, you're a bloody person. - Jacob affirmed seriously, even if his tone was not harsh. But it was evident that he hated that.

He hated to see how much Solange would put herself down, beat herself for not fitting what was expected of her... And mostly importantly, he hated how she was ready to sacrifice herself to fullfil those expectations. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't.

- Please, listen to yourself. To what you are saying! Do you believe trapping youself to an unhappy relationship is worth it? We can fight Starrick, and we will free London. - Jacob said with confidence, as to inspire her. - You do not have to go to such limits for the sake of a "good alternative". -

She looked at him. For the first time, the honey-colored eyes met his hazel ones... And she smiled. A simple, timid but sincere smile. Despite the layers of make-up that covered her disease, her face seemed to glow in gratitude.

-... I can not run from courtship forever, Mr. Frye... - The Spanish Assassin argued, her tone sounding more soft, even relaxed, as she spoke now. Jacob smiled slightly, looking at the scenary.

- Why do you insist so much on this, Lady Cotoner? - The British Assassin asked, with curiosity in his voice. He knew noblewomen usually married off early, but the way she took it so desperatly, definetly felt a bit... Strange, to not say obssessive, to him. - Wouldn't you rather wait until our mission is over to look for a man to betrothed you? -

Solange's eyes quickly shifted towards the street, as she bit her bottom lip light, in a discreet nervous gesture.

- Yo... - She started, her tone hesitant and heavy. -... I'm not like the other ladies, Mr. Frye... - The brunette stated, her voice disappointed and quiet. -... I fear no men will desire to wed a woman like me, for something I carry. - She concluded in a short and simple manner, clearly not wanting to elaborate the topic further.

Jacob looked at her for a few moments in silence. He wanted to ask her more about this "thing" she "carried with her", but he could also feel how that bothered her... And he did not wished to make her uncomfortable. Specially at that hour.

- Lady Cotoner... - He started, his voice sounding understanding and sympathetic. - We may have only known each other for a few days, but, if I may say: I found you an incredibly capable and beautiful woman. - Jacob said, his tone full of sincerity and animosity. - I cannot imagine a man on his right mind, specially a noble one, rejecting your hand to be claimed. -

Despite their differences and personalities, Jacob admired Solange. The Spanish Lady was a kind, sweet soul as much as she was a deadly Assassin. Her devotion, her understanding nature, her curiosity... Jacob admired them. And he did considered the Spaniard a friend, despite not knowing if the feeling was mutual.

At his words, Solange looked at him surprised, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes bright in desbelief and flattering... Did he really mean it? She hoped, deep down, he did. That those weren't just words of consolation, but of sincere admirament.

Once again, she smiled a soft smile, a hint of blush in olive her cheeks by the flattering his words caused on her... Her expression softned.

- Thank you for your words, Mr. Frye... - She started, her elegant voice filled with gratitude for such caring words directed at her. Then, she stood up slowly, looking at the sky. -... We should better go, is getting late and we will continue our moviments early morning. - She stated casually, feeling the wind move her royal-blue coat and hood against it.

Jacob smiled, as he stood up, but he did not walked towards her.

- Will you meet us in the train? - He asked, already knowing the awnser. This was becoming a routine since they had defeated Keylock and as she introduced herself as another Assassin from the Spanish Brotherhood.

- Yes, as always. - Solange confirmed in a more content tone, standing in the edge of the rooftop, before turning slightly back towards him. - Oh, and Mr. Frye... - She started, catching the British's attention, as he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her next words. - ... I also find you a capable Assassin... And a great leader. - The Spaniard stated in a warm tone, smiling to him, as she said "Good Night" and jumped off to another rooftop, running and moving in the night swiftly as a shadow.

Jacob smiled to himself, feeling the familiar cool breeze of London, and the smell of heavy smoke from the chimneys as he watched her disappear in the darkness of the night . - Good Night, little Hoope. -

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✨ CREDITS TIME! ✨

Writting Inspirations: @nemo-of-house-hamartia @thatcrazycrowgirl

Images: From Pinterest.

Characters:

• Master Assassin Solange Cotoner (OC by Yours Truly 🩵)

• Master Assassin Jacob Frye (By Ubisoft)

Universe: Assassin's Creed Syndicate (By Ubisoft)

Themes: Nightly talk, friendly-chat, historical references, just two (future lovers) having a light talk, self-esteem issues hinted, begining of the Syndicate story.

.

Thank you so much for reading! 🩵

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[stellocchia]

You know what? I just realised that the Red Egg is just another morally gray character who’s actually justified in it’s action if you look at them from it’s point of view...

(Just a disclaimer: this whole post will be sarcastic and made to point out some inconsistencies I’ve seen in various apologists arguments, I’ll try to make it clear troughout, but still, bear this in mind. It is also a critique of the FANDOM and NOT OF THE CHARACTERS)

Now you’ll ask: how can we justify the actions of a manipulative weird ass Egg/plant thing that feeds on human flesh and is Hell bent on world domination? Well, you’ll see that some arguments can be made in favour of it that are absolutely identical to some of the most popular ones that have been made about other well known characters (such as c!Dream or c!Techno, maybe others... I’ll see as I go). 

Discussion under the cut... this will be a long one.

First argument: The Egg was always clear about it’s intentions. The Egg never hid from it’s followers (or allies if you may, after all power imbalance is rarely taken into account when analyzing relationships in this fandom...) that it’s objective was to expand, eat and unify the server under it’s guidance. This in and of itself, of course, already justifies somewhat the Eggs actions (after all, this argument is what “justified” Techno’s actions on november 16th and forward, why shouldn’t we apply it to other characters?). Honesty after all is always a good justifications for someone’s wrongdoings, no matter their impact on others. 

Second argument: The Egg’s true objective is unity, which is ultimately good. How do we know that’s the Eggs true objective? Well, it’s the one that BBH, main interpreter of the Egg, insists most about. The Egg followers want to create unity under the Egg, easy as that. And unity being necessarily a good thing (as told to us by Ranboo with his “no sides” ideals and Dream with his “one big happy famaily” statement) means that the Egg at least got good intentions. Also wanting to unite people under your rule or system of belief is in no way tyrannical or wrong, and violence is always justified if your objective is ultimately positive (this is why, after all, neither Dream nor Techno or Phil were in the wrong when imposing their ideologies on others trough means of extreme violence and this is why Dream’s actions can not be defined as tyrannical while his ultimate objective was ultimate control)

You may wonder though, before we get to the next point, how can we just entirely trust the Eggs words with absolutly no critical analysis of it’s actions and without consulting any pov external from that of it’s followers? Well, that’s simply because we have absolutely no reason to believe the Egg is in any way an unreliable narrator, therefore we can take anything it says, either out loud or to it’s followers, as the absolute truth. Also we can assume without watching any external pov that anyone opposing the Egg is inherently biased, therefore it’s entirely useless to try and understand their point of view. (We have other examples of character like this in the story already, such as: Technoblade, Phil and Dream. Any statement they make can be taken as absolute fact regarding their motivation, actions or ideologies and any statement opposing what they say is to be discarded as biased or worthless)

Third argument: The Egg has given a lot to it’s followers, therefore is deserving of their absolute loyalty and it’s absolutely justified in harming them in retaliation if they shift sides (aka if they betray it). Now, I know what you’re thinking: “This sounds very manipulative and not okay, you can’t simply buy someone’s loyalty or friendship! They shouldn’t owe you if you give them something freely!”... well... you’re wrong. The Egg has given them so much! It gave them the power to achieve any of their desires and offers to do so for anyone who’d follow it. It even helped BBH when his best friend Skeppy got infected by healing him and giving BBH a cause to believe in and a group to belong to. It did so for Ant and Punz too, as well as trying to do so for many others. It just asked for their love in exchange! Can’t believe some people like Puffy would just stop loving it once she recognized that that relationship had changed her into someone she didn’t want to be! The Egg is fully justified in wanting her dead after her betrayal... (much like Techno and Phil were absolutely justified in Doomsday and in working with Dream as Tommy had betrayed them with no valid motivation whatsoever. If they’d killed him as he was on his last life they’d also be justified)

Some may wonder why is the Egg also justified in wanting to kill Tommy or in hurting Sam since they never technically betrayed it? Well, Tommy is annoying (God this actually hurts to write, it’s so damn stupid) and also a liability. For the Greater Good some sacrifices must be made and it’s fine for things to get destroyed or people to die as long as it is for a just cause. Also Sam getting hurt was just an unfortunate but necessary thing for him to learn his lesson not to oppose the Egg and be a hinderance for it. (Again: the abolishment of governaments was the ultimate and undoubtedly good objective of both Doomsday and the November 16th war which makes any and all casualties and propriety damage in both of this events excusable. Also it has been proven already that the only True and Right way to teach a “lesson” is trough violence by characters such as: Dream, Phil, Techno, Niki and Jack and confirmed by: Ranboo and Hbomb, we can therefore assume that this is true and also justified. If a character is considered an annoyance the justification points for using violence to teach them a lesson is doubled!)

Fourth argument: The Egg has often been used or talked about as a tool to get power, this is dehumanizing and it grants it free range to utterly detroy anyone who it percieves to have done so. While the precedent for this point is very muddled and hard to prove and The Egg has only gone after one of the people (Tommy) who wanted to use it for profit, it’s still worth pointing out and can be used as an excuse later on. Do we have no proofs of this happening? Do people start actually considering it a living breathing evil creature as soon as it shows to not be an inanimate plant and actually start immediately treating it as such? Has this never been pointed out by the Egg or it’s followers and has the Egg never expressed feeling uncomfortable with people’s views of it as well as ingoraging some of them itself? None of this matters! As long as The Egg starts expressing a belief that this happened way after with nothing to back it up it will still be to be taken at face value and it will be a valid reason to demonize any and all people who oppose it! (While an argument can actually be made for the Egg being dehumanized as it in no way, shape or form presents any similarities to an actual human, not from a moral, psychological or physical point of view, there are actually 0 proofs of this happening with our precedent for this point which is Techno, aside from his say so, this point is, however, just as valid for him. It doesn’t matter if something never happened as long as Techno perceives it as if it did). 

The trauma that the dehumanization and betrayals may have caused could also be used as a further justification for all of the Eggs actions, though only if it is shown in the most mainstream and romanticized version of it and none of the ugly/debilitating aspects of ptsd are ever presented in any way (*cough* Ranboo, Techno and Phil to varying degrees *cough*), we don’t want such a sympathetic character lashing out, not being Sad all the time, shutting people off, being rude, being brash or talk too loudly, it would just ruin it all for everybody. Also the trauma should possibly not affect it in any significant ways and never actually be brought up if not in eloquent monologues to other characters for maximum effect (*cough* Techno again *cough*)

So, let’s recap: The Egg may be considered morally gray (no more or less then other characters though as only one shade of gray exists) as it did some things that may be perceived as excessive (mostly harming Sam as he is a conventionally likeable character who also has no amnesia or other mental health issues and, therefore, is the only type of character who’s feelings should be taken into account), but it’s mostly justified in it’s doings. 

If none of this arguments seem to make sense and you think they don’t excuse the Egg’s actions (aka a demonic being with no sense of human morals) they should also be considered utterly worthless for any other character (all of them way more worthy of being held accountable for thir own actions) as well...

[keeptheotherone]

Do You Promise?

Chapter 1 of a new WIP, just for you, my Tumblrers <3

August 1999 the Burrow’s garden Weasleys’ 2nd Annual End of Summer Celebration

Charlie Weasley sat on the fence separating his mother’s vegetable patch from the garden, thinking about the last time he’d sat here, one year ago. Then it had been Bill at his side, not his little sister.

“Knut for your thoughts,” she said, pushing herself up.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Ginny raised her brows at the implication of his answer but didn’t tease. “Around.”

“Mmm.” He’d been home for more than twenty-four hours, but he hadn’t seen Potter once. At Christmas, they’d been a package deal, never out of arm’s reach of the other. “I thought he might have had to work.”

Ginny shook her head, pigtails dancing round her shoulders like they had when she was shorter than this fence. “Today and tomorrow, but not tonight. Mum made them promise.”

By “them,” Charlie knew she meant Ron and Harry. But … Mum made them promise? Not Ginny, or even Hermione?

“Well, he’d better show up,” Charlie said, taking a drink of his beer. “He owes me a rematch.”

They had played Quidditch in the orchard last year, he and Ginny and Potter and George and a bunch of kids he hadn’t known. Played past sunset into darkness, until Professor McGonagall ended the pick-up match without a capture of the Snitch.

Ginny muttered something that sounded like “he owes me a hell of a lot more than a rematch,” but Charlie let it slide. Ginny could take care of herself.

He and Bill had made sure of it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your friends?” 

“Thanks, Charlie, that means a lot.” She swiped the bottle from his loose grasp and drank.

Charlie had to remind himself she was of age to keep from overreacting, but even so, his hand twitched reflexively.

Ginny saw it and smirked round the glass, tipping her head back and the bottle up, taking several long swallows just for show.

“Yeah, you can have my beer, Sis. I’ll just get another, no problem.”

She finished with a pop and licked the foam from her upper lip before handing it back. “Thirsty.”

Charlie held the bottle up to the light—there was exactly one swallow left. “Brat.”

Ginny was predictably unfazed, gazing over the crowd starting to assemble round the food tables. “I talked to Angelina. She said Alicia couldn’t make it this year.”

“Who?” Charlie said, right as a picture of a perky brunette, with equally perky … anatomy … popped into his mind. Shit. Alicia wasn’t avoiding the party because of him, was she? The same age as George, she would know most of the people attending tonight. He’d thought they parted on good terms, all things considered….

“I thought you might be watching for Amy.”

“Amy’s coming?” He hadn’t seen Amy Green since he had invited himself back to her room and she politely declined. 

“Fleur wasn’t sure,” Ginny said casually, as if she hadn’t just dangled fairy lights in front of a niffler. “She said she encouraged her to come since she sounded a little down, but Amy didn’t commit. I hope she does, don’t you?”

“Of course. I haven’t seen Amy since the memorial. It would be good to catch up.” Charlie took a subtle deep breath, repeating the mantra he told himself when he occasionally woke with her on his mind. You asked, and Amy said no. It doesn’t matter if she isn’t seeing anyone. She’s still unavailable, Weasley. No benefits, just friends.

“I remember, you know. You think I was too young to understand, but I remember. In Egypt.”

Charlie scoffed. His baby sister celebrated her twelfth birthday the summer his family had visited Bill in Cairo. “Oh, yeah? And what do you think you remember, Gin-Gin?”

“I know Bill was an arse,” she said bluntly.

This reversal of her usual hero worship got Charlie’s attention.

“I know you weren’t. And that you liked her. I know you two went out together, and you’ve both dated other people since … but you’ve never dated each other.”

Charlie sighed. “Ginny….”

“Bill’s married,” she said simply. “It doesn’t matter any more.”

“I never thought I’d say this … but go find something else to do. Even if it’s Harry.”

****

Charlie did not leave his post on the fence rail, content to get quietly drunk and watch his family enjoy themselves. He had wondered why he’d bothered making the trip in—it made three in a month, when you added the party to Ginny’s and Percy’s birthdays—but now admitted to himself it had been in hopes of seeing Amy. After all, she hadn’t refused him, exactly; she’d refused the timing. 

“I think we both know what will happen if you walk me back to Hogsmeade.”

He raised his brows, leaving the challenging “so?” unspoken.

Amy closed her eyes, then pulled her hand from his. “Not today, Charlie.” She waved her hand at the gates and the castle and the grounds beyond, where the first Remembrance Ceremony had just ended. “Not after this.”

“Oi, sleepyhead!”

Charlie opened his eyes to find an object in eminent danger of colliding with his nose. He snatched it from the air in sheer self-defense, then groaned when he realized he’d just crumbled one of the best biscuits he’d ever had in his life—a biscuit he’d been waiting all year to taste again.

Percy laughed. “Nice catch, Captain.”

“Shut up,” Charlie muttered, trying to transfer the contents of his hand to his mouth without wearing them.

“Full of snappy retorts tonight, I see.”

Charlie eyed his next-youngest brother, his cheery demeanor highly suspicious. “Did you just get laid?”

Percy slung one arm around his shoulders. “I, in the utmost gesture of brotherly solidarity, am foregoing my own numerous opportunities to assist you in yours, however few and far between they may be.”

“You’re pissed.” Alcohol did not make Percy more relaxed; it made him more Percy-ish.

Percy squinted one eye closed and looked towards the gate. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But not so drunk I can’t recognize a certain beautiful brunette.”

It was Amy. She was wearing—well, Charlie supposed it was technically a dress, but he’d seen similar items under a dress or robes more than once. It was black and flow-y, with red flowers and skinny straps made to make a man think of slipping them off, and just like that Charlie saw the garment puddled at her feet. She was taller than usual in thick sandals, and even from this distance, with the cut of the dress and the way she moved—he could tell she was braless. He raised the bottle to his mouth before remembering it was empty.

“Godric, I wish I had a camera,” Percy said wistfully. “George and Ron are never going to believe this.”

Charlie realized he was making a fool of himself, closed his mouth, and turned, shaking off his brother’s arm. “What’s she doing now?”

“Making a beeline for us.”

Charlie spoke through clenched teeth. “Shut up and get the—”

“Amy! What a pleasure. We’re so glad you could make it.”

Charlie turned to find his brother kissing Amy on both cheeks with minimal difficulty, despite their height difference. His heart skipped a beat. She was taller; he could kiss her easily.

No, not kiss. We’re friends!

Oh, who was he kidding? Unless she flat-out declined, he was sleeping with Amy Green tonight. They could figure out the friendship stuff tomorrow.

“Hey,” she said, pausing just shy of kissing distance (cheek or otherwise).

“Hey.”

Her hair was down, as it often was, but she had pulled back the front above her ears, exposing small purple and silver earrings (her house colors) and … a blush?

“I would offer to bring you a handful of biscuits, but something tells me you two aren’t going to be here for long.” Percy smirked. “Take care, Amy. See you tomorrow, Charlie.”

Charlie glanced at Amy to judge her reaction. “I’m sorry. He’s, er—”

“Taking the piss?” She offered the British idiom with a grin.

Charlie returned it. “I was going to say ‘pissed,’ but yeah. That too.”

She laughed.

“I keep telling you, you’re lucky to be an only child.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, brushing her hands over his chest with slow, deliberate strokes that were in direct opposition to her presumed goal of removing crumbs. “Brothers can be useful. I figured even if you turned me down, not all of you would.”

Charlie froze, just for a second, his brain short-circuiting to a night more than a year ago, before Ron had left for Australia. “Well, if she actually says it with words, that’s always a good sign, although if she strips her knickers off, that’s even better.”

Wait a minute … she wasn’t commando under that thing … was she?

It took a few moments for the silence to catch his attention.

“I take it that’s not a no,” Amy said dryly.

“No. It’s not. But—”

Her expression darkened, and she pulled away slightly. 

“The terms haven’t changed.” 

“I didn’t think they had,” she said cooly.

They had been here before, the autumn after Voldemort came back. Grimmauld Place, an unexpected post-meeting raid, high spirits and adrenaline … and the darkened hallway where Amy had turned him down. “I like strings,” she’d said, and walked away.

The staccato drumbeat of the Weird Sisters’ Do the Hippogriff pulled Charlie from the memory.

“Drink?” he asked, indicating his empty bottle in case she hadn’t heard him over the noise.

“Not really.”

He’d already started towards the tables, but her answer drew him up short. “Really, Amy, you could at least buy me dinner first,” he said sarcastically.

She sighed. “Look, Charlie, I don’t want to play the game. It’s why I’m here. Now, am I wasting my time or not?”

For the second time that night he found himself holding on to his temper. He was starting to see how she’d got under Bill’s skin, why he’d had such a hard time letting her go even when Bill had known he didn’t want to pursue a relationship with her.

“So what, you thought you’d just fly in, snap your fingers, and I’d jump?”

“Am I wrong?”

Godric, she was obnoxious. She was also beautiful, confident, and sexy as hell, and Charlie was honest enough to admit he found the balance of power between them as intoxicating as it was infuriating. 

“We could get a room at the Leaky—in magical London—or maybe Hogsmeade?”

“I have a room in the village.”

Damn. When Amy made up her mind, she didn’t mess around.

“All right,” he agreed. “One last thing, though.”

He stepped into her space, close enough to ruffle her skirt with his legs and watch the gooseflesh pebble across her chest and shoulders. He ignored the temptation to follow it down and looked her in the eye. In heels, she was as tall as he, but his wide shoulders and bulky frame dwarfed her. He paused to let her consider this fact, still not touching her, before dropping his voice.

“You will not be in control the entire night.”

Her reaction went straight to his groin—a sharp intake of breath, dilated pupils, a shiver she tried to suppress. Then she smiled, a sly, knowing smile that reached all the way to her eyes and made them sparkle in the fading sunlight.

“Do you promise?”

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

I AM HERE TO GIVE YOU A THIRSTY ASK BUT UH: imagine riding mike's face while giving Stephen the best oral sex of his life lsdkjfas;lfdkj LOVE YOU BAI ALSKDJFALKSJ

WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK, BABE?! YOU KNOW THIS IMAGINE WILL MAKE ME MORE THIRSTY THAN I ALREADY AM?! I’m gonna sue you for this! But, actually---you expect a headcanon right? NO. I’M NOT GIVING YOU THAT AFTER SENDING THIS ASK. I AM GIVING YOU A WHOLE ASS ONESHOT FOR OUR BABY BOYS! 

Characters: Stephen Colley and Mike (from Hellraiser) x reader

Warnings: Sub baby boys. Male and female receiving! Porn without a plot? Dom! reader. Threesome. Graphic descriptions. Y’all know how I write my smut. I love the filth. Stephen and Mikey are all at legal age, alright? 

Words: 1.6k

A/N: Smut under the cut. Also, already updated Witcher of the Night chapter 23! Go check it out in my pinned post! Love y’all! Filthy potatoes come out come out where ever you are!

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira​​​, @iloveyouyen​​​, @rahdaleigh​​​, @silverkitten547​​​, @henrythickcavill​​​, @kaatelyyynn​​​, @marvelousell​​​, @madelinelina​​​, @summersong69​​​, @raynosaurus-rex​​​, @fckdeusername​​​, @evansislife

Their wanton moans were like music to your ears. Definitely angels singing to your own type of heaven that can get you quivering in pleasure once the high kicks in.

They were your two baby boys. The complete polar opposite of each other but magnets you couldn't get rid of nor will you hope to give exchange to because they were the best. Your feminine dominance molding at its finest with their submission made to bend for your will and demands.

Stephen and Mike, the contrary of their own characteristics have made them what they are. Stephen was sweet and biddable, always flustered when told of the dirtiest and filthiest things because he was new to everything. Though, his reluctance had curiosity laying inside of it. Therefore, Mikey was the defiant; the rebellious and naughty boy who was game with everything. Howbeit, what rebellion lies within his risquè attitude emerges the slight kink he had by being slavish over your wishes.

"You taste so fucking good," Mikey moaned in the midst of tongue-fucking you against the mattress. Laid beneath your kneeling, opened legs was a hungry boy who lapped all your sap below. His teeth constantly nipping along your inner thighs, sucking in between the nesh flesh to give a bite, igniting vibrations down your spine as he hummed through your wet folds.

The tip of his tongue flicked along your sensitive clit that he has been sucking on since the start of giving you head. From the moment you'd been tugging Stephen's pants off, Mike was latching onto your clit with his mouth like it was his bastion; a soft, sensitive button that could keep him going for hours, hyping up his energy to the fullest.

He was determined to make you cum hard with his talented---but, quite sloppy mouth. His tongue that could create tons of letters and can even fully construct your name with your pussy as a notebook and his mouth, a pen. Mike was messy when he'd first given you head, but with expanding his own experiences with you, he eventually learned how to lick a pussy with all his might.

Now, his head game was strong that it made you meek and utterly putty on his mouth.

The same goes for Stephen---but, it was the other way around.

You've ordered for his fingers to wrap around your head as you were sucking on his girth, a hand around the base of his cock while the other was tightly yanking off Mike's luscious curls. The British boy restricting himself from being an audible mess as you poured all your energy onto bobbing your head around his cock. Mike's groans shooting intense pleasure up the tight coil forming inside of your navel from all the ministrations happening.

Sucking off Stephen's uncut cock was a newly found gratification that you would always remember.

His supple fingers fell onto the top of your disheveled head, fighting off from tugging your roots from the pleasure he was feeling. The flat of your tongue licked his pre-cum oozing out of his slit, making him utter another round of his restrained moan. Your mouth pulling out from deep-throating his twitching cock.

"What have I told you about keeping those moans to yourself, baby boy?"

Stephen's face was coated in the fullest blush of his cheeks. His neck filling in the redness of his skin and also from the bites that you've somehow given him prior from the current position, "To give in to my pleasures because you love hearing me, miss."

"That's right," you sat back up after going on all fours for both of your boys. Eyes set straight to let Stephen understand that you weren't one to repeat your words again. Your breath hitched when Mike had his own little world and continued to fuck your pussy with his tongue. Two fingers reaching up to expand your folds, exposing more of your cunt as he shoved his tongue in and out of you in a slow, teasing way.

Stephen's heed was solely on your scrunched face, eventually falling forward to give your mouth a kiss when your fingers suddenly reached down to grab onto Stephen's tight gonads. His mouth huffing out a hitch of his own breath as it was already centimeters away from yours.

"Fuck my mouth with your cock and I'll let you kiss me, Stephen."

You forcefully pushed his shoulders away but not before a whine slipped past your filthy lips from how Mike began to slurp. Propping back on all fours, you've had Stephen's cock inside your mouth in no time. Bobbing your head up and down as you massaged his balls with one hand, squeezing them tight which made him moan with his mouth open.

Their eyes closed, freely feeling in the pleasure that you have set them both from a night you promised. You've stuck your tongue out to lap the underside of Stephen's throbbing vein, your body pushing forward from Mike's sudden slap of his hands along your derriere. Massaging your bottom with his greedy fingers, his head moving from side to side as he intentionally moaned to give vibrations over your pussy.

This made you hold onto Stephen's thigh, tightly clawing on his leg while it has given him the courage to place both of his palms on either side of your head, wanting to have that kiss you've promised him with because he never did receive one as Mikey got you all to himself when he was trying to undress.

Stephen began to fuck your mouth, his pace gradually increasing---being so gentle at first because of the filthy idea until he was finally hitting the back of your throat with his slit. Your moans adding up to the pleasure of his steel cock twitching inside of your mouth, knowing that he was close as he sped up, trying hard not to gag from his length as you slurped him all the way with no hesitation. 

You were riding Mike's face with a will to cum hard. His gorgeous, prepossessing features scrunched in utmost pleasure over tasting your pussy also had him on edge on the specific action alone without even needing to be sucked. Mike's hand reached down to tug onto his own hardened cock, fisting it hard in his fist as he slurped your pussy whilst you circled your hips---loud enough for you to whimper from how Stephen breathlessly and lewdly moaned by watching his cock slide satisfyingly in your mouth like a drive he didn’t want to cease; bringing him to a newly, heightened euphoria. 

Your eyes looked innocent and damp from the constant, deep throating as he prodded your mouth---loving such a dirty thing for your baby boy to do. 

The both of you were a moaning mess. Stephen silently whining out a curse word you haven't heard from him since then. You've cried out by how hard you came, ruining Mike's perfect mouth with your cream and accepting Stephen's warm seed inside your mouth. With your other baby boy tucked beneath you, he hadn't come with his hand alone and felt the cravings of needing to feel your tight, wet pussy clenching his cock like a vice.

You were utterly sensitive and trembling. Mike slid off in between your legs, his lips glistening in your juices as he proudly licked them off with his tongue. He needed in from how hard he is at the moment. Stephen was heaving breaths from his first blow-job---listing it off as the best from his sweet miss. You've swallowed him all, sticking your tongue out for him to see his warm white seed all in your mouth before gulping him whole.

Stephen's baby blue eyes were in a daze as you moaned from his salty, rich taste, hearing a soft, weak whimper from such a provocative action shown to him. He reached out and planned to give you the kiss you promised when your head was turned by Mike who knelt behind you, holding your chin to turn your head and kiss you fully on the mouth. His tongue slipping inside to give yourself a taste.

"Please---Oh, please let me fuck your pussy. I need to cum inside you," Mike mumbled in between making out. He could feel Stephen's piqued eyes softly glaring at him in his peripheral vision---adamant of his sudden distraction by having his promised kisses that he needed to feel and have. 

Mike deeply whined from how he needed to cum badly, carelessly swathing your tongue with his, fully lapping and giving Stephen a show. Leisurely sucking your tongue before grinning and cocking his head to the side, "What? You've had her mouth. Also, came inside her fucking lips, Colley. I get to have the other. Fair game?" he sing-songed and sarcastically mentioned, widely smiling before his eyes turned mischievous when he'd abruptly reached down to his fingers along your folds, circling them to catching onto your cream before pulling them back and obscenely slipping them inside his mouth.

Your heart rate spiked up from his profound eagerness.

"Mmmh," Mike lowly purred, devilishly grinning as he hastily pushed you down the bed. Stephen turning more flustered and intentionally being ignored by your naughty boy who happened to always like annoying the heck out of him.

His fingers left his mouth with a wet pop, immediately taking your ankles to pry your legs open wide---seeing how drenched you were against the dim lights; milky and leaky just like how your boys want them and he couldn't help but hum another before avidly shifting in between the homey cavern he decided to take raw. Determined for that punishment he knew would eventually come around for being roguish---disobeying your scolds over Stephen, meekly slithering your way to join in the fun you had with Mike who had you pinned on the bed.

"Definitely taking this pussy first, Ma'am."

[queenwitchrowena]

☽〇☾ — ROWENA MACLEOD

❝ she wore her scars as her best attire, a stunning dress made of hellfire.❞ ☽〇☾  —  AESTHETICS

BELIEFE IN PROPHECY AND MAGIC OLD AS TIME  — WINTER SOLSTICE ORGIES  — BACKLESS FLOOR LENGTH GOWNS AS CASUAL WEAR —  WINGED EYELINER SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT YOU  — FINDING REDEMPTION AND MEANING IN UNEXPECTED PLACES

☽〇☾  — CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name: Rowena MacLeod Nickname: Ro (To a few people.) Age: 378 appears mid to late 30’s  (spent an additional 190 years in Hell) D.O.B.:  1643 Place of birth: Isle of Skye, Scotland Gender: Cis Female Species: Human/Witch (Natural) Height: 5’2” / 157 cm Weight: 110lbs / 50kg Eye color: Green Hair color: Vivid red copper Relationship Status: It’s always complicated and often fake. Sexuality: Sexually Progressive Powers: Innate magic, learned spell work, ability to create spell work. Weaknesses: Overestimating herself, pride, volatile anger, recklessness Occupation: Witch / Con Artist / Hunter Consultant / Queen of Hell Weapons: Hex Bags, spells, natural magic, Voodoo dolls, crystals, potions, alchemy, manipulation. She is capable of using traditional weapons such as knives and guns when necessary.

Personality: Rowena is intelligent, ambitious, proud, manipulative, Machiavellian, petty, sarcastic, reckless, often self serving, hateful, seductive. She resents anyone who dares to have authority over her. She flirts like mad with people, often for fun, often for her own gain. When she is on someone’s side she can be sweet, calm, warm, and courteous. When she has labeled someone as completely useless, unfortunately in her way, or an enemy, she can be ruthlessly vicious and violent. People that cross her may find themselves in various precarious situations up to and including violent deaths.

Rowena is hard to get to know deeply, she builds walls to keep people from hurting her, not just physically, but emotionally. She is never quite able to be rid of the parts of her that fear and loathe her past. She has always been a dreamer. She is slowly learning to trust and value people and loyalty, even if she might deny it.

Likes: People who can do something for her, knowledge, power, money, magic, Winchesters and their pet angels (though she will not state that out loud), creating her own spells, her son (not that she wants to, she hates him because it’s easier for her), flirting, elegant states of dress, stability, freedom.

Dislikes: Authority over her, being used, baring her feelings, feelings, weakness, abandonment, her own desperation, her past, swallowing her pride, not controlling a situation, being underestimated, being undervalued, people denying their own abilities with magic, most hunters, most other witches, her son lol, most demons, anything that makes her appear unsophisticated, limits.

Appearance: Rowena is a slim petite woman. Pale skin that burns and freckles if she doesn’t stay out of the sun or apply some sort of charm. She keeps her fiery red hair long, with fringe, and alternates between letting it curl naturally or straightening it. She wears it both up and down.

Her clothing choices tend to learn towards the impractical and formal. Long sleeve floor length gowns, dresses, heels, and assorted jewelry. She wears bold winged eyeliner and often bright and shimmery eyeshadow looks, bold red and coral lipsticks. Rowena may occasionally wear something that makes her blend in a bit better, stylish slacks and blouses, sometimes a suit jacket. She never appears not put together if it’s within her control.

Rowena has a number of scars on her body made by the insertion of spell work in the form of hex bags. There is a scar on her outer right thigh, one on the left side above her breast, and one on her left hip above the bone. She also has very faint stretch marks on her belly from pregnancy.

☽〇☾  —  BACKSTORY

Rowena MacLeod was born the daughter of a Tanner in 17th century Scotland. She was one of several children born to her parents.

Her mother did not follow witchcraft, her father forbid it, he was a strict man. But she knew that she was born a witch and that magic ran innately through her. She was forced to not speak of it, though she couldn’t always control it. Even without training or knowing the right words, Rowena could speak things into happening given enough passion.

She was different from most of her siblings, the only other one who was capable of magic was an older brother, Fergus, though he too was made to tamp it down. He died when they were still young. A fever took three more of her siblings in childhood, and her mother was often absent or in her own head after that.

When Rowena was 15 she fell in love with a charming wealthy married man. He promised her that he’d take her away and that they would be together. When she was 16 she found herself unwed and pregnant. Her father threw her out in shame, and though her lover housed her in the village after, he did not visit nearly as often after. She knew later his promises were all lies.

He came to see her only once more, on the eve of their son’s birth. It was a long and hard birth and it was said that she wouldn’t make it. Her lover kissed her on the forehead and told her that he loved her. It was his last kindness. He left her there, dying, penniless, and went back to his wife and other children, expecting her death. Though Rowena managed to make it through, weak as she was, with a healthy son to show for it. She named him after the brother that she had been closest to.

Afterwards, baby Fergus’ father denied ever knowing Rowena at all. She was alone, with a child she couldn’t help but desperately love, cast out of her family for her sin of bearing a child outside of marriage, and labeled a whore by everyone else.

She sought to use her magic, thinking it would be what would save them. But what little she could do only earned her a worse reputation. Rowena was forced to take her baby and leave, she thought elsewhere she might be able to tell people that she had been widowed, but it hardly mattered. She had nothing and no one, and a baby to care for. Life was hard for them. Rowena was often unable to provide even the most basic things for her child. With her reputation she couldn’t find any reputable work. Instead, she sold her body to pay for what meager little she could to keep a roof over their heads. And she learned what she could of magic from wherever she could.

She did her best for her son, taught him what she could, and tried to shield him from what she was. Until he grew to look more and more like his father, the man who had broken her heart.

She could barely look at him, the boy she loved, that only served to remind her of what she hated about her life. She wasn’t a good enough mother, he was the reason she was forced to scrape to get by. She couldn’t help but tell herself those things. And she couldn’t help but tell him in fits of anger.

When he was 8 and devoid of all the pretty baby fat of youth, Rowena was caught and about to be tried for her crimes as a witch. Before that could happen, she left her son in the care of a workhouse, unable to keep him with her. She told herself she would be back, but she had nothing to offer him, and he was a painful thing to look at. The personification of a wound never closed. At a certain point she knew that she had been gone too long and made up every reason she could to justify it.

She found the opportunity to study under the great Milanese witch Leticia D’Albioni, and soon after that she finally joined the ranks of the Grand Coven. The Grand Coven were critical of Rowena having a child with a “non-magic”, but they were willing to overlook this because of the great talent she possessed. However, her immense raw skill and recklessness with extreme witchcraft made them wary of her. This eventually led to her being hexed by the coven with a binding spell that restrained her magic, as well as being banned from performing magic, taking on students, or forming her own coven.

Rowena didn’t stop using her then limited powers when possible, still stronger than many witches, but she did fear the Grand Coven and their worldwide reach for centuries. She stayed off their radar as much as possible, learning where she could, and managing to take care of herself in other ways when necessary. She’d dodge the occasional run in with other witches, demons, hunters, The British Men of Letters.

300 years later, Rowena resurfaced, recently run out of the UK by a member of the British men of Letters. And with a goal in mind, intending to reclaim her lost power and start a coven of her own to do so.

It wasn’t until she learned that her son, who should have long been gone and forgotten, was reborn as the demon Crowley and King of Hell, that she was set on a new vicious path.

She reinserted herself into Fergus’ life. (Refusing to call him by his newer chosen name, though she would never explain to him what the name meant to her.) Rowena attempted to use her son for his position of power to help her with the Grand Coven. Aware of her manipulations, her son assisted anyway and captured the head of the Grand Coven, Olivette, for her. Tortured by Rowena, Olivette revealed the Grand Coven was much-diminished in its power because of a concerted campaign against witches by the Men of Letters. After learning this Rowena sought again to put together her own coven, something far greater than what the Grand Coven was, though she was met with either disinterest or thwarted plans. Still, she remained by her sons side in hopes that his power would be useful to her.

This led to frequently recurring encounters with the Winchester brothers and those that surround them. Sometimes on opposite sides, sometimes as allies.

See here for further detailed information.

☽〇☾  —  POST SEASON 15 EPISODE 3

Rowena expected to die and have her body eventually deteriorate and release the souls that she carried with her, back to hell where they belonged. Instead she found herself dead, but with an incredible amount of power stored within her from the souls that she absorbed. As she arrived in Hell by her own choice, Rowena is able to take control of Hell’s throne through the use of her still in tact magical abilities, and fear.

She is a powerful soul inhabiting her own body, though technically still dead, and has never become a demon.

As ruler, she immediately shut down all demon deals and overhauled hell to work the way that she wanted it to. Her opinion is that humans do plenty of things to put themselves in Hell, no need to assist the process. People will end up where the ought to.

☽〇☾  —  CURRENT

Since her arrival in Lebanon, Kansas, and once again a member of the living, Rowena has returned to reside in the Men of Letters bunker with the Winchester brothers.

[wherevermyway]

we’re professional. (1/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter one: sophisticated series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. word count: 4,807 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Minho brings up an interesting proposal while celebrating the second year of his professional arrangement with Changbin.

“I can’t accept this.” The young, blue-haired man at the opposite side of the table of a middle-aged brunette pushes an open envelope back across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept anymore.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirks, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not just cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowns, bringing his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watches the older man cautiously. He lets the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighs. “It’s sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?”

“No.” Minho’s expression quickly turns serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual.”

“Right.” Changbin cocks his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brings the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finishes off his drink. He sets the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolls his eyes up and frowns. “What’s all this for, then?” The young man rolls his wrist around, bringing his chin down to his right hand. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiles, then mimics Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he places his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He makes eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nods upward.

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tuts. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He takes in a quick breath, then flashes his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opens his mouth to speak, but quickly recedes his statement as a lanky waiter confidently struts over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blond waiter nods his head once with a polite smile before he makes his way back to whence he came.

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say own it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighs, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regains his composure and rests upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that. Please tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiles widely and softly shakes his head. “No, no, god, no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin.

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blond waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.”

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blond as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry, Mr. Bang — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watches the way Minho’s eyes flutter around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkles against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes paint shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There was no room for feelings.

Hyunjin sets the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffs as he wiggles his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turns a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.”

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin says, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spins on his heel and walks off to another table.

Minho grabs his champagne flute and flashes his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushes as he picks up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologize.” He tries to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him ‘love’, desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. “Anyway,” he lifts his head from his palm and stares directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your ‘arranged: in black’ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilts his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bites his bottom lip as he avoids laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee.

No. That was in the past.

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s soft voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it definitely was far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho was really a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, ‘emotionally unavailable’.

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing on to the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackles, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made either of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folds over, resting his head in his palms as he tries not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leans back into his chair as he looks up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago.”

Changbin rests his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watches Minho get lost in memories past. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonize, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points at the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowers his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waves his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he pauses, bringing a finger to his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbles a bit as he gingerly picks up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opens it, then pulls out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifts to confusion when he comes across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary. A letter? He pulls the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opens it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tuts, rifling through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucks his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then clears his throat. He tries to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocks Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh creeps up from his stomach as he reads on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your ‘arranged: in black’ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho flutters his lips as he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with Minho, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh.

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note.

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

Perhaps Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. Special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.”

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whines, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowns.

“Changbin,” Minho teases a bit as he mockingly whines in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over. Across my apartment , reading the words caused his hands to sweat, across my heart, made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin lied earlier. He knew exactly where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement.

We're professional. Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s. We are not real boyfriends. The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under. Business dynamic. This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world. Strictly professional.

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do what to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds.

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?”

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath. Shit. He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring at it, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Changbin sinks into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost feels like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.”

The younger man squints in disapproval. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffs a bit dramatically as he feigns irritation.

Changbin, however, seems plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolls around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowns up at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression falters as he cocks his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wants to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch. Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There’s a layer of hurt in his voice that he knows he can’t hide. He dips his chin into his chest and closes his eyes, desperate to make this all just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines between what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin's head to spin.

Minho doesn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments pass by in silence until the older man takes in a deep breath, then he wiggles his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting his face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demands, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette does as requested. He stares into Minho’s eyes and instantly softens.

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivers a bit, almost like he feels how uncomfortable Changbin is. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand is in Minho’s again, and the older man stares at the band with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritized what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the façade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Our arrangement is for mutual gains. Minho’s voice was so loud.

We’re professional boyfriends. It was sour.

All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings.

Feelings?

That’s when it hit Changbin: he was falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way.

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was actually interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant possibility.

[harry-pottery-barn]

As Your Future...

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

a/n: This is part one of a mini-series I’m doing – look out for part 2 and possibly a part 3. This is also my first one shot, so any feedback/constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

warnings: light cussing, some French words (google translate works well for these but knowing the meaning isn’t necessary for the storyline)

requested by @fenxiaomao​ on tumblr

posted on tumblr and wattpad august 26, 2020

art: https://www.reddit.com/r/Pottermore/comments/fovxjq/draco_malfoy_artwork_by_me/

********

“Looks like we got paired up again, L/N.”

“What a coincidence,” you groaned sarcastically as Professor Slughorn smiled at the lot of you. “We get paired up for everything, don’t we?”

You clenched your jaw as the white blonde boy sat down in the stool next to you. You hated the British mannerism of calling everyone by their last name. You didn’t dare look at him while you flipped through your crisp copy of Advanced Potion Making.

“You say that as if I wanted this to happen,” spat Draco, his awkward smile now curled into a scowl.

You despised everything about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The teachers, the classes, the weather, the uniforms, the houses, the castle, and especially the students.

The students who never paid you any attention unless you were involved in a rumor. The students who shot sideways glances at you in the halls. The students who didn’t bother lowering their voices when they gossiped about you because they assumed you didn’t understand a speck of English… even when all of your classes were conducted in English.

Even the students of your own house seemed to keep you on the sidelines, so much so that you had given up on trying to become friends with anyone.

At least they acknowledged your existence, you kept reminding yourself.

You spent a lot of your time wondering why the so called “kind and caring” Hufflepuffs didn’t go any further than simple pleasantries with you. Perhaps it was false that they were all accepting, or perhaps they thought someone of your lineage would be better suited in Slytherin.

It was utterly clear, even to you, why nobody seemed to bat an eyelash at you. You were the prestigious, pretentious, pure-blood transfer from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Or, as you knew it, Académie de Magie Beauxbatôns.

Of course, nobody knew why you had transferred so late in your education. Your parents advertised their desire to move to England to their friends, co-workers, and even the school administrators. It was extremely plausible that they simply wanted you close by while you were at school, instead of in another country. What people didn’t know, however, was that you just so happened to move to Wiltshire – more specifically, a mansion that was just down the street from Malfoy Manor.

You came from a very well known family – the longest line of pure-blood wizards in all of France. Your family line had only been “muddled” by a Squib who married a Muggle and started a Muggle family back in the 1400s. Besides that one branch, every single bit of your family tree is pure-blood. Your parents strived to uphold the so-called purity of the L/N bloodline. And, as two of the most ambitious and determined people you knew, you were aware of just how far they would go to keep it that way.

As members of one of the largest pure-blood families, you and your parents often attended French, as well as international, galas, balls, and fêtes for those with similar bloodlines. This, of course, is how your parents first met the Malfoy’s.

The night you first saw Draco had to have been ages ago – nine years to be exact, when you were both only seven. It was a rather private event, celebrating the 90th birthday of some old man, in the manor that you were destined to live in about a decade later. However, you had no idea back then.

At the time, Draco religiously slicked back his hair, had chubby cheeks, and was a couple inches shorter than you. He didn’t say more than a simple “hello” before hiding behind his mother’s leg, staring at you the entire time. You ignored him and had a conversation with his sweet, almost warm mother, while your parents discussed something rather serious with his father, who you were genuinely terrified of.

Now, nine years later, you were sat next to Draco Malfoy in a potions class with the task of successfully brewing a Wound-Cleaning potion within an hour.

Wordlessly, you stood up and gathered your ingredients from the pantry. With your arms full of jars of honey-water, dittany, boomslang skin, stewed mandrake, asphodel, and lion fish spines, you made your way out of the store and to your desk, where Draco was turned towards Blaise Zabini, laughing. Just before you reached your table, someone very tall and massive bumped into you.

There was a loud, earsplitting shatter that echoed through the stone dungeon, silencing any small talk. The large bottle of honey-water had fallen from your arms, and the entire bottom half of your uniform was soaked.

“Bloody hell, Goyle,” giggled Pansy Parkinson, who peered from behind Gregory Goyle.

Gregory’s feet and shins were also covered in honey-water and shards of glass. He glared at you, pure anger in his eyes.

“Bet she did it on purpose,” he muttered. “Wasn’t my fault Beauxbatons wasn’t looking where she was going.”

“Knock it off, Goyle,” said Draco sternly from your desk.

You shot him a quick glare before rolling your eyes.

“Is everyone alright?” said Professor Slughorn from his desk, looking over his glasses at us.

“Nobody’s hurt,” you said.

You leaned to the side and set down the rest of your jars on a nearby table.

“Beauxbatons dropped a jug of honey-water,” Gregory said, glaring at you all the while.

“It’s Y/N L/N,” you said clearly, pulling your wand from your robes.

“Bloody hell,” gasped Pansy.

Gregory took a step back, stumbling into another table. He scrambled for his own wand and pointed right at your neck, gripping it in his gigantic hand.

“Mon dieu! I’m trying to clean up the mess!”

“Watch where you’re going, Goyle,” muttered Ron Weasley, a Gryffindor whose cauldron had tipped over and rolled across the table.

“Pfft,” said Gregory, pocketing his wand. He continued, fake coolness dripping from his words, “I knew that, Beauxbatons.”

Pansy cackled from behind him. She passed you, whispering loudly to Gregory, “You should’ve hexed her; then perhaps she’d go back to where she came from.”

Without another word, you waved your wand at the floor. The glass bottle pieced itself back together, while the honey-water evaporated from the stone floor and your uniform. You didn’t bother with Gregory’s. He slammed his giant shoulder into you again as he trod into the pantry.

“Connard,” you said under your breath.

“Let me get a new one.”

Draco had already leapt out of his stool and passed you, following Gregory. You rolled your eyes, knowing you were perfectly capable of getting a new jug, before gathering your other ingredients and finally sitting back down at your cauldron. You began preparing the ingredients, glancing at the textbook only once to confirm a measurement. You seamlessly cut, ground, and poured each ingredient from memory by the time Draco finally returned with a new bottle of honey-water.

“How did you prepare them so quickly?” he asked in awe, the jug hitting the desk with a low thud. He added, with his trademark smirk, “switch ingredients with Granger, did you?”

“My school specializes in healing,” you scoffed.

You lit the fire underneath your cauldron and measured the honey-water, immediately pouring it into the cauldron.

“I’ve known how to brew this since I was thirteen. What took you so long?”

“Had to have a conversation with Goyle and Parkinson,” he said.

“About?”

“I think you’re smart enough to know what it was about, L/N.”

You glared at him, unsure whether to feel exhausted or exasperated.

“I can handle myself without your chivalry, Draco.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let him walk all over you?” he asked aggressively, yet barely louder than a whisper.

“He didn’t walk all over me,” you replied in an equally quiet voice. “I just didn’t pick a fight with him. At least I can go a day without insulting someone’s family, wealth, or appearance.”

“Stop acting so high and mighty, L/N. We both know you’re in a more damning situation than you like to tell.”

You kicked Draco’s leg under the desk before peacefully continuing with brewing the potion. You could tell, even without looking at him, that the Slytherin was bright red with anger.

“We also know that we’re not supposed to bring it up around other people, don’t we?” you whispered in a sickly sweet voice, trying to be as demeaning as possible.

You didn’t like being rude, but you would rather play Draco’s little game than run the risk of Hogwarts knowing why you had transferred. Draco fumed in the stool next to you, then began to jot things down in a notebook for the rest of the class as you silently finished brewing the Wound-Cleaning Potion. Your mind began to wander as you added and stirred in each ingredient.

You had only met Draco three more times before attending Hogwarts. After your very first meeting, you saw each other again about five years later, at a gala for Quidditch sponsors in Germany. Just like the first time, your parents began talking; however, you and Draco were left alone.

It was awkward to say the least.

He was much cockier and more confident, and he spent most of your time together talking about himself and his successes as Seeker on his team at Hogwarts. You probably managed to squeeze in five sentences during the hours you were stuck alone with him at that table.

The third time you saw each other was in Marseilles, France, at the housewarming party for your parents’ beach house two years ago. Luckily, many of your friends from Beauxbatons were there. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Draco as he stood awkwardly with your friends, nodding his head while clearly not understanding a single word that was said. You decided to start speaking in English, which you eventually regretted. Draco took the opportunity to talk about how great he was once again. Your friends all gaped in awe, asking questions and fawning over him. You passively listened as Draco got an ego boost, answering question after question like a celebrity.

The last time was in Malfoy Manor last July. You had been out of school for no more than a couple of weeks when your parents decided to take a trip to England. Once you arrived, the Malfoy’s had happily invited your family over for dinner last-minute. Or at least, you thought it was last-minute at the time.

That dinner, as well as the trip itself, was all planned by your parents and Draco’s parents years before. And just as they had planned on the first night you and Draco met, they gave you news that would change your life.

“You’re kidding,” you said, no other words coming to mind.

“We are not,” said your father sternly, “and we would appreciate it if you would hold your tongue while Mr. Malfoy is speaking.”

“Thank you, Mr. L/N,” drawled Mr. Malfoy.

You fell silent as you clenched your fists under the giant dining table.

“In the winter of 1998, after you are both eighteen, you will be married here in Malfoy Manor,” explained Mr. Malfoy. “This, of course, is to ensure that the L/N and Malfoy bloodlines are secure from any filth that would accompany half- and mudbloods.”

“As you are both only children, we deemed it was only fitting to merge our two families together, creating an even better bloodline for the future,” continued your father. “This also allows the opportunity for the two of you to marry someone who is not a cousin of any sort.”

As you panicked, your eyes fell on Draco, who was sitting next to you at the table. His blank face stared at the wall in front of him, without a single reaction.

“And, so the two of you do not enter a marriage without knowing each other first, we have decided to move to England, and Y/N will be transferring to Hogwarts in the fall,” said your mother.

“WHAT?!” you shouted, standing up abruptly. “I am most certainly NOT transferring to Hogwarts! And I am not going to marry Draco! This is absolutely absu--”

“You will learn to keep your temper under control in the presence of others, Y/N,” growled your father.

What felt like two large, invisible hands pushed down on your shoulders, forcing you back into your chair.

“Of course, Y/N, you do not have to do anything. You have choices,” your father said.

A sense of relief flooded your system.

“Either you can transfer to Hogwarts for your last two years of school and marry Draco the following winter, or you can explain to the Dark Lord why you will not be doing so.”

You felt your heart stop. There was no way in hell you were about to try to tell Voldemort himself why you didn’t want to keep your bloodline pure by marrying Draco.

“That’s what I thought, ma fille,” said your father with a smile, before continuing to discuss details with the Malfoy’s.

You didn’t remember much else from that night. Your mind began to wander just as it was now, while you were brewing this simple potion.

The potion was purple, but not smoking, in just under forty minutes. You called Professor Slughorn over to inspect it, causing Draco to jolt. He seemed to have dozed off while you were working.

Figures, you thought helplessly.

After Professor Slughorn joyously celebrated your potion, he allowed you and Draco to leave class for lunch as soon as your station was cleaned up. You quietly replaced all of the ingredients in the pantry, emptied your cauldron, packed your things, and left the classroom.

“That was brilliant, L/N,” said Draco, who had caught up to you in the empty corridor. “I didn’t have to lift a finger.”

“For the last time, Draco, it’s Y/N. You know I hate the whole last name thing,” you said, not looking at him.

“Perhaps I hate the whole first name thing.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t speak to me at all,” you fired back.

“If I had the chance to never speak to you again in my life, trust me, I would take it,” he snapped.

You weren’t quite sure why, but his words stung in a way no insult had hurt you before. You remained silent for the rest of your walk, until you reached the Great Hall. You didn’t even feel hungry anymore.

“I’m going back to my common room,” you muttered, turning away from the massive oak doors and walking towards the Hufflepuff Basement.

“Ah, she speaks,” said Draco, in a tone that was maddening.

You stopped dead in your tracks. You looked at him again, contemplating if it was worth getting into a quarrel over.

“It’s just that-- well, you’re an awfully quiet person.”

“Really? Hmm, I haven’t noticed,” you deadpanned.

A group of first years passing by suddenly stopped walking. They started whispering and giggling amongst themselves, very clearly about you and Draco.

“What are you looking at?” spat Draco. “Go before I give you all detention.”

With small screeches, they rushed past you into the Great Hall, still whispering and giggling.

“C’était superflu,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Unnecessary? They were laughing at us!” said Draco. “If I had the chance, I would’ve straightened them out!”

“They’re first years! They’re barely eleven! You truly expect a group of eleven-year-old’s to pass by two teenagers who are alone and not be immature?”

“I was never that immature.”

You scoffed. “Never that immature”? Did he know how he acted at parties? “Never that immature”, my ass, you thought.

“Do you have something to say, L/N?” he demanded, daring to take a step closer to you.

“Putain de bâtard, it’s Y/N!” you shouted.

You turned swiftly on your heels, noticing the odd stares and whispers of students going to lunch, and marched down the corridor. You didn’t look back while you sped to your common room, only stopping to tap the barrel that opened the door. The large circle door swung open. You scurried through and slammed the door, relieved to be in the Hufflepuff common room.

Merlin, how Draco pissed you off. As if having no real friends at school wasn’t terrible enough, the man you were destined to marry was always there to make you angry on an already bad day.

It took all of your willpower to not fight back. The way he was treating you, as well as everyone else, was just plain wrong. On a regular day, you might have made a couple of comments back, but you never called him names or raised your voice. You kept your temper in check, letting him berate and poke at you every day.

You sat down in a large, golden armchair and stared into the fire, finally realizing what you had said to Draco.

A wave of panic rushed over you. Draco was surely going to tell his father of this incident, and if Draco’s father heard of it, he was surely going to tell your father.

Your father scared you more than Voldemort himself. He knew how to get to you, and he managed, without hesitation, to discipline you from the longest of distances. You honestly never had a clue how he always found out about anything slightly wrong you had done, but he did… every single time.

The uneasy feeling lasted throughout the rest of the day, clouding your thoughts and ruining your appetite. By the time dinner rolled around, the last thing you wanted to do was eat. Since you had missed lunch, you forced yourself away from your library desk, without a single assignment completed, and to the Great Hall, hoping you didn’t run into Draco along the way.

Once you were a single turn away from the Great Hall, you heard your name echo through the empty stone corridor.

It was Draco.

You sighed heavily, strong feelings of anger, fear, and exhaustion overwhelming you.

“Please, not now, Draco,” you groaned.

“But you don’t know what I was going to say,” he replied, confused.

“Honestly, I don’t care.”

“Y-you don’t care?”

That was odd. You tried to recount another time Draco had stuttered, but your mind was blank.

“I know it’s going to be something either insulting, negative, or inflammatory, and quite frankly, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve probably already told your father I cursed at you, and I’m sure my father’s punishments will begin promptly tomorrow morning, so thank you,” you said without taking a breath. “I need to force myself to eat something, so if you’ll excuse me--”

“Why would I tell my father you cursed at me?” he asked plainly.

“Don’t you tell your father everything?”

“Well, not everything… just when someone needs to be discipli--”

“Disciplined or punished, yes, I know. You sound exactly like my father.”

Draco suddenly became very shy. You had never seen him this way before. He was so thrown off his game, his act had completely dropped.

Suddenly, you felt very lightheaded and dizzy. You quickly stumbled towards the wall and caught yourself before you fell. You pressed your fingers to your temples as you leaned back against the wall, sliding down until you sat on the ground.

“Merlin, Y/N, are you alright?”

“Oh, just a little lightheaded.”

“Why’s that?”

“I didn’t catch breakfast this morning, and then I didn’t eat all day today because I’ve been nervous about what kind of fresh hell my father would put me through if he knew I called you a bastard,” you explained with a weak laugh.

Draco slid down the wall and sat on the cold stone floor next to you.

“You don’t have to act like you care about me,” you groaned, resting your chin on your knees.

“Who said I was acting?” asked Draco, in a soft voice he had never used before.

He glanced around the corridor, as if making sure it was empty.

“You are my future wife, after all,” he continued very quietly. “Might as well try to get along.”

“Could you sound any less pleased about it?” you chuckled.

“I’m sure we can both agree it’s a rather unfortunate situation to be in, but is it so terrible for me to care about the general well being of the person I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with?”

You fell silent. This was the first time he had ever said something remotely nice to you. You were very taken aback, searching for something, anything to say. You and Draco sat in peaceful silence for about a minute, completely uninterrupted. His words rang in your mind: Might as well try to get along.

“Do you ever wish you could do what you wanted?” you asked abruptly.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, bewildered.

“Oh, come on. Don’t pretend your parents don’t control your every move and your future. Do you ever wonder what things would be like… what your life would be like… if you were the one in control?”

Draco didn’t answer. You turned your head, laying your cheek on your knees, and glanced back at him. He looked as though he had never considered a life with his own decisions before.

“Personally,” you started, catching his attention, “I would want to own a potion shop. In the southern French countryside. I never decided on where specifically. I figured I would have the rest of my life to imagine a village that was big enough to not know everyone but small enough to be quaint. My shop would be a cottage on a plot with a few acres to grow my own plants and herbs. All of my ingredients would either be locally sourced or imported from humane places with the best quality potion ingredients. My potions would be brewed by myself and a couple other potioneers – preferably from different countries in order to bring new perspectives to the table. It wouldn’t necessarily be a lavish way of life, but it would be mine, and it would be helping others as well.

“I’d want to be able to fall in love and get married on my own accord,” you explained further, “regardless of their blood status, but preferably a wizard so the potion shop could work out as well. We’d either live in the second floor of the shop or in a different cottage a short walk away. We’d have a dog and a cat, and perhaps children if it felt right and we were old enough. I would be able to be my own person without walking on eggshells, trying to do what would make my parents the happiest. I would leave the stuck-up, grandiloquent snob my parents raised me to be, and I wouldn’t have to live up to the generations of standards put on me. I would have nothing to do with my parents, nothing to do with the Ministry of Magic, and nothing to do with--”

You caught yourself before you said the name of the castle you were currently in. You sighed, knowing that this fantasy you concocted for yourself would never become a reality. That you were stuck in the narrative your parents wrote for you, unable to pick up a pen and rewrite it yourself.

You leaned your head back against the stone wall with a small thud, breathing deeply. You saw Draco tilt his head toward you out of the corner of your eye. You looked back at him, studying his face.

His white blonde hair fell down in front of his eyes ever so slightly. His expression was just as woeful as yours. You couldn’t help but notice the faint tinge of blue in his light grey eyes.

“That’s the most I think I’ve ever heard you say,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“Believe it or not, my friends back at Beauxbatons call me loud and outgoing,” you admitted.

“I promise you,” he said in a determined tone, his eyes never leaving yours, “that, as your future husband, you will one day have that shop. I will make sure of it.”

A smile crept onto your face – the first genuine smile of yours in a long time. You leaned your head on Draco’s shoulder. The smell of expensive cologne and green apples washed over you as you stared out the large, arched window that looked over the school grounds.

The sky, which was bright pink from the sunset, gave the trees and rolling hills a beautiful warm glow. The clouds were painted orange and dark purple, and you could see the silhouette of an owl soaring from one side of the window to the other.

You felt content and at peace for the first time in what felt like your entire life.

And suddenly, the world didn’t seem so dim anymore.

[shittystockholmstyles]

Flashing Lights || Harry Styles

Summary: During a rare night out Katerina “Kat” Lopez catches the attention of one famous pop star.

Warnings: none

A/N: Here’s an old story I’ve never posted but couldn’t get out of my head. Hope y’all like it, comments and requests are welcomed!!

"I can't believe I let you guys talk me in to going out"

Katerina Lopez was leaning against the brick wall just outside of Studio One, the newest club in Hollywood, as she complained to her best friends Maria and Alex.  Maria dressed in a short white dress that complimented her caramel skin and drew the eyes of every guy that walked past, just rolled her eyes as Kat made the same complaints she made every time they went out, and went back to counting the amount of people between them and the entrance.

"You say that every time we go out" Alex said, "But you know after a few shots you'll be having as good a time as us"

"Besides you need to take a break once in awhile" Maria chimed in, "you can't just spend every day in you apartment as the world goes on without you."

Kat sighed, she supposed her friends had a point. She would try to forget about the past few weeks and have a good time tonight. After all she did deserve-

All of the sudden there was a commotion at the entrance, a tall guy in a white shirt was walking toward the bouncer who, upon seeing him opened the rope and moved aside, letting him into the club. A group of guys at the front started to get in the bouncers face shouting about how they deserved  to be let in before that "asshole." One guy dressed in black, with tattoos down his right arm swung at the bouncer but the bouncer moved fast and the guy lost balance, falling forward. Two more bouncers came out and forced the group to leave.

As the group left, Alex, dressed in his signature black mesh top and body glitter, started bouncing up and down in excitement, "we're next in line" he said in a sing song voice.

"Yeah now it should only be an hour instead of two" Kat said sarcastically as she dusted her back off making sure she didn't get her new leather jacket dirty after leaning on the wall. She was dressed in a pink slip dress and feeling slightly uncomfortable without the support of a bra she adjusted her jacket to cover up her chest.

Alex catching her smacked her hands away saying "Kat stop trying to cover up, you're gorgeous babe"

"IDs?" The bouncer had opened the rope and was gesturing for us to move forward. After they showed they IDs and got their hands stamped the group followed the music down a hallway into the main dance room. Blue and green strobe lights flashed everywhere and a fast paced beat had everyone on the dance floor. Videos played on large screens behind the DJ booth which had a large cage with dancers on either side.

Kat spotted the bar on the far side of the dance floor, grabbed Maria's hand and started pushing her way through the throngs of people as they danced. After what felt like ages the group of friends made it to the bar, already covered in sweat, Kat elbowed some girl with bright red hair out of the way and pushed up against the counter trying to make eye contact with the bartender. She watched as the bartender made his way to the end of the bar where the guy in white was sitting. Their eyes met as he smiled at her she noticed that his shirt was unbuttoned exposing tattoos across his chest. He spoke to the bartender while still looking at her and the bartender looked over before nodding and giving the guy a beer. The bartender mixed a few drinks and carried them over to Kat's group.

"For you from the guy across the bar" he said and walked away to take another order.

Kat looked over to where the guy had been sitting but he was gone. She looked back to Maria and Alex who shrugged and held out their hands for their drinks.

Drinks in hand the group made their way back to the dance floor. Some new rap song was playing and couples were dancing super close. As Kat let the alcohol numb her mind she started to relax and let her body flow to the beat of the music. She was so lost in the music that she didn't notice as a stranger made his way across the dance floor, eyes trained on her as she moved, until he was in front of her. She saw the swallow tattoos spread across his exposed chest first, then the plane pendant that rested against his neck, finally her eyes met his startlingly bright green eyes. His mouth started to move and in a British accent he asked, "how's the drink?"

"It's uh, it's good. Thanks" Kat managed to answer. 

He smiled, " Name's Harry"

"Kat"

"Like the animal" Harry looked pensive "I like it"

"Thanks"

Harry leaned closer, his breath tickling Kat's neck as he asked her to dance. She nodded and allowed him to turn her around and place his hands on her hips. Kat ignored the looks of shock on her friend's faces and let her body follow the music again. She felt Harry's grip tighten on her hips as he moved closer.

They danced through the night, through the last call for drinks at the bar. As the lights came up and people stumbled out of the club, Harry and Kat followed the crowd with Maria and Alex close behind.

The fresh air felt good on their heated bodies as they left the club and made their way to a less crowded area to try to catch a cab.

"So..." Harry started, still holding Kat's hand and staring at her flushed face, a small smirk forming on his lips "where to next?"

[psyche13]

So whenever I watch a new movie I like to record my thoughts and reactions just for fun. Since I’m writing stuff for the Final Prayer I thought I would post what I wrote when I watched it for the first time.

-They are not speaking English yet, oof that guy is angry at the camera man.

-Chasing sugar with red bull is a total mood

-teehee he locked himself out in the most British way possible. I already love him.

-“We’re sharing?” Haha too funny.

-wait a minute wait a minute…the sharing guy is the guy from the beginning who yelled at the camera. What’s he doing here I thought this was found footage from the recorder they found in the wall?

-“I’ll put the kettle on” is just about the most British thing I have heard all day. Love it.

-Deacon looks really familiar…where have I seen him before *pauses movie to look up imdb.com* yessssssssssss Sherlock, must watch that episode later…omg AND Robin Hood? Okay I gotta watch this show now and also Richard Armitage it’s a sign that I will most definitely love it.

-why are they cutting to black when it is a found footage movie? Who is watching this other than me, the viewer? Can anybody log into the Vatican website and watch investigations go forward in real time?

-Chill about the head cam, dude.

-WTF is a betting shop? *pauses movie* I’m not from the UK so…yeah Im guessing it has something to do with fishing? *looks it up on google* oh duh betting like gambling guess that makes sense.

-have you just bought booze is also such a mood.

-Aww he’s teaching him about the map, that’s kinda sweet. Also Ball….combe :P

-hahaha the puzzle and “See you around March”, this movie is kinda funny, I like it :)

-church bells remind me of when I was living in Rome.

-those people outside are kinda creepy, getting paranormal activity vibes.

-teeheee delicate equipment

-man they are awkward car drivers.

-are we there yet? Point for sarcasm 👍

-have a cracking good day mate haha

-is that really what the tapes are used for or is he just being sarcastic? Maybe a point for sarcasm?

-OMG Gray you NEVER eat in a church, hearing that sound is giving me anxiety. Growing up I would have been whooped good if I was ever caught eating during church.

-CHUNKS OF LIVING FLESH!!!!!!!!

-Haha the cow thing was funny. Is that how British people smoke cigarettes? When I went to London I didn’t see anybody do that…. But then again I was only there for 2 days and it rained the entire time. Not that that has anything to do with smoking. Man, what a trip that was.

-Barry is totally another mood.

-Whats happening now? Oh wait this is a flashback awwww look its a baby! EARTHQUAKE!!!! Why isn’t anybody running? Do they have earthquakes in England?

-Fancy a drink eh? More British talk, I love it.

-What’s stigmata? *pauses movie* oooohhhh ouch. Poor girl.

-No offense to him or anything but Mark is being kind of a dick right now….if he was delayed then why didn’t he call them? So rude.

-Wait wait, so Mark got to the cottage and then just decided to snoop in Deacon and Gray’s room without them? And touch their stuff? Once again, how rude.  And the fact that he is treating Gray as just a techie and not an important member of the investigation. I feel ya, Gray sometimes that’s how I feel at work too.

-Fish n chips, awkward strangers eating dinner vibe going on.

-OMG WHO WOULD CATCH A SHEEP ON FIRE LIKE THAT!??!?

-Mark definitely made it seem like in his report that Deacon had been the one that killed the sheep.

-Who puts water in a coffee mug? Sorry I’m judging just a little bit.

-So I think Gray’s shirt is of a knight riding an ostrich. Would that make Gray a fan of the game Joust? *inner geek squeals*

-Gray is wearing a gold wedding band, and Deacon has  a silver pendant necklace and a watch. Im always curious about jewelry choices in movies. I wonder if they will mean anything near the end?

-Mark really doesn’t know what earbuds are?

-Yeah, I’ve heard that sound before and do you know what is it? It is a RAT in the wall just crawling around. Those MFs can get huge, and it takes forever for them to die and that’s just if you are lucky sometimes they decided to live there and have millions of rat babies. I hate rats.

-Gray: HHEEHEEEWHHHOOLLLLLAALALALALALAWHOOHWHOOOOO! Deacon: *really?*

-Priests most definitely are an uptight bunch but they sure do know how to party. Trust me, I went to catholic school.

-Okay so that dog actually looked really friendly, I could see his tail wagging.

-Ouch, poor mark that look like it hurt a lot.

-Gray’s concern is so sweet, and he is right Mark should really go see a doctor. Bleeding ears are not good!

-Okay so what is he saying about Belem? Curse my hearing loss for making it so difficult for me to understand what anybody is saying without the freaking subtitles on….rewinding now.

-I think I get it now, when Deacon was telling Gray the story of what happened in Belem he made it seem like he wasn’t there, that he was at the Vatican receiving reports from Renaldi but never was in Brazil.

-Haha the bottle trick was cool. How did he do that?

-Krellick is getting kind of weird, and what is up with all the earthquakes at the church? I think they need to talk to a seismologist.

-That baby crying doesn’t seem to be coming from a baby monitor.

-Oh no….not Father Krellick! That was very unsettling and I am going to have to update the DDD report to include suicide. Damn.

-Those kids totally got what the deserved.

-Okay here we go again, what are they saying? Gotta back up and put on the subtitles again. Why won’t my stupid ears work right?

-Sorry about this bit I kinda tuned everything out because I was painting my nails and also it got scary way to fast for my liking.

-DEACON WATCH WHERE YOU ARE DRIVING! Oh never mind he is the passenger I forgot they were in England.

-this is the last time that any of them are ever going to see the sky, and that’s kind of sad.

-Gray and Deacon kind of sound like an old bickering couple…..I totally ship them.

-He actually sounds really scared, poor darling. I would be scared too, caves are terrifying and I have probably the worst claustrophobia ever. Should I really be watching this movie when my MRI is tomorrow? Nahhh I’ll be fine (UPDATE: I was not fine).

-WTF was that? That’s it? That’s the end? NO it can’t be the end. WHY?! OMG that’s such an awful way to die. Why would they do that? So this isn’t the same church that was in the beginning? That’s so confusing, so then who found the cameras? I must watch again but this time with the subtitles on through the whole thing.

-*while walking the dog* why did they go down there when Gray saw that father what’s his face was dead in the church?

-*while driving to work* OMG the orphanage was there so they could sacrifice the babies to the pagan god monster.

-FOUR DAYS LATER at 2:30AM *pulls up blank word document* muahahahahaaaaaa this will be fun!

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issues 4&5

its delphi time babey

I'm sorry but drift & co look like such fuckin nerds on their scooter things on the cover lmaooo

oh god. seeing the first page just reminded me of how horribly confused i was for this whole little arc the first time i read it. i was like ok, who are all these new characters, and also why does everyone look so similar

anyways now i now what's going on. i love first aid

love the running continuity of rung being the literal only psychologist on cybertron (except for fr*id but that's later). no wonder everyone's fucked up they all have to share a single therapist 

ok i find it extremely funny that first aid was demoted from doctor to nurse, as if that's a thing that happens EVER - I mean it'd be one thing if first aid was a nurse practitioner (which i doubt is a position that exists here), at least that demotion would make sense, but like...the doctors i work with don't know how to do most nurse stuff (like BP, cathing, vaccinations, hell even using some of the thermometers - that's all stuff nurses/etc do), so demoting one to a nurse would be a disaster (just like promoting a really good nurse to a doctor would be a bad idea). anyways i know I'm being pedantic but it Be like that when you work in the medical field and read something that has medicine-related stuff in it

i love swerve giving ratchet the tiniest free drink ever lmaooo

is that skids being a rowdy drunk in the bg lmaoooo

unironically i love medical statistics. keep it comin

i love magnus’s giant sternal chestpiece thing. its like a bird’s sternum but without the massive pec muscles attached 

i love magnus and rodimus’s dynamic so much

oh pipes....im so sorry but this fun space adventure is going to be not so much fun for you

ratchets ideologies are certainly interesting, and i liked seeing how they changed over the course of the story

drift: why would i be SCARED of the DJD, I've got a SWORD, two swords even,

hvbhajkhfbsdjkf pipes really said ‘oi, you two - what's this, then?’ that's the most british fucking thing, that's literally something i say when I'm doing an overexaggerated british accent, oh my god,

PIPES IS SUCH A TINY DUMBASS. ILY SIR BUT WHAT ARE YOU DOING

aaaand now you're covered in dead bodies, pipes. look at your life, look at your choices

drift epic sword moments

drift confirmed for the kinda weird guy who has katanas that he uses to like, cut up fruit and water bottles in his backyard while rodimus films him

‘i thought i heard...bickering’ lmaooooo

ah, so its covid

this arc is how i feel working in healthcare lmaooo especially now that i probably have covid 

so rewind condensed the entire war into an 11 second long cringe compilation. nice

seeing the mechanical stuff past tailgate’s visor is so cool

poor tailgate, this guy is getting slammed with history from multiple sides. and like, bias is inevitable in ANY sort of recounting of events, especially controversial historical events, so poor tg just kinda has to take it all in and decide who to listen to 

that’s...not really how immunity works, guys. also, you shouldn't be exposed to so much disease with proper ppe usage

is there even such thing as ppe in the transformers universe?? there are fluid- and contact-transmitted illnesses, so there SHOULD be

is there even OSHA in this universe??????? unbelievable 

first aid, holding a giant fucking claw clamp: we haven't tried EVERYTHING............

first aid read a human wikihow article on how to jumpstart a car and took notes 

i love tailgate’s ‘mom says its my turn on the xbox’ pose 

tailgate has a point - he’s from pre-war times, where things weren't as grey so of course he would try to divide the two sides into ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’

CYCLONUS BE NICE DONT HIT UR FUTURE HUSBAND

go get some character development and then maybe you'll feel better

seeing the word quarantine is making me twitchy w/my possible month-long complete isolation quarantine on the horizon

drift pulling his swords on pipes and ratchet pushing down drift’s arms...lmao

poor pipes...even tho this is completely his fault, its still rough

also jesus, pharma and ratchet look so goddamn similar, reading this was so confusing the first time around 

drifts idea of subduing pipes involves turning into a cool car and also posing with his sword

also. never gonna be over drift’s massive thighs. jesus man

ooof now drift has the rona. ouch 

poor drift, his covid realization is getting overshadowed by pharma being flung around

first aid bustin thru w/the epic medical nipple clamps and some Big Boi Backup

ok that's an epic pre-beatdown speech from fort max right there, daym 

im just gonna continue on w/issue 5 now for continuity’s sake. yay!

the cover of tailgate in magnus’s autobot school is so cute

and we open with an incredible shot of fort max str8 up ripping a guy in half. i mean, to be fair, he DID just give an epic speech about how much he was gonna do that, and he certainly followed thru

yeahhhhh, fort max is not doing so well atm

when he puts that dudes head in his chest vent thing and then snaps it shut....man 

also i fucking LOVE when their faces are shaded all in black w/only the eyes/mouth fully drawn...fantastic stuff

ratchet: phew i am not equipped to deal w/this level of Fucked Up Mental Trauma. u good m8?

ratchet is already writing up a referral to rung for fort max as this is happening

drift is just laying on the ground dying like, oh hey yeahh I'm still here too 

i fucking love when punctuation is drawn in story - like here where first aid has a little ? over his head....fav

ratchet holding drifts hand ;_; 

ok tbh ambulon having switched sides 10 yrs ago is wild bc like, 10 years is barely any time for these guys, especially in a war that lasted 4 million years. that would be like a human switching sides in a war like, 3 months before it ends. probably. i sense some math bs, I'm just extrapolating here

all that mexican standoff shit is going down and first aid is just like But That's None Of My Business

ah so ambulon is an asymptomatic carrier 

and there's first aid with the save! iconic

pharma calling ratchet ‘buddy’ hbvakjdsbfhkasdf

ooooh i love that they figured it out - and i love that twist, that transforming is what triggers the start of symptoms. remember when drift turned into a cool car? yep

s/o to Ambulon Transformers for helping me in my medical terminology courses, bc now ill always remember: Leg(tm)

also this explanation makes a ton more sense (in universe, at least) than the whole ‘i guess we as medical staff have been exposed to enough Germz that we’re more immune to this or something’ theory 

ah, i love the meaningless (to me) alien robot medical jargon 

drift and ratchet hhhhhhhhh

‘I'm too wide’ fort max L O R G E

also once again drift is forgotten in favor of a bunch of other dramatic stuff happening vbhjksdfbjhskdf

godddd i love tailgates little flashbacks where we see how Important and Special he is, complete with his ‘bomb disposal’ arm label...augh its so good! 

and tailgate’s autopedia page even reflects his lies! like, did tailgate go edit that first thing upon waking up??? seriously, I'm fascinated by tailgate’s meticulous dedication to his fake life

also the fact that ultra magnus believes everything he read on autopedia is amazing lmao

ultra magnus: you think somebody would just go on the internet and tell lies? 

fuckgin love magnus’s long ass name/title placard 

tailgate hvbahjkdfbjhaskf i mean, he’s gotten the abridged version of everything else, of course he would assume that’d be the case here too...but not on magnus’s watch

magnus cant even say ‘fun’ hvukdasdbjfkjsadf i love my uptight law dad

love rung implying that upon questioning, he would easily divulge a patient’s name and maybe even information about said patient’s treatment while under him....love the disregard for patient confidentiality and hipaa in general 

not that hipaa seems to exist here, at least not in a fully realized form 

also i mean the above genuinely, i think rung’s tendency towards at least slight malpractice is very interesting 

poor red alert....super bad luck that HE was the guy to get roped up in that overlord business 

I'm glad that, at the very least, red alert was able to prove that he was Actually hearing something to rung, rather than get brushed off completely 

god magnus and tailgate’s interactions are golden 

also tg is much more sarcastic/quippy than anyone gives him credit for tbh

‘thought warfare,’ ultra magnus says with complete seriousness. god i fucking love this comic

now i can tell pharma apart from ratchet bc pharma has let his true Petty Bitch nature emerge and you can see it in his expressions

the whole ‘tarn is addicted to transforming’ thing didn't really go anywhere, right? i feel like i noticed that on my second readthru as well 

also pharma is such an interesting character given the context of him like, trying to strike a bargain w/the djd to keep them from destroying delphi, but that arrangement inevitably kinda making him lose it as the situation escalates. he’s also just really entertaining bc i feel like he kins the joker or st and probably gets into really heated arguments w/people on twitter about just abt anything

‘sound bomb’ i love this comic

another important facet of pharma’s character becomes clear around this time as well - how he’s really into ratchet. i also choose to read them as awful exes tbh, it makes their dynamic even more entertaining

‘killmaster, with the wand’ is one of my favorite running remarks lmao

also, was killmaster even a character before mtmte? or, if he was, was he an important one? it would crack me up the most if he literally didn't exist at all, but any way you spin it is still funny 

ratchet’s tiny humansona facing off against pharma is wild

‘I'm miles from anyone i truly care about’ brutal, ratchet, drift is dying like 2 floors away (im p sure)

SUDDENLY DRIFT IS HERE, ACTUALLY 

oh don't worry first aid, that sure isn't the last we’ll be seeing of pharma 

so like, did first aid save everyone by posting that data log to his wreckers fan blog or something? lmao love it 

i love the pretty fucked up reveal of ratchet having stolen pharma’s hands. like, damn dude. 

and that wraps up the delphi arc! our first true ‘arc’ of mtmte, and a fantastic one at that. short and snappy and fresh, with some very clever writing and cool new characters, and a lot of great plot threads to be picked up later. plus, we got to see the beginnings of drift and ratchet’s whole thing (and ratchet and pharmas whole thing). and the lost light gets some much needed extra medical staff, so everyone wins! 

well, we’ll see how fort max feels about this all pretty soon.....

[skippyv20]

MM ANON ... a few ideas

MOS Devine sarcasms. ……

The Sunday Daily Mail today is loaded with tons of delightful, excellent, divinely sarcastic comments in several articles about MM.  There’s one referencing her red leather pencil skirt saying how she “oozes glamour” with her “go-to figure hugging ensembles” perfect for royal engagements (!) with her hair in a high messy bun with “a few pieces (hanging) that elegantly frame her features.” Yeah, right. And it goes on to compliment the berry shade of her outfit which “goes very well with her olive complexion.”

 Another story tells how persistently Meghan begged a journalist to get her name into the British tabloids and how she excelled at networking while she was “riding the publicity carousel in London for all she was worth.”

 And there’s lots more.

aristocratic Sunday laugh-in. ……

It seems that on Sundays the RF gets together for a lighthearted review of the weeks events highlighting the most outrageous stories in the tabloids, amusing posts on social media, funny photos, videos, etc. This sounds like fun!

“ Modernist!!! What’ one is not amused “……

MM and PH seem to think they are single-handedly modernizing the monarchy. But the Queen is not amused for many reasons.

” NATO Banquet, no Philip!! “………

“ who sits with Kate , old thing “………

“Emmanuel!! “…… “ And William?”…… “Angela”…… “ I’ll pencil you in”……

It looks like PP will not be attending the Nato Banquet but is discussing the seating arrangements with the Queen putting Katherine with Emmanuel Macron, William with Angela Merkel and joking he’ll pencil her in making it sound like her appearance is iffy when, most likely, she’ll be there.

once is unfortunate, twice is deliberate ……

This may be referring to Meghan’s curtsy debacle that now has happened again. The first one could have been chalked up to an unfortunate incident but happening again the next day shows it was intentional.  Both women were simply trying to curtsy to her but she turned it into an awkward hug.

 When greeting royalty it’s traditional to make a small curtsy, or even a handshake is acceptable, but hugging is not the custom. She just loves steamrolling royal traditions and protocol and getting her own way.

🎼”don’t stop thinking about ………”

“Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow” Fleetwood Mac’s song saying tomorrow will be better than before and yesterday’s gone.🎼……

regimental representation …… “HES AGOOD EGG”……

“The Blues and Royals, of course!!”

The Blues and Royals (Royal Horse Guards and 1st Dragoons) is a cavalry regiment of the British Army. Harry, a very likable guy with solid military experience, will be dressed in his uniform representing the RF on Remembrance Day.

 Total speculation.

Thank yo7!  Great job.  Much appreciate you participating.....😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

[somethinginthewayiam]

At the BAFTAs after party (Reader’s choice fic)

Pairing: Reader x Gwil, Ready x Joe, Ready x Ben

Word count: 3182

Summary: Your friend, who is dj-ing at the BAFTA’s after party sneaked you in as it was always your dream to once be on such a glamorous after party. Over the course of the night you met three hot guys, but fate didn’t seem to work in your favor and you lost them out of sight. As you were about to give up, you ran into one of them again...

author’s note: I had the idea after I saw the pictures and instagram posts after the BAFTA’s and with the Oscars ahead, I thought this would help pass the time until the next picutre-palooza. Enjoy!

your dress

It was the night of the BAFTA’s and you had heard so many great stories about the afterparties that it was always your dream to once be there and be able to party with all the stars. When your best friend was hired as the main DJ for the night, it was your way to get in.

Around 11 pm, when most of the guests had arrived after the gala, your friend sneaked you in through the backdoor. “Wow, Y/N, you look amazing”, she said as you both walked down the hall and you took off your coat. “God, I hope so. It took me all day”, you replied, but shot her a thankful smile.

You had your hair in big, flowy waves, your eyes were framed in a tasteful amount of eyeliner and some smokey-eye make-up. “Give me your coat, there’s a little room backstage for the staff, which I am tonight. I can keep it there for you”, she offered and took your coat and your purse from you. With your hands now free, you fluffed up the flowy skirt of your dark green dress. You had stuffed your feet in plateau high-heels which you immediately regretted, but they looked so good with the dress.

The music got louder the further you got to the main hall. “Alright, I have to make a left here, right ahead is the club. You will blend in nicely, I have no doubts. Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”, she advised you with a smile. “So, anything goes?”, you asked sarcastically. “Exactly”, she winked at you, gave you a quick peck on your cheek and turned left at the next corner. “Wait, my purse!”, you called out after her. “Catch”, she shouted and threw you your purse while she kept walking backwards.

You brushed some hair out of your face, took a deep breath and gripped your little purse tighter before you stepped through a swing door where all the waiters and other staff was going through.

The music surrounded you as soon as you walked out of the doors and it put you in a sort of cocoon as you wandered at the edge of the crowd, getting a good overview of the party. You saw a few familiar faces you knew from TV and a few musicians. You tried really hard not to be overwhelmed by the situation.

You were finally here, taking in the glamorous atmosphere in the room. People celebrating, having fun, dancing and drinking. That’s exactly what you needed to do next, get a drink. You felt a little intimidated being all by yourself. Normally, you only partied with a bunch of friends.

You made your way over to the bar. You leaned against the dark wood panel, your hands rested on the counter as you craned your neck to spot the bartender to place your order. “This might take a while, I’ve been waiting to order a beer for five minutes now”, you heard someone next to you. You turned around and had to tilt your head back a bit to be able to look the man in the eyes. You immediately noticed his height and attractive features. A smile formed on your face as you scanned his.

“Maybe I should order two drinks then, so it holds out for a while”, you joked and turned the rest of your body towards him. “This might not be the worst idea”, he chuckled and leaned against the bar as well. “I’m Gwil”, he held out his hand for you. “Y/N”, you said and took his hand. You held it for a few moments longer than usual and a flirtatious smile formed on your face.

“It looks like it will still be a while until we get our drinks”, you said as you took a look over your shoulder, looking for the bartender, who was preparing drinks at the other end of the bar. “I don’t mind waiting with the right company”, he said and couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You turned your head back around and found him scanning you from top to bottom. You were glad you had gone with the very low neckline that almost went down to your belly button. You inhaled deeply and stretched out your chest.

You were in a flirty mood and just like your friend had suggested, you should have fun tonight, anything goes!

You took a little step closer to him, your hand rested near his on the counter. You liked that he was so tall. Even in these ridiculous high shoes you still had to look up at him. All of a sudden you imagined how you would have to get on your toes to kiss him and his hands would steady you at your hips, grip them tighter and pick you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist.

You unintentionally licked your lips at the thought and his eyes shot down to your red painted lips and back up to your eyes again.

“Good evening, what can I get you?”, the bartender suddenly appeared next to you and you automatically took a step back, like you’ve been caught in your dirty thoughts. Gwil gestured towards you so you could place your order first. “Ehm…I’ll have a martini, dry”, you said and sorted your thoughts. “I’ll take a beer”, he ordered and turned back to you. “It’s an open bar”, he mentioned as he saw you fumbling for money in your purse. “Oh, great”, you were delighted by the news. “Also, I wouldn’t have let a gorgeous lady like you pay for your drink. My British upbringing wouldn’t allow me to”, he added with a flirtatious smile himself. “Thank god for the British men”, you said as you took the glass that had just been placed in front of you and raised it to him. Gwil grabbed his glass as well with a nod.

You clinked glasses and took a sip. You immediately felt the alcohol calming your nerves a bit. Just as Gwil wanted to say something, a hand appeared on his shoulder. “Excuse me, Gwil, sorry”, a man interrupted him. “They need you for a group photo”, the man said to him. Gwil shot you an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I have to go”, he said and you could see that he would rather stay here with you, seeing where the night would take you. “It’s okay, go. Thank you for the drink”, you said and raised your glass with a wink.

He gave you one last longing look before he turned around and followed the man. You took another sip from your drink and turned back to the bar, placing your glass in front of you. You were sad for a second that he had to go, but then you realized that the night was young and the room was pretty much filled with cute guys. Time to find someone else to flirt with…and maybe more.

You emptied your drink in two big sips, grabbed your purse and continued your journey through the room. As you passed a mirrored surface in the club, you stopped for a second to check your lipstick after your drink.

You walked through the room, noticing that there was a first floor full of booths. They stairs to it was guarded by a big guy in an all-black suit. So, there was no way you would be able to get past him.

You ended up right at the surface of the dancefloor. It was nicely filled and you looked for a good spot to enter. You were almost at the DJ booth and spotted your friend. She raised her head just at the same moment and you two locked eyes. She raised her right thumb with a questioning facial expression, like she wanted to ask you if everything was going well so far. You nodded with smile and raised your thumbs as well. Before you could turn around again, she motioned you to wait and the next moment, your favorite song blasted through the boxes. You rolled your eyes, but a big smile formed on your face. This girl knew your jam.

You turned back around to her and mouthed the words I HATE YOU. She countered with LOVE YOU TOO. You turned towards the dancefloor and flicked your hair back. Let’s do this!

You strutted through the crowd, pumped up by your favorite tune, right to the middle of the dancefloor. It wasn’t too crowded, but not empty enough that it would be embarrassing. You started swaying your hips to the beat of the song, raising your arms, turning around. Your friend was playing all your hits and held you at a constant high. As soon as you realized that you actually didn’t know anyone here and probably would never meet again, you shook off the rest of your hesitations and felt more and more confident by the minute.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone dancing as wild as you. You turned around to find a browned-haired ball of energy, giving it his all with all kinds of silly moves. You immediately liked him. You didn’t see anyone that looked like a date dancing close to him, so you made your move. As you came closer, he spotted you as you were only a few steps away. You both immediately saw the mischief in each other’s eyes and you just clicked, dancefloor-wise.

He pulled out all the classic dance moves and you were all for it. He took out is imaginary fishing rod and reeled you in until you were right in front of him. You two basically battled each other about who knew the most stupid dance moves.

When your friend put on a more sexy song for a change, you also decided to mix it up a bit. You stepped closer to him and started walking around him in the rhythm of the song, letting your fingers linger on his chest, then following you around his body until you were back in front of him. “Nice moves you got there”, he screamed over the music near your ear. You held on to his shoulders again and swayed your hips to the music. “I guess we’ve both seen the movie Hitch”, you shouted near his ear and when you leaned back, you winked at him. Then you turned around to have him face your back and pulled his arms around you. Now you both were dancing to the song in unison. You could feel his body heat radiating at your back and you started grinding on him with your ass.

What the hell had gotten into you? When did this goofy dancing and jumping around turn into this rubbing up on each other? But you had to admit you liked it. You let your head fall back on his shoulder for a second and enjoyed the moment of dancing to loud music, being hold by two strong arms which belonged to a complete stranger.

The style of the music changed again and it was a slower song this time. You snapped out of your trance and took a step forward. He looked a bit surprised by the sudden mood change. He grabbed one of your hands and spun your around to face him and pulled you in a classic dance pose. You felt his hand on your naked back since the upper half of your dress was only held together by two thin strings crossing in your back. Your left hand was in his, your right hand, which was still holding your purse, was resting on his shoulder as you both swayed to the song.

“Who do I have the pleasure of dancing with tonight?”, he asked, now that you were actually able to talk a bit without screaming your lungs out. “My name is Y/N”, you introduced yourself after probably twenty minutes of dancing and basically almost dry humping him in the middle of the dancefloor. “Nice to meet you, Y/N, I’m Joe”, he told you his name and now you heard his American accent. “You’re a really good dancer”, you complimented him. “You too”, he gave it right back. “I just love to dance like nobody’s watching”, you told him and shrugged your shoulders. “But I’m watching”, he said and the tone in his voice changed. It made you blush a bit and you felt a bit shy now.

“I think I need a break and get a drink”, you said and you hoped you made it sound like a suggestion. “Yeah, good idea”, he nodded and gestured towards the edge of the dancefloor. While you started moving, a faster song came on again and the crowd, which seemed to have doubled in the last few seconds, started dancing wildly all over the dancefloor.

As you almost fell out of the dancing crowd at the edge of the dancefloor, you turned around and noticed that Joe had gone missing. You craned your neck but you couldn’t find his face in the crowd. Seemed like you’re on your own again. It would have been too nice, you thought to yourself. Now, already two good-looking men were swallowed by the BAFTA’s afterparty. BAFTA’s 2, Y/N 0.

You felt your limps getting heavy as you walked towards a wall to get out of the way and have a moment to yourself. A waiter came by with a trey full of champagne. “May I?”, you stopped him. Instead of an answer, he lowered his trey with a polite smile and waited until you had taken a full glass off of it.

You emptied it with one big sip. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were. You should have taken a second glass right away, now no waiter was to be seen anywhere near you. You turned towards the bar, which was even more crowded than before. You pulled a face at the view and turned back around with a big sigh. Also, now you felt how much your feet hurt from those shoes. It was weird, you didn’t feel a thing on the dancefloor. Maybe because you were full of adrenaline as soon as you had started dancing with Joe. But now that you were on your own again, your feet basically screamed at you.

With careful steps, you walked over to an empty wall, out of the spotlights and stepped out of your high-heels. The sound that came out of your mouth as you freed your squished toes, could only be described with pure pleasure. You wiggled your toes a bit on the ground and enjoyed the short moment of freedom. With a big sigh, you decided to step back into your shoes. You didn’t want to be that girl who was walking around barefoot at the BAFTA’s afterparty.

The first shoe wasn’t that hard to get back into, but the second one seemed to be slight of a problem since you now had to balance on one foot with a few drinks in you on an empty stomach. You felt yourself tip over, but the next second, a strong hand held you by your elbow. You looked up to find yourself staring into piercing green eyes.

“Woah, I got you”, he said and you immediately noticed his raspy voice. “You alright?”, he asked. As you were finally able to look away from his gorgeous face, you bent back down and put your second shoe on, still holding on to his arm. “Thank you, you saved me from falling on my ass”, you said and pushed some hair out of your face. You rearranged the long skirt of your dress and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him checking out your just-mentioned ass. You cleared your throat and his eyes snapped back to your face. An apologetic smile appeared on his face and made it even prettier.

“I’m Ben, Ben Hardy”, he introduced himself. “Sounds promising”, you said, hinting at his last name. His eyes got big for a second, then he chuckled to himself. Your eyes got big as well as you realized that you had just said this out loud instead of inside your head. “Did I just say that out loud? I’m so sorry”, you immediately apologized and put a hand in front of your mouth.

“And you are?”, he asked and wiped away the awkward situation with his question. “I’m Y/N”, you told him, still a bit flushed by the embarrassment, which he luckily wasn’t able to see due to the dimmed lights. “Nice to meet you”, he held out his hand and as you grabbed it, he looked straight into your eyes. You had to admit, his stare made you weak in the knees. You realized that he was still holding your hand, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “So, are you…”, you let go of his hand and finally found your voice again, but got interrupted by a man you didn’t know stepping into your conversation.

“Ben, hey man, good to see you! What a night, huh?”, the man said and basically turned Ben away from you with a hand on his shoulder. Ben greeted him, but seemed a bit angry that he had interrupted you both. That man started to engage Ben in a conversation and you took the hint. You stepped away from the situation and noticed that you had to pee anyways.

You looked for the women’s toilet and per usual, had to wait in line. And while you waited, your mind started wandering.

Your night was very interesting so far. Three promising interactions with three cute and very attractive men had you fueled with sexual energy. This was already more than you had hoped for in this magical night. But it seemed that fate wanted it to end there…at promising. You got it now, you had tried and you had failed. But you also had fun. As soon as this line would start moving and you had done your business, you would see how much you could get out of that open bar situation.

 Two tequila shots later, you were at the edge of the dancefloor again, with a drink in your hand. A cosmopolitan, your favorite drink for late in the evening to give you that final buzz. You moved your hips to the beat of the song, but not too much because you didn’t want to spill your drink.

You felt the alcohol getting to your head, everything was a little lighter and you felt the right amount of dizzy for it still being fun. You turned around with a spin and lost a bit control over your balance in your tipsy state. You tipped over to the right and bumped into another person. “Oh, I’m sorry”, you shouted over the hammering music. You looked up right into a familiar face. “Hey, it’s you. I’d hoped I would find you again”, the man said as he recognized who he had run into…

author’s note: Now it’s your choice, who you want to run into again. Just click the name of your favorite encounter. Quick warning: it gets dirty with everyone!

                                         Gwil      Joe     Ben

I would love to know which one you chose or (if you’re read all three) which one you liked best. Please comment below or tell me over my message board. Thanks guys! And have fun with it!

[afjakwritesarchive]

For the theme of hypnosis, could you write a superhero AU that has sort of an X men backstory on the powers, in which Arthur is the hypnosis able person, where alfred mistakes arthur for a villain!

Title: Second ChancesPairing: USUKWords: 855AU: Human/SuperheroGenre: Comedy/RomanceStory summary: Alfred investigates a possible new threat with mysterious powers.A/N: I’ll be totally honest, I’ve never seen anything X-men related, and google wasn’t much help in giving me some context, so… I kinda just did whatever here. Thanks for the request tho, boo! I had a lotta fun with it! :) 

When Alfred was sent to investigate the new supervillain, he had no idea what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t a man in a sweater vest working behind the counter of an old bookstore where cats were free to roam freely and most of the visitors were fifty or above. 

When Alfred stepped into the shop ten minutes after closing, the suspected supervillian—whose name was Arthur Kirkland—scowled darkly at him. 

“The shop’s closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow, although I find it hard for to believe you should be in here since you obviously can’t read,” said the man in a smooth British accent, gesturing to a sign posted to the door which listed the shop’s hours.

Despite himself, Alfred was a bit amused by the Brit’s sarcastic behavior and sour frown. It looked comfortable on his handsome face, as though it was an expression he used a lot. Alfred wondered what a smile would look like on a face as beautiful as his, and quickly shook the thought away. No matter how attractive he was, he was still a villain and most likely a danger to the people of the city. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure everyone was gone. I wanna talk to you.” Alfred said bluntly, approaching the counter with a friendly smile. 

Arthur’s scowl darkened. The man was strikingly handsome to be sure, but there was no excuse for his rude behavior. He had half a mind to kick him out without another word, but then the man spoke again.

“Here’s the deal, Arthur: I’m Alfred, and a friend of mine says that you’ve got some abilities he can’t detect. I’m just here to make sure that your powers—whatever they are—aren’t gonna be used to hurt anyone.”

For a moment, Arthur stared at him with his pretty green eyes wide in astonishment. Then, they narrowed and he glared harshly at Alfred. His arms folded across his chest and his abnormally thick brows furrowed with annoyance. 

“And how do I know you’re not going to use yours to hurt me?” He huffed, but he didn’t seem all that afraid; in fact, he seemed rather calm. 

Alfred raised a brow. “Because I’m a good guy and I don’t hurt people.” He answered bluntly.

“Well, Alfred, I don’t know if I believe that.” Arthur frowned. “I, for one, am not planning to hurt anyone—but I’d like to make sure the same can be said for you.” Arthur said, looking to Alfred’s eyes. 

They were beautiful and blue and swimming with sincerity, but Arthur had been fooled before. Thus, he allowed his power to well up within him and pushed it onto Alfred. For a moment, the American stilled, clearly confused as to what he was feeling. Then, he slumped forward, under Arthur’s trance within seconds. The Bit caught his shoulders calmly, keeping him from smacking his head against the counter. 

“You are going to answer all my questions honestly and completely,” Arthur instructed as he moved around the counter and pulled the mindless Alfred behind a tall bookshelf so that no one passing by saw what he was doing. 

“Now, tell me: what exactly are your powers?” Arthur questioned. 

Alfred stared ahead blankly, eyes hazy and unseeing. When he spoke, his voice was monotonous. “Enhanced strength, speed, and healing, and the ability to manipulate fire.” 

“And what of this friend you mentioned? What are his powers?” Arthur asked. 

“I don’t know what all he’s capable of. Just that he can sense others with powers and usually tell what they can do.” Alfred answered. 

“And do you, your friend, or anyone else you know have malicious intent for the people of this city?”

“No.”

Arthur nodded, satisfied. He imagined pulling Alfred out of trance and the American suddenly blinked himself awake, jaw dropping. 

“Holy shit,” Alfred said, staring down at Arthur. “Dude, what was that?” He asked. 

“That was my power.” Arthur answered smoothly. “You know, you really shouldn’t walk blindly into conflict with someone when you have no idea what they’re capable of. I could have made you do anything I wanted to.”

Alfred raised a brow. “So why didn’t you?” He asked. 

“Because I’m one of the good guys, too.” Arthur answered with a roll of his eyes before walking back toward the counter. “And as I mentioned before, it’s past close, so you should leave.”

“Hey, hey, wait,” Alfred said, and raised his hands in surrender when Arthur looked up at him and glared. “Look, I’m sorry. I just have to make sure that the people around here aren’t hurting anyone, especially when the power is as dangerous as yours is. I mean, if a villain got ahold of mind control…”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I know. But I have no intention of hurting anyone.”

Alfred nodded. “Alright, I get it. Listen, Arthur… I didn’t mean to get off on the wrong foot. I actually think you’re really cute. Could we maybe start over…?” Alfred asked, flushed a bit red. 

Arthur went red in the face. God, for an idiot, Alfred was handsome. “Fine. But only this once.” He huffed sheepishly. 

[thisgirlsays22]

Intro to Data Science (Chapter 2)

Rating: E

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin

Pairing(s):  Eren Yeager/ Levi

Chapter Word Count: 4.5K

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, (British) Professor Levi, (American) Student Eren, Long Distance

Summary:

“You’re probably just into him for the accent.”

“It’s not that,” Eren argued. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s so much more than that.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

Notes:

For my lovely @fluffymusketeer who somehow manages to put me in a good mood even when the day looks bleak at first. 

And a big thank you to @attraversiamo19 for being a fantastic beta and to @dreamxxdream for being a fantastic test reader.

Also check out this lovely fanart from @renriva (Mira, you are amazing Y_Y) 

Read on Ao3 or under the cut. Edit: Chapter 1 on Tumblr 

Monday morning, when Levi nodded at him as he walked through the door of the lecture hall, Eren felt all the tension go out of his shoulders. He hadn’t stopped beating himself up over his failed attempt to ask Levi out. Eren didn’t crush often, but when he did, it was intense and entirely too much.

He couldn’t concentrate during class because of the fucking cadence of Levi’s beautiful, deep voice as he explained the difference between supervised and unsupervised machine learning.  He tried to copy down the notes from the slides on the screen at the front of the room, but kept drawing little doodles in the margins instead, wondering what was I thinking? That Levi would agree to go...platonically? That they’d strike up a friendship and eventually something more? God, he was embarrassed. He’d thought he’d picked up some sort of vibe between them, and maybe he had, but Levi was too noble to act on it.

“I can’t get him out of my head,” he complained to Mikasa that night. His desk was covered in junk food and dirty shirts, so he was curled up in his uncomfortable single-bed with his laptop, whining to his sister about his hopeless crush. He had dreamed his life in London would be glamorous, but here he was.  

“You’re probably just into him for the accent.”

“It’s not that,” Eren argued. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s so much more than that.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

He should have just called her instead of video chatting. It would be easier to ignore her derision that way. “God, he’s so fucking smart and kind of mean sometimes, but then he’ll turn around and give you helpful advice. I mean he’s only thirty-four and he’s had this amazing career already.”

“If you start talking to me about data, I’m ending this call,” Mikasa warned.

Eren ignored her. “The way he teaches is incredible. He makes such sarcastic comments about what we’re learning, but then if you ask a question, he really takes the time to understand it and give you a good answer. He once made a shit joke to explain a concept about correlation versus causation.” Eren paused to sigh dreamily. “Plus, he likes to read good books. And he shares all these funny posts about cats, like you wouldn’t expect it from him.”

“Wait...what? How do you know that?”

Realising he’d slipped up, Eren froze. “...I may have found his Facebook.”

Mikasa groaned and covered her face. “I’m so embarrassed for you, oh my god.”

“I had to find out if he was straight or not!”

She groaned again. “Eren, don’t do this. I can hear it in your voice. I know how reckless you can be, but come on.”

“It’s just a fun crush,” he defended. “A fun, silly crush.” He left out the part where he’d already tried to ask Levi out on a date.

“Yes. A fantasy.” Mikasa crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.

“Shut up, Mikasa.”

“I was just agreeing with you!”

“Yeah, but in your I-know-better-than-you way.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you. You get your heart broken so easily.”

“I almost never like anyone!”

“Yeah, but when you do, your heart gets broken like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“Whatever, fine.” He rolled over on his side and stuffed a pillow under his head.

“Eren...what aren’t you telling me?”

“What?”

“You have that guilty look on your face. Like in the picture.” Mikasa took every available opportunity to reference The Picture. A photo taken when Eren was a toddler where he wore a guilty expression as he hid in their playhouse to have a private shit.

“I am not making the guilty poop-face!”

“You are!”

He flung the pillow over his face and spoke into it.

“Try again without the pillow.”

“You don’t have to worry about him breaking my heart because I already asked him out and he turned me down. Which he definitely should have. He’s being a responsible, respectable adult, which only makes me like him more.”

“Eren!”

“I know, I know.”

“Oh my god...What kind of date did you ask him on?” Mikasa leaned closer to the camera, looking exasperated but intrigued.

Eren pulled at one of the seams on his pillow. “Philip Pullman is giving a talk about his new book, and I asked him to go.”

Her face softened. “That’s actually cute. You’re still an impulsive moron, but a sweet one.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said and then tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. “So how’s mom?”

“You know her. Working hard as ever. She finally agreed to let me start covering the groceries since I’m running more sessions at the gym.”

“Wait. Mom agreed to let you help contribute?”

“Yes.”

“As in our mother? Carla Jaeger?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure this wasn’t an Invasion of the Body Snatchers situation?”

“Haven’t checked yet, but I’ll get back to you.”

“Shit. That’s amazing, Mikasa. Good job.”

She took a little bow, hair falling in front of the camera. “Yes, thank you. Now I just have to convince Zeke to stop leeching off of mom.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”  

“He was only supposed to be here for a month, and it’s been three.”

“Well, Mikasa, it’s really hard to find another pyramid scheme to latch onto. These opportunities don’t just fall from the sky.”

“I swear to god if he ever tries to sell me another vitamin again, I’m disowning him. I’m trying to convince him to just get a job with Connie at the bar until he figures things out.”

“Well, if anyone can, it’s you.”

“If he talks to you, can you mention it too? Couldn’t hurt.”

“Sure,” Eren said, not really meaning it. They hadn’t talked much since Eren had left for school nearly a year ago. Zeke had sent him a few obnoxious texts recently that consisted of, Pip pip cheerio, bro. Or Have you read my blog post on Paleo yet? All of which Eren had ignored.  

“Okay, I have to run, I’m leading a yoga session in an hour, but I love you, and for what it’s worth, I think you should still go to the event.” Mikasa blew him a kiss and waved.

“Love you too, and I’ll think about it.”

They disconnected the call, and Eren got that same lonely feeling he always got after calling home to his family or friends. On top of that was the embarrassment about his crush. He had to accept he’d let himself get carried away and was projecting his feelings of loneliness onto this fantasy of Levi.   

*

Eren took Mikasa’s advice and went to the Southbank Centre on Friday even though he hadn’t found anyone who wanted to go with him. His roommates hadn’t been interested: Ymir had called him a nerd, and Annie had just said, “No. Sounds boring.” At least Reiner and Bert had politely cited other plans as their reason for not going.

Whatever, they were all kind of assholes anyway. They only hung out with him because they all lived together, and rarely at that. So Eren had attempted to tame his wild hair, put on his nicest pair of black jeans and a button-down, and gone on his own.

Loneliness clouded his excitement for the night as he waited in line to get his signed copy of The Book of Dust from the little booth at the front of the centre. Everyone around him seemed to be here with someone, chatting happily, flipping through the new book together.

Eren got his copy and didn’t know what to do with himself. Distracted as he wandered around, admiring the large, glossy atrium, he did a double-take when someone caught his eye. Standing by the bar was a man Levi’s height with the same undercut.  

The man turned so Eren could see him in profile. Holy fucking shit, Eren thought, maneuvering through the crowd as fast as he could, making strategic use of his broad shoulders to get people out of his way.

“Levi?”

Levi leaned against the front of the bar, looking unsurprised. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?” He’d spent the whole week trying not to think about Levi, trying to laugh off the rejection and the hopelessness of his crush, but Levi was standing in front of him. He’d actually come.  

“I wanted to see the lecture.”

“Oh. Do...do you want to sit together?” Eren asked.

“Not really.”

Eren was knocked further off-balance, unsure if Levi was joking or not. He tried to remain collected as he said, “I thought you were supposed to be polite.”

“I’m polite,” Levi protested flatly.

“No, you’re confusing.”

A funny look crossed Levi’s face, which Eren couldn’t decipher.

The bartender came back with Levi’s drink, a plastic cup full of wine, but before Levi paid, he said, “He’ll have a...what do you drink, Eren?”   

Too flustered to think of the names to any drinks, Eren said, “What you’re having looks good.” If Levi was buying him a drink, maybe he had been joking.

“Another red wine, please,” Levi said.

Eren didn’t know what to talk about next. Levi looked so handsome in his dark blazer and jeans, and Eren’s heart wouldn’t stop doing nervous somersaults.  

If he’d known Levi was going to be here, he could have mentally prepared some dazzling stories, some intriguing ice-breakers, intelligent questions, but here he was standing in front of Levi awkwardly without a clue what to say.

Fun crush, he reminded himself. Silly, fun crush. Just a fantasy.

“You don’t want to sit with me, but you’re buying me a drink?” Eren asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, breezy.

“You’re a broke student. Like I said, I’m being polite.” Levi paid for the drinks and Eren followed him to one of the empty tables around the corner. For such a bustling place, there were a surprising number of cozy places to sit.

Eren looked around for anyone he recognised from class and was relieved when no one materialised. He wondered if Levi was doing the same. Fuck it, anyway. There wasn’t any rule that they couldn’t socialise if they ran into each other in public.  

“Have you been here before?” Levi asked once they were seated, facing one another at a low table by the window. Finally out of winter’s grasp, the sun was still hanging low in the sky, casting the Thames in an orange hue.

“I came to an art exhibit here once,” Eren said, “but never to an event like this. It’s weird they serve you the drinks in plastic cups. I thought it would be classier.” The plastic cup made Eren feel like he was back in the college dorms again. Not bad, just out of place here.

Levi crossed his ankle over his leg, and Eren tracked the graceful movement with his eyes. “You can bring them into the theatre,” Levi said.  

“True. Do you come here often, then?” As the words left his lips, Eren cringed.

“Did you really just ask me if I come here often?” Levi asked, bemused.

“That did sound really cheesy,” Eren admitted. “But it’s a genuine question.”

“I don’t come here often,” Levi said. “But I’d like to. Most of my friends have moved out of the city, though.”

I’d go with you. In his mind’s-eye, it played out like fast-forwarding a movie. Levi would wear the same black blazer that brought out the grey in his eyes; afterwards they’d have dinner overlooking the Thames, discussing whatever show they’d seen, and then Levi would take him home and--Eren shook himself out of his spiraling thoughts.   

Their knees brushed under the table, and Levi didn’t pull away.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Eren said, voice low.

Levi frowned and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Eren...Just because I’m here doesn’t mean--”

“I know. I’m still glad, though.”

When Eren met Levi’s eyes, he felt it: a current of electricity running between them. He wasn’t always the best at reading other people, but he was good at identifying that spark of interest, the heat that a single look could carry. The way Levi’s heavy-lidded eyes considered him made Eren’s breath hitch. Did Levi want to be convinced? If he did, Eren feared he would only fuck it up.

Levi cleared his throat and stood. “I need the loo. And we should head in soon.” 

“Wait,” Eren said, turning around in his chair. “So we are sitting together then?”

“I never said that.”    

“I can’t tell if we’re joking anymore,” Eren said.

“Fine.” Levi waved a hand. “I suppose you can sit with me. But you better bloody well not talk during it. I can’t stand that rude shit.”

Eren nodded, amused by the severity and specificity of the request. “You have yourself a deal.”  

He watched Levi walk away, and then leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself.

*

They chose seats at the front of the rear stalls, so there was no one sat in front of them and they had a wooden ledge to rest their arms and drinks upon. Every time their shoulders touched as Eren sat back in his chair, he lost track of what was being said on stage.

When the interview ended, Eren didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay still and feel Levi’s arm pressed against his, to smell the smoky scent of his cologne that made Eren light-headed with desire. Even though the urge to rest his head on Levi’s shoulder or to thread their fingers together was almost too much to bear, he would have chosen to relive that hour over and over if he could.

Afterwards, Eren waited for Levi to excuse himself, to call it a night, but he seemed content to keep walking side by side as they left the building together. Eren thought, if I just keep thinking of interesting things to say, he won’t go.

“You up for a walk along the river?” Eren tried.

Levi considered this for a moment. So sure the answer would be no, Eren almost didn’t register the nod. “Yeah, alright. Not too cold for it.”  

They strolled along the walkway above the water, the night air crisp and cool enough that Eren had put his sweatshirt on. The London Eye’s blue glow reflected on the water below, rotating so slowly above the city that it appeared still. Lights from restaurants, shops and flats on both sides of the river lit up the night, and Eren let himself imagine that there was nothing preventing this from being a real date, that they were just two people without a care in the world.

“I don’t know how I felt about the excerpt he read,” Eren said.  

“Me neither.”

“I’m worried it’s going to be really boring,” Eren confessed. “The first ones were perfect. I don’t want anything to ruin that.”

For a moment, they were split apart, maneuvering around a group of tourists clustered together, watching a man waving a giant bubble wand. They exchanged an eye roll.

“I thought you said you hated the last book,” Levi said once they had reached a quieter part of the pathway.

“No, I said it destroyed me. I hated it, and I loved it.”

“What, because Lyra and Will don’t end up together?”

“Obviously. They were soul mates and they were trapped in separate universes.” Eren threw his arms open wide for dramatic effect.

Levi stopped walking and crossed his arms, face caught in the blue glow from the ferris wheel. “Soul mates? They were twelve.”

“What’s age got to do with it?”   

“You’re right, nothing. It’s the concept of soul mates that’s bullshit.”

The opinion didn’t come as a surprise. In fact, Eren had been hoping for it; he enjoyed the sarcastic, scathing replies. He didn’t even know if the concept was something he believed in either, at least not for himself.   

“Are you going to tell me statistically it’s improbable?” Eren gave him a sly smile.

“Yeah. I’m going to draw a fucking graph for you.”  

“Come on. Tell me the ending didn’t make you cry,” Eren teased.

Before Levi could reply, Eren came to a sudden halt. “Shit! I left my book inside!”

“It’s alright. I’m sure it’s either still at your seat or they’ve brought it to the front.”

Relieved that Levi didn’t seem annoyed by his stupidity, Eren said, “I just hope no one took it.”

“You can have mine if they did.”  

Levi said this so casually, as though he were offering a piece of gum, that it took a moment for it to register. “What? No, I couldn’t take yours.”

“I’m only here because you found the event. I can just buy another copy inside.”

“Well, let me go check for it.” He expected Levi to finally excuse himself, but he followed Eren back to the venue.

“I need a shit,” he said in answer to Eren’s questioning look as they walked through the entrance.

Eren was startled by the vulgarity of a line delivered in that lovely, clipped accent; he blinked at Levi before letting out a shocked laugh.

“Go get your book,” Levi said, heading to the bathroom.

One of the ushers who was helping close up the theatre let Eren back in, and his book was still underneath the chair where he’d left it. He felt immense relief that he hadn’t lost his momento of the night, something he’d carefully chosen while otherwise refusing to fill his transient life with clutter.

Even though Levi had given no indication he would be departing after said shit, Eren was still surprised to find him waiting, leaning against the wall outside of the theatre.  

“I’m peckish,” Levi said, and Eren felt almost giddy with hope.

“Wahaca maybe?”

“Sure,” Levi said. “Something fast.”

He let Eren buy him two fish tacos and a margarita from the Wahaca food-truck outside. “You bought me the drink earlier,” Eren had insisted. They sat at one of the picnic tables out front, the smell of grilled meat filling the air. Levi ate his taco with a knife and fork, and Eren made fun of him.

“Funny, you’re taking the piss when you’ve got sauce on your face,” Levi said, flicking his judgemental gaze to Eren as he cut off another piece of taco.    

Eren touched his chin. “Here?”

“No.”

He touched his forehead. “Here?”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Spot on.”

Reaching for a napkin from the centre of the table, Eren said, “Thanks for going back with me. That was really nice of you.” He wiped the corners of his mouth then messily tucked back into his chicken burrito.

“It’s fine.” Levi didn’t look up from his food.  

“You’re not great at accepting praise, are you?”

Levi’s fork was halfway to his mouth, and he paused to glare at Eren.

“Like when I tried to compliment your teaching or your career.”

“Maybe you’re bad at giving compliments. Thought about that?”

“You’re funny too,” Eren said, like it was a challenge.

Levi pointed at Eren with his fork. “That’s a better compliment.”

Eren finished up his food and stood. “I’m gonna get another margarita, you want one?”

“Go on then. But here,” Levi pulled his wallet out and handed over a twenty pound note.

“Thanks. I’ll keep the change.”

“Yeah. You can buy a new sweatshirt.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with my sweatshirt?” Eren looked down, dumbfounded, at his green hoodie. He’d gotten it from Abercrombie a couple years ago, but it was still in decent enough shape.  

“What’s right with it?” Levi said.

“You know what? You keep the change. Buy a new attitude,” Eren said.

Levi burst out laughing, covering his eyes with his hand as if he were surprised it was happening.

Flirting with Levi got Eren’s heart racing in ways he hadn’t experienced since his first middle-school crushes. He’d had feelings for people since then, meaningful relationships, but they’d lacked the novelty and the thrill that he felt with Levi. A dangerous, unlikely possibility unfolding between them.

The whole night had a surreal, magical edge to it. Removing Levi from the context of university had deepend Eren’s crush. It wasn’t Levi as a professor he liked...it was Levi the person. Though he seemed tenser than he did while in front of the classroom, he retained the sharp sense of humor that had caught Eren’s attention from the very first lesson.

Walking back to the food truck, chuckling to himself as he jingled the change around in his hand, that’s when Eren understood. He liked that Levi was a challenge, that he didn’t readily accept compliments. He even liked that Levi insulted his sweatshirt. Underneath his barbs and impassive exterior was a sweetness, a gentleness, and that was the best part of all. Each time he’d talked to Levi he managed to chip away at Levi’s icy exterior just a bit more. Maybe soon he would uncover the sculpture underneath, a masterpiece.

All the things he’d told Mikasa had been true, except that this was a fun, silly crush. Eren could feel he was rapidly approaching the danger line where the fun and silly portion of the evening would end and he would only get hurt.

While he waited in line, he glanced back at Levi at the table a few times, half-expecting him to be gone, but Levi was still sitting there with his copy of The Book of Dust out, idly flipping through.

When he returned, Levi suggested they resume their walk.

“With our drinks?” Eren asked, equally surprised by Levi’s suggestion and the idea of walking around in public with alcohol in plain sight.

“It’s fine,” Levi said, amused.

“Sweet! I always just want to be sure. It’s illegal back home.”

“Your laws make no fucking sense.” Levi shook his head.

They cleared off the table and continued in the direction of the Eye, past the small market selling records and books and two stray street performers dressed as Yoda and a gold statue.

Eren halted. “Shit! I left my book back at the table.” He’d been so focussed on the moment that he lost track of the damn book again.

“Do we need to put that thing on a leash?”

“Yes!” Eren called over his shoulder and as he ran back to their table to retrieve his wayward text once again. Please don’t let him think I’m always like this, Eren thought.

“You sure you really want it?” Levi asked once Eren had returned. He was looking down at the river now, leaning forward on the stone wall along the edge of the walkway. Eren went to stand by his side.

“I do! I really should have gotten two actually. One for my mom,” Eren said regretfully as they resumed their walk once again. “I might just give her mine since I keep leaving it everywhere anyway.”  

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find another one. They usually sell signed copies like those at Forbidden Planet.”

“What’s that?” Eren asked.

“They sell comics, merchandise, those sorts of things. They’ve got a decent collection of fantasy and sci-fi books. Bit nerdy, but fun. A friend of mine always makes me stop in there with them.” Levi smiled fondly.

“What do you usually buy?”  

“Can’t say I’m too exciting. I tend to like the broadly popular work. Studio Ghibli films and the like. Walking Dead’s alright, I still keep up with the comics.”

Eren hid a smile. “I like some of that stuff. Like anything zombie sign me up, except I’ve given up on the Walking Dead.”

“Fair. I really should.”

“I’m actually kind of surprised you’re into all that.”

“Why?”

Because you seem so aloof and cool and anything that makes you seem more down-to-earth just makes me like you more. “I don’t know, I guess you come off as someone who wouldn’t have a lot of interest in that kind of stuff. Like you’re too cool for it.”

“You don’t know me very well at all,” Levi said. Was there--Eren’s heart stuttered--was there something flirty in the way Levi said that? It was something in the way he held Eren’s eye, the sly way the corner of his lip tugged up.

He was probably just imagining it. Eren rested his arms on the railing above the wall, trying to choose his next words carefully as he stared down at the patch of rocky-beach that was visible now, not yet swallowed up by the tide.  

“I wouldn’t mind knowing you,” Eren said quietly, as though he were tossing the words to the river like a skipping stone.

Neither looked at the other. Eren’s grip on the rail tightened. Mikasa’s warning ran through his head again as he waited for Levi to speak. To say something, anything.

“Even if I wanted that too, you’re my student. It’s a bad idea.”

Eren’s heart went into overdrive, pounding against his rib cage like it was trying to escape. Their fingers were inches apart, resting on the guardrail and Eren let the wine and margaritas give him courage as he moved his hand towards Levi’s and placed it on top of his. The hard line of Levi’s profile was impassive, but he didn’t pull away.

Self-conscious, nervous thoughts slithered into Eren’s mind: why would Levi want him? He was just a dumb kid with nothing to offer.

But Eren was also reckless. He let moments overwhelm his better sense of judgement, his rationale, and would always choose to leap. Below, a river cruise ship trailed past, and a few people on the deck waved up at them. Eren tentatively lifted his hand to wave back, but instead of putting it back down on the rail, he took hold of Levi’s arm. Face still angled away from Eren, Levi’s jaw was tight.

Eren could feel the hard muscles of Levi’s bicep through the blazer, and he squeezed. Partially so Levi would look over at him and partially because he had no restraint.

Without a word, Levi gripped Eren’s waist, sending shivers through him at the touch as they locked eyes. Eren hesitantly bent forward to kiss him, expecting to be stopped, but was shocked when Levi’s hand twisted the front of his hoodie to pull Eren the rest of the way across.   

They both tasted like tequila, but Eren wouldn’t have changed a thing. Running his fingers along the soft hairs of Levi’s undercut and woozy again from the smell of his cologne, Eren could have kissed him like this all night. Levi’s lips were soft and a little chapped, and he kissed Eren with such tenderness, hand pressed against the small of his back, that Eren thought he must be dreaming.

But Levi pulled away, taking a step back. The breeze blew his bangs in front of his face, obscuring his eyes. “I should go,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Eren was still reeling from the kiss, words not registering until Levi stepped back.

“Oh, okay,” Eren said, but Levi was already hurrying away. “Goodnight, then.”   

[weecb1983]

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation…

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation…

 O would, or I had seen the day

That treason thus could sell us,

My auld gray head had lien in clay,

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!

But pith and power, till my last hour,

I'll mak' this declaration;

We're bought and sold for English gold -

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

 Interpretation of poetry has never been my strong point, but I’d hazard a guess that The Bard was pretty pissed off when he wrote these words.  More than 200 years later, I have to wonder – are we still a “parcel of rogues in a nation”?

 I started off 2019 with two resolutions:

1.     Don’t worry about things until they happen

2.    Stop tweeting

 I lasted until the 2nd of January before I came across a tweet from the Scotsman…”End indyref2 talk in 2019, campaigners TELL @NicolaSturgeon” and felt compelled to retweet with a sarcastic comment and a bemused emoji. Fast forward a few hours and I’m awake at 3am, anxious about the state of the country and a Brexit that hasn’t happened yet.

Earlier in the year, to relieve my anxiety, the “other half” begrudgingly agreed to me stockpiling food.  So I set about compiling a “Brexit Cupboard” filled with pasta, rice and other staples from the continent such as olive oil and sundried tomatoes that may be hard to come by in the even a no-deal Brexit scenario.  I received a lot of stick for this from friends and family, who suggested that I was catastrophising and perhaps I had too much time on my hands, being on maternity leave at the time.  It was time I went back to work.

 Brexit cupboard ready to go, I still find myself awake at stupid o’clock in the morning, so in another attempt to get a decent night’s sleep I thought I’d try to take the thoughts that are troubling me and put them down on paper….

 Back in 2014 when Scotland voted No, I was heartbroken but I understood and accepted the result.  I don’t blame my friends and family who voted No (openly).  Initially, my gut reaction was No.  It was a risk, but I decided that since it was such a serious decision, I should partake in some research.  I had never been interested in politics before and, prior to 2013, wasn’t even registered to vote.  Coming from a predominantly socialist family, I was conscious that my vote should be an informed decision and not based on what those around me thought.  The more I read, the more convinced I was that Scotland should be independent, and the more incensed I became that we weren’t already.

 I joined Twitter, entered into discussion with “Unionists”, asking questions and looking for a reason as to why Scotland should remain as part of the UK. I am still looking.  For one single reason.  Instead I have received nothing but condescending replies, questioning my intelligence and level of education, or lack thereof.  One lovely chap asking, “not very bright are you?”. Regarding the ever divisive topic of Scottish Independence, polite discourse quickly descends into “sharing and pooling” and “fiscal transfer” and “go away, you don’t understand”.  I’ve tried with GERS.  I really have, and I don’t think it’s that GERS figures are beyond the comprehension of the average “cybernat”.  Just that they are far too dull to hold the attention of all but the most dogged “Britnat”, who would rather see Scotland burn to the ground than be independent (they might get their wish come April).  They wait eagerly for “GERS-figures day” every year and, like a dog with a bone, rip them to shreds and shout “See!  They are your own government’s figures and they show that Scotland is too wee, too poor!  Get back in your box”.  From what I can understand, these figures are based on Scotland being part of the so-called “United” Kingdom and can’t be used to predict what an independent Scotland would look like so I really don’t see what all the hoo-hah is about to be honest.

 Sometimes I think, in an alternative universe, where Scotland voted Yes four years ago, what would my unionist friends and family think if the country was in the state that it is now?  I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be biting their tongue, going by the continuous loop of “SNP-bad” rhetoric that still prevails, despite none of this current shit-show being of their doing.

 Looking at the state of affairs, it is extremely disturbing to see what people will accept nowadays.  If you had told me four years ago that the UK would be stockpiling food and medicine, preparing the army for civil unrest and that Schrödinger’s drones would cause Gatwick airport to grind to a halt, I would have said, no one in their right mind would vote for that….but then again, they didn’t put that on the big red bus.

 Credit where it’s due to the Westminster establishment, they have been extremely clever in this respect.  Of course it would never have worked to put “Vote for martial law” on the bus!  Instead, over two years they have, little by little, gone from “£350 million for the NHS!” to “a no-deal scenario wouldn’t be the end of the world” with Westminster’s very own resident hobbit Michael Gove kindly suggesting that we allow people to scavenge on rubbish heaps.  Even better, it will give us a chance to go back to the good old days of the Blitz when everyone pulled together.  To anyone who says that, I say, get yourself down a trench during the Battle of the Somme in 1916.  I visited the WW1 battlefields in 2015 after 97 years of peace, and it was traumatising enough.

 To anyone who is (even now!) unsure about whether Brexit is all bad, I simply say, look at who supports it…for the love of God!  Imagine, stumbling across a party and looking around to see Boris Johnson, Hobbit Gove, Nigel Farage, Andrea Leadsom, Dominic Raab, Priti Patel, John Redwood, Vladimir Putin and last but by no means least, the smiling assassin, Jacob Rees-Mogg and his fellow Dickensian panto-villain Julia Hartley-Brewer (never trust anyone with a double-barrelled surname).  I would be turning on my heel and getting out of that place before they started burning £50 notes (or as it will be known post-brexit…$5,000,000).

 I happen to think Theresa May herself would also be at that party.  I am not for a minute buying that she was ever a Remainer.  I reckon her husband (senior executive at an investment fund that profits from tax-avoiding companies) would stand to lose a pretty penny from the EU’s Anti Tax Avoidance Directive which was presented on 28th January 2016 (!) and requires its member states to apply these measures as of 1st January 2019…3 months before the Brexit deadline.  Coincidence?  No deal has always been the end goal and who better to run down the clock than the cringe-worthy curtseying Theresa May who campaigned so emphatically for Remain? Theresa May, who is trying to broker a deal that is best for the WHOLE country and one that supports the democratic vote…the last democratic vote you’ll ever have, by the way.  Because now democracy means that when you voted once, based on an illegal campaign that no-one has been held accountable for, you are no longer entitled to change your mind because that is what democracy means now. Is Theresa May the Keyser Söze of Westminster?  Albeit her daft walk at the end is to the tune of Abba?  Is she that clever and forward-thinking to have orchestrated this whole clusterbourach?

 No, she is merely a puppet and her strings are being pulled by disaster capitalists who know exactly what they are doing.  They will have prepared for every eventuality.

 Panto villain Mogg has been popping his polite, well-spoken, over-privileged and under-achieving head up recently to air his views whenever he can on the main-stream media.  I noted that he voiced his support of the late Margaret Thatcher featuring on the new £50 note.  Margaret Thatcher, who was a known admirer of General Pinochet.

 This is a quote from Naomi Klein’s book, The Shock Doctrine:

 “The British prime minister was well acquainted with what she called “the remarkable success of the Chilean economy”, describing it as a “striking example of economic reform from which we can learn many lessons”.  Yet despite her admiration for Pinochet, when Hayek first suggested that she emulate his shock therapy policies, Thatcher was far from convinced.  In February 1982, the prime minister bluntly explained the problem in a private letter to her intellectual guru.  “I am sure you will agree that, in Britain with our democratic institutions and the need for a high degree of consent, some of the measures adopted in Chile are quite unacceptable.  Our reform must be in line with our traditions and our Constitution.  At times the process may seem painfully slow.”

 I wonder if 30 odd years is slow enough and I think by “quite unacceptable”, she means this…

 https://www.independent.co.uk/news/the-pinochet-affair-i-saw-them-herded-to-their-death-i-heard-the-gunfire-as-they-died-1179543.html

Make no mistake, this is a right-wing coup.  It’s just that it’s being carried out in an orderly fashion – the British way.

 No one wants to talk about Brexit anymore.  The majority of the people in my life are completely ignorant about the consequences of a no-deal scenario, blissfully so, and encourage me to join them. The apathy shown towards the biggest political disaster to happen to this country in living memory is beyond my comprehension.  So half the country is sleepwalking and half have just about reached Brexit saturation point and all the time we are being nudged, slowly towards the edge of the cliff. ….and when we’re pushed over the edge, there will be Sajid Javid waiting on an armed boat shouting “CRISIS! - NO MIGRANTS ALLOWED!”.  The neoliberals stand to make a tidy profit while the country is reeling from the chaos that would inevitably ensue from a No-deal. We can look forward to the swift privatisation of our Health Service, abolition of the welfare state, chlorinated chicken, etc.

 In 2014, Scottish independence was about hope and the ability to control our own affairs.  Now, it’s about the survival of our democracy.  If Scotland is not independent come March 29th 2019, I predict that, freed from the burden of EU laws, Westminster will adopt Henry VIII powers to abolish the devolved parliaments.  It has already shown what it is capable of, and its contempt of the Scottish parliament, by taking them to court over the Continuity Bill.  Scotland has barely been mentioned throughout the Brexit “negotiations” and has been disregarded and disrespected at every turn.  We are absolutely not, as was promised, “Better Together”. Independence is the only option now and I, for one, hope to begin 2020 as part of an independent Scotland with my human rights still intact.

 However, if anyone is reading this in a post-Brexit version of “The Handmaid’s Tale”….nothing to see here!  All left-wing views out the window.  God save the Queen.

[tellmeiamdreamingplease]

When Life gives you Lemons- Chapter Three

Summary: Reader goes to collage, Mob!Tom has too move to New York,They meet and Tom falls for her, Y/N wants none of it but Tom like to get his way.

Word count: 1483 words

Warnings: death, guns, mean words, My bad writing

Inspired by @thewiseandfree

Y/N walks done the street, it has gotten pretty dark, she had her book bag packed with some clothes, some school supplies, hygiene products, and her phone. Since she didn't have a car she was walking around the city trying to make her way to Ambers. Y/N is lost in her thoughts. Why did she leave me? I am her kid. lost in her thoughts, she was distracted by the fact that it started to rain, she looks up at the sky. Great she thought to herself, she contuied to walk in the rain, letting it run down her back, and flating her hair. she frowned as a roar of thunder shook her feet and the rain poured harder, my luck, she thought too herself, she looked around trying to find a shop or a restaurant, she looks to her side a notices a local coffee shop. She quickly jogs across the street, avoiding the puddles, and enters the warm shop; right away she breaths in the familiar smell of coffee. She goes up to the til and orders a large coffee with cream, once the barista gives Y/N her coffee she heads to a small table and begins to text Amber

Y/N: Hey. I need a ride. Long story. I’m at a coffee shop on the corner of 10th street and Cherrylane drive.

It took awhile for Amber to respond back.

Best Friend: Y/N don’t you remember? I’m gone for the night. My family is visiting my grandparents.

Y/N: oh right.

Best friend: did you need something, I’m sure I can get out of it.

Y/N: no it’s fine. I got it under control.

Best friend: :) okay

Y/n sighs as she puts her phone down, taking a large sip of her coffee. What was she going to do?

TOMS PERSPECTIVE

It was getting pretty late, but Tom couldn’t think anymore, he was going through the millions of files, when Harrison walked in.

“Hey mate, looks like you need a break. Want to go to the pub?” Tom shakes his head.

“I have too much to do, last thing I need is to be drunk.”

“How about coffee then, boast of energy to get you through all these.” Harrison pats the big pile of files on his desk. Tom sighs.

“Fine, but not for very long.” He grabs his cell and heads out the door with Harrison.

Y/N’S PERSPECTIVE

She taps her nails on the table as she scrolls through her phone, looking for a cheap hotel, she takes another large sip finishing off the coffee. The barista comes by with another coffee and a pity smile.

“Looks like you’ve had a tough day” he hands her another mug.

“On the house.” Y/n smiles and takes it, right away warming her hand.

“Thanks” she takes a large sip, and continues to scroll through a random website that shows hotels, she hears the familiar sound of a bell when a new customer walks in, she looks up in pure curiosity, that’s when she sees him, he had brown curly hair that was slightly patted down from the rain. He had deep brown eyes, he wore a grey shirt and a leather jacket and jeans, his jawline was sharp, it was like everything went in slow motion when she say him, he offered a glow to her life, her jaw almost dropped when she saw him. He was the definition of beauty. His friend nudged him and smiled as he pointed y/n out. He looked at her and winked, she quickly looked away, her cheeks turning a bright red, she didn’t mean to stare. She looked at the hotels again, she settled on one, thirty five dollars for one night, not so bad, the place did seem run down in the pictures, but least she wouldn’t be sleeping on the streets. She looked up and notices the men from earlier looking at her, they sat a nearby table, far enough so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She rolls her eyes. They probably think I’m a dumb girl that drools over attractive men. assholes. Y/n thinks, she looks down at her phone again. One night in this hotel wouldn’t be that bad. As she gets up to leave the barista comes over again.

“Here’s another cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. He smiles as he puts it down on her table. Y/N shakes her head.

“I know I look like a wreak, but I can’t have you give me anymore free food, thank you though.” She pushes the plate and mug towards him. He chuckles.

“It’s already paid for madam.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait- by who?”

“Those two fellas.” He points to the two men from earlier. The barista walks away, and y/n is left dumbstruck, she looks at them again and the one she found attractive gives her alittle wave and winks again. She gets up bringing the plate and coffee towards their table.

“Thanks. But I don’t want this.” She sets it on their table. The one with blue eyes smirks at the one with brown eyes.

“Your welcome, you should eat it anyways, you look hungry.” The brown eyed one slides the plate over to her and smirks. What was he playing at?

“You should sit.” Says the blue eyed one, motioning to the chair between them. She raises an eyebrow. She decides to sit. What’s the worse that can happen?

“My names Tom, and this is my mate Harrison.” Tom introduces himself. He had an striking British accent.

“Now you should tell us. What happened to your face? Cat fight?” At first y/n was offended, but then she remembered, Adam.

“Something like that.” She mumbled as she broke off a piece of the muffin and popped it into her mouth. Tom raised his eyebrows, obviously curious.

“What’s your name, sweetheart” tom asks.

“Y/n.” He stared deeply in her eyes, she scoots her chair further away from him. Maybe she should leave, she was starting to get bad vibes.

“Well Y/n, what brings-“ tom was caught off short by a loud shout. Y/n looks at the door. She starts to shake, he was here, Adam was here. Followed by her mother. She had bruises all around her face.

“Do you think you can just leave?!” He shouts he steps closer to y/n. Y/n is unsure what to do. Her eyes widen. She looks at Tom, he looks at Harrison.

“Sir I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The barista calmly asks.

“Oh shut up.” Adam grabs a gun out of his jacket and shots the barista. The barista collapses on the floor, that’s when all hell breaks lose, the few people that are in the shop start screaming, hiding under tables. Y/n is pulled under a table by Harrison.

“ Your next.” Adam shouts staring right her, Y/n starts to cry, Harrison whispers in her ear.

“Don’t worry, Toms got this.” Tom stands up.

“What? Do you want to be next?” Adam sarcastically asks Tom. Tom chuckles.

“If I were you, I would get the hell out before you go through the most painful death you could imagine.”

“Was that a threat?” He cocks his gun. Tom grabs his gun and shots his foot. The sound makes more people scream.

“Yes it was, now get out before I make you.” Adam lowers his gun and leaves.

“Let’s go Lisa!” Her mother looks at y/n with panicked eyes. Y/n gets out from under the table.

“No! Mom!” But it’s too late her mom is out of the store. Everything else that happened was a blur, all she remembers was crying. Tom grabs her arm.

“Let’s go darling, let’s go somewhere safe.”

TOMS PERSPECTIVE

Tom was in his car now, after sorting everything out at the shop. He looks at the girl who is now sleeping beside him. She was beautiful, but she looks like she's been through pain, her face was bruised and her hair was cut.

“I should’ve killed him.” He turned to Harrison.

“If I knew he was the one that did this.. I should’ve put a bullet through his skull.”

“You still don’t know that he was the one.”

“That women was her mother, of course he was the one.” He looks at her again.

“Your mother will be excited.” Harrison smirked

“Are you fucking serious.” Tom shot him a glare. Harrison chuckled.

“What was I supposed to do, leave her there?” Tom questioned.

“No, but this is the first girl you’ve brought home in a month we’ve moved here, not even a one night stand, but with her, your smitten.” Tom rolled his eyes, the girl was pretty but he wasn’t in love with her or anything.

“And plus your mother is coming tomorrow.” Harrison smirked.

“What! She wasn’t supposed to come until next week!”

“She moved the date, she missed you.”

“Bloody hell” tom sighed. He’s family is coming, he has a girl at his house, and he might be falling for her, just by her looks. Hopefully she has a bad personality, then maybe he can shake this off. whatever this might be.

Taglist:

@reganmarler​

Side note: Sorry this chapter took so long, I was busy with homework and had a fever, I'm going to try to post twice a week for now on, maybe Tuesdays and Saturdays.... idk, we will see, anyways, thank for all the support I’ve gotten from Chapter one and two, LOVE YOUUUUU!!!!