#or in the case of the sparkly one on the far left in the third row that shows up four times in a row - that's my default/placeholder one

[flowering-darkness]

having a poke around in my MMD folder and

I think it's fun comparing all the different textures I use for my self-inserts' eyes. Somehow I thought I had more whose eyes were not green, but.. evidently not!

Can you tell them all apart?~ (That's a rhetorical question, I don't expect anyone to be able to. But if there are any you reckon you know, feel free to say!)

[chaninfused]

And Hope to Die | Han Jisung

◤“Her voice was softer and smoother than he anticipated, but why did he even expect her to sound like a fragment of his darkest nightmares in the first place?” In which a man who wants nothing to do with the mafia is chosen by its most infamous members. ◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. Chapter four from the ‘dead men don’t speak’ series. Angst. Descriptions of violence, blood, injury, and death. Usage of profanities. ◤Word count: 3.5K ◤Note: This idea is mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist.

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"Congratulations on your promotion!"

Those four words were the worst Jisung had ever heard in his life, but his colleagues seemed to think otherwise. They pounced on him, each with a proud slap to his back or a playful punch to his shoulder.

He stood between them like a twig helpless to the tides of the sea, jostled about without regard.

He didn't want a promotion.

He wanted out of this mess.

As he was pondering over all the ways the universe seemed to personally despise him, the door to the meeting room opened, and two strangers stepped in.

His colleagues immediately fell into a hush and bowed their heads in greeting, their small huddle around him dissipating. "Good afternoon, commanders!"

Not strangers, he realized with a chill as he mimicked the rest. He simply hadn't the opportunity to interact with them up close to recognize them. But he had heard of them. Who in the Shadow Front hadn't?

Seo Changbin, the one who wore an eye patch. Y/n, the one who wore a burgundy coat. Two commanders of the Chaos Crescent infamous for being downright insane.

Jisung wanted to jump out the nearest window.

"Han Jisung. That's you, right?"

He tensed up for a second. Her voice was softer and smoother than he anticipated, but why did he even expect her to sound like a fragment of his darkest nightmares in the first place?

"Yes," he squared his shoulders when he answered, daring to hold her—disconcertingly—sparkly gaze.

Why him?

Jisung had nothing to offer besides an uninspired soul, yet there she was, extending her hand out to him. “We’re excited to have you on board Action Unit 19, Han.”

That was his chance. He had better decline this ridiculous promotion and hope that if he weren’t to be released from this farce of a life, he’d at least remain in the bottom ranks where no eye nor mind regarded him.

But she was still looking at him intently, absorbing every millisecond of his hesitation with those knowing eyes. Behind her, the commander of Action Unit 17 regarded him with as much interest as one would grant a fly on the wall.

It appeared that his so-called chance was a farce, too.

Sure that fate was laughing its twisted ass off at him, Jisung clasped the hand of his new boss.

“Thank you, commander.”

•⭓•

Action Unit 19 was always busy solely by virtue of being yours, for you never sat still and never lingered in one place for too long. This new lifestyle was the very opposite of each of Jisung’s unheard hopes.

It was his third week, and he was standing amidst the havoc being wreaked by his comrades, idle. If any will was left in his empty soul, it was definitely not spared to raise the gun in his loose grasp or engage himself in the raid they’d been tasked with. It was a miracle he’d even survived this long, having been doing the exact same thing on every mission so far—absolutely nothing.

If anyone in his unit noticed, he was sure they’d kill him for it, or at least pummel him to the ground because that was the kind of unit he’d been promoted to.

One that would answer, ‘how high?’ if their commander told them to jump.

It moved Jisung’s soul not one bit.

In his impassive state, he felt a weight crash into him, nearly toppling him to the ground had he not quickly caught his footing.

The man who had collided with him was now clutching his issued suit. A bruised cheekbone and a busted lip, yet he snarled at him, spitting blood, “Go to hell.”

Frankly, Jisung couldn’t be bothered to fight him off, so he only stared back at him.

An enemy. Maybe he could finally release him from his hell.

The man fished out a knife, and it glinted with the tantalizing light of freedom, before it was snuffed out by two dreadful gunshots.

A bullet to his arm and another to his neck, and he convulsed, choking, letting go, dying. Exposing Jisung’s actions, or lack thereof, to his comrades.

The floor they’d been fighting in quietened, the silence only disrupted by the bold clacking of dress shoes and your demanding question behind him.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t turn around to face you, gaze still fixed at the dying man now crumpled at his feet. There went the chance he’d been waiting for.

Jisung doubted that you wanted his answer to that question because he was doing nothing, and that was the exact problem. His listlessness placed the rest of his unit in danger, and any resulting casualties would be your burden to carry in front of the higherups.

But he didn’t really care.

He knew better, in the depths of his mind, than to anger his boss. Still, he held on to the inkling of hope that maybe this way, you’d realize your mistake of hiring him and demote him back to the solitary humdrum of the lower ranks.

Anything to destroy this ever-growing snowball of mistakes.

You scoffed, and it sent a terrible chill down his spine. “I guess you don’t care if you died then.”

His body snapped in your direction, fast enough to see you point your gun straight at his head. Strangely, and against all reason, his heart lurched with the most sickening feeling. Wait—

Three gunshots deafened him as they echoed. Before he could speak. Before he could blink. Before he could breathe.

You were known to be wasteful with your bullets, but your aim was never sloppy, and instead of searing pain, Jisung heard a shriek from behind him.

Oh. Figures you wouldn’t actually shoot him.

He was frozen in place when you strode past him, your face a blank slate that somehow made the threat leaving your lips worse, “Get your act straight or you’ll wish those bullets went through your skull instead.”

•⭓•

Jisung thought that few things were more suffocating than his waking hours, one of which was being awake and in a party.

He managed to slip out of the loud hall with unsurprising ease. He was only a rookie in Action Unit 19, after all. No one would ask for his particular company during the half-year party where the entirety of the Shadow Front, bosses and underlings alike, gathered to drink and sweettalk their ways into higher positions.

Eager to be as far away from their pretenses, Jisung eventually found himself opening the door to the rooftop and stepping out to a stunning sunset. Even from this height, the view of the sky was the same as that seen by the passengers of the cars zooming below. Innocents who’d committed no mistakes as grave as his, and still got to enjoy something so mundane.

He leaned into the ceramic railing and nearly jumped out of his skin when a hum sounded behind him.

“The sky is green.”

He spun around so quickly he should’ve lost his balance, but Jisung only sputtered out, “Ma’am—!”

It turned out there were others beside himself who sought a breath of fresh air.

You were lying on the bare concrete, one outstretched leg over the other with your signature coat bundled up to cushion your head. How he hadn’t noticed you from the start was a wonder he could only attribute to the clouding of his mind, wanting nothing more than to escape the party.

As if his situation wasn’t sufficiently awkward on its own, there was the added fact that Jisung had been lying low ever since you rebuked him during the raid. Now, he was alone on the deserted rooftop with you and no smooth way to make an exit.

Damn it.

“Han Jisung.”

Maybe he should’ve stayed at that wretched party.

“I know you don’t want to be here.”

He stiffened at your words, carried by the soft breeze to his cold ears.

“I’ve known it for a while. Ever since your recruitment.”

So what? It wasn’t like he tired too hard to hide it. His life had been tainted by this organization, and he didn’t remember how or when it all began. Only that he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“But here’s the thing,” you sighed, and he heard the whisper of fabric as you sat up. “There’s nowhere but here for you and me.”

You were right. Of course you would be. Hands so thoroughly steeped with blood like his could have no other occupation.  

“So quit this rebellion of yours. It’s only going to kill you in the end and you know they don’t hold nice funerals for people like us.”

Jisung didn’t need to have this heart-to-heart with a criminal. He knew there was no getting out of this alive, let alone unscathed. Still, he had to try. He had to do something, anything, otherwise that bastard—

“Why are you even doing all this?”

Your question—perhaps prompted by his silence, or perhaps ignited by your curiosity—forced him to finally look at you and absorb the way the golden sunset bathed your skin. A divine halo for the most wicked of devils.

You were all too relaxed, head tilted back to regard him almost lazily, and somehow, for whatever reason, his heart skipped a beat. Or dropped to the pits of hell. It was a feeling that unsettled him either way, and Jisung found himself at a loss for words.

“I…”

Or maybe his words were so abundant that he didn’t know where to start, or whether it was even appropriate for him to say what was on his mind. You seemed to notice too, for you let out a humored huff, “Well, whatever it is, I can tell you don’t actually want to get yourself killed.”

“Of course not,” he stated a bit too roughly, fists curling into themselves as he gritted out his frustration, “I’m just—”

He was helpless. There was nothing he could do to resolve his situation without hurting his sister, and he couldn’t bear for his days to go on without change either.

“I see,” you murmured when he lapsed into silence again. He didn’t know what exactly you ‘saw’, but he supposed reading others came with your job description.

You rose to your feet and dusted off your burgundy coat as though your business was concluded. Without so much as another glance his way, you turned for the rooftop’s door, imparting onto him a few last words that had clearly, very easily, seen entirely through him.

“What you are is angry, Han Jisung. Make use of it.”

There was that twisted feeling in his chest again.

Jump.

•⭓•

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in this house?!”

The beer can, intended for Jisung’s head, clanged against the paving that led to the house. The assault did not deter Jisung, and he shouted back, “You used it all for your fucking drugs didn’t you? I gave that money to Mina!”

The assailant heaved with drunken anger. Once upon a time, Jisung knew him as his stepfather, but this man was no more than a stranger, now. He had lost himself to alcohol and narcotics after his wife’s abandonment and grew to resent her son as though it were his sworn duty.

His hatred was something that Jisung didn’t care for too much. He was an adult and had no reason to associate himself with this deteriorating household anymore. A luxury, yet he kept returning to this family because of her.

“That money wasn’t yours,” Jisung snarled, “Give it back.”

“You son of a bitch—!” the man's face reddened, as though he were choking on his own words. “I told you not to come here again! We don’t need your filthy money—”

“Right,” Jisung had to let out a bitter laugh. “That’s why you had to take the money I gave to my sister—”

“She’s not your sister!”

The shout should’ve rattled him, but Jisung stood his ground as his stepfather descended, fuming, hands outstretched as if to catch him by the collar and strangle him. He spat like a sputtering kettle, “I don’t want to hear her name coming from your mouth ever again—”

“Damn, you’re really insecure, huh?”

That voice did not belong in their family’s front yard, and it brought immediate quiet upon them. Jisung’s head snapped up, his heart sinking.

What the hell are you—

“Who the fuck are you?” his stepfather demanded, faltering in his angry steps as he glared at the intruder wandering into their property. Jisung could only watch, helpless, because he couldn’t simply exclaim at his boss’ face to leave.

“My name is Y/n,” you provided, a pleasant, yet utterly bland smile on your face as you walked up to the swaying drunkard. A black business card seemingly materialized between your fingers and you held it out to him, introducing yourself further, “I’m a general manager at House of Cosmos. Nice to meet you.”

“What the— How did you get in here? This is private property!” he hissed, completely ignoring your outstretched hand, and Jisung saw the masked disdain in your gaze grow. Disinterested, you dropped your business card on the ground and pointed behind you, shrugging, “Door’s wide open.”

And it was. The gate to their property was unlocked and yawning on its old hinges. Still, that didn’t explain your presence.

“Anyway, I’m here for my colleague,” you remarked, casually slinging an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and lying through your teeth with such terrifying ease. “You see, I offered to drive him to the company barbeque so I came by, but then—"

“I don’t care. Get out, both of you,” his stepfather interjected forcefully and you ceased your story making, letting go of Jisung’s stunned form with a scrunch of your nose and a mutter, “Huh...”

The man seemed to lean to his left a bit too steeply, a bit too slowly, slurring and struggling with this words, “A-And if I see your… face around here again—I s-swear I’ll—Argh—!”

The thud of his body against the yellowing grass was quiet.

A beat passed, then—

“I guess all that alcohol caught up to him, huh?” you murmured and Jisung stared, eyes like glass, at the limp body of the man he loathed more than anybody else. The cause and very source of all his misery and turmoil, motionless for once in his worthless life.

What the hell just happened—?  

“Hello?” your voice was muffled through the fog in his mind as you called emergency services. “A man collapsed in front of us—I think from a stroke… Yeah… Middle-aged, I believe. Okay. We’re at 11B street, Villa 1053C…”

No. No. No!

Jisung’s breaths were coming too short, his vision too dark.

He’s dead? How can he be dead? I didn’t even touch him—

“Okay. We’ll do that. Thank you.”

You ended the call and he spun to face you, grabbing your arms in manic desperation as he gasped, “They’re going to arrest us now— They’ll think I did it—!”  

You seemed all too slow to react to his outburst, wriggling out of his grasp with a dispassionate sigh, “Relax. You’ve got witnesses.”

“Witnesses?” he stepped back. “Who exactly?”

You furrowed your brows at him as if confused by his panic, then pointed at yourself, “Me.”

At the corner of the house, “the camera.”

Then somewhere above the two of you, “and her.”

Jisung’s gaze followed your finger to the window on the second floor and met the wide eyes of his sister gaping down at the scene. He realized, with a pang, that she had seen it all transpire despite every effort he’d made to keep her away from their fights all these years.

“Anyway, you know some first aid right?” you crouched next to his stepfather’s body, beckoning with your hand, “Come help me—”

“What are you really doing here?”

Jisung’s question made you stop and frown at him again, answering like it were the most obvious thing, “I’m here for you. Did I not say that?”

You did say that, but it made no sense and he was pretty sure it was a lie made to trick his stepfather.  

“You weren’t picking up and I was nearby,” you told him simply. “Now, If you’re done with your questions, come help.”

“I…see.”

Again, that feeling nagged at him.

Jump.

•⭓•

Two men in smart black suits halted in their steps when Jisung passed by, making way as they greeted him, “Good morning, VP.”

“G’morning,” he raised his free hand in a half-wave when he returned the greeting. In Jisung’s other hand was a hefty weight he’d been dragging across the floor. It left a faint red trail behind him, but he didn’t care much. Their janitor wasn’t going to be cleaning anything anytime soon, anyway.

He smiled at the two guards and dropped the body at their feet. “Take care of this for me, will you?”  

“Yes, sir.”

Feeling much lighter, Jisung resumed his way to his original destination. He was supposed to be there seven minutes ago, but there had been a minor distraction on his little trip. His tardiness wouldn’t be an issue, though, but the smudged blood on his gloves was, most definitely, unacceptable.

With a sigh, he pulled off his gloves and shoved them into the inner pockets of his blazer. It was a shame, truly. He really tried to make as little a mess as possible this time.

Jisung reached his destination and knocked on the polished door, pushing it open before getting his answer.

“You’re late,” you stated immediately upon his stepping into your office.

“Sorry,” he said as he shut the door behind him. “Caught a rat in the janitor’s closet.”

“Another one, huh?” you chuckled like it were a joke and not an attempt at your life, once again. Jisung clenched his jaw to bite back his frustrations.

You were lying haphazardly on one of the couches in your vast office. Feet propped up against the backrest and your head nearly dangling off the edge. Jisung didn’t know which was worse—your shoes against the leather or the fact that you were supposed to be recovering in bed today.

Farther towards the tall windows, someone else stood gazing out at the city with disinterest. Not once did he turn back to acknowledge Jisung’s entry, likely too unbothered to expend the effort, but that was to be expected of the Right Claw. Second only to the Boss, Seo Changbin wouldn’t even take more breaths than he was absolutely required to.

Jisung shut away the disappointment that flooded his chest at seeing him.

“You asked for me?” he questioned once he stood near the couch and you looked up at him from where you lay, grinning. Only then did he notice the pristine envelope in your grasp.

“Come take a look. It’s an invitation from the Prince of the Underworld.”

Jisung received the envelope from you and took out its one page contents. The letter was short, simple, and made his blood boil instantly.

Your voice sounded from behind the paper. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s either stupid or stupidly full of himself to order you around,” he said, and he was cooler and calmer than he’d imagined himself to be because in all honesty, Jisung wanted to tear the paper to shreds then set it all ablaze.

And after what those bastards did…

He folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. The so-called Prince of the Underworld was an audacious man, but this was an opportunity and Jisung was going to catch it by the tail. “I’ll go.”

“No,” you didn’t miss a beat. “We’ll go together.”

“Why? I can give him a piece of my mind just fine.”

You were silent to his protest, but the sudden darkness that shadowed your gaze screamed louder than any voice could. And Jisung heard it.

His emotions ran impossibly hotter, his whisper so chillingly low.

“So… Jeongin found something.”

“Yes,” you smiled and it made him crumble inside.

That wasn’t satisfaction or excitement. It was pain and old suffering that quirked your lips, and it had been that way for a while now.

He hated it.

He despised it so much that it sickened him to his very core.

So, Jisung allowed your desire for revenge to consume him whole. This mantle wasn’t his own, yet he carried its heavy weight on his shoulders because he was willing to do anything. A world that dimmed the spark in your eyes was a world that ought to be damned.

And so, he let that angry flame burn.

Your orders were soft, not at all demanding, “That’s why we’ll both go entertain the little prince.”

Jump.

Jisung relented. “As you wish.”

How high?

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Thank you for reading this far! I'm so sorry this one got delayed a bunch, but I hope it was an enjoyable read anyway. A reblog and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I hope you have a spectacular day, and I'll see you next week (hopefully) with the fifth chapter! ♡

[mao-likes-2-draw]

guess who finished turnabout bigtop…

what the hell was that????? i felt like crying at the end because why was it so sad??

(spoilers under the cut, tw for suicide and mentions of grooming)

the ENTIRE thing was a fever dream. i know it was rushed and literally written under the influence, but GOOD LORD ????? some of the most insufferable characters i’ve ever seen were in this case. i was so tired when i finished it though i think they warmed up to me.

moe was something else, but me and my sister kept laughing so hard whenever he made the sprite like 😐 he was the real mvp of this case though (in a way??) very annoying sometimes though

regina was so bubbly and sparkly and her gimmick was just not working. this case has some of the most gimmick heavy characters, so i genuinely cannot deal with how bad some of them are. the whole plot involving regina was also kind of gross because of the age gaps between max, ben, bat, etc…i do understand her whole thing was about being sheltered and spoiled and unable to cope with bad things and blah blah blah though

big back ben… he was just an uncomfortable character. 31 in love with a 16 year old?? i did like the whole act with him and trilo at least, i like how he almost uses him as an outlet? or that’s what it feels like anyways

i actually did like acro. i thought he was dramatic and kind of an asshole for plotting murder on a 16 year old for an incident that basically killed his brother, but my sister was totally on his side. now i do feel like if the girl who inadvertently caused the death of my brother was in my room every day, taking out my trash and feeding me, and laughing and smiling, showing NO sympathy about what happened and saying “ohhh he became a star :)” i would go a bit insane too. not to mention him being wheelchair bound because of the incident, AND unable to leave the lodge because he lived on the third floor (someone move this poor man to the first floor please) the isolation must’ve been torture with the only person you see being what you see is the cause of all this. when he finally DID have enough of it and executed his murder plan, it didn’t even go right. he instead killed his only family figure he had left, leaving everything he had gone. his legs, his job, his brother, and finally the ringmaster. moe said he was livid when acro found out about the ringmaster’s death, because he didn’t even KNOW who he actually killed. he must have been crushed by that point, and he did contemplate suicide or turning himself in to the police. but he didn’t. because he KNEW bat was still alive, despite being as good as “dead” in the seemingly unshakable coma. he couldn’t kill himself or go to jail, because he needed to be there for his brother on the off chance he even woke up. he’s a murderer, but it wasn’t pure malice. one of the more sympathetic culprits in JFA .

max was funny, but again the whole thing with regina was really weird. i did like how he was a country bumpkin and his real name was billy bob johns and his flamboyant personality was great too

moving on, the whole case in general didn’t feel real. it was all zany and gimmicky, it didn’t seem like it should belong in AA. in fact, nearly all of the cases in JFA feel like a fever dream.

the plot was SO convoluted, and the whole trial parts were actually the worst. i liked the investigations. i think what i love about the investigations in little communities like the circus or global studios or the police department in rise from the ashes is the absolute TEA that the characters give you. like YES can i hear about all these scandals, and dee vasquez’s ties to the mafia and the rumors about edgeworth and blah blah blah… yess girl give me the drama!!

overall, everything felt unnecessary and over the top, but it’s a circus. i guess that was a point. still an absolute batshit case to go through, most insane and annoying story i’ve seen come out of AA so far.

justice for everyone in that fucking circus though. justice for regina too!! shes getting groomed left and right. will never forget this case for like another 10 years. God.

[cassandraclare]

I'm sorry to hear that your hard work was leaked but I was curious about what happened. I hope the person faced consequences because that was a very selfish thing to do leaking your work like that :(

I haven’t taken action against the person who leaked the book. I know who they are, since they uploaded the page I signed for them, and I was able to match that against my records. 

I haven’t refrained from taking action because I feel sympathy for them. I don’t. It’s beyond shitty behavior to receive an early, signed book as a gift, and to then leak the entire book online. It’s a shit thing to do to the authors and an equally shit thing to do to other fans. However, I don’t want to put myself (and Wes) through the exhausting, grim and expensive process of legal repercussions. It doesn’t mean what this person did isn’t horrible, and it doesn’t mean they haven’t cost the entire fandom any chance of there ever being an early contest giveaway like that again. They did. There never will be. There will be no ARCs of Chain of Iron, either, and you can thank them for that, too. 

Part of what makes piracy such an issue for authors goes far beyond the individual assholes who upload and distribute and translate stolen books. It’s that the whole system is set up to make it incredibly difficult for us to do anything about it. Publishers do little to nothing to prevent piracy, and authors shoulder the entire burden of searching out and reporting illegal copies of their books. And even then, we’re dependent on whether or not the reported website feels like complying with copyright laws or not. Twitter is incredibly slow to respond, Tumblr is about fifty-fifty on bothering at all. They’re legally required to take action, but they also know that the effort of doing something about it if they do not falls on exhausted, overburdened artists who often can’t afford to follow up with a lawyer’s letter.

And like, I get being broke and wanting to read books; there were a lot of books I had to pass up reading when I was broke (I will be forever grateful to the library system of New York and Brooklyn, which is how I read books at all from about 2001-2004.) I was broke enough that I slept on a bare mattress because I couldn’t afford sheets, but I’m pretty sure if I broke into Bed, Bath and Beyond and stole a bunch of fitted percale bedding I wouldn’t have encountered much sympathy if I got caught. 

I talked about this on Twitter before, and I’ll say it again here though I know it will make very little difference: pirating books doesn’t just hurt the author of those books. It hurts everyone at the publishing company, where the margin of profit is razor-thin (and yes, publishers should do more to protect themselves against piracy; I agree there); it hurts bookstores, especially indie bookstores (I remember doing an event at a store that told me, sadly, that they were likely going to have to close because people “came into the store, looked at the books, took notes, then went home and pirated them.”) It hurts libraries, who rely on circulation for funding, and the shutting down of libraries hurts people who actually can’t afford books.

Now, I know is no way to talk people out of piracy; the internet has normalized it, and besides, people will generally do the cheaper, easier thing — you can’t talk people into not doing something they want to do by telling them it’s wrong, in my experience. They’ll find ways to justify it, whether it be that they can’t afford the book or it isn’t yet available in their language or that they find the author “problematic” and this is the way they’ve chosen to punish them. 

The reason I put “problematic” in quotes is because yes, of course you can read and enjoy work that has problematic elements. Pretty much everything has some element that’s going to be found problematic by someone — which is exactly why deciding that it’s morally excusable to steal from people you think are creating flawed work is more than problematic. Holding creators accountable for their work means critiquing that work, not stealing it.

I listen to a lot of political podcasts, and some of them review work by extreme right-wing politicians etc. who have written books that the podcasters find morally despicable but wish to, or need to, review and discuss. Since they don’t wish to give money to the authors, they buy second-hand copies or take the book out of the library. They certainly don’t steal, translate and distribute copies of the books because they genuinely do not like them and do not want more people reading them. That’s what it looks like when you have an actual moral problem with a book or author. 

However, running multiple fan accounts for a book series, naming your internet identity after characters from that book series, and talking endlessly about “your favorite parts” and how this is “your favorite book” entirely invalidates any argument that you’re doing this because you think the books are bad, evil, etc. If you claim a book is actively homophobic or racist but are so desperate to read it that you’ll steal it, so excited about it that you’ll share that stolen copy, so obsessed that you’ll illegally translate a whole book and provide that stolen translation to as many people as possible, and so dedicated to the fandom that you’ll name yourself after the characters in the books and write poetry about them, I have to tell you: the last thing that looks like is that you actually find the books problematic, regardless of what you say to the contrary. It looks like you like them but don’t want to pay for them, because in fact, that’s the case. (Either that or it looks like you’re really into racist, homophobic books, and making sure as many people read them as possible, which is your problem.)

One of the issues I have with piracy is that it teaches you to hate creators. You have to hate them, because you’re doing a fucking awful thing to them and you have to justify it. This results in lying about creators — about their process, their translations, their research — as if somehow, even if they were bad researchers, that would justify widespread theft. (It doesn’t.) Those who steal books wind up in a headspace where they are obsessed with the content of the books, and entirely unwilling to accept the reality that those books were created by a real person that they’re really harming. It encourages the mentality that I didn’t create Jem or Magnus or Will or Cordelia: they came from some kind of sparkly outerspace planet and I was just lucky enough to get to write down their adventures. It invalidates the hard work creators put into what they create, and in fact, erases their very existence. The internet attitude toward creators is already incredibly toxic (especially if they’re women, LGBT+ and/or BIPOC) and the feeling of entitlement to free content, and vicious hatred toward those who aren’t providing it (even though a lot of creators, me included, provide a great deal of free content) contributes to that. Genuinely, if you’re stealing someone’s work, the least you could do is not also be an asshole about them. (Or pretend you’re Robin Hood. He stole from the rich who had taken property and goods from the poor, and returned that stolen wealth. He didn’t steal from artists and independent bookstores and use that stealing to benefit himself and his friends. The idea is actually kind of funny.) 

 I understand there is a pressure to be up to date on the books that are being released so as to participate in fandom, and I do get that. Unfortunately, piracy has real consequences that stretch beyond just hurting me and Wes. Because LGBT+ books are pirated at such an incredible rate, and we’ve definitely seen that with TEC, I am left wondering if there will ever be an actual Spanish translation of TEC, or whether the publisher will decide not to bother because it’s already been so thoroughly pirated in Spanish. I have to wonder if there will even be a third book of TEC at all, or whether publishers will feel it isn’t worth doing. And I have to wonder why the people who create this situation so often have usernames that include Jem or Magnus or Alec or Cordelia or Julian or Tessa. What an incredible misunderstanding of those characters, to imagine a world in which Will Herondale or Magnus Bane or James Carstairs would approve of stealing books and harming writers. And why name yourself after a character who absolutely couldn’t stand you? I don’t know. I don’t get it, any more than I get hating someone who provided you with something you claim is your favorite book. 

That was a much longer answer than you were probably expecting or hoping for, and I know I’ll get yelled at quite thoroughly for writing it. Writers always do, when we engage with the issue of piracy. I know most of you reading this acquire your books honestly; most of you are not like this at all. But like most things on the internet, a small amount of people really do have the power to make things pretty rotten for everyone else.

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

i've heard allegations 'bout your reputation, i'll show you my shadows if you show yours

summary: requested (like a year ago, sorry!)  Reader and Andy getting in a legitimate fight or maybe flirting in front of him with one of his colleagues to get under his skin because he hasn’t touched her in weeks from being so busy jealous Andy would be so dominant I’m weak i took some liberties and set it at the christmas eve party at andy’s office.

warnings: andrew barber being r o u g h  😩 😩 😩 and jealous 😩  and mean bc i just so deeply want this man to yell at me and pull my hair bc he’s an angry daddy, however, he is not called daddy in this story bc i don’t do it unless you guys ask me to. so smut, and he’s in charge and i’m dead about it. more videos being made bc apparently that’s on my mind.

word count: around 7,500

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: i hate that it took me so long to post this but here i am, almost a month late with a christmas eve party story. i have very little shame tbh.

You were not unreasonable, no matter what Andy claimed. You could always admit what was your fault—which was about 80% of all disagreements—but Andy had his faults, too. Tonight? Well, you weren’t innocent…but you were not the only one to blame.

This was the third Christmas party he had taken you to. The first year had not completely been his doing. Lynn had been bothering him about it and he would have gotten away with pretending it just wasn’t possible had Lynn not run into you at the coffee shop near Andy’s house.

You had been accustomed to Andy by then. He didn’t put distance between you two because he wanted to, he just simply wasn’t the best at getting close. You practically forced him into sometimes, and it had never gone wrong, so he trusted you. A lot.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to say that much longer. You had your moments, those situations where you pushed him just a little too far. Not so far that he was angry about it, but far enough that you ended up with a sore ass and maybe a few finger-shaped bruises on your skin.

As if that was an incentive to stop?

Lately, things had been…off. Andy was working on a big case, one that he had just finished the day before. You expected that he was going to come home and make up for not having touched you in 17 days. Yet, that didn’t happen.

You weren’t trying to complain too much. The “honeymoon phase” was something that could not be applied to your relationship because you were as happy as any other day, you loved him more and more as time went on, and you guys always had sex. Always.

But there were the cases that sometimes threw a slight pause in that. That was fine, you understood and it wasn’t like you were with Andy for sex. You loved that man so fucking much, you could deal with some neglect for a little bit. Emphasis on a little bit.

17 days with no immediate plans to remedy it was crossing a line. So, on the 18th night, the night of his office Christmas party, after he merely kissed your head, told you that you looked beautiful, and didn’t fuck you in your tiny, sparkly dress, you also wanted to cross a line. A specific line because it was hard to get a reaction out of him any other way.

Andrew Barber was a jealous man. It was something you never played with because he was jealous. He wasn’t some immature idiot who was going to cause a scene, but he would interrogate you about people he felt were “suspicious”.

On your way to the party, he had wanted to catch up. He felt like this was the first time he was able to breathe since he was put on the case, and he had noticed some distance between you two. You told him about the very basic parts of your day—work, friends, family.

When he placed his hand on your thigh, you had to wonder if this was a game. Why hadn’t he fucked you? Was he trying to make you beg? That was something Andy thoroughly enjoyed, and you trusted him so much that you rarely ever knew when he was doing it. If you stopped to think about it, you would probably find a few times he’d managed to get away with it.

He let you hold his hand and to avoid having to pull away from you, he told you when to move the gear shift. It was cute, too cute for how long you two had been together, but Andy seemed willing to indulge you. He always did when he could.

But as soon as he got to the party, there was more work talk and he had basically pawned you off on Lynn. She was thrilled, of course, she rarely had time for friendships, but she valued Andy, and because of that, she loved you almost as much as he did.

It had been two hours by the time you were completely fed up. Lynn had decided she was about to head out, so she was making her rounds, and that meant that you were stuck with the other partners. Men, women, they were all talking about how great their lawyers had been lately.

Yet, reminder, you hadn’t been fucked in nearly 18 days. You weren’t going to sit around and listen to that for the whole night, you innocently decided to wander a bit. Andy was talking about his case and seemed almost oblivious to your presence. Why did he even bring you? He was the one that reminded you about it, you probably wouldn’t have realized it had gone by until well into next year since work was so hectic.

Regardless, without an answer, you were left to entertain yourself. What else were you supposed to do? Just sit around all night and not speak to anyone? Andy was a complicated man and he had only a handful of people at the job that he liked, but fewer people that he disliked. Most people, he felt indifferent about, and those were the pawns for your current game.

You flit all around the party, laughing, talking to everyone, and though you saw him seeking out your whereabouts every now and then, there was no reaction at all. He didn’t care that some of these sleazy men were staring at your cleavage or your legs—two things he should have done earlier but did not.

By the time you’d nearly spoken to everyone, you felt…possessed, there was no better way to describe it. You were mad and confused and tired, and till the day you died, you would swear on everything you held sacred, the following was not part of your plan. You simply had no other choice than to go along with it when it practically fell in your lap.

Andy hadn’t noticed your best attempts but as soon as Neal was standing in front of you, he was watching. You had not and would not have gone to Neal, it was the other way around. He was possibly picking up on all your sadness and desperation, he was probably able to spot attention-seeking from a mile away since he pulled those kinds of stunts regularly.

Andy was finally paying attention to you and that was why you didn’t walk away. Your boyfriend could deny it all he wanted, but you saw something in his eyes. There was that anger, of course, but there was also that dark gleam. The one that he had when he liked to lay you out under him and remind you who you belong to.

That was all you wanted, that was the only reasoning behind your actions. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, not until you laughed at something Neal said and he laughed back, and then he touched your shoulder.

And that was when you knew things had gone too far. You crossed a line, and you should have known better than even trying to use Neal. Because he envied Andy to no end, understandably. Why wouldn’t he try to flirt with you? No one got Andy as angry as Neal, and you should have just put your ego aside and spoken to your boyfriend.

But that window had closed and your time for being a mature, communicating adult was over. You quickly broke away from Neal after that and Andy took only seconds before he was dragging your ass out of that party and to the car.

You weren’t sure what to do. Pretend you didn’t know what the big deal was? Maybe just start blurting out apologies. He opened the car door for you, ushered you in, and then got into the driver’s seat in complete silence.

Andy had been mad at you before, but he had never been so angry he wouldn’t look at you or speak to you. He was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. His jaw set, brow furrowed, shoulders tense—he stayed that way the entire drive.

Andy wasn’t like this, he usually always had his temper in control. You were worried because you were one of the few people Andy sincerely trusted. It would devastate you if this gave him pause.

When he stopped the car, it became uncomfortably silent. It had taken you almost a minute to decide where you wanted to take this. “Andy, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“But I am s—”

“Get upstairs, take your dress off, and wait for me on the bed.”

Shit. You fumbled with the handle for a moment, scurrying inside and up the stairs. This was everything that you had wanted, wasn’t it? Then why the fuck were you nervous? Why were you shaking? Why did the idea of a black hole appearing and swallowing you sound so appealing?

You took off your dress and hung it back in your closet. You’d only been in it for a few hours, that didn’t warrant an actual wash. Shakily, you made your way back to the bed and sat there. What about your bra and panties? He hadn’t said. Your shoes? Fuck, what were you supposed to do?

Andy walked in and flipped on the light.

Idiot, why hadn’t you done that?

He made his way to the dresser off to the side of the bedroom, he removed his jacket first, then his cuff links and his tie. He started rolling up his sleeves and you had to look away.

You turned down to your lap. “You didn’t tell me if you wanted me to keep anything else on.”

“I also didn’t tell you that you could speak,” he asserted.

Your stomach dropped, the mere thought of not following his directions was unsettling. When Andy got like this, you wanted to do what he told you to. You wanted him to think you were his good girl. Any time you failed at absolute perfection, you didn’t take it well.

You didn’t know if you should apologize or remain silent. You were wringing your hands, something you became aware of only when he made his way in front of you and placed his hands over yours. You startled slightly, looking up at him.

He grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger, keeping your head tilted back. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. You didn’t want him to feel bad because you were feeling some type of way. You also didn’t want to think this had anything to do with him. He’d never given you reason to be nervous.

“Are you scared?”

“Kind of.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He leaned down, face directly in front of yours. “Before we start, I need you to understand that you’ve never disappointed me. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” That didn’t really help as much as he probably thought it would. Even if you hadn’t disappointed him, there was always the chance that you would. And you weren’t sure he was being completely honest anyway. Neal? What the fuck was wrong with you?

“You don’t need to be nervous or scared, just be completely honest with me.”

“Of course.” You would never lie to him.

“Who do you belong to?”

Your answer was immediate, you didn’t even need to think about it. Recalling life before you met Andy was a bit blurry. Who had you been? Where? What had you wanted? “You.”

“So,” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, “this mouth…”

“Is yours,” you confirmed.

He hummed, fingers trailing from your face all the way down, between your breasts, over your stomach, stopping at the band of your panties. He paused, noting the shakiness in your breath, the goosebumps on your skin, your hands that were gripping the sheets.

Abruptly, his hand dropped to where you had been expecting it to. Your breath hitched and your hips jumped off the bed, desperate for his touch.

He made a small noise of disapproval and you hurriedly settled back down on the bed. “This pussy? Is that mine, too?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He pulled your panties off to the side and his fingers ran up your wet skin at an agonizing pace. He brought them up to his lips and his tongue slipped out to taste you. He smiled because you had managed to stay almost completely still, apart from a bit of squirming. “You’re such a good girl, baby. You know that’s one of my favorite things about you, how good you are for me.”

That gave you these awful butterflies and you felt hot everywhere. That was all you ever needed to hear. His hand returned to your center and his first finger slid into you. You looked down to see but he grabbed your jaw again and turned you back up.

“Keep watching me, baby.”

He liked to test you, you knew that. He would give you an order and try to make you disobey him. This time, when his hand fell away from your face, you forced yourself to keep your head tilted. You ignored that burning part of you that wanted to see his fingers pushing in and pulling out, covered in what was dripping from your pussy.

You focused on just feeling. One thick finger was slowly working you open for him, he always stretched you out as much as he could meaning you had to be prepared for some teasing. He prioritized this because he was big and he knew it—and you had been smitten enough before he fucked you, but after, there wasn’t a second of the day your body didn’t crave Andy’s.

Despite how rough Andy could be with you, and how generally tough he was, he liked to baby you. Sometimes, he liked treating you as delicately as one would a bouquet of flowers. He could see a lot of comparisons if he really thought about it. You were beautiful, soft, and smelled so sweet. And if he didn’t pay attention to you, well, he’d been reminded of those consequences at the party.

You kept your eyes on his the entire time. You didn’t falter when he added his second finger, nor when he curled his fingers against that spot inside you, nor when his thumb pressed down firmly on your clit.

He pressed one hand down on your shoulder, a cue to lie back. After you had obliged, he pulled his fingers out of you and told you to open your mouth. You instantly did so, closing around his fingers as soon as they were in your reach.

He pressed his fingers down and kept going until your body jerked and the noise of you gagging echoed in the room. “I wanna see those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, baby girl.”

You eagerly sat up, still sucking on his fingers as you pulled his belt apart, yanked the button of his pants open, and tore down the zipper. Glancing up at him to look for any signs that you didn’t have his permission to proceed, you pushed his pants and boxers down cautiously until his cock was out.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and nodded. “Go ahead, baby.”

You moved back on the bed and situated yourself onto your stomach, propping up on your elbows. One hand wrapped around his hard length and you let the tip of your tongue come out to catch the precum dripping from his tip.

He released a shaky breath, hands at his sides because he wanted you running the show. For a while, a least. He didn’t want to guide you, he wanted to see how exactly you were going to make up for your slight misstep at the party.

You ran your tongue up his shaft lightly, feigning that whole soft act that you knew he loved. It wasn’t so much an act, but you had been bent over his desk, hair pulled, ass spanked, both holes thoroughly used. But you liked soft, too. You liked slow and gentle mornings, whispered words, careful touching. You liked whatever he wanted to give you.

You closed your lips around just the head of his cock and sucked. Unlike all other men you had been with, Andy was as patient as a saint. He loved when you teased him. Once, he had you edge him with your mouth for nearly an hour and thinking about how he fucked you after still made your toes curl.

His eyes closed and he sighed. “Fuck, baby.” His hand lightly settled on the back of your head. “So good, I could fuck your mouth for the rest of my life.” He didn’t push you down, he just ran his hand through your hair over and over because he knew how much you liked him to play with your hair.

But then his hold tightened and he pulled you off, much to your dismay. He noted your pout and pleading eyes but was kind enough not to taunt you about them. “Get on your back, sweetheart.”

You knew what he wanted as soon as he stepped away. You quickly climbed up toward the edge of the bed and rolled over, bending your neck over the mattress. You automatically opened your mouth for him, but he placed his hands on your shoulders first.

“Relax.” He leaned over and ran his hands along your arms, setting them on the mattress. He pressed your thighs down, waiting until you had lost all the tension in your body. He curled his hand around his length and stroked several times with a loose hand and a slow pace.

You watched in utter fascination. It never failed to get you wet when Andy showed so much control, over himself, over you. He was in charge of every little thing and you could tell that he got off on that. Every time he reached the head of his cock, he would press down so slightly, so close to your lips but just not enough.

“Andy,” you whispered. “Please.”

He smirked again. “Open your mouth for me.” And as soon as you did, he was slowly sliding in. He was slow at first, keeping his hips still as he slipped the straps of your bralette past your shoulders. He rolled the remaining material down until your breasts were exposed and squeezed them in his hands.

You pressed your thighs together, arching up into his hands more. You tried to relax your throat for him, knowing he was only stopping to give you a moment to prepare.

He pinched your nipples painfully and didn’t stop until you whined. He loved feeling you make that sound when his cock was down your throat, and the deep breaths as the pain faded away. Again, he tortured your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, yanked a little, until you were squirming all around the bed, making these noises around him that he rarely ever heard, your eyes filled with tears.

He leaned over quickly, releasing your breasts so he could give them both a brief kiss. You closed your eyes, humming in satisfaction. He took his time sinking his teeth into your sore, erect nipples and you squealed both times, back arching again. His tongue rolled over your stinging skin and you tilted your head eagerly, attempting to take more of him.

Sometimes, it was enough to get him naturally high, how much power he had over you, your body. He could hurt you and you would thank him; he could turn around and give you just a second of gentleness and you looked at him like you’d never loved anyone as much as you loved him. You claimed that, quite often. Andy wasn’t sure if he believed that, not because he didn’t trust you but because he wasn’t wired to think of himself as special in any way. Why you treated him like he was, was confusing to him at times.

But you were special, so fucking special. You were smart and funny, and so kind to every single person you encountered. It was a nice change from the environment he regularly found himself in. That was what you were supposed to be—a breath of fresh air from his hard life. You were not supposed to become his only source of oxygen, yet there he was. It didn’t seem he was reliant on you because Andy wasn’t comfortable expressing reliance on anyone, but he knew he was.

He stood and watched your body move with those deep, sharp breaths you were taking. Abruptly, his hand whipped across one breast, then the other. You cried out, a nice vibration around him, and now you were quivering. It was so easy for him to play your body like this because you were just needy enough that anything would have given you pleasure. Another thing he knew, another thing that made him so damn cocky.

“Open your legs,” he told you and you parted your thighs. Again, he pulled aside your lace panties and pushed two of his fingers inside you. Your cunt was dripping, your arousal gushing out as his fingers thrust in, curled, searched for that spot that made your eyes roll back. The noise of it made his cock twitch.

Your pussy was throbbing, yearning for the release that only this man could give you. You didn’t care how he did it, you just needed Andy. Hands, mouth, cock, you would take anything he wanted you to have.

“Listen to that greedy pussy,” he directed, voice low and quiet. “So desperate to be filled and fucked. But by who, baby?”

Your stomach twisted at not being able to answer him. That was why he asked when you had your mouth full of him, because if you could speak, you would blurt out reassurances that it was only him.

“Me?” he pressed.

You spoke, despite knowing it was going to sound like nonsense.

“And no one else?”

You were quick with your denial. And maybe, by now, since his cock was always in your mouth, he was a professional at understanding what you were saying. Or possibly, it was just the look in your eyes.

“You sure, baby?”

Once more, your voice came out muffled but hurried, almost panicked. He had to know that you didn’t even think about anyone else. He had to know that you thought he was the most beautiful man in the world.

He dragged his free hand up your body and it settled over your neck. Finally, he pulled out from your mouth only to thrust back in harshly. You choked, your throat contracting around him while he massaged his thumb and finger over your pulse points. He let you breathe through it before he started rocking his hips ever so slightly. You could feel him moving along your tongue and your cheeks, but they were small motions.

You always loved this position; it was easier to take all of him. It was easier to breathe on your back with your chest open, and, unlike being on your knees, it left you open for him.

He leaned forward slightly, pressing one hand off to the side of the bed while the other reached between your legs. His fingers danced along your skin without any real intent, but occasionally, he would touch your clit.

You were reaching for any part of him you could touch. Your hands mindlessly grasped at his back and kept slipping off because of his shirt. You couldn’t ask but you wanted it off. He felt your hands working open his buttons and decided to let you have something. He was going to take and take tonight, he could give you a little.

He stood up and loosened his tie enough to pull it off, then shrugged his shirt off. Once again, his palm settled to your neck. “You should see yourself right now. Shaking, wet, such a good girl.”

You reached up, gripping one hand in his pants, the other around the buckle of his belt and you pulled him in more until your throat was struggling.

“Easy, baby.” He took your hands off him, keeping a hold of one and placing the next back down on the bed. He pulled out carefully, dragging his hand up, and inch by inch, pushed back in. “You should see how deep I’m getting. I can see it right here.” The palm of his hand hovered over your skin, just enough that you could feel him, and he followed his cock again, letting you know how much of him you were taking.

It was a lot of him, not enough. And he was deep, but you needed more. You whined, a plea for him to move this along. He couldn’t want to drag this out, not after almost 18 days.

Again, he leaned over until he could touch you. His hips moved steadily, a controlled move that matched how strategically he was working your cunt, everywhere but the most sensitive part of you.

You hated that you couldn’t beg, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if you weren’t shaking or if your cunt wasn’t clenching desperately, you knew if he couldn’t feel it, he could at least see it. This went on for several moments, he was proud of how well you were taking him, and wanted to give you some type of award.

You were more than just caught off guard when you felt his lips against one of your thighs. Fuck. He couldn’t, you wouldn’t last long. But he went on, scattering kisses over your thighs, fucking your mouth just a fraction harder as he grew closer to your pussy.

As he licked down from your clit to your entrance, your eyes rolled back. Your hips jumped off the bed and one of his hands held you down in response. You were trembling, whining utter nonsense.

Several times, his tongue ran through you and you’d been so worked up, so wet and frustrated since he’d pulled you out of the party, since he hadn’t fucked you in a while, and this was just happening too fast. You wanted to focus on him, you wanted to apologize in the best way you knew how.

You tried to push him back with your hands on his thighs, but you were nowhere near strong enough.

He turned his head to kiss your thigh again. His hips stilled, most of his cock out of your mouth just in case. “Do you need a moment, baby?”

You debated. If you actually made him stop, made him pull out even if just for a second solely so you could ask him not to make you come...he would be outraged. He might even turn you over and spank you. But he also might not let you come at all. You would die, you knew you would.

You let your hands fall away.

“You okay?”

You hummed slowly, comfortably.

Still, one hand settled on your hip bone to keep you from moving, the other you felt on the back of your thigh close to your ass. He kissed your pussy slowly, sucking at your skin just a little, but not your clit, not yet.

He was careful as he began fucking your mouth again, worried he had pushed you too far. He waited until he was sure you were okay before he sucked your clit between his lips and slipped two fingers into you.

You whined around him as your body shuddered.

He kissed you again, several times to get you to calm down. “It’s okay, baby girl. Be a good girl for me.”

So, you understood, he realized that you wanted to object to this, but Andy was the greediest man you had ever had in bed. You weren’t surprised that he just didn’t care. You found it hard to mind as he began fucking his fingers in and out of you, sloppy, wet noises echoing around the room.

He was sucking again and you were desperately clutching at any part of him you could, his sides, his legs. You weren’t pushing him away now, you were pulling him in.

You were so close, your body arching up as much as it could. You felt tension building in every part of your body. Your own hands came up to your breasts mostly because you knew he would feel your hands moving underneath him.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He left your cunt neglected of his mouth for several moments, only using his fingers, as his cock drove down your throat hard.

You were choking loudly, your body again moving wildly as you gagged. It couldn’t have been more than a few times but they were determined thrusts, you were sure he was going to come in your mouth.

Instead, he pulled out completely and you whined shortly. You didn’t want him to go, but you couldn’t say that. All you could do was try to catch your breath. He didn’t even give you a moment to protest before his face was buried in your cunt.

In seconds, you were a mewling, moaning mess for him. Your body was so tight, so full of unbearable tension. You were shaking, sweating, your pussy was loud and soaking wet and you knew you were dripping everywhere, on him, on the bed.

He didn’t tease, he wanted to let you come because he wanted you coming all night. His favorite form of punishment was too much of a good thing, not withholding how much he enjoyed touching you.

You finished with a scream loud enough that the neighbors probably heard. Again.

Andy touched you through it until you stopped moving, save for the shaking aftershocks when he got a tad too close to your clit. When you were loose and sated on the bed, he started to sit you up.

You quickly turned to him, grasping his face. “I love you, only you.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I would never look at anyone else.”

“I believe you.” Even if he didn’t, this was not the place to voice that. This...state he got you in when he was this dominant, this demanding, was not completely unlike you. It was just a very obedient, sensitive version of you that he knew he had to be careful with. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt your feelings.

He touched your face and that was when you realized you were crying, he was wiping away your tears. It was either from your finish or from choking on him, you weren’t completely sure. “You’re okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m okay.”

He kissed your forehead and you felt hot. As if what you two were just doing wasn’t filthy, this was what made your heart beat faster and gave you those butterflies in your stomach.

He pulled back and kept hold of your face. “What does my baby girl want?”

“I want to feel you inside me.”

As his lips met yours, he began removing all the remaining clothing on either of your bodies. He moved you up the bed until he could lay your head on a pillow and then positioned himself over you.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he promised. “Keep saying it.”

As he carefully pushed into you, you continued to tell him you love him. You stared at him the whole time, willing your body to relax for him. He didn’t like it when you got so worked up, especially over the games he played in the bedroom. The thing with Neal was bad but it was over and you knew he wasn’t mad at you. He wouldn’t fuck you like this if he was.

You clutched onto his shoulders, trying to hold him as close to you as you possibly could. He was the one that grabbed your legs and cued you to wrap them around his body. His cock sliding into your pussy was a feeling you couldn’t understand why he’d left you deprived of.

Once his hips were settled against your thighs and he was completely buried inside you, you reached up to his face. You loved his cheekbones, you could trace them with your touch for days if he let you. And his beard, you loved feeling his beard under your fingertips.

He let you do this, explore him as if you could possibly forget anything after all the other times you did it. You remembered the first time he fucked you, you couldn’t stop staring, you couldn’t stop touching—he was so painfully beautiful. He was so patient with you, always had been, and now, despite how badly you felt his need to move, to fuck you, he was going to wait for you to be ready.

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered.

“Did what?”

“You didn’t fuck me. For 17 days. You…wanted me to make a scene—”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

“I could take it to court and win,” you countered.

He smirked. “Could you? What’s my motive?”

“You like being possessive. You like dragging me out of places, you like bringing me home, you like reminding me who I belong to.”

“And were you reminded?”

“No one really belongs to anyone or anything at the end of the day—”

“No,” he interjected, tone sharp. You always liked that tone. “You belong to me.”

“Maybe…”

“You are mine,” he repeated. “And you’re going to say it or we’re going to have a long night.”

“I will say it if you admit this was your plan all along.”

“You think I wanted you to flirt with Neal?”

Your stomach flipped. “I wasn’t—”

He nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I know, I didn’t mean to word it like that. I know you weren’t—”

You felt slightly like you were about to panic. Flirting with Neal? No. “Never, I would never—”

He shushed you. “I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t because you are a good girl. I promise I know that.”

You settled somewhat but that lingering feeling in the pit of your stomach was hard to ignore. Flirting with Neal? You couldn’t bear him thinking you would ever do that to him. Flirting in general with people Andy felt indifferent to was off the table unless you wanted to placate his desires. Certainly, he had to know that.

“I wanted to hear you beg,” he insisted. “That was what I wanted. I wanted honest begging because you are so fucking beautiful begging for my cock.”

You huffed. “Well, you should have asked.”

“I didn’t want to have to ask.”

“You could have given me a hint. I was going around your party trying to get your attention—”

“You had it, you always do. Now, tell me who you belong to.”

“I think we all belong to the stars.”

“No,” he sighed.

“Or the moon, people who experience menstruation especially. The moon controls us, it’s been studied by scientists. There are articles.”

“Scientific articles do not support that,” he asserted and you couldn’t help but laugh. Andy was exact. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t see or that couldn’t be proven. Even now, inside you, he couldn’t turn that part of his brain off.

“Baby,” he sighed as his hand came up to curl around your neck. It just rested there, a heavy reminder of all the times in the past he had held you like that, or those other times when he applied just the right amount of pressure. “I want to fuck you, I want to make you cry, I want you to be shaking after I’m done with you, I want to fill you up with my cum. Don’t you want that?”

You nodded, once again turned on beyond comprehension.

“Then be good and say what I want you to say. Don’t make me make you say it.”

“What if I want you to make me?”

“You don’t.”

Andy’s punishments were always so elaborate and such a blur. He knew how to reduce you to nothing but need, and you needed him so badly sometimes. He loved seeing you like that, but he didn’t always like taking you there. He knew how careful he needed to be during and after, so he reserved it for major misbehavior.

You brought one hand up and set it on his forearm. You could feel his skin and his muscles. “I belong to you.”

Just barely, as he stared at your face, his hold tightened. Your breath stuttered but you made sure not to get too worked up too soon. You didn’t want him to have to stop before he finished inside you.

“That can never happen again, baby.”

“I know. It never will. I’m so—”

He tightened his hand again. “Don’t say sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you say the one word you so badly needed to say.

“I don’t blame you, sweetheart, I’m just saying…it can’t happen again.”

You caught the lead of his tone. “But what if it does?”

“I might have to make sure he knows that you’re mine.”

You wanted him to let the whole world know. You knew he saw your eyes light up because he smirked. “How would you do that?”

“I might have to let him see how I fuck you. I might have to show him how I can make you beg for me, or how willingly you bend over when I’m going to spank you. I might have to show him how wet you get after I mark up your ass, maybe how whiny you get when my hand is around your throat. But maybe I’ll just have to send him the video I’ve been recording tonight, how well you can suck my cock, how badly you want to.”

You were stunned for a moment—recording? Where was the camera? The idea of Andy recording you was such a turn on. You loved making videos for him, but you’d always wanted to see one where he was with you. “You’ve been recording?”

“Would you be okay with that if I was?”

“Yes. I want to watch you fuck me.”

“You’re such a good girl.” He pulled his hips back once and then snapped up noisily, pulling a moan from your throat. “You know how much I love that sound? When you can hardly breathe but you still make all those noises you know I want to hear.”

He leaned in to kiss you, hips stilled, hand still wrapped around your neck. It was brief, a reward, a reminder. You were being good and he loved you, but he was going to fuck you.

You broke away, nodding to let him know you were ready, that you wanted this. “Please.”

He rolled over so you were on top of him. He kept his hold on your neck to keep you sitting up and used his opposite hand to grab your ass. After he kneaded your skin hard enough he knew it would bruise, he spanked you loudly, harshly. Your body jerk forward, taking him in deeper than you knew was possible.

You whined, trying to pull back a little. He gripped your ass again and held you there. It was painful but exciting, you wanted him to push your limits tonight. He so rarely did, concerned with pleasing you second and treating you delicate first.

He let you go only to spank your other ass cheek. Again, you moved forward and you felt fuller than you ever had. You ached between your legs, almost uncomfortably but the idea of having him this deep in your body was making you wetter by the second. You were dripping, you could see how wet his skin was, how much of a mess he was making of your pussy.

“Ride me, sweetheart.”

You found a comfortable position, your hands on either side of his waist in the mattress. He settled his arm between your breasts so he could still see them moving as you began jerking your hips back and forth. They were sharp, abrupt movements because you wanted to come so bad, you could hardly think of anything else. Save for your disbelief over the fact that he was making you do this yourself. But you didn’t argue because the last thing you wanted was punishment for talking back.

He closed his hand more, every sound you made was short and strangled. You moved faster, knowing he was closer when he choked you harder. His free hand took one of your breasts. He was so delicate at first, a gentle, slow touch before he was pinching your nipple so hard you were whining. He smacked your breast and you shuddered, nearly falling forward onto him, but he kept you up. Mostly because he wanted to do it again to your other breast.

Every slap against your breasts—loud and stinging, always surprising because he didn’t want you to have the comfort of a pattern—was pushing you closer to your orgasm. You were mindlessly bouncing on his cock, uncaring of the pain you felt every time you came down just a little too hard for how big he was. You felt like an animal, like you were simply a victim to your body’s depraved, primal desires.

You finished first, screaming things you would be impressed if he actually understood. You could cry, the tension built over days was finally all gone.

He rolled over once more, taking his spot on top again.

You clung to him, legs and arms, pulling him in like you would die if he wasn’t close enough. You needed to feel his whole body against yours.

“Hear that, baby?”

Oh, you heard. You’d been trying to ignore it, but of course, not if Andy had any say in it.

“Hear how wet your pussy is?”

So wet. Every time he pulled out and pushed in, the noise would fill the room. You only nodded.

Since you were wrapped around him so tightly, it wasn’t difficult for him to grab your hip and move you up the bed with him. He set you against the headboard, the pillows under the small of your back, propping you up for him.

He was on his knees now for more leverage. You knew he was going to fuck you hard. “Look at this, baby.” He slowly pulled out and you turned down to watch. “See how messy you’re getting my cock?”

“Yes,” you whined.

He grabbed his cock, used it to drag up and down your cunt several times.

“Andy, please.”

He shushed you, a slow, calm action that contrasted when he smacked the head of his cock against your clit.

You gasped and your hips jerked forward.

“Stay still,” he warned.

He did it over and over, and enjoyed watching you fail at trying to stay seated on the bed. He thrust in completely, quick and hard, only to pull out and smack your clit again. This was his routine for what felt like an agonizing hour, but you knew it was nowhere near that long. You knew even he didn’t have that kind of patience.

You cried out when he finally buried himself inside you again. As he pushed forward, he pulled you down. His fingers found your clit and you were soon tumbling over that edge once more.

As he finished, he pulled you on top of him, lying back on the bed. One arm wrapped tight around your back to pin you against his chest, his opposite hand tangled in your hair tightly. He hid his face in the bend of your neck, grunting as his hips continued to rock just slightly.

He kept you there for several long moments until he had completely satisfied himself. You were intoxicated being this close to him. You angled your head as much as you could and kissed the side of his face.

He turned over, setting you on the bed as he pulled out. You watched him curiously, moving to sit up with him. He made a disapproving noise and you laid back again. Once again, he made his way to the dresser and grabbed his phone.

“You were seriously recording?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do I usually bluff?”

Nope, never.

“Now I have a reference if you ever forget how a good girl is supposed to act.”

You suppressed an eye roll.

“Open your legs.” He came closer, directing the camera at your pussy. He touched you, spreading his cum all over your skin, rubbing circles around your clit, just barely dipping his fingers into you.

You watched his face the whole time. You loved how much Andy loved you and when he stared at you after fucking you, it was hard to miss. He was obsessed with you and he never minded showing it.

For almost a month, you watched that video every day. You were fascinated by him, the way he moved, the way he touched you. After that, you started wanting to record more and Andy never minded.

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[thefixations-ofmine]

DE FACTO

The Price of Greatness - Chapter two "By Law"

Summary: After helping Frank get Mary in school, you realize that you’re letting yourself get ahead of things. Surely enough, history repeats itself and you are faced with the consequences of your actions; can your relationship get through it this time? Warnings: movie spoilers! sexual content, masturbation, cursing Word count: 3.5k

Previously | Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“I swear they’re messing with us,” Frank accuses as he straightens Mary’s pink school supplies list in your face. “Okay, get this,” his pointer traces down the paper, “three blue binders, two green ones, three 500 sheet packets?” You can’t help but giggle as he rubs his temples in disbelief.

“I remember being super pumped when we had to buy coloured pencils,” you add as you try to calm him down. Of course he had waited until the last weekend before school to come and do this. Apparently the whole neighbourhood decided it was a good idea, too - the Wal-Mart was surely exceeding the fire regulation capacity. It must have been 105 degrees in there.

“SHE NEEDS 45 COLOURS! Who the fu-” you bump him in the ribs, your eyes shooting to the bunch of startled kids around when he grunts his surprise, his arms come down from above his head.

“Grumpy much?” you tease him and he lets out a small puff. “You promised to let me help, and that’s about the only way I can do so right now, Mr. Bossy.” He shakes his head in agreement and pushes the cart down the isle silently, his left arm comes to settle on your shoulders, and he pulls you to his side playfully.

“Calling me that could be very dangerous,” he says with a wink.

Frank throws one article after another in the cart while you cross them on the list. His complaints increase after each squeak of your marker on the sheet, you know his mind is quickly adding up the numbers. A bunch of erasers wait in his hand as he tries to decide what he’s going to compromise; the sparkly, princess pencil case you chose - which he argues is not Mary’s type - or the third pile or ruled pieces of paper. Both finally end up back on a shelf, and after what felt like the whole day, you’re headed for the registers.

You crank the window of Frank’s blue truck down in a swift movement as you sit on the searing bench, the small breeze finds a way to soothe your increasing temperature, your skin slowly fusing with the fabric. He brings you home with him to finish settling everything for the following Monday - he seems a lot more peaceful with his decision of enrolling Mary to a traditional school than you thought. You promised never to second-guess his judgement. You had yet to meet the child and she was already growing on you.

You remove the tags off the small backpack, and you carefully fill it with her essentials. The rest of the supplies go back in the plastic bag, and once you’re done, you set everything by the table for her to see when she gets home.

You turn back to Frank, who’s now shirtless in the kitchen, chopping some peppers and mushrooms for dinner. His back and shoulder muscles tighten with every knock of the blade on the cutting board, your clit practically throbs in sync. “You’re staring again,” he says as he acknowledges your sudden pause in actions. He looks at you over his shoulder when he hears you puff a chuckle. “A little unfair, don’t you think?” he challenges as he continues his task.

You place the boxes on the table away in a cupboard so that you can sit on it, your back pressed against the warm spot that the sun left on the wall. With lazy movements, you unlace the bow on your shoes and have them flying to the door along with your socks. Your feet come resting on the edge of the table, your knees spread as far as they are willing to go. The hem of your skirt is pulled over your navel, allowing your uncovered pussy to be on full display. You had to clear your throat to get his attention again; with the water running he couldn’t hear you wiggling around.

“Asking for something you don’t even want to claim,” you tease, slapping your core just enough to cause a reaction. His upper body spins to face you, and he nearly chops a finger off when he notices your position. He drops the knife on the counter and turns around fully, resting his ass back on the edge of the counter before crossing his arms over his glistening chest.

“You’re staring, again,” you mock. “So if you’re going to stay there I want you to look me in the eyes. At all times.” He twitches under your stern command, but finds himself liking the reversed roles. So his eyes stay locked on yours, although your hand snakes down to get two fingers into your soaked core. He grunts and you can see him suck in his bottom lip in annoyment. “Good boy,” you say.

“Ah, fuck off,” he says through a thick Boston accent as he loses focus and looks up at the ceiling - a dish towel comes flying next to you. You love to make him feel like a helpless man, but he’s not having it. You could come just at the sounds he makes. He wipes his hands on his cheeks to try and get the new red shade away, but the colour slowly creeps onto his chest and he’s soon becoming a cute and bothered, steaming lobster. You giggle because you know how hard he’s willing to get the control he desires.

When his gaze stays away from yours longer than you’d allow, you lean down to your left to grab something from an open box. When he hears the clinging sound of glass, he brings back his lust blown eyes to you, and you hear him grunt when he sees the empty bottle of Budweiser you’re bringing back up with you. He allows himself to look at your pussy, at last, before bringing his gaze back to the ground when you’ve got your focus back. “Oh, you sure you wanna miss this, Frank?” you add before letting out a little moan. He tries his best to keep his cool. “Well…” you shrug.

Without waiting for him to stop being a whiny baby, you bring the tip of the bottle to your folds, rubbing the cool glass easily against the growing pool of arousal. After a few back and forth movements, you let it sink in, inch by inch until you reach the wider circumference of it.

“Baby. Frank? Please,” you let out in a high-pitched moan as you start to pull it out, only to push it back in when his eyes finally meet yours again. “Please,” you repeat with a pouty mouth. His hands abruptly unfasten his belt, and he swiftly unzips them before reaching for his aching cock down his boxers. With the force of his tugs and pulls, his jeans end up wiggling down to his ankles on their own, and he’s left in his worn out, black Fruit of the Looms.

You lazily pump the bottle in and out of you, causing it to make wet, squishy sounds that somehow manage to get Frank even harder. He begins to add velocity to his pleasuring, his right bicep beautifully bulging while his left hand is about to turn white from how tight he’s holding onto the counter. His knees buck every few seconds. Somehow he manages to keep his eyes on yours this time, and shivers run up your spine when you see the black in them grow wider. A few seconds later, you’re gushing onto the table and the floor, moaning so loud Frank has to rush to you and cover your mouth with his hand.

“Okay, enough playing now,” he barks and picks your numb body from the small resting spot. “I can’t fucking keep watching this,” he adds while walking you to his room, knocking almost every wall on his way.

**

The sun is at its brightest, even in your tiny shorts and tank top the heat wave manages to slow your body down. You’re sitting by the marina again. The soothing symphony that blows through the sails has your mind loosening pleasantly. People at work were slowly testing your patience and you had to take a breather before heading down the evening traffic. Inevitably, Frank’s voice echoes over the sweet sound of the wind, and your shoulders drop on the spot, a long sigh escapes your lips. You look at him and Mary as they make their way down the dock. You see him walking with trouble and can’t help but laugh at the thought of the healing scratches you left a few nights back.

Out of habit - you realize and find the gesture extremely cute - he turns around to scan the area. Soon enough he finds what he’s looking for. You smile back, setting some strands of hair behind your ear so you can look at him better. He winks nonchalantly, and continues on his path. He talks for a few minutes with Mary, before she comes running past the gate again to get her one-eyed friend. When she’s back, you get up, gather your things and have one last look at them as they head out to the sea on the Southern Belle. The sight, the sun blasting and the feeling of hope creep through your senses and euphoria floods your brain. You head home with a light heart and a childish grin as scenarios start to play in your mind.

It’s slowly getting dark outside, the night breeze has your blinds flapping on the window sill. After a couple yawns, you hang up on a long, movemented conversation with Frank. Apparently Mary’s first day at school hadn’t gone as well as it should have. He hopes the behavior won’t stick, because he seriously doesn’t want to come back on his decision. “She has to test everyone’s limits, hun. I wouldn’t sweat it too much. She doesn’t mean wrong,” you had told him. “She’s smart. She needs to analyse and understand, which is a lot to ask of her in so little time.” Once you felt that he started to relax, you decided to call it a day; your own troubles at work catching up with you. It had been a harsh Monday for everyone it seems, and you hope to get a decent night’s sleep.

“No problem, baby. I’ll see you soon, okay? Once this all settles. I’m sorry,” he had said before you wished each other goodnight.

Come Friday night, no news from him. Your leg is shaking as you’re sitting in your living room in silence. The tv is off, everything is quiet in the neighbourhood. Too quiet. You fiddle with your phone as Frank’s number is displayed on the screen. You thought he would’ve called by now, but you know things were definitely going too fast for him. For Mary, mostly. You decide you could simply surprise him - Mary usually stays at Roberta’s on Fridays, so it wouldn’t be a big deal if you showed up unannounced. You throw on a loose dress and a sweater and head out, your heart unconsciously begins to skip faster at the thought of seeing Frank. You wondered how you’d gone 7 years without seeing him, when now a couple days without hugging him seemed impossible.

You pull into his street, his truck is parked nicely by the curb. As you turn the engine off, you realise that all the lights are out, the windows are shut and there’s absolutely no signs of life. You have time to step out of your car before you hear a friendly voice behind you. It takes a few seconds for you to find the open window it comes out of, and you can hardly identify Roberta’s features.

“He’s out for a beer with a guy from work or something, darling. He shouldn’t be long. Want me to unlock for ya?” she dangles some keys in between her fingers.

“Oh, no, no. We haven’t, I mean, I don’t think I should be in there alone,” you wave your hand back to your car, “I’ll just be on my way, and um, tell him he can call me.”

“I’ll let him know, sweetheart. Take care now,” she moves back in and slowly pushes her window back down. Sure enough, she waits for you to pull out and roll back onto the street before leaving her watching spot. You can see her close her curtains in you rear-view mirror, then her light dims off.

As you come closer to the ‘T’ which either leads to town or back to your place, you decide to be bold and make your way to Ferg’s. You wanted to show him the perfect pencil case you had found for Mary. Nothing dazzling, as promised. So when you come to a stop, you flick your signal to the left rather than the usual right. A few minutes later, you’re setting the car in Park, and you’re headed for the door.

As you walk passed the crowded patio, your long strides are cut short when you hear Frank’s voice. What’s with him and interrupting your walk, you wonder. A small chuckle escapes your lips before you go and say his name. “Fra-,” you stop when you hear a feminine voice asking a personal question. You decide to wait and listen, but stay out of their sight. Small bushes conveniently surround the bottom of the window that’s by their table, allowing you to squat near enough to be within earshot. You lean onto the small brick lining the pavement. You smile to yourself as Frank goes on with a story.

“I was running ridiculously late for a date. My sister showed up, with Mary. And she never just showed up unannounced. She never showed up with a baby.” he sighs, a sound you only heard once when he had to control his intrusive thoughts. Your heart sinks immediately, your focus doubles as you listen to a story you hadn’t heard yet.

“She said she wanted to talk. She said she needed to talk,” you can hear the woman take a deep breath, but she lets him go on.

“I told her I’d talk to her when I got back. Figured showing up that late to my date would ruin my chances of getting laid. Came home that night, and Mary was on the couch. Found Diane on the bathroom floor. I mean there’s no way I could’a known, but uh, I should’a known.”

Your head spins. Oh no. This can’t be, you think.

“Six and a half years later me and Mary are still hanging out,” he takes a sip of beer before coming to a pause. That’s when you stand up and see the dark short haired woman close her eyes. When they pry back open, they come across your distressed face, your puffy eyes gain her empathy for a moment, before she realizes that you were eavesdropping.

“Who are yo-, this is none of your business young lady,” she begins.

“Hey. Bonnie, who’s-” Frank says and stretches his neck to get a better angle. Once he sees you, his head tilts back, eyes close, as he knows he’s messed up. Before he can look back down at you, Bonnie’s walking passed him and is headed for the door.

You run out of your hiding spot when you’ve decided your heart has had enough. From Frank’s story to the fact that he was here with her tonight. You can barely breathe, tears running down your already damp cheeks. “Ah shit,” you whisper as your flowy clothes gets caught in a branch. When you hear some footsteps coming your way, you decide to go with force rather than logic, and simply tear the poor material apart. You’re free to run down the wooden porch and onto the chill sand where you foot trips in a wire.

You’re sitting in the sand, crying over something you don’t even know is true. Your mind cannot follow your body so you give up, on running, on trying to understand. Until a big hand settles on your shoulder and you are forced to come out of your little bubble.

“Y/N, please, listen,” Frank starts.

“Can I understand what’s go-”

“Not now, Bonnie!” he turns around and notices how loud he was, “sorry. But please, not now.” he brings his attention back to you and you can hear her stomping to the parking lot.

He pulls you back up with him and you crash into his arms. “Please tell me I’m not…” you begin but your sobs keep you from speaking any further. “Please.” His hands rub up your back lovingly as words fail to come out. He keeps you close as you stand on the volleyball court, away from curious eyes. Your mind races as you’re having trouble accepting it all. Everything you want, everything you love, always seems to come with a price. What keeps you happy is also what brings you down. You let out a sigh as you rub your cheek on his chest, trying to make the most of the moment before it potentially all goes south. He pulls your head back, cleaning the tears that were starting to crust around your eyes. He smiles, which causes you to mirror his expression. “This will sound awful, but um” he pulls back and scratches his neck, “mind… giving me a ride?”

You giggle. “Of course, lover boy,”

“Shut up,” you laugh together.

After talking with Frank about what had happened and him clearing out the whole story, you allowed yourself to take a week on your own. To think. To figure out what it is you want and desire for the future - you’ve come to think that it wasn’t fair to Frank for you to expect so much of him while you didn’t even know what you wanted from yourself. So you spent your time at work, then went straight home or headed north to another town. You had to keep away from boats, or the ocean all-together, and it seemed to ease the process. You missed the company though, your fingers hardly coming to satisfying results. But now you had a clear picture of your next steps, so you decided to give him a call.

“Look, um. I got a letter. From court,” he begins and your heart stops. “Mary’s going to be away for a few days. How about…” you heard him inhale slowly, “how about you come and stay here? With, with me. I mean, if you want to.” You know he’s cursing himself in his mind. Such a smart man with words and yet, you always seemed to make him sound like a middle-schooler.

“I’d love to. Could give us a look at what it could be to-” you start, but get interrupted.

“Y/N, listen though, I… I kinda saw Bonnie again. But it was nothing, really. We talked and settled it.” he stops when he hears you sigh. “Kinda felt lonely, and we got drunk and…”

“I see. Frank it’s f-” you go on.

“Just thought I’d be brutally honest. If I want this to work,” he adds more confidently.

“This?” you smile, knowing the answer.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make me beg.”

“Can only dream of it.”

Once you’ve settled your bag on his bed, you join him in the living room, where he was already setting everything for a movie night. You sit on the couch and look at him as he fumbles through a pile of DVDs. The sight of him being a domestic, more vulnerable man makes you feel all warm inside. You pull the blanket over your feet as you scoot over to leave him some room to sit.

“Oh, you’ll never guess,” he blurts and pauses to laugh at his own statement. You let him laugh for a few seconds before making big eyes at him. He points his finger at you, asking for a minute to get his breath. “She called me a porn producer,” his laugh is back.

You couldn’t help but join in the madness. “Loo-look at me,” you say. You squint, your chin resting on your hand as you fake a long analisis. “Yeah. Yeah I think I see it,” you tease.

“Fuck off,” he throws a plastic case right by your feet. After pressing play on the remote, he comes to sit next to you, his arm automatically stretches behind your head on the back of the couch. “I’d much rather be an actor than a producer,” he says with an arrogant puff. You settle in the crook of his arm, and kiss his cheek. He turns around, and for the first time, he looks at you in a way that has your whole insides turning. It feels raw, and real. He gives you a little grin before dipping down to attach his lips to yours for a little peck.

“I could get used to this,” you admit.

Next chapter

[utterlyinevitable]

5,30 for Ethan x MC throw in all the angst you can ! Thank u 💖

5. things you didn’t say at all 30. things I wish you’d said

From the things you said prompt list. Send me a pairing and number and I’ll write a mini fic!

this fic has gotten way longer than intended.... 

---

Narcissus Sent a Package

Rebecca Lao walked to the Diagnostics Office ready for her shift. She was overjoyed that things started to become semi-normal between her and Ethan after she called him a diva and spoiled brat outside their patient’s house two days ago. She was thankful the awkward tension dissipated. 

Through the glass door she could see, sitting on the round table, where the team of Baz, Becca, June and Ethan met multiple times a day to deliberate on cases, was a basket. A gift basket of a large bouquet of flowers and a box wrapped prettily with a bow. 

The air around the office became strained almost immediately upon Becca’s arrival. 

June stood at the table and immediately turned to the resident, manicured thin eyebrows raised, as she walked in. Ethan was sat at his desk, attention on whatever lay before him. Baz was in a chair eying the basket with an embossed card addressed to the youngest member of the team. 

“You have an admirer,” he spoke. Baz’s eyes were alight with intrigue - this was the most interesting thing to happen in months. 

Becca’s brows furrowed together. Since when did anyone send gifts to the team? Who did she know that would send such a display? 

She crossed the distance to inspect the gift basket. As she reached for the card she got a waft of sweetness from the fresh flowers - A bouquet of sweet pea and daffodil. The pinks and purples and yellows really complimented one another, and looked so out of place in the minimally modern room. 

To herself, Becca read the words on the thick, definitely expensive, ivory card printed in black calligraphy;  

Dr. R ‘2nd is the best’. But I like to think third time’s the charm. Looking forward to it.  - T

The color drained from her face. 

He wouldn’t. 

The entire drunken escapade from weeks prior came rushing back to her all at once;

She knew she shouldn’t indulge another endeavor with the handsome stranger. It was a disaster waiting to happen. God, she hated the way this man smiled - like he was a python devouring her whole. But in the dim light of Donahue’s, Bryce’s encouraging winks and nods from a few stools down, and the free drinks pouring, maybe a dance with the devil was exactly what she needed. A bit of mind numbing sex never hurt anybody, right?

No; 

This wouldn’t hurt Becca, or him, but in time it would hurt Ethan.

'Caroline’ downed her drink and gave Reggie the signal for another shot. Tobias and she clinked glasses as she weighed her options one final time. 

Then they made their way to the bathroom. 

Her eyes flitted from the card to the purposeful gift and back again. 

He did. 

And the intention behind it washed over her. 

Shit.

“Wow, Becca. I didn’t think you had it in you,” June appraised, pulling the resident back to the room of awaiting bystanders. 

Becca folded the card back up and placed it far away from the others reach. “What?” she responded, slightly dazed by this complete and utter spectacle laid out before her - the brazen flaunt of distrust.   

June’s tight smile was all too telling. “Tobias,” she nodded towards the card and raised her eyebrows, “I’m impressed.” 

Of course she read the card first. 

As much as Becca wanted to smack that smirk off of Dr. Hirata’s face she refrained. It wasn’t worth making a scene. The damage was already done. June pulled the trigger with that transparent remark. 

Of course she purposefully said his name out loud.

A pager cut through the gross tension coating the diagnostics office. It was Baz’s and he wordlessly fled the scene. 

“Excuse me,” June left the room in his wake, leaving the inevitable drama to unfold. 

Body tense, Becca hesitantly moved to the present. It was weighted, much too heavy to be a box of chocolates. Stupidly, she stole a glance at Ethan. He was sitting straight up, body turned from her, face stoic and doing his best to be uninterested.  

She went to pull back the glossy purple paper, revealing the gift. Becca managed to uncover it halfway before everything clicked. 

Staring back at her was a sparkly, aged bottle of amber scotch. 

“I...” she pulled the rest of the paper back to reveal the name. 

Fuck. 

“I don’t think this was meant for me.” 

Her words were loud and clear and ringing off the furniture, vibrating all around him. 

And Ethan’s cover was blown; 

“Wha-” he finally looked over at her, curiosity getting the better of him.  

She turned to him and held up the box, “It’s your favorite.” 

He didn’t miss the regret in her eyes. It was a darker amber than the expensive liquid she held. Her tight lips, pressed together and the light flush on her cheeks told him it was true. 

The woman he fell for was involved with Tobias Carrick. 

Ethan moved across the office quickly and with intention, coming just close enough to Becca to inspect the bottle. He did his best to keep a semblance of space between them.  

He held the box in his hands. Inspecting. Deliberating. Letting his mind draw up as many conclusions has possible. 

Her voice cut through, “I didn’t even tell him my real name.”

It was an decibel above a whisper, and not the consolation she meant it to be.

Ethan’s eyes were trained on the scotch. His features unmoving and frozen in place. The only sign of life was the small rise and fall of his chest as he attempted to swallow the lump in his throat.      

Becca wished she hadn’t said anything. Wished that she just took the bouquet and unopened scotch back to her locker so no one had to know her personal business. More than anything, she wished she didn’t do it. She wished she let Tobias Carrick stay that nameless man in the club and pretended not to remember him at Donahue’s that night. 

“Why on earth would you sleep with my ex-best friend, my rival?” It was more rhetorical than anything.  

“We hooked up that’s all.”   

They didn’t have sex. Thank God. 

They were interrupted by loud rapping on the door and Reggie’s voice calling for them to “get another room”. As they put their shirts back on, and Becca was free from Tobias’ warmth between her legs, realization set in. Her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t do it. Becca denied going home with him and hoped to never see him again. 

Unfortunately for her work forced their hands.   

Ethan couldn’t help but let the a few careful emotions seep through as he barked, “What does that even mean? What does this mean?” He pointed between the flowers and the scotch. 

Becca could feel the bottled up anger emanating off of him. And frankly, it pissed her off. 

Ethan chose to sever any romantic ties they could have had in the name of her professional growth and ethics. It was his choice. As much as Becca didn’t agree, she respected his decision. She’s tried so hard to move on. 

“Okay,” She held up her pointer finger ready to unleash the truth. “The first time I had no idea who he was! He was some rando at a club.”

It took everything in Ethan, every morsel of self control, to keep from asking when the first time was. When she first succumbed to his rival and how many times there were after that. How long after they slept together the night of her hearing did she jump into bed with someone else? How long after kissing him his first night back did she invalidate every single thing she ever said about wanting him? 

He’d rather know about her salacious escapes with the scalpel jockey than with the likes of Tobias Carrick.

“And we did fool around in the bathroom at a bar a few weeks,” Becca continued her explanation on how she came to know the olive skinned stranger. “Then at the Bloom’s it clicked.”  

During her entire soliloquy Ethan didn’t falter. He didn’t even acknowledge her person. His mind moved faster than her explanations. He dissected every word falling tastelessly off her tongue. He weighed the truth of each sentence and collected every scenario hiding in the subtext.  

Becca watched as he mulled. At least, she assumed, he was marinating and assessing her words. Ethan was a statue in front of her. Eyes darker than she’s ever seen and hollow. Devoid of emotion as they stayed locked on the offending item in his white-knuckled hands.  

She wished he would say something, anything. Any words, even venomous ones, would be better than the sullen look on his face. 

Becca thought things were getting better between them; she thought they were making progress. All their differences aside, they were getting along. They were becoming better friends. Becca was one of the rare few people Ethan could actually trust. 

And now... 

With a rueful huff he unceremoniously freed the bottle of its confines. 

Ethan’s mind was reeling - racing a mile a minute as their bodies stood frozen in place. As their bodies protected themselves.

First she weasels her way into his life, driving him to distraction and making him fall for her. She frazzled his mind with intrusive thoughts of her, so strong he needed a sabbatical. Then she’s dismantling the fundamentals of his team, everything he and his mentor worked their careers to build. Now, he feels as if he never really knew her at all. 

Tobias Carrick always coveted everything Ethan Ramsey had; even after their medical school years ended, the distain still existed. Ethan could handle it all - every single dig and undermining being thrown his way. He learned to rise above the schemes every time Tobias tried and failed to outdo him. Ethan Ramsey was capable of moving on, forgetting everything without a second thought. 

Everything except for this. 

This was the one thing he could never overcome. She was the one thing Tobias could win at. 

It never even crossed Ethan’s mind that Tobias could have her too. Even worse were the thoughts of how Tobias could have found her. Did the universe bring them together just as he assumed it divinely brought her into his life? Was he always destined to have to fight with Tobias for all he earned? 

Ethan noted how he could never be narcissistic enough to send a one-night stand a gift basket.

Yet what made Ethan stir the most was how unashamed and brash the gesture was. Aside from the subtext, Ethan could never bring himself to send the woman of his affections flowers - their dynamic was far too complicated for Ethan to send Becca a token of appreciation. 

So he grasped the bottle firmly by the neck and pulled it out of the box with an unsatisfying creak. 

With one blind, emotional action Becca had unknowingly ruined everything they had or could ever be. Ethan Ramsey will never come second to Tobias Carrick. Ethan may have had Becca first, but with her dubious action she made her choice. 

It wasn’t him. 

He carried the bottle back to his desk and sat down.  

“What’re you doing?” Becca questioned from the place she’d been stuck standing in for what felt like eons. Her eyes blinked rapidly as if what she’s been experiencing was just a nightmare and at some point she’ll wake up. 

But this wasn’t an illusion. They both knew that. 

This was how it ended. 

How something that barely even began washed away with the stream of regret.  

“Exactly what Tobias intended,” he half-shrugged. Bending down, pulled out a crystal tumbler from the lower drawer of his desk. “I’m drinking it.”

The nonchalance of his tone scared her. It was late afternoon and Ethan Ramsey was about to have a drink. 

She was about to comment when he spoke first; 

“You’re dismissed.” 

It was definitive. 

He cracked open the bottle and poured a hearty serving, spinning around in his chair to look at the x-rays he’s already seen just so that his back was fully to her. 

Becca wanted to speak, to say something to make things better. 

It was a mistake. 

Back in those days she needed something, anything, to help her get over her all consuming feelings for Ethan and thought Tobias could help - that a random stranger could help numb the pain just a bit longer. 

She wanted to tell Ethan everything - every single thing that led her to the moment of weakness. 

But what was the point in telling him how much his disappearance and constant rejections hurt her? How many times can she tell him she’s fallen in love with him and her heart breaks every time they can’t be together? How she regretted the stranger the moment he had his hand up her skirt. How in the middle of Bloom’s living room her heart stopped beating when Tobias came to light and he learned of her true identity. 

How could she apologize for all of that? 

She was sorry, but sorry wouldn’t change the past. 

It couldn’t change anything. 

________________________________________

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Rumor

A Jensen x Reader oneshot

Y/N’s never considered how many suspiciously snuggly photos there are of her and her best friend. Then they all come out in a Buzzfeed article, published just in time for everyone to grill her during her solo panel. Now what?

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Really dumb fluff, everyone’s anxious, Jared and Briana are sick of everyone’s shit

A/N: This is dumb and fluffy and dangerously song-fic territory but it showed up and demanded to be written so here you go. I have no idea if this is actually any good. Enjoy?

---------* ---------

You were the epitome of normal, growing up. You had decent grades, run-of-the-mill hobbies, and an average high school cashier job. You could hop on your bike (and later, borrow your parents�� car) and take yourself to the coffee shop, or to a friend’s, and the only people that  would look twice at you were drivers checking to make sure the kid on the bike didn’t steer into traffic. 

You didn’t win any “most likely to” awards in the yearbook, your college major was undecided for an embarrassing length of time, and your 300-odd Instagram followers were comprised of friends and some polite acquaintances from welcome week. And you didn’t mind. You were perfectly happy to go through your day-to-day without turning heads and making waves. 

That was all before you’d answered an open casting call on a whim, strapped for cash and mostly there because a sparkly website proclaiming “50 Easy Side Hustles!” had suggested spending your weekends as an extra if you lived in a big filming city. Before your three-episode contract in a show you’d never bothered to watch turned into a series regular.

Now, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your face splashed across the internet every time you stick a toe off the end of your L.A. property line. Even if the paparazzi aren’t there to get you in Page Six with some wildly exaggerated nonsense, a fan somewhere will snap a blurry photo and upload it somewhere for people to shout about you in the comments section. You’ve never gotten used to being tagged in edits of your own face, or watching your follower count creep steadily upwards. You’re just… you. You’ve always been just the normal, average girl from a nothing-special hometown.  

Even after your third year running on Supernatural, you still forget. You still make it all the way to the end of the block before you remember that the person shouting your name is the bodyguard you accidentally abandoned two errands ago. You still get confused when the restaurant wait staff stares at you, still get annoyed calls from your publicist begging you to at least try to appear in fewer coffee shop paparazzi pictures looking like a disgruntled zombie who’s never seen a hairbrush. (Sue you, you can’t be expected to be functional before a cup of coffee.)

You’re a brilliant actress, an unexpected fan-favorite, relatable to everyone in your autograph line...and you’re kind of a terrible celebrity. Unlike certain child models turned actors straight at 18 you may know, this isn’t a world you were trained in. Which is probably why it doesn’t even occur to you that being caught frequently in the company of your best friend might look like something until you’re staring at your own name in a headline on your phone screen, in line at Starbucks before your first panel of the con weekend. 

Y/N L/N’s Secret Relationship With Co-Star Jensen Ackles, howls the bold-printed headline, and you blink stupidly at the letters, uncomprehending, until you realize that someone’s trying to get your attention. “Sorry, what?”

The barista looks impatient, suppressing an eyeroll and starting her spiel before cutting off halfway with a squeak. “Oh, my god, you’re her! I’m sorry, I’m just… you’re literally my favorite!” She’s blushing and stuttering and has a near-death grip on the empty coffee cup she was preparing to write your name on. 

“Oh,” you reply, forcing the fog of confusion from your brain and slapping on a smile. “Hi, you caught me.”

“Can I...um…” the girl reaches into her back pocket and sheepishly produces her cell phone, complete with a flaming pentagram case. “Um, selfie?”

You smile indulgently, leaning over the counter. The fans are one of the best parts, really, and it’s never a hardship to make someone smile. (That is, when they’re not selling rumors and lies to the tabloids, you think grumpily.)

The barista girl pulls back with a wide smile and a full-face blush, and keeps glancing shyly up at you while she punches in your usual order, plus the second coffee Jensen texted you this morning to beg for. “So I guess Jensen’s around here too, then, right?” she asks perkily, taking your card. 

“Uh...sorry, what?”

She shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since you flew in together,”

You blink rapidly, feeling stupid. You’re obviously missing the punchline somewhere. “We, uh...didn’t. I mean...I flew out of L.A.,” you say cautiously. Your home city is already public knowledge, as is the fact that Jensen lives in Austin, and you can’t imagine she doesn’t know this. 

Her eyes pop wide with curiosity. “Wait, so you’re not staying with him?”

This conversation is too much for your poor, jetlagged, coffeeless brain. “No?” you try weakly, so far past confused at this point that you might actually be getting a headache. “Why would I…” 

Not that Jensen’s Austin house isn’t lovely, and not that you’d object to staying there, and not that you haven’t stayed there plenty of times before, but you’re pretty sure you’re still missing the point. 

The barista lunges forward over the counter, leaning in to ask in a hushed voice, “Did you guys break up?”

An emphatic “No!” leaves your mouth so loudly that the old man in line behind you starts grumbling. “No, you don’t--” 

“Get a move on,” Old Man grouches in the background. “I don’t care who you are,”

“Oh, good,” the girl cuts you off with a relieved grin. “You guys are so cute, you know? I mean, I kinda figured you had to have something going on, but actually seeing it--it’s going to be so much cuter if Dean and Sierra ever kiss now, oh my god--”

She devolves into a squeal, and the we’re not actually dating dies on your tongue. You have better things to do this morning than correct the misinformation of one teenage barista, so you end up just shaking your head and taking the two cups of coffee wearily. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go, so--” you duck around the old man and beeline for the door before anyone can say anything else. Oh, god, your publicist is so going to kill you. 

***

Jared and Jensen are both in the green room when you make it back to the convention hotel, and you groan softly as you walk into the room. Once Jared hears about your so-called relationship, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Then again, better he hear it from you than find it in the tabloids. May as well bite the bullet now before it comes up in a Q&A. 

“Hey,” you slide up to Jensen’s elbow, holding out the requested coffee cup as a preemptive truce. “So, we’re apparently dating now,” 

Jensen snorts, shaking his head and swapping the coffee cup into his other hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders in greeting. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“I think I may have given a barista the impression we’ve had a tumultuous breakup,” you say ruefully, tilting your head up to look at him in apology. “Sorry,”

Jensen’s green eyes are dancing, though, and he throws back his head and laughs, still keeping you tucked close enough that you can feel his whole body shake. “Of course you did, sweetheart,”

It’s pretty much the reaction you expected from Jensen, who’s so used to your antics at this point that he just gives you a fond smile and moves on to damage control. Jared, on the other hand, is...not commenting, and suspicion cuts short your quiet enjoyment of being hugged against Jensen. It took the boys a while to feel comfortable messing with you when you first got on set, but after they figured out you gave as good as you got, they’d never yet missed an opportunity to tease and prank you. 

You squint at Jared warily. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Jared’s lips immediately start twitching, but he makes a valiant attempt at a mock-concerned face. “Oh shit, sorry. Here, tell me again and I’ll pretend like I’m surprised this time,”

Unwilling to bother unwinding yourself from under Jensen’s arm, you extend a childish foot in the direction of Jared’s shins, scowling at him. He dodges easily, laughing, and tosses out, “Someone should really tell Buzzfeed they’re reporting really old news,”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Padalecki,” you shoot back without any real venom.

“Oh, you mean my hotel coffee? The coffee I got stuck with because you only buy Starbucks for Jensen?”

Jensen straightens up proudly, no doubt making a face at Jared over the top of your head. “Y/N just likes me better. That’s why she’s my best friend.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under Jensen’s arm and a few steps away. “You both suck,” you deadpan, resisting an internal wince at the friendzone. “Now shut up and let me drink my coffee, I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes,” 

And God, but your head is way too scrambled for a panel right now. Fifteen minutes is nowhere close to enough time to get your shit together, and you’re going to have to somehow walk out there and not let everyone know. 

You take a seat halfway across the room, watching Jared and Jensen still standing there, heads bowed together, arguing quietly about something. Jensen’s starting to wear an annoyed expression and he still manages to look beautiful and goddamnit this is how you got in trouble in the first place. 

You scroll listlessly through your phone, a headache beginning behind your eyes, and freeze when you realize that you left the damn article open. The headline photo is a picture of you and Jensen on a sidewalk in L.A., caught mid-conversation with Jensen’s hand on your back and a stupid, dopey look on your face while you stare up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, you’re an idiot. 

A hasty scroll through the rest of the article reveals more of the same, and you could kick yourself for making your dumb crush so obvious. The photo captions are practically mocking you, labelled with things like “an intimate evening for Ackles and L/N” and, under a picture of the two of you at a beach, “We might be a little mad that the two most attractive people are together”. 

Well, at least now you know what every single question at your panel is going to be about. And somehow you have to figure out how to play this off like it’s nothing. Of course I don’t have a crush the size of a mid-sized whale on Jensen, hahaha, that’s such a hilarious idea! 

Your only saving grace is that clearly, Jensen doesn’t think anything of it. It’s nothing more than a brief joke to him and Jared, and as much as that should bring you relief, it still stings to know that he’s obviously never bothered to think of you that way. And why would he? For all Buzzfeed’s nonsense about you making an attractive couple, Jensen Ackles miles above your league. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Misha sitting down next to you, an easy smile on his face as he nudges your shoulder with his own. “So, welcome to the club,”

Typically, you and Misha are pretty close friends, but your patience is too short this morning for any of his shit. “What club?” you shoot back grumpily. 

“People who the internet have declared in love with Jensen Ackles,” Misha returns, grinning like it’s obvious. 

“Ha, ha. See, except when that happens to you, people think it’s funny,”

“It is funny,”

“Not for me!” you explode, belatedly wincing at your harsh tone. “You and Jensen fuck around on stage and that works for you. If I don’t get my shit together in the next five minutes, I’m getting my name dragged through stupid tabloids and laughed straight off the show because I couldn’t keep my goddamn stupid pathetic crush under control!”

“Hey,” Misha waits until you meet his blue eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Okay? It’s not,”

“Misha--”

“Y/N,” Misha returns firmly. “It’s going to be okay. Jensen would never let anything happen to you. And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

You sigh softly, nodding. Rationally, you know he’s right. But mostly, as much as you’re worked up about the panel, your fear is that Jensen is going to be the one laughing at you, and you don’t know how to explain that. “Yeah,” you say dully, just as a convention worker comes forward to collect you. 

“If it’s really going to shit, I’ll come distract everyone,”

“Somehow, I think that would be worse,” you shoot back over your shoulder as you start walking to the stage. Breathe, Y/N. You’re fine. 

You wait for the introductions to finish and take your place on the stage, a slightly breathy laugh escaping into the mic as you look out at the crowd. That is a lot of eyes watching your every move. And they’re on your side, you remind yourself. It’s the fans who’ve been tireless supporters of you and your character, this whole time. 

“Hey, guys,” you clear your throat. “What’s up?”

You chatter for a while about whatever you can think of, telling an edited version of the grumpy Starbucks man this morning and rambling a little about Jared’s latest on-set antics. All too quickly, though, you run out of things to say, leaving you with no choice but to ask for questions. 

At first, to your great relief, they’re pretty tame. You spend a solid few minutes breaking down Sierra’s latest character arc, and the time she’s spending hunting on her own. You do get a few questions about whether she and Dean could get together when she gets back with the brothers, but as long as it stays firmly in the realm of your characters, you’re not worried. 

“And what’s your name?” You ask gently, trying to reassure the nervous young woman at the microphone. 

“Uh, Y/N…”

“I love that name!” you wink at her, rearranging yourself in the chair to be more comfortable. “What do you want to know, Y/N?”

“Uh,” she stutters, her face blushing pink. “You’re my favorite actress, and, I, um,”

“That’s very sweet,” you interject, nodding to encourage her. 

“I just, uh, really want good things for you, and I just wanted to ask if, um, areyoureallydatingJensen?” she spits out all in one breath. “Cause you deserve him,”

You blink, shifting in your seat. You’d arrived at the elephant in the room. Damn. 

“Uh,” escapes your mouth as you frantically try to construct a diplomatic sentence. “No, actually, no, we’re not.” I wish. “The, um, the article was a surprise to us too!” You added a little shrug in as punctuation, trying to play it off. 

“But you guys look so cute together!” Other Y/N exclaims. “He looks at you like--” she cuts off, biting her lip so hard you can see the white from the stage. “Nevermind. Sorry.” 

“No worries,” you assure her casually, like you’re not dying to know what she was going to say. “Next question?”

The next one up is another young woman, this time much bolder in her question. “But if you were given the opportunity, would you date Jensen Ackles?” 

God, Chuck, literally anyone please kill me. “I don’t know how to answer this without getting in trouble,” you finally laugh nervously. “This is a dangerous question,”

The audience all laughs loudly, some of them throwing out comments and suggestions. “In the interests of not getting killed in my bed tonight,” you say lightly when they’ve quieted. “I’m going to skip that question,”

There’s really no saving you, though. After that first question, it’s like a dam has broken and everyone wants to know about your relationship with Jensen. What do you think of his house in Austin and does he cook for you and what do you do between takes and where’s your favorite place to go together. Someone even asks if you’re hooking up even if you’re not dating, which you’re positive turns your face completely purple before you get through redirecting that fan. 

An hour later, you stagger off the stage mentally exhausted and thoroughly grumpy. 

“Ouch,” Briana sympathizes, sliding up beside you as you grab a water bottle in the green room. 

“Can’t wait for my dumb red face to trend on Tumblr,” you mutter, wondering darkly if you could just jump out one of the windows. 

Briana laughs like she knows something you don’t, and rubs a hand over your back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you out of your head before your photos,”

The two of you end up on a walk a few blocks from the convention hotel, fresh coffees in hand and Briana chattering away while you nod along. It’s not that you’re tuning her out, exactly, you’re just...overwhelmed. You do, however, notice when she stops talking. 

“Are you listening to me?” she looks at you sharply.

“Sorry, B,” you mumble. “Got distracted. What?”

Briana shakes her head with loving exasperation. “I asked what you’re wearing to karaoke tonight,”

“I’m probably not going to--” you start.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me there alone,” Briana interrupts, folding her arms across her chest. 

“What do you mean, alone? Kim and Rich and literally everyone will be there,”

“You are not allowed to skip karaoke.” Briana says firmly, and you suddenly know how her daughter must feel when she’s misbehaved. “Besides, Jensen’s singing with Louden Swain beforehand. Don’t you want to see it?”

“Fine. But I’m wearing this,” you gesture to your plain black top and jeans. To be honest, you’re not sure if you actually do want to see Jensen perform, or bother with the rest of karaoke night. Mostly you just want to crawl into bed and put the covers over your head and pretend that you haven’t been making a fool of yourself all morning, but Briana is a force of nature when she wants something. 

She smiles excitedly at your acquiescence, pulling out her phone for a moment to type something before you start heading back. 

You nudge her teasingly with your elbow. “Your phone more exciting than me?”

Briana just slides it away hastily before you can read more than Jared’s name over her shoulder. “Just taking care of something.”

There’s something she’s not telling you, but you don’t feel like digging right now. You’re just focusing on getting to the end of this convention without spilling all your secrets and looking like an idiot. 

By the time you’re sitting down in the seats for Louden Swain’s set, your face is indeed all over Tumblr. (You always deny having the stupid app, but sometimes a girl’s gotta know what people are saying about her and her hot costars.) There’s comments full of stupid speculation that you’re hiding your relationship, including a whole thread about how you’re clearly hiding your secret threesome with Jensen and Misha. Great. 

“Uh, okay,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Jensen’s on stage in front of the microphone, holding his guitar. “This was not part of my original plan, so...if this goes badly, it’s all Jared and Briana’s fault.”

The crowd laughs good-naturedly as your gaze snaps immediately to Briana. Infuriatingly, your friend just shrugs. 

“This is a cover of a song neither of us wrote,” Jensen continues, gesturing between himself and Louden Swain behind him. “But I thought it could be fitting,”

He’s nervous, you realize, watching the way he’s fiddling with his guitar strap while he talks. But you have no idea what he’s doing. And you have no idea why he didn’t tell you. The two of you always know what stupid thing the other person is planning, especially stunts in front of the fans. But clearly not this time. With a sinking sense of dread, you wonder if maybe he does hate you a little bit after today, and that article. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking to you. You swallow hard against the sting in your throat, and Jensen starts playing. 

The opening chords are definitely from a country song you vaguely recognize from the radio, and you wonder why this is Jensen’s choice over one of his own songs. 

“Girl, you know I've known you forever / How many nights we hung out together,”

Across the room, Briana has an enormous smile on her face.

“My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder / Making a motion like, ‘Could y'all get any closer?’” He punctuates the words with a little scowl in Jared’s direction. 

“There's a rumor going 'round about me and you / Stirring up our little town the last week or two / So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling / I feel it, don't you feel it too? / There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round / What d'you say we make it true?”

There are a lot of people suddenly making noise around you as they come to the same realization that you are, but you’re frozen in your seat. The rumor is you. He’s talking about you. Jensen’s singing for you. And you should be elated but your mind is stuck on a loop of what the fuck there’s no way this is real. 

You don’t even realize that the song is over until everyone is clapping and you’re still stuck staring with embarrassingly wide eyes, Jensen up on stage with an embarrassed dusting of red across his face and a slowly deflating expression. 

“Hey,” Jared’s elbow digs hard into your ribs suddenly. “Please do something. I can’t take any more of him like this,”

“What--oh--shit!” spills out of your mouth as you stand hastily, your phone tumbling off your lap. “I’m just gonna--”

By some miracle, you make it through the crush of people and around to the backstage area, your heart racing unevenly in your chest. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say, or if Jensen will be there, or if you’re even interpreting this right. Maybe it’s all just wishful thinking. No, Jared wouldn’t have encouraged you if that were true. Would he?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you end up plowing straight into Jensen’s chest, his arm sliding automatically around your waist as you wobble off balance. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

He steadies you, green eyes searching your face with a flicker of vulnerability. “Hey,”

“Hey,” you whisper back. You have no idea what happens now.

With his free hand, Jensen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, if that was too much--”

“No!” you shake your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just...processing. I...it was really sweet, Jen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just… me? Are you sure?”

“Why not you?” Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion. He moves both hands to your waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin shirt as he tugs you closer. “Y/N,” 

There’s something in you screaming that you might not get to do this again, that he’s going to come to his senses, that the whole thing is a dream, and before you can second guess yourself you launch yourself up onto your tiptoes and kiss him. 

Your arms go around his neck while Jensen wraps you up tighter against his chest and it’s not fireworks, or earth shattering, or anything so dramatic. His mouth moving against yours just feels like home and love and of course. Of course you were going to get here, of course it was going to be like this. 

Jensen lifts you off your feet for a moment before breaking the kiss, and he looks just breathless and flushed enough that you’re equal parts proud and turned on. 

“Of course it’s you,” he murmurs, one hand under your chin to tilt your head up to him. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

------

Something ate my taglist! If you want to be tagged, please message me!

[milktyama]

karasuno boys on first dates pt.2

part 1

a/n: idk about yall but this pandemic making me feel extra lonely </3 LIKE I CAN’T EVEN HUG MY OWN FRIENDS FFFFFF. sucks being a physical person during this time. i’m also procrastinating from math homework, words make more sense than numbers

genre: fluff, lighthearted, g!n s/o, kinda?? cliche??

includes: tanaka, sugawara, asahi, daichi

wc: 1489

tanaka ryunosuke

he is the type to bring you to a movie date

classic and simple

he wants to recreate that oh so romantic moment of casually laying his arm over your shoulder and bring you slightly closer together

maybe if he wants to get a little spicy have you lay your head on his shoulder

but let’s move a few steps back to the asking out part

oh dear god

this man, although he is a mad gentleman, cannot handle feelings for the life of him

and in all honesty, probably took him a little far too long to ask you out

he had this whole scenario out of a movie in his head, all the vibes of a protagonist; boy meets girls moment

and the second he musters his courage and walk up to you during the end of the day, he freezes up

needed ennoshita to give you that sweet insight so you made the first move yourself or it would’ve taken a solid month or two before he could manage to greet you and start some small talk

he does not deal with feelings too well

fast forward to the date

he suggests a a rather romantic movie since he is kinda that type of guy

but you were feeling rather active today and suggests an action movie

and honestly he couldn’t thank you more because although he’s a hopeless romantic, probably could not stand a 2 hour romance movie

he doesn’t like to be called out by a movie </3

anyways, remember that movie scenario in his head? yea that’s out of the question

for one, you two were too hype during the movie; something about superheroes kicking ass is just oh so exciting

secondly, he was wimping out a little

at the end of the movie, you just, shine the brightest smile he has ever seen on you

and oh baby does he feel so HONOURED to be the cause of that smile

but the next thing you do absolutely makes his heart swell

you ask him for a second date

we did it gamers

quite ironically you guys go on a arcade game for your second date, and this mans does not give you an easy time, but you just love that competitiveness in him

sugawara koushi

starting at the beginning, he asks you out

he keeps it simple and straightforward

calls you out right before you exit school buildings, and asks you if you wanna watch practice because he’s obviously trying to woo you a little before his nerve wrecking question

and you gladly agree

i mean who can say no to mr. refreshing sugawara koushi

when he walks through the gym doors and the members seeing you walk right behind him, they would totally kinda misread the situation

i mean no questions asked when it comes to the boys having some insight to the setter’s feelings, however they were just a few steps too forward

saddest part it was DAICHI himself who went “woahh suga you already asked her out? good job man!”

his soul never left his body as fast as that time

like his boys really ruined that one time he wanted to go perfect

but it’s fine

because although you two were in a little of a blushing mess, you lightly grip his sleeve and murmured the cutest “i’m free on saturday afternoon”

saying that he short circuited is honestly an understatement

saturday rolls around and you two unanimously agreed to baking class date

it’s just a really fun and interactive date idea and suga is so in for activity dates

even though you two knew it was gonna get a little messy, yall SIMPS still put on some of your fav outfits

it was so worth it though ‘cause suga’s reaction to your outfit was just all you needed in the world

the date is really fun and playful

totally not at you two flouring each other haha nooo....

he walks you home just before you two part ways, his bold little butt places his hand on top of your head, pecks your forehead and gives you the widest smile

“pottery painting next?”

azumane asahi

asahi is a simple and shy man

i’m pretty sure that’s the obvious

and he would def opt for a simple, at home date

of course only if the other party is comfortable enough for that

don’t get me started at how he asked you

asahi is such a baby and probably has so much trouble with expressing his emotions on the whim/real time

he’ll probably go for a love letter (damn cheesey) just in case he messes up his wording and turns into a blabbering mess trying to make up for the previous mistake

i can imagine his love lever being just the most aesthetically pleasing

like homeboy pulled one of those scrapbooking, journaling people on instagram

plus points he did a wax seal thing (so fancy oml)

most likely put in your locker and then just RAN out of the place like usain bolt

and for the cherry on top, you would return a letter with the same amount of effort (probably not as pretty as his tho LMFAO) accepting his little date uwu

when the date comes, he would set up and clean his house to the tip top utmost cleanliness it could be

at his house, you two would probably watch some movies, play some board games, bake a little and so on

but the highlight of the date is when while watching your like 3rd movie, you doze off into asahi’s shoulder and boy you should’ve seen his FACE

so read and so cute

*insert pleading eyes emoji x2000*

he would gently stroke your hair, careful trying not to wake you up

but unfortunately for him you are a light sleeper

so you would wake up but allow him to run his fingers through your hair

and then when you decide to wake wake up, you tell him that when he strokes your head feels so nice and makes you feel safe AIJFSOLDKRG

and you ask him if you can do the same to him or try styling his hair

and how could he say no to you?

you two spend hours playing with each other’s hair (or only his if you have short hair)

oh and you took so any adorable pictures of him

he got so flustered but it was fine if it was you

sawamura daichi

as a man with the biggest appetite in the series, no surprise that daichi would bring you to a local restaurant for a little date

daichi is also a confident man

so he would puff his chest and put the effort to approach you

though as confident as i make him out to be, there’s still light pink dusted on the apples of his cheeks and hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he makes eye contact with you

he’ll have you watch their practice and right after you two would make your to his favorite local restaurant for dinner

also during practice the third and second years would NOT give their captain a break while the first years are probably either too confused or don’t care (COUGH COUGH TSUKISHIMA)

anyways after practice and walking to the place is literally so perfect because sun in setting and the atmosphere is so romantic

you two probably walk right beside each other and making small talk when daichi is hinting that he wants to hold you hand by brushes that back of your hands together often

BUT YOU’RE PROBABLY SO SHY THAT EVERYTIME IS HAPPENS YOU JUST BLUSH AND APOLOGIZE AND EVENTUALLY U PUT YOUR HAND INSIDE YOUR BLAZER POCKET?????

HONEY YOU CAN ONLY BE SO  D E N S E

n e ways

knowing daichi, he probably goes to this restaurant very often and knows the menu like the back of his hand

so he would ask you for your preferences and then give you his recommendations based on that

he just wants to make sure you will enjoy your meal to the fullest

as a regular, he is also well acquainted with the restaurant owner

so like when mr. restaurant owner sees daichi walk in with another person while sporting a very clear blush on his face, he KNOWS something is up

while serving your orders, he was being sNEAKY by giving yall a freebie

and it turns out to be like the couple special

like those very pretty sparkly milkshakes with one of those straws that has two sides to it branching out

and like he refuse to serve yall other drinks FAGKFHJADH so you two had to with the milkshake and like oopsie moment when you two decide to go for it at the same time

the restaurant owner DEF took a pick of that exact moment and gave it to daichi as a gift AHAHAH

[jamilelucato]

together [F. W.] || pt.1

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!reader

together MASTERLIST || PART 2

Summary: Professor McGonagall has had enough of yours and Weasley’s pranks. She has an idea of how to stop it, but will it be enough?

A/N: So... I thought a lot about this, should I do, should I not... I decided to go with it. It’ll probably be big because Goblet of Fire is big and this fanfic is supposed to happen at that book. Yeah... hope you all like it! Leave your comments about it please!

It’ll have a second part, and probably a third, so if you wanna be tagged, just ask!

Words: 7.866

"There's a bet goin' round..." the girl sitting next to y/N started.

"So I've heard..." you replied, faking indifference.

The Hogwarts Express was packed with students, all waiting to arrive at Hogwarts soon. y/N and Reyna, best friends since year 1, were sitting together at a compartment. There had been two other girls with them, but they had left for buying snacks. y/N doubted that was true since Reyna had just left herself to fetch snacks and was already back with chocolate frogs. Reyna was having the time of her life with the sweeties, but y/N wasn't interested. She was planning something bigger, something that was supposed to happen once she arrived at school, and because of all the required preparation, she wasn't very focused on the chocolate.

That didn't mean she didn't know about the gossip that was spreading inside the train.

"Well, it's a bet on who is going to be the biggest prankster of the year" started saying Reyna, pausing just to get another bite.

"Is it so?" you had now stopped writing on your notebook and glanced at your friend.

"You are one of the options and I've put my money on you, so I just hope you're not planning on being an angel this year," she said, finally. Her bright blue eyes showed she was scared of your reaction. And she was. Aside from school, you two didn't talk much. She would eventually spill some gossip, and you would make some jokes, but that was as far as your friendship had reached.

"Which are the other available options?" you asked, still playing dumb.

"Hm... someone put Draco on the list, but he's just a mean boy, not a prankster," she said, focused on the food in front of her. She ate so much, you always wondered how she managed her weight since yourself lately was having a problem with it. "Of course, Fred and George are on the list as well—"

You needed to hear no more. You were not intending on playing the saint this year, you spend your whole summer making plans to prank everyone at Hogwarts, but you thought that, maybe, without the Weasley Twins as rivals, you wouldn't need to be doing much. Knowing now that they were on the list for the title of prankster of the year, you knew you wouldn't have it easy.

"Glad you put your money on me, Reyna. I will be going after that title, do not worry" you assured her. She smiled and breathed hard, relieved.

"Three galleons, y/N. Please don't make me lose." You laughed at her insinuation. Losing for the Weasleys was not on your plans. God, could you imagine the look on their faces if they were nominated the biggest prankster of Hogwarts? HA! Not a chance, not this year.

"I'm starting next week, if my calculations are correct, it would be the best time. If you want some advice, stay away from the bathroom closer to the Library" you thought that maybe it would be a step forward in the friendship if you gave her a chance to scape your prank.

"I shall stay away from there, then" she giggled, eating another chocolate frog.

The other two girls that were sitting in the same compartment with you did not reappear and that caused curiosity; Reyna said they were probably snogging someone — "I hear Lee Jordan has an eye out for the blondie" — but you theorized they might just be scared of you since they were one year younger than you and Hufflepuffs.

"Malfoy does us no right. Filth boy, we Slytherins used to have a better reputation" you complained.

"I don't think it's Malfoy's only fault. You heard what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, right? This year will be worse than ever for us..." said Reyna, with a concerned look.

Without her house uniform, one would never point her as a Slytherin, at least not by her looks. Her sparkly blue eyes combined with her light brown hair and her plump prink cheeks would be a direct ticket to Hufflepuff at least, but no. Aside from the looks, Reyna was very ambitious and clever. A true leader if you knew what that could look like.

"I just hate that we have such disrespectful fame around muggle-borns or muggles themselves. It's not all of us, you know" she continued, biting her lip. "Speaking of which, I've decided to be friends with the first years, especially the muggle-borns, to you know, change their views. Would you like to be a part of it?"

You considered. "If I have the time, yeah, I guess. Tell me when and what is needed, I'll try to provide a hand. Smart idea, by the way."

"Thanks, y/N."

Although Reyna was smiling at you for the compliment, it was not her that thanked you. You turned around to face who was the owner of the voice.

Fred and George Weasley stood supported on the parapet of the compartment door. One of them had a bright smile on, which you considered it had to be Fred, 'cause George was generally a little bit shyer.

"What you want?" you asked, sharp, not in the mood for their sassiness.

"To see you, gorgeous flower, isn't it obvious?" Fred widened his smile while George held in a laugh.

Reyna was laughing already, unable to remain serious.

"Well, you've got your stare. Mind going back to where you came now?" you replied, pressing your lips against each other, hoping to look impatient.

It wasn't their presence that disturbed you — even though, it did, a bit —, it was the fact that you had open in your hands the notebook with all of your plans for the year, every single prank you spend nights preparing, that only needed some small adjustments due to changes the school might have gone through, like schedules or something.

"Georgie, doesn't she look worried?" Fred asked his twin, completely ignoring your request.

George smiled. "She does, Freddie."

You rolled your eyes at their act, while your friend laughs only became louder and louder.

"She's sad because she won't be the biggest prankster this year" Fred pointed out, with a casual tone, like he was telling something everybody should know.

You felt your body boil with anger.

"We'll see, Weasleys" you replied, looking down at your notebook and closing it. Fred seemed to have noticed your movement. "This is my year," you said, smiling with your arms crossed.

"I don't quite think so, y/N," George said, crossing his arms as well.

"This is my— our year," said Fred, correcting himself along the way, including his brother to the prize.

Reyna had stopped laughing, maybe worried about losing the money she had bet.

"See you around, y/N" Fred finally said, leaving the entrance of the compartment followed by his brother. One second late, the Hufflepuffs that were once sitting with you, came back, with giggles and swollen lips.

They sat in front of you and Reyna, exchanging looks, but didn't seem frightened of you anymore. Reyna looked at you too, like she wanted you to notice their lips. You rolled your eyes. Naive girls. Kissing, really? There's so much more to do than dating, like pranks for example. That's hella more important.

***

"A bit wet, aren't you, y/N?"

The question came from Draco Malfoy, who sat in front of you. You resisted rolling your eyes. Malfoy wasn't worth it. And, yes, you were soaking wet. Soon as you arrived at Hogwarts, Peeves, the school's poltergeist was throwing water bombs at the students. Unluckily, you were one of the ones that got hit. Straight at your hair, it was leaving a wet path every place you walked.

Crabbe and Goyle didn't take much longer to find Draco and sit next to him, one at each side. They seemed desperate for the dinner, looking at each end of the table nervously, trying to see if there was anything already available to eat.

Reyna, sitting right next to you didn't seem so different from the boys. She wasn't looking pleased with Malfoy next to us, because she was planning on having the new kids sitting with us. There was, however, still room available for newcomers at her right, so she cooled off when the new students started sitting.

"Hi! My name's Reyna. Any trouble you guys find yourselves in, you can talk to me" she said, smiling in a scary way that made the kids lean away.

"Or me!" you added, trying to look relaxed instead of the fake smile. "I'm y/N, by the way. Sixth year." You pointed out in case the kids couldn't find you just by name.

"Don't recall you girls being Prefects..." said a loud voice, coming from behind you. "Find me when in trouble, kids."

Slytherin's prefect completely ignored Reyna's and your angry looks and walked on to sit at the end of the table, next to the last girl that was welcomed in just some minutes ago.

When the dinner finally was served, Reyna seemed to have forgotten about the new students, because she had eyes only for the food. Not that you were any different — Hogwarts' house-elves always did a marvellous job at the kitchen.

After eating so much you and Reyna could have exploded, Dumbledore started to talk about this new year ahead of you all, and how something was going to be different. He got interrupted, tho, by a man that had just walked in. You recognized the mate at that instant: it was no other than Moody, old friends with your family. He was kind of an older friend to you. It seemed weird tho when he didn't shake a hand at your direction once he faced the crowd of students, but you thought he just hadn't spotted you.

Dumbledore continued. "We are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, and the event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

If you were drinking something, you could have spit all over Malfoy.

"You're JOKING!" you screamed, realizing seconds later that Fred Weasley, from across the Great Hall had screamed the same.

Draco laughed at your reaction, whereas Dumbledore continued his speech. "I am not joking, Miss y/L/N and Mr Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent joke...." he kept on going about it. However, you weren't listening anymore— you knew all you needed about the Triwizard Tournament, you had read all about it while growing up, and had reread at your first time at Hogwarts, in hopes you could participate. And now, the chance stood there, right in front of you.

"Well, that explains why no Quidditch this year", said Draco, with a bit of disappointment. Was he thinking about participating? Could he make his father force Dumbledore to select him? Merlin, you hoped not.

Being a part of the Tournament was way more important than playing pranks against the school. Besides, that was one in a lifetime opportunity.

Everything was perfect, so you couldn't be more than excited for October to come as soon as it could until Dumbledore explained one more rule: the Tournament would only accept students seventeen or older.

You let out an undecipherable scream, and it wasn't just you.

How could Dumbledore stop you from putting your name? Just because of what? A couple of months? Oh, you were definitely gonna plot to get in the competition.

When you and the rest of the students were allowed to go to your dormitories, you kept on looking around, trying to find the other two people that you were sure were gonna try to get in as well.

Fred and George were smirking at each other, the pure expression of troublemaking. The same you had on your face.

***

The morning after Dumbledore announced Hogwarts would be participating at the Triwizard Tournament was loud. very loud. Everywhere y/N went, every class you attended, some students were talking about it like they had just heard about it.

They all seemed very excited, especially the students from the 7th year. y/N just wished she had someone to talk about it in the way she wanted. You could have talked about it with Reyna, but she wasn't as excited as you. She thought the Tournament was dangerous.

"I've been reading some stuff about it — Cho Chang allowed me to read from her book — and it said that the Tournament has truly killed a lot of students" she complained, sitting next to you at potions.

The Weasleys Twins were at that class too, and they seemed very much like you: pretending to pay attention to Snape, but writing ideas for getting in the Tournament instead.

There was just one difference though. "Mr Weasley, could you please tell me when did I say a thing about" Snape read from the piece of paper he confiscated from the boys' table " 'casting a spell at our tournament registration'?"

You knew how to cover-up.

"Griffindor just lost 20 points thanks to you," Snape said, with his monotone. You tried not to laugh.

"20 points?!" Fred shouted, not believing it.

"Ten for each of you" the Professor explained. "And I can take more if you two don't start paying attention."

It had been a week after that comedic Potion class, but the school was still the same — everybody anxious about the newcomers and the competition.

When you arrived at the Great Hall, probably the whole house was already there, mouths crowded with food. You sat far from the others, at your house table, but Reyna wasn't at there yet, so you ended up alone.

You were a bit worried about your friend, Reyna was generally never late for meals, she felt hungrier than a lion most of the time, but there was nothing you could do about her missing. You knew she was friends with the kitchen house-elves, so if she lost track of time and if she was yet hungry, she'd steal something straight from the source.

The plan you had for attacking the girls' restroom near the Library was perfect, every calculation of time redone so it would be right. The potion was ready, hidden inside your black robe.

You looked at your wristwatch, confirming the time. Breathing hard, you were feeling your heartbeats increase. It was now or never. You got up from the Slytherin table, not giving anybody a last look. You had the next period free since you had dropped Divination this year.

Behind you, however, two red-heads were following, tiptoes, with a similar — if not the same — potion you hid in your robes in their hands. They saw your approach to the same direction they were planning on going, so they decided to slow down, making their presence unknown for you.

It was when you were close to the restrooms' doors that you heard an excited voice exclaim behind you: "So you decided to copy us."

Slowly taking your hand out of your robe without getting the potion out, you turned back, facing the twins. You had a surprise face on, although a bit relieved that they were not a teacher.

"I reckon I'm some steps ahead of you" you replied, smartly.

"Just because we let you" George smiled, crossing his arms in front of his chest, while his brother held up the flask with the magical potion. You looked at it, recognizing it at first sight.

"Besides, we can easily catch up to you — we have bigger legs" Fred added, raising an eyebrow, slowly positioning himself to run.

You copied the older twin.

"Let's see who drops it first" you challenged, taking your potion out of your robe and running towards the girls' toilets, opening it with one single hand, not looking back once to see what the twins were doing.

It wasn't crowd, only three girls stood by the sinks — by the looks of it, three Gryffindors. You ran to one of the toilets, bursting the door open, quickly depositing the potion inside of it. You pulled your hood up, covering at least the back of your head and your forehead, and ran out of that place.

It didn't take more than two seconds, the BLAMs and BOOMs came right after you started running, followed by two red-heads. You were all laughing, listening to the screams contaminating the school, as the place got crowded and crowded and you were heading to the Library, to pretend having been quietly reading, when you heard a spell cast.

"Simul iuncta!"

You stopped running involuntarily before falling on the ground. Next to you, very next to you actually, were Fred, also laying as someone had pulled him back.

You tried to get up, but failed, so you just turned your head back, to see what had happened and who had cast it.

Students had crowded around the toilets' doors, looking confused, some even scared. There was a bit left of white smoke, but it was better scattered.

Professor McGonagall stood like a statue, her lip was shaping a sulky beak as she looked over you and Fred. Her wand was on her hand in a position as if she had just cast a spell. Now you knew who had stopped you from running away.

Fred was also looking around, not scared of McGonagall — of course, as she were his head of the house. He was looking for George, the other twin you had noticed to be gone.

"What you did to me?" you asked, trying again to get up, but failing. Fred Weasley noticed your difficulty and offered you his hands. Not wanting to stay one more minute on the ground, you accepted it, as he helped you get up — so did you help him.

"A charm Flitwick has been trying to work with me. I guess it finally worked," she explained, sounding too happy with her accomplished. "Lucky I was nearby, huh?"

She started frowning again, to your discomfort. She, then, shook her hands at the rest of the students, making them disappear from there.

"What it did to us? It wasn't a freezing spell" Fred noticed, as he started walking towards the Professor but being pulled again with a thud. He fell right at your foot, and you instantly helped him up. "When will it pass?"

"It won't", she said, shrugging.

"You cast a spell on us that won't pass? Is it forever?" you asked, raising your voice, as you tried to get closer to her, Fred following your steps. This time, you two didn't fall.

"No, it's until I say it is." She smiled slowly, showing no teeth. "It's some binding spell."

You looked at Fred, confused, but he had no idea of what she was talking about.

"It makes the two near wizards connected" she continued, looking down at her wand, "that's why you both stopped running, that's why you were falling. Look at your wrists", she suggested.

You and Fred turned your faces slowly down, were your hands — your right and his left — stood considerably close, but not yet touching.

"I thought it would get the other Mr Weasley, but he saw me coming and ran away before my spellcasting."

"But I'm innocent!" you claimed, trying to pull your hand to yourself and failing, to McGonagall's satisfaction.

"This Weasley came from the boys' restroom, saw that myself, and I know for sure George Weasley wouldn't have the courage to enter a girls' toilet." The Professor stood still.

"Well, isn't he a Gryffindor?" you pointed out, making McGonagall tilt her head slightly to the left, showing improvement. But you did have a point, at least you thought so, I mean, aren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave?

"I can trackback that potion threw at the girls' toilet back to you, if you'd like" McGonagal suggested, making you snort, defeated.

"But Minerva, can't I just get detention? Do I really have to spend some hours with this dimwitted?" you complained, appealing for using her first name.

"Ouch," Fred grumbled. You rolled your eyes at him.

"Some hours? I guess you could see it like that if it makes it easier. However, my verdict is for you two to spend more than a month tightened together. In fact, due to last years, hm,— events —, you've both caused the school, it'd be better if you stayed like this the whole year."

"WHAT" you and Fred shouted, like two spoiled little girls.

"You heard me correct. You two, — actually, George does too, so it's you three — cause too much trouble for me to let you free around when we are about to receive visitants from other schools. Can you imagine the look they'll give us to see we are such messy school?"

Professor Minerva sounded confident with her decision, but you just couldn't accept it. It made no sense, she could not arrest you to this pathetic red-haired boy — besides, you had a year of pranks planned, how would you become the best prankster of Hogwarts with him around, knowing all your moves?

"We are a boy and girl, Minerva, how do you expect us to go to the toilet?" you asked, remembering an important issue, without having to say you were actually worried about your jokes.

She seemed to think for a while, before walking close to you. "I believe it can be stretched, a bit, for fifteen minutes, enough time for a shower and other things." She then pointed her wand at yours and Fred's wrist that were close but not touching. She said something you didn't hear. "I made it 30 minutes, 15 for each of you. If well planned, I believe it can be enough."

She started walking away again, but Fred's question stopped her. "We are from different houses, how are we supposed to sleep? Or go to classes?" he said, lifting his left hand and you followed the movement with your right hand.

He seemed as worried as you, which made you see he was indeed ready to be a good opponent at the whole thing of winning the bet of the best prankster.

"Exceptions, my dear Mr Weasley. Professor Flitwick will be more than happy to hear that his spell worked, so he probably won't say a thing about the new form of detention I just started," she said, smiling slightly, delicately crossing her arms. "So, you can discuss with each other to whose room you'll be using to sleep, and I’ll be pleasured to provide an extra mattress."

"Professor Snape will hear about this and he won't like it, Minerva" you commented, still using her first name, but it seemed to make her only angrier.

"Professor Snape will understand the situation. I bet he'll be happy to have a Slytherin controlling one of his worse Gryffindors."

The red-haired boy appeared ready to argue, but the Professor continued: "And don't call me Minerva, Miss y/L/N. That's disrespectful."

"Disrespectful is this!" you exclaimed, pointing to your hand.

"Let's say this — you have until the end of the next month. If until the arrival of the students from other schools, you two manage to behave, respect yourselves and respect the school, I'll set you free" she said, making things easier, but not much. She seemed to think she made things too easy though, cause she added: "And I'll talk to each professor to see if your behaviours at classes are better."

The Weasley looked at you like he knew that was the end of the line. There was nothing else they could do. Minerva McGonagall didn't seem ready to give in. Two months sounded better than the whole year, as she originally planned. It wasn't better, but you guessed you deserved it because you were pretty sure the damaged in the toilet was gonna last forever.

"No chance we can get detention?" you asked, one last time, lowering your voice.

"Expelled or this. Your pick."

"Fine" you mumbled, shrugging.

Minerva smiled, happy with an argument won. She possibly was thinking she had them at her hands. "That's it, off you go. I'll get someone to clean your mess. Feel like I've punished you enough."

"Yeah, you have" grunted Weasley, pointing with his head for you to walk.

As soon as you were out of Professor's sight, George reappeared. Fred hit him in his forearm. "Where were you, bloody dimwitted?"

"Running from McGonagall. She didn't look happy when she saw us leaving the restroom," the twin said.

"You tell me about it!" you exclaimed, wrinkling your forehead.

"Could have warned me, huh?" Fred hit his brother once more.

George, however, looked at both of you, standing very close to each other. It wasn't common.

"What she did with you two? Detention?"

"Worse than that," you said, avoiding eye contact.

"Expelled?"

"She cursed us together or whatever. It's Flitwick's spell, actually." Fred started explaining to his twin everything McGonagall had just said while you stood bored, next to the corridor wall.

George started laughing at the end of the explanation. You and Fred rolled eyes at him, who didn't seem to care and kept on laughing. "That's gonna be fun to watch. So whose table are you two gonna eat at?"

You fastly answered. "Slytherin's."

"No way!" Fred protested.

You shrugged. "Fine, then we eat at Gryffindor's and you sleep in a room full of Slytherin's girls. Your pick." You smiled, confident.

He shook himself, a mixture of disgust and fear, which would make you angry if you weren't used to the Gryffindor's reaction to the Slytherins. Bunch of prejudiced!

"Fine" he gave in, a bit uncomfortably. You were about to start smiling when you remembered that now you would have to sleep in a room full of boys. Not that you were against Gryffindor — you were not in favour either — but the fact that it was a room with teenage boys gave you a little shiver, it didn't matter which house they were in.

Since you both had the same class next — Herbology —, you and Fred didn't need to argue whose schedule to follow. George was walking right next to his brother, talking excitedly but low about something you hadn't quite understand what. At first, you thought it was their next prank, so you paid attention, but then it had nothing to do with trolling students, so you gave up.

A lot of students stared at you three, mainly when you arrived at the greenhouse Professor Sprout awaited for the rest of the class. All the eyes were at the trio: some were confused, some disgusted, but the weirdest of all was two girls from Slytherin that didn't stop whispering to each other.

Slytherins and Gryffindors tended to stay apart at every class they took together, so people started dazzling over you three again when you didn't step away from the boys. They didn't seem to notice you couldn't get away from Fred, no matter how hard you tried.

"I guess you three were the only students missing... Let's start," said Sprout, putting on brown gloves. She started the class refreshing our memories form the plants we had worked within the last year, so most of the students weren't paying attention.

The two Slytherins girls hadn't stopped gossiping either, so you decided to go slowly towards them. Fred notice what you were trying to do, and although Lee Jordan was entertaining enough, telling him something, he walked close to the girls as well, making it easier for you.

"You know it's not polite to listen to people's conversation," he said, close to you left ear as he stood behind you. You rolled your eyes, but he couldn't see it. You started messing with the plant in front of you, so you could have a cover, even though you had no idea what kind of plant that was.

"Threesome, definitely," one of the girls said, the one that most resembled you.

"Isn't that some type of treason tho?" the tall one said.

"What? No! I mean, I wouldn't do it, you know," you reckon that girl was related to the Black family, although she was not Black herself. "Principally not with... a Weasley."

"It's probably just one of them," said a blonde girl, joining in the conversation with a little sharp tone, like she didn't like what she was hearing. They weren't able to see you because they had their backs turned at your direction.

"Get me out of here" you whispered to Fred, starting to get disgusted by what you were hearing. You didn't think he would much more than walking away but went a bit extreme.

"Professor Sprout, y/N almost heard a Mandrake scream without earplugs" he started.

"— Oh! Are you okay, honey?"

"She needs a bit of air, that's all. I'll take her outside." Fred continued.

Professor started walking in your direction and held her hands together.

"Please do so, Mr Weasley. Take her to Madam Pomfrey if needed. Those Mandrake are dangerous things!" she said, getting close to the plant you were once laying with to use as a disguise in case the girls noticed you were listening to their whispers.

Fred reached for your elbow. "Look sick." You didn't need to listen twice. You tilted your head, walking with no grace like you were about to pass out.

He took you out and suggested for you to sit on the grass not too far from the greenhouse you were. He followed you immediately, probably scared of being pulled down by the Bonding Charm.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "What happened there? I just heard voices, but not words, if that makes sense."

"Thank you, by the way," you said, pressing your lips together. "Those girls were gossiping about... us, I think."

"It's ridiculous, just because we walked in together?" he wondered, looking repulse.

"I don't feel like you noticed, but I'm always alone. I'm always the last to leave a class and always the first to arrive. Always." you revealed. "And then, the second week back, and I walk in with both Weasley Twins so close... one would think something is off."

"Aren't they the messed-up ones?" he asked.

"The what?"

"Messed-up. It's Lee's nickname for them because they always have weird ideas. Think of any gossip you've heard that didn't make any sense. They were probably the ones that came up with it," he explained, and suddenly, it made sense. You never bothered learning their names, although you sure knew their parents'.

Putting use to your memory, they had once started gossip about Goyle being an Animagus, and that's like the hardest potion ever, besides being illegal if the Ministry is unaware.

"You don't need to tell me what they were saying..." started Fred, "but I'd really like to know"

You smiled. "Not a chance."

The class had probably finished because you saw the rest of the students leaving the greenhouse. Lee Jordan, a tall and muscular boy, with dreadlocks approached you, followed by George Weasley.

"It wasn't about you," he said, surprising you when he stared straight to you eyes. "It's about Hermione."

"Hermione??" you repeated, getting up before being pulled down harsh since Fred's wrist didn't follow yours. "Isn't she like, fourteen?"

"I know, right? Those girls are disgusting," he commented, putting his tongue out. You laughed a bit, finally getting up since Fred started doing the same.

Fred and George exchanged looks at you two, not understanding what you were talking about.

"Don't tell them!" you said to Lee, realising how easy was to talk to him.

As you told Fred, you were always alone. Sometimes you ate with Reyna, but that was it. She had other friends herself. Sometimes, also, you were annoyed by Malfoy, but most of the time, you succeed escaping from him.

The Weasley Twins always talked to you but in a provocative or mocking tone. It was those kinds of conversations that didn't get anyone anywhere.

Lee Jordan seemed nice tho, every time he narrated the Quidditch games, he showed excitement about it — although he never made justice to the Slytherins.

The boy laughed it off. "It'll be nice to keep a secret from them."

"I don't like it, Freddie."

"I don't like it either, Georgie"

The twins' comments made both you and Lee started laughing again, while you walked together to the inside of the castle.

"What are you having now?" you asked Fred. "I'm not in the mood for Care of Magical Creatures."

All three boys looked at you.

"Nothing against Hagrid!" you exclaimed, in your defence. They appeared offended by your comment. "I just... he has us working with weird creatures in the middle of the forest... As you saw in Herbology, I'm not what you'd call a nature friend."

Fred sighed. "Did you even know you were playing with Mandrake until I had said it?" You twisted your face letting out a 'no' in a low voice. He smiled. "Let's go then. I'm having Transfiguration now."

"Geez... Ready to be a pain in Minerva's ass?" you asked, lifting an eyebrow.

George looked back at you. "Minerva?"

"It's her name."

"It's her first name," he replied.

"That annoys her ass even more" you pointed out, making him wrinkle his nose.

Lee Jordan stopped at sight. "Can we please stop mention Professor McGonagall's ass?"

You all laughed out loud, heading to class.

***

The day had gone by slowlier than you wanted it. McGonagall looked pleased as you and Fred walking for class without misbehaving, although you did raise your hand for stupid questions a lot, to annoy her since she always felt obliged to answer.

Fred's last class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which you were not much excited. You greeted him as you and Fred walked in, bumping into each other to pass the door, and, even though, he retributed, he didn't seem thrilled about it like he had forgotten who you are.

The class was good, anyway, since he was more experienced than every other teacher you had had. Fred and George seemed extra passionate about what they had just experienced.

"He just showed us how much behind we were in the coolest way possible! No other professor would've had the courage!" George exclaimed, trying to copy Moody's way of holding his wand.

Fred laughed, but you ignored it. As you were getting close to the entrance, you smiled. "Ready, redhead?"

Fred was confused. "To what?"

For the older twin, being around you all day wasn't annoying at all. He thought at first that it would be weird as you both never exchanged more than three phrases without they being a threat, but you surprised him by being an enjoyable company.

You were smart, probably more than him, which as a handful of help in his classes. You were sharing his books, since Fred didn't dare to get yours at the Slytherin's room, and you had no problem with it. You did take the liberty to write over his books, what didn't matter to him, because you had cute lettering and you knew more about what you were writing than he ever did.

Besides, every time he or his brother made a joke, you'd start laughing until your belly hurts, in a charming way that he liked.

"Ready to sit at the Slytherin's table, of course!" you said, harshly touching his shoulder.

"Do I have to?" his head slightly downturned while he maintained eye contact.

"Unless you want to sleep in my room" your eyes gleamed, causing George to laugh.

Fred wrinkled his nose, discontent. "Fine. Bye, brother. It was nice knowing you, see you never again!"

"Don't be so dramatic!" you exclaimed.

"A Gryffindor at their table?" he replied. "I'll reckon I'll be dead before I eat."

You rolled your eyes as you dragged him by his arm, just above the elbow. George walked towards Gryffindor's table, waving his brother goodbye.

You looked at the horrified faces that followed, and not just from the Slytherin's table. Some students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff looked at you with quite a surprised look. All the attention made you embarrassed, so you held your chin close to your body.

"Don't be ashamed now" Fred whispered. You didn't understand what he meant by it.

"What you mean?" you asked, finally sitting down next to Reyna, who you were glad to spot the face amongst the Slytherin's.

Two first years — at least you thought they were first years because they looked young and you didn't recognize their faces — were sitting at each side of her, so you sat in front of her, with Fred at you right.

She was distracted by her conversation with the kids, but she immediately faced up as you sat down.

"Hi, y/N! And Fred" she added his name when she noticed the red-hair with freckles.

Fred shook his head to say hi. The first years looked confused as what should they be doing with the presence of a Gryffindor. "Oh, no panic! Everybody is allowed to sit on the table they want. We tend to sit together, that's all" Reyna explained with a smile.

Her display wasn't satisfactory though, as the kids scattered like mice. Reyna wasn't frustrated. She only wanted privacy to ask you what was going on.

"Some Ravenclaws were saying that you two conjured it during Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh, no. We've been tied up way before that," you nodded. "Remember my advice on the first day?"

"How wrong did you manage to be?" she asked, her nose in the air.

"No, that went — as planned," you were about to say 'well' but that was far from the truth. "McGonagall caught us and cursed us."

"You were planning it together? You are not a duo at the bet!" she complained, putting chips in her mouth.

You and the twin exchanged looks. "Of course not! We bumped into each other, and McGonagall thought us being together for months was a great idea. Now I plan to make Minerva's life a living hell."

"Wouldn't be wise, she could take house points off of you."

You stared at Reyna. "She wouldn't dare," and, with the best impression of Draco you could do, you continued, "because my father will hear about this!"

You sent them both into convulsions.

"I don't get your whole intimacy with the Professor" Fred wondered out loud.

You shrugged. "Minerva's very close to my parents — my mom. I reckon they are somewhat of third cousins..." you explained with a disinterested tone only to notice they were both shocked. "What? It's no big deal!"

"You are related to Professor McGonagall??" Fred asked with a loud voice. "That's freaking awesome!"

Reyna shook her head, agreeing with Fred.

"It's way distant," you objected, looking down at the plate in front of you.

"Doesn't matter! It's something anyone would brag about!" Reyna said after swallow her food.

"Explains why you insist on calling her by her first name" Fred sighed.

You ignored the excitement of the two. It was funny watching Fred in the Slytherin's table. He was scared at first, but now he was feeling welcomed. You were astonished that nobody at the table caused a scene, like Malfoy, but not surprised with how friendly Reyna was towards the red-haired.

Still, dinner was rather quiet.

You three got up together, heading to Slytherin's common room. Much to Fred's disappointment, you needed to get your things out of your room before moving to Gryffindor's Tower.

"Has the gossip spread very quickly?" you asked Reyna at the entrance of the chambers.

"Well, yes," she answered. "They all don't know the truth, only the ones that had classes with Flitwick, 'cause he seemed proud his spell worked."

You looked at Fred that looked frightened after Reyna said the password.

"Hm, Rey?" you called out your friend. "Could you get my things for me? I don't think someone is ready to walk in that place. Besides, it wouldn't be smart, considering how many times he has pranked the house."

Reyna agreed and disappeared inside the portrait.

"Thanks for that" he whispered after you both leaned over a wall.

"No problem," you replied, with a sad smile. "So... was eating with my kind that hard?"

"People don't bother you much, do they?" he retributed with a lopsided grin. "Is Reyna... your only friend?" he asked with apprehension.

Frowning, you tugged a lock of your hair. "Yes, I guess. It's not easy making friends in Slytherin when you're not a pure-blood, and you haven't vowed to kill everyone that represents a danger to your power," you explained, using hyperbole.

Fred avoided looking at your eyes. You thought he was feeling sorry for you, but, honestly, he just didn't know what to say. At his house, he was never alone, he grew up surrounded by friends, and once he arrived Hogwarts, it was no different, in part because most of his brothers were in school with him.

"Oh! Here you go," Reyna reappeared, giving your luggage back to you.

"Thanks, Rey"

Your friend looked back at Fred and you and kept doing that for some seconds. "What?" you whispered, letting your right hand closer to Fred's left and tilting your head towards her.

"Are you ok with this? Because you know... one owl to your parents and this would be over" she suggested, worried about you.

"It's just until October ends. I don't wanna bother mom with this, or cause a disagreement with Minerva."

Reyna relaxed her expression. Fred was pretending not to hear, staring at the ceiling. He agreed with you. It was just for a short period; after that, Fred would be free to join the Triwizard Tournament — how he was going to do it was yet to be determined — and to win the best prankster of Hogwarts bet. There was no need to worry Mr Weasley with something that he created himself.

The stares followed you two until you finally arrived at Gryfindor's common room, Fred was walking a bit slower due to your luggage on his hands. You looked at it, astonished. Full of squashy armchairs and tables, the common room was decorated in several shades of red, making quite welcoming and a polar opposite to Slytherin's one.

Some students were already inside, talking and playing games. Across where you stood, Harry and Ron did their homework.

Ron saw you as you walked in, but Harry seemed not to notice. Fred signalized for his brother to stay shut, so Ron didn't move, as he was planning to confront you.

"I guess you rather... go to my room?" Fred deduced. You shook your head in affirmation, relieved to leave a place with tons of Gryffindors staring at you, confused.

He was guiding you up the stairs, but he suddenly stopped when the whispered grew louder. He turned back but did not face you. He looked to his fellow housemates.

"McGonagall punished us, but it's no big deal. Get used to it. She'll be here for more than a month" then, he grabbed your hand and hushed you upstairs.

Once arriving at his room, you both burst into laughter, falling over his bed. "What was that?" you asked, between giggles.

"I would have to explain sooner or later, so I decided to do it quickly."

He smiled widely, closing his eyes for a second. You admired his humour — he was not like you, you'd never have the guts to do that. Guess that's why you weren't a Gryffindor.

"So... With who do you share a room?" you asked, finally looking around. The room had the same structure as yours — beds at every corner. Yet, it was coloured with shades of red and brown, while yours was with greens and greys.

"My brother, 'course. Lee, as well," he said, looking down to the left side of his bed, just like you were doing, "and Kenneth Towler."

The fact that both of you were staring the floor was because there was a mattress as if someone knew you would end up sleeping in his room.

Fred Weasley narrowed his eyes.

"I'll never understand Professor McGonagall's methods," he said, laying back at his pillow. You laughed at his relaxation.

The door sprung with George and Lee's entrance.

"So you two have been causing scenes all around the school?" George asked, sitting at the end of his bed, and Lee supported his back at the same bed.

You rolled your eyes, "not true."

"We just had some fun over their faces," Fred said, making his brother laugh.

"Well, thanks to us, everybody now knows the truth since you two were not worried to clarify," Lee Jordan said, taking his coat off and dropping at his bed. "I've told most of the students why you are stuck together."

"Most of them did not believe; they think you two are dating!" George commented, outraged.

You pulled your brows together in a frown. "That would make no sense! Who would allow us to walk to each other's classes and common rooms?"

"And that's why who invented that rumour was the Messed-Ups," Lee said, and you giggled with them, knowing now who the nickname referenced.

You four spend the night playing games, most of them mimic, what according to George was way wickeder with you — "Towler makes it much easier for Fred and me to win". Even though you broke the twins' duo, they didn't seem to matter. The first two rounds George and Lee managed to win, but you and Fred won the last three, making you the winners of the night.

When it was too late for you all to be awake — and after a complained from Kenneth who was trying to sleep — you decided it was time to go to bed.

"No, no, no" Fred protested when he noticed you were getting to the mattress on the floor. "Mom taught me well enough to never let a girl sleep on the floor. Especially when it's kind of my fault we're stuck together."

"It's my fault too," you replied, not very happy to take his bed.

"y/N, just take my bed," he said, in a harsh tone, "and tomorrow you won't be angry at me."

"Because of the bed? I would never be mad!"

"I didn't mean the bed, but yeah, come on, take it," he sighed, and you finally accepted it.

Fred's bed was way more comfortable than you were expecting, so it wasn't a problem sleeping on it. It did bother having to let your right arm fall on the floor so your wrist could remain close to Fred's, but you thought it was more painful for him.

The night ended up alright, with dreamless sleep, but you couldn't stop waking up in the middle of the night wondering why it was more of a party than a punishment.

PART 2

[badbadbucky]

Hey, Bucky! If you still feel like doing a song inspired kiss, how about a Howince kiss based off of Buddy Holly’s You’re So Square?

This prompt is fantastic!! I have listened to the song at least 8 times already this morning. I love it!

Howard knew that he was not exactly holding up his end on this whole “dating” thing. He and Vince been going out for weeks, and they still hadn’t kissed once.

When Vince had asked him to go steady a few weeks ago, Howard had at first thought it must be some sort of joke. There was no way that Vince Noir, one of the most popular boys in school with the amazing hair and beautiful eyes and mysterious background, would ever look twice at plain boring square Howard Moon, but look twice he had, and, to hear Vince tell it, several more times after that. 

Vince and Howard had never really spent much time together, though they had gone to the same school for much of their lives. Vince had always been nice to Howard, in that vague way nice people are nice to everyone, but Howard had never gotten the impression that Vince liked him. But then, Vince had approached Howard after school one day and asked him out.

Howard had been too shocked to say no, and before he knew it, Vince had whisked him away to an old-fashioned American style diner, done up to look like it was straight out of Grease. Vince had told Howard that Grease was one of his favorite movies. This was just one of the many things Howard had learned over the course of that afternoon. He’d also learned that Vince loved to dance, he made a lot of his own clothes, and that he thought Howard was very very cute. 

Vince had walked Howard home. All the way up to his front door. Then he had shuffled around, stubbing the toe of his boot into the ground, before finally asking if he could kiss Howard. The thought had filled Howard with terror and so he had squeaked “no thank you!” and disappeared into the house. He had watched through the blinds to see Vince’s reaction. Vince had merely shrugged his shoulders and walked across Howard’s yard back to the street, his hands shoved into his pockets, singing some sort of song.

Howard had been sure that he had ruined any chance he had with Vince with his prudish ways, but the next day, Vince had asked him out again. They had gone to a movie, and Vince had asked if they could hold hands. Howard had agreed and with the smile that spread across Vince’s face, you would think Howard had allowed him to go to third base. 

Vince did not ask to kiss Howard again. He seemed perfectly content with holding hands, sharing milkshakes, and dancing around while Howard watched--too shy to join in. After a week, Vince had asked Howard if he wanted to go steady, and Howard had agreed, still not quite understanding what Vince got out of the relationship. 

After school, Howard waited around for Vince. They’d been walking home from school together, every day for the last two weeks. He thought he heard Vince’s voice and walked toward the sound. He saw Vince sitting on the concrete steps with a few of his mates. Howard hung back, Vince’s mates were not as nice as Vince.

“So, Moony give it up yet?” one of Vince’s mates asked.

Another one let out a great braying laugh. “As if! Moon is such a prude, there is no way he unlocked that chastity belt.”

“Shut up!” Vince said. “Don’ talk about him like that.”

Vince’s mates laughed again. 

Howard backed away from the sound of the cruel laughter. He was a terrible boyfriend. Vince was getting teased because Howard refused to put out. Or even kiss. He should break up with Vince right now, set him free to be with someone cooler and less uptight. It was the humane thing to do. 

Vince came around the corner. Howard could see there were bright red spots on Vince’s cheeks and his gait was clipped and efficient, rather than graceful and light the way it usually was, but when Vince saw Howard, the sour look on his face twisted like an origami crane into a wide smile.

“Alright Howard?” Vince said. He reached down to pick up Howard’s hand. 

“We have to break up,” Howard said, just as Vince’s hand closed around his own. 

Vince’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why?” He hadn’t let go of Howard’s hand. In fact he was squeezing it harder. 

Howard was horrified to see that Vince’s eyes were rapidly filling with tears. He rushed forward to explain. “Because I don’t like to dance, and I like pencil cases and history books and--and--”

“And you’re too smart for me,” Vince said, dejectedly, “I knew it. I knew you was, but you’re just so cute, so I thought, maybe…” Vince finally let go of Howard’s hand. “I get it.” He turned to walk away. 

“No!” Howard said. “That’s not--I mean--”

Vince turned back around, a questioning look on his face. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Howard said. “And I uh, get quite nervous, at the thought of it.”

“Oh!” Vince practically skipped back over to Howard’s side and picked up his hand. I don’ care about that.”

“You don’t care that we have nothing in common and I’m the biggest square you’ve ever met?” Howard said.

“Course not! I already knew you was a square. I like squares. There’s only room in this relationship for one cool person and I’ve got that slot well filled,” Vince said.

“So you really don’t mind?” Howard asked.

Vince smiled. “‘Course not. You’ll be ready when you’re ready, til then, I like doing this.” He gently raised Howard’s hand up and pressed his lips to the back of Howard’s hand. 

After they’d been dating for a few months, Howard invited Vince to go to the Grease diner where they had had their first date. They shared a milkshake and Howard got up to dance with Vince, without Vince even having to ask. They did the twist and the mashed potato and several moves Howard was fairly sure Vince had just made up.

At the end of the evening, instead of turning right to head toward Howard’s house (Vince always walked him home after their dates), Howard turned left, toward Vince’s house.

“Thought I’d walk you home for a change,” Howard said. 

They walked hand in hand, and Howard appreciated that Vince didn’t mention the torrential downpour of sweat coming from Howard’s palm. Finally, they reached the front door of Vince’s home. Vince pulled out his key and went to slide it into the lock.

“Wait,” Howard said.

Vince turned to face him. 

Howard stood on the doorstep, fidgeting with the front of his jumper, pulling it down, adjusting the collar, pushing the sleeves up, then pulling them back down. Vince simply stood and waited. Eventually, Howard got up the courage to ask his question.

“Might I kiss you?” Howard asked.

Vince’s face broke into a grin. “A’course!”

Howard leaned forward and pressed his lips to Vince’s, very softly at first. He was leaning over so far, he thought he might actually lose his balance, and so he took a step forward. Vince reached out and grabbed both of Howard’s hands in his own, interlacing their fingers. 

When they finally stopped kissing, Howard saw Vince’s lips were bright pink and his eyes looked even more sparkly than usual.

“And just where,” Vince said, “did a square like you, learn to kiss like that?”

Thank you so much for the prompt! I loved every minute of writing this!

[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 2/13

Word count: 4.7K

"Sherlock," John says, for what is quite possibly the third time in a row. He sighs in frustration, his eyes darting between Sherlock's phone, which is set on the kitchen counter and has been ringing incessantly for the past half hour, effectively disrupting the peace in 221B, and Sherlock himself, who is positioned on his armchair, his elbows on his knees and his hands interlocked in front of his face.

"Not now, John. I'm thinking." Sherlock shakes his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, focusing in on something imperceptible.

"Right, well, I'll get it shall I?" John says, mostly to himself. He rises from the sofa, striding over to the kitchen to grasp the phone. "Hello? Oh, hi Greg. No, no, he's here. He's thinking. Yes, I'll let him know. Yes, thanks. Bye."

John turns around, eyeing Sherlock and waiting for any form of reaction. He doesn't even blink. His spine remains ramrod straight, but the tips of his fingers are twitching slightly, tapping rhythmically against his knuckles. He'd been trapped in a cycle of thinking and tossing away clients since he had last seen Moriarty - it was rather disturbing.

"Sherlock," He tries again. John really is one of the only people that Sherlock depends on, or even tolerates, and he's probably one of the only people that can tell when something has really got to Sherlock. Moriarty is under his skin, he has been in some way for years, starting with the murder of Carl Powers, and culminating with the bombs.  

"Not now, John. I'm - "

"Thinking. Yes, I know that." John snaps slightly, huffing. The frustration is evident in his voice, but he shakes it off quickly, disregarding it in favour of a calmer, more patient tone. "Greg just called - "

Sherlock finally blinks, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. His gaze finally diverts from his interlocked hands to John. "Who?"

"Greg Lestrade, the man who you've worked with for literal years. You have known him longer than you have known me. You have a case." John explains.

Much like any knowledge of the solar system, Lestrade's name is simply deleted from Sherlock's mind, redacted on the basis of it being irrelevant. To John, it seems painfully rude, but to Sherlock, it's an everyday practice - he constantly filters out information that he deems not to be useful enough, disregarding it and then replacing it with something new, something more useful. Something smart, something interesting. And as far as Sherlock is concerned 'Greg' is neither of those things.

"Why didn't you just say so?" Sherlock looks mildly surprised, letting his hands drop and standing up, rising from his armchair. "And I think you mean that we have a case, John."

"Yes, alright, we." John begrudgingly agrees, tossing Sherlock his phone. The taller man catches it with ease, before shrugging his coat on and stuffing it into a pocket.

---

"So, ah, what happened?" Is the first thing that tumbles from John's mouth as he and Sherlock enter Lestrade's office at the police station. The door swings shut behind them, but he can still sense Donovan's burning stare at his back, piercing through the door.

Lestrade is sat at his desk, a collection of pictures strewn around him, haloed by sunlight spilling in from the window behind him. Some of the pictures have been pinned to a corkboard on the wall, connected to each other by thumbtacks and neon-coloured string. He looks rather thankful for Sherlock's presence, his shoulders sagging instantly in relief.

"Right, well, murder and arson." Lestrade says, turning one of the pictures around. Sherlock and John quickly crowd around it, both vying to see the charred skeleton of a house.

"That doesn't look much like London." John says, squinting slightly.

"Well, it's not really London London, you know? It's only London technically." Lestrade supplies, shrugging slightly.

John nods. "So, it's in your jurisdiction, but barely. And, ah, when exactly did this all happen? Do you have like an estimated time of death?"

"This morning." Lestrade says. "The fire started pretty early - we can be relatively certain that the victims were killed in the night or this morning. Our killer was pretty quick about it. We're not sure if anything's missing yet."

"Strange fire pattern," Sherlock remarks, his eyes flitting over all of the pictures. "I assume our perpetrator used an accelerant - most likely gasoline, which they would have poured throughout the house judging by the consistency of the burning. I'm guessing that the fire began in the basement?"

Lestrade nods. "It's probably the worst room in the whole house. They didn't bother as much with the victims."

"So the basement's more important, then?" John guesses.

"Or the most convenient room to start the fire in," Lestrade says. "Right, these are our victims." He rises from behind his desk and strides over to the board, pointing to three pictures depicting three women. The first is probably in her mid-thirties, and she's wearing this slinky black dress with matching silk gloves. Her pale blonde hair is arranged in waves, and she's smiling to display perfectly white teeth.

"That's Verona Archer, and those are her two daughters Aubrey and Alora."

"Twins?"

"Yes, both of them are nineteen, on their gap year. A shame really, from what I can tell they were all very well liked." Lestrade confirms.

John nods slowly, his eyes travelling over to Verona's daughters. They're identical - the pictures are different, one depicts a young blonde girl wearing a sparkly pink dress, and the other depicts a blonde girl that is her mirror image in every way riding a white pony and waving to the camera. "And their father?"

"Ah, their dad died when they were three, of kidney failure. Verona remarried - he died nine years ago, in a car crash. Poor woman, losing both of her husbands." Lestrade answers. "Here's what the Archer family look like now." He grabs another three pictures off his desk and pins them underneath the pictures of the women whilst they were alive.

They're almost impossible to distinguish in death. Their bodies have been charred, their skin turning shrivelled, red and twisted. There's blotchy patches of red and white travelling down their arms, culminating in blackened fingertips that have crumpled to reveal bone. A few strands of their blonde hair has survived, but it's marred with thick blood and ash.

Their bedrooms, too, have been completely burnt. There's dark black smudges running up the walls, smoke stains pooling on the ceilings and floors, their belongings burnt, singed or reduced to piles of ash.

Their faces have been mostly obliterated in the fire, the bedsheets around them singed. There's a matching neck wound on each of them, one that's hard to see as a result of how badly their bodies were burnt. The remaining flesh on their neck has bubbled up into blisters and stuck to the sheets, almost melting off the bone. There's a glint of pale cartilage visible, poking out from between pieces of mangled, burnt skin.

"Their necks were hacked open," Sherlock observes. "There's no hesitation marks, from what I can tell. This wasn't some robbery gone wrong - they were sleeping. They wouldn't have even seen their attacker coming. This looks like a meat cleaver - I'd wager that you could find the murder weapon in their own kitchen. That alone should imply that this was unplanned, and yet, it seems to thoughtfully executed. Delightful."

John blinks rapidly. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, did you just say - you know what, never mind."

"He really hated them - he resented the Archer family more than anything. Do we know if any of the women had recently rejected a man? Broken off a relationship, perhaps?" Sherlock asks.

Lestrade shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of, but I've got people looking into that avenue - forensics is going through the girls' phones right now."

"He?" John repeats, confusedly.

"About ninety percent of arsonists are male. Most of them are also white and have a low IQ, typically ranging between seventy and eighty. They're almost always either under eighteen, or in their late twenties." Sherlock says. "We can narrow down our search once we get to the scene."

John sighs, exchanging a long-suffering glance with Lestrade. "Sherlock, I hate to break it to you, but there's not much left to see."

"Not for you, but there will be for me." Sherlock says, glancing at John.

"But we're looking for a man, yes?" Lestrade asks.

Sherlock narrows his eyes, his gaze flitting between all of the pictures. "Most likely, yes. But we can't rule out a female suspect yet. It's always possible that it's a scorned female lover rather than a male one, or perhaps she could be acting out of jealousy, if those Archer girls were so well liked."

"Erm, will we even be allowed in the crime scene?" John enquires. "I mean, I imagine it would be quite dangerous, with the house literally crumbling, and all."

Sherlock scoffs, "You're more than welcome to stand outside and watch, John."

---

Central London isn't quite what you expect it to be. The bus ride is a nightmare - the incessant chatter of the other passengers around you sets you on edge. Their conversation is all so mundane, so pitifully boring that it makes you feel almost resentful.

These are people who have always had their freedom - who haven't had to kill and burn their way out of a gilded cage. And they use it to discuss things as asinine as the weather. You long for the depth that you had always been denied, the warmth, the love, the meaning.

It's so strange, that you can sit among them, an outsider - a dark Cinderella - in the midst of rodents that have yet to turn to carriagemen.

You're glad when you get off, and you can escape their dull conversations. Though, the streets are much louder. There's not any pretty, delicate fragments of birdsong to be heard here. There's the occasional squawk of some hungry pigeons vying for food, but no birdsong. The air is rife with pollution - contaminated, tainted by smoke. It's all cigarette smoke or the chemical-smelling kind that billows up from factory chimneys in plumes of white and grey smoke.

It's nothing like the kind you had smelled only earlier today - it's not the corpses of your step-family being reduced to charred remains. That was far more pungent, far sweeter, if only in the way it made you feel.

There's a constant urge to look over your shoulder. You still feel intensely victorious, and full of a pride that burns just as brightly as your house had done mere hours ago. Yet, amongst those addictive, elated kind of feelings, is a sliver of paranoia.

You don't want to get caught, not now. All pictures of you, all evidence even of your existence, had been destroyed first. It had to go, you had to be free to start afresh, to reinvent yourself as the princess rather than as the maid.

Cleaning the house constantly had been so useful. It had taught you a lot about cleaning up after yourself, about making sure that there would be no evidence you were even there. All those surfaces had shined brightly, but so had the knife when you lodged it into their throats.

The streets in London aren't as nice as you had thought they would be. In every alleyway lingers a different shifty person, eyeing passersby carefully, likely determining who they would try to pickpocket next.

There's so much noise, too.

There's the drunken ramblings of men who are going through a midlife crisis and day drinking. They stumble through the streets, seemingly having gravitated towards one another, forming packs of aimless, rowdy men who just want to escape from their lives and live something that's more interesting.

Then, there's the noises of the cars. There's so many cabs, all identical in their sleek, black appearance, hurrying through the streets. And then there's the people hailing them, standing in the streets and raising their hands, calling out loudly.

"Taxi!" Yet another man yells, and you flinch instinctively, automatically turning around to look at him. He's nothing special, nothing dangerous.

In fact, you're probably the most dangerous person on this street. And yet, you remain hypervigilant. There's only the remnants of all that adrenaline in your system, but still, you remain awfully flighty. You are more than aware that soon it's going to wear off and you're going to be absolutely exhausted.

If you were any normal, entirely sane person, by now you would have been concerned at the lack of guilt.

But it wasn't like these deaths were accidental, or spur of the moment attacks. They weren't self-defense.

They were retribution.

They were violent acts of revenge designed over years and years. It was premeditated in every sense of the word. The only thing that could really, truly bring you warmth on those cold nights in the basement wasn't those scratchy blankets. It was the thought that one day you would take them out of this world, and that they would burn for everything they had done to you.

Over the years, the plan itself had taken a great many differing directions. You had planned versions where you would burn them alive, torture them for days on end, or even use something as simple as a poison to achieve your aims - that would have been remarkably easy considering that you did all the cooking. But ultimately, those fantasies had to be short-lived. They fell victim to practicality. Poison wasn't readily available, and the longer your step-family lived, the more likely they would be to escape or attract the attention of any neighbours.

It was your own version of Cinderella. And although you hadn't much planned for after the murders, you knew that if she got to rule a kingdom, then you would, too.

But first, you wanted to find a hotel room. One with nice blankets and decent heating and light walls that didn't remind you whatsoever of that basement. You'd been trawling for a while, ever conscious of the amount of cash you had, and the fact that eventually, you would have to gain some form of employment and find a more permanent housing situation.

The third hotel that you look at is the one you decide is just right. The first had been far too expensive, and the second one had looked like it shouldn't even be in business with how dilapidated it was. It's pretty enough, a grand white towering structure with flowers in all the windows and delicate borders around the windows. The price, which would be steep elsewhere, is decent for London.

You push the door open - it's a glass door with cursive, swirly golden writing emblazoned across it, and a little overhead bell jingles. The lady at the desk's head immediately turns your way, and she gives you a bright smile.

The entrance is spacious, but sparsely furnished, a few simple chairs and tables scattered around, but nobody's using them. Security seems relatively lax here, you can't see any cameras yet, and despite the hotel seeming acceptable to you, it's probably not one of the most popular establishments in London.

You approach the lady at the desk - your eyes immediately darting to her nametag. Emily.

"Hello, how can I help?" She asks, smiling. Her voice is dripping with that faux-sweetness that is innate to anybody working in customer service. It's cheery, and terribly fake - but you can't really bring yourself to feel any contempt for her lack of genuity. For her it's protection, and just a part of her job. It's not malicious.

"I'd like to book a room, please." You reply.

"Sure," She says, her fingers darting to the computer keyboard. "Do you know how long you'll be staying with us for?"

"A week, I think." You decide that it should be enough time for you to get everything together.

The top priorities for you now were evading the police and finding yourself some new documentation so that you could work, and move on with your life.

Emily nods, her finger tapping away and clicking for a few, silent moments. "We have you booked in room 125." She briefly ducks below the countertop, emerging with a keycard in hand.

It's blue, with a curvy lime green stripe swerving up through it. It's not the most impressive graphic design you've ever seen, and it doesn't really match the rest of the hotel, but it's good enough. You take it from her with a smile. "Thank you."

"Enjoy your stay!" She calls out after you, just as you've started to head further into the hotel.

You don't bother to acknowledge her comment. You simply keep walking, wandering around the bottom floor of the hotel lobby. There are these tiny, light-up signs plastered everywhere, giving the guests directions. It doesn't take you long to reach your room once you start following them.

Room one hundred and twenty five is incredibly boring.

The entrance-way is frustratingly narrow, with a cramped bathroom on your left, and a wardrobe on your right. It opens up to a relatively small space - a double bed against the left wall, a TV mounted just opposite it, a desk and some windows with terrible, thin curtains that do nothing to obscure the light.

It's so terribly basic, and the whole place smells like cleaning supplies - that alone makes you recoil. It brings you back to scrubbing each and every surface again and again. It makes your fingers twitch with the urge to just tear it all apart - to pull the curtains from their rails, knock the sparse furniture over and destroy it.

It feels so fake. It's all orchestrated to look appealing - but to you it appears bland and disingenuous.

The smell of bleach permeating from the bathroom makes you flinch. It's so sterile. There's no life in this place. There's nothing real here.

You have to constantly tell yourself over and over again that this is temporary. For a fleeting moment, you feel some kind of pain, a sharp pang of longing for your home - it had been a prison in every sense of the word once both of you parents were gone, but still it was familiar, the safe haven of your childhood where your mother would read you bedtime stories.

In your story, Cinderella would get her palace. Your happily ever after wouldn't be marred by the fact that a few people had died at your hands.

This hotel room is temporary - something to be used briefly and once you've moved on, never to be dwelled upon again. For now, you just have to lay low, and establish your new life here. The hotel room, with it's bland white and beige decor is hardly the fruition of all your planning. It's just another stepping stone.

It's only saving grace is the mattress and the heating. You're all too happy to kick your shoes off and lay face-down on the bed, letting all of the tension in your body go. The sheets, for all that they smell like cheap detergent, are petal-soft beneath your fingers. They're nothing like the ones in that cold, awful basement.

---

It doesn't take long for Sherlock to become a man obsessed.

They had first visited the residence of the victims - the scene of the crime. The Archer home had been destroyed, completely reduced to rubble and ash - even Verona Archer's car had been caught in the blaze, though the damage to the car was inconsequential next to the damage to the house and the lives lost within it.

What had once been a grand, elegantly decorated four-bedroom house was now barely standing. It's roof had caved in, and there were slate tiles strewn throughout the top floor and around the garden. Some beams of wood had been exposed, and many of the bricks had simply tumbled over, left with dark scorch marks over them.

It had been necessary to wear hazard gear within the house, and there was still one fire-engine waiting on the street, just in case the house were to be set aflame again. That was a common procedure, at the very least. A few neighbours would come out every once in a while, looking at the burnt remains of the Archer house in awe and horror.

There wasn't a whole lot actually left of the house.

Sherlock had torn his way down to the basement first, and quickly discerned what most of the items were - bookshelves, and lots of family photographs that didn't survive the blaze. But, most of the items in the basement were really irrelevant. It was the pile of scorched blankets that drew his attention.

"This is where the fire started, then, is it?" John asks, peering down at the blankets - they've melted together in some places, fusing to one another under the extreme heat. The entire house smells awful - the sickly scent of burnt human flesh mixed with gasoline - but the blankets smell awful, too. They were probably, back before they had been reduced mostly to ash, some sort of plasticy-material.

"Of course it is." Sherlock says, flitting around the basement and moving to inspect every little thing. "The Archers weren't the only ones living in the house. They were allowing someone to live in their basement."

"I thought they had four bedrooms?"

Sherlock shakes his head slightly. "Mm, no. One was Verona's closet. They had left their guest to sleep in the basement. The blankets are mostly polyester - they're well-used but they don't match anything upstairs. I think our guest has been down here for quite some time. The basement was a mess before the fire. Ms. Archer keeps things down here that she doesn't particularly like, but can't bring herself to throw away, just in case they become useful later."

"Wait, are you saying that the Archer girls - who, may I remind you, the mother being a grieving widow twice over, and her teenaged daughters - had been keeping somebody in their basement?" John asks, incredulously. He looks up from the pile of blankets and to Sherlock, in utter disbelief.

Sherlock scoffs. "Yes, John. That's exactly what I'm saying. Their guest was probably closely related to them. It's even possible that Verona had a third child. I'm almost certain now that our arsonist is a woman."

"A woman?" John frowns, "I thought you said most arsonists were men?"

"They are. They also tend to have a low intelligence - but she is neither a man, nor is she stupid. No, she's smart. She's smart and she's hurting right now. They're not going to find any evidence. She won't have left any. She's wanted this for a very, very long time." Sherlock whispers. "The rest of the house will be useless - the stairs are liable to give in if we try them. The basement was the only part she cared about. The burning was about obscuring her identity, not her crimes."

Naturally, the next place they turn to is the morgue.

All three bodies are already lain out on metal slabs when Sherlock and John enter, the latter wrinkling his nose. The house had, of course, smelled worse. But the actual scent of a charred corpse right in front of him was still incredibly sickening.

Molly greets them both with a smile, "Hi, Sherlock, - "

Sherlock brushes past her, his hands clasped behind his back. He circles around the bodies, his eyes darting over their wounds, their burnt, blistered skin, and the protruding bones.

The pictures had made Verona, Aubrey and Alora seem to be in even better condition than they were.

Their flesh had sunk, plastering itself to the bone in flaky pieces. They were more a mass of bloody body parts, sullen skin and ash than a real human body. There were a few persistent strands of platinum hair that had survived both the fire and the murder, clinging to their burnt scalps.

"That - oh, my god, the smell," John says between coughs, bringing a pale hand up to clasp it over the bottom half of his face. It was more a gesture of self-soothing than any actual attempt to block out the pungent fumes, but he does step back and momentarily avert his eyes.

Molly winces slightly, her cheery visage disturbed only slightly. "Yeah, I've tried pretty much everything. There's not much you can do for them. Ah, they died in their sleep, at least, so..."

"From the uh," John gestures to his throat, drawing a line across his neck horizontally with his pointer finger.

By far, the most disturbing part of the burnt cadavers is their necks. There's a grand, gaping hole in the charred flesh. It pulls away from itself, ribbons of burnt skin dangling into the throat cavity, and tiny pieces of ripped, hacked skin flaring upwards, soaked in crimson blood. They've been almost decapitated - their heads only very tenuously linked to their shoulders via the back of their necks.

It's much worse in real life - the crime scene photographs hadn't quite captured the depth of the cut.

"Yeah," Molly confirms with a grimace.

"No hesitation marks," Sherlock whispers. "Just as I thought. The twins were killed first. Aubrey, then Alora not soon after. Verona was saved for last - she was the culmination of all of this, the main target, if you will. Our perpetrator hated the twins, yes, but she hated Verona much more. You won't find any gasoline on their bodies. She put the gasoline on the floor, but not her victims. She wanted to obscure her identity but avoid damaging her work as much as possible."

"Okay, but we still don't know who the culprit is, or better yet, where they are." John says.

Sherlock shakes his head. "No, we know lots of things about her. Petite, early twenties. She hates the smell of disinfectant and she hates the cold even more. We can make the assumption that she may not even be Verona's daughter at all - perhaps one of those husbands had an affair, or more likely, a previous marriage that produced Verona's step-daughter."

"So, once again, the Archer girls were keeping a... step-daughter in their basement? And she killed them?" He questions.

"Oh, yes, she absolutely did." Sherlock grins. He sounds terribly fascinated, almost breathless - it's a kind of intrigue that John has only ever seen Moriarty produce in him. It's the kind of intrigue that never ends well. The kind that leaves Sherlock invigorated as he tries to unwrap every tiny mystery, whilst John is probably in some sort of danger.

"Right..." John's voice trails off, dying slowly as he watches Sherlock's eyes light up.

The consulting detective paces around the room, stalking around the bodies, grinning and muttering softly to himself. Moriarty's game is still afoot, but whilst they're waiting for his next move, Sherlock is going to indulge himself with another clever little side quest.

"She was smart. You're probably not going to find her - I mean I can tell she's probably gone to a major city, most likely London, given the proximity and her lack of resources. But, there's not going to be anything about her that's distinguishable from any other girl living in London." Sherlock announces.

"So that's it then. Case closed?" Molly asks, confusion colouring her tone as she folds her arms over her chest.

Sherlock pauses in his stride, and narrows his eyes, going so far as to look mildly affronted. "No, of course not. We're going to find her."

"Of course we are." John groans. "Was it not enough to just identify the unstable murder-arsonist lady?"

"No, John. Don't be silly." Sherlock scoffs. "We're going to find out everything we can about our Cinderella."

John frowns, looking to Molly who still looks equally puzzled. "Cinderella?"

"What else would you call a step-daughter mistreated by her step-mother and step-sisters?"

"I don't think that Cinderella killed her step-family and burnt their house down." John points out, sighing. "She's meant to go to a ball, meet a prince, not try to decapitate her family."

Sherlock dismisses John easily, "Perhaps not in the original version, no. But in this one? Absolutely."

[prettyallfriends]

Pretty Rhythm: My☆Deco Rainbow Wedding Chapter 15+16 English Translation

(These two are seriously my fav chapters so far, they were legitimately hilarious at times. Also Mia has disappeared for some reason, and So-min becomes the player's new sidekick for a while which is soooo good)

Chapter 15: The Gold Spiral Cup is a Bad Omen?

So-min: So you really did enter, Player? The third Spiral Cup… The Gold Spiral Cup! Hm… In that case... Kachow!

Shi-yoon: Ahaha, what kind of weird pose are you doing, So-min~?

So-min: It’s not a weird pose, Shi-yoon! This is… my… um… 'challenging Player pose'!!

Jae-eun: Munch munch! Slippery flavour~

So-min: Jae-eun! I’m not slipping!

Shi-yoon: It’s okay, that uhh, “focused” face of yours is funny, So-min. Ya~y!

So-min: I wasn’t trying to be funny! God! Jae-eun and Shi-yoon really drive me mad sometimes!

Shi-yoon: Ahaha! Thanks for the compliment!

Jae-eun: Munch munch! The flavour of happiness~

So-min: How was that a compliment!? Christ… why are we doing this right before the contest!? We don’t have time to waste talking like this! You want to be able to concentrate before the big contest too, right Player?

Choice: Nah, I’m feeling pretty relaxed! / Yep! Let me focus.

Shi-yoon: Yaa~y! Relax, relax. Charge up your power for the show.

So-min: As expected from the winner of the Bronze and Silver Spiral Cups. The aura of a star shines through your whole body. In that case I’m satisfied! However! We won’t lose to you! We’ve been preparing for this day by… huh? Player, are you looking for someone? Hm, Rinne? Looks like she’s not here. Though, if you work hard enough, she’ll probably hear about it… in which case, it will not have been a waste of time! Kachow! ...Whoops, I did it again.

Jae-eun: Ah! So-min’s doing her weird pose again~!

Shi-yoon: Ahaha. She’s so funny, ya~y!

So-min: It’s not a weird pose! You two are really…

Jae-eun: Oh, it tastes like the contest’s about to start~

So-min: Ah, we talked until it started! Anyway, Player… let’s both do our best in competing!

(prism show)

So-min: It’s finally time for the results.

Jae-eun: Munch munch! I can taste everyone’s nervousness… The winner is…

Shi-yoon: Player-san! Ya~y!

So-min: So now you’ve won the Bronze, Silver and Gold Spiral Cup… Y-you’re definitely n-not a run-of-the-mill prism star~!

Jae-eun: Losing to you tastes frustrating… but your show was wonderful, and had a really fun flavour!

Shi-yoon: Congrats, Player-san. Ya~y! Ah! It looks like you’ve won the Gold Spiral Dress frame!

So-min: It’s so sparkly… it’s shining almost as bright as your show today!

Shi-yoon: Hurry up and let us see you in the dress you make with it!

So-min: I’m sure the golden sparkle of this dress will reach Rinne’s heart… No matter where they are, rivals are always interested in what their opponent is up to.

Shi-yoon: Though, now that you’ve won three Spiral Cups, Rinne won’t be the only person interested in what you’re up to… Other prism stars will hear rumours about you, Player-san.

So-min: Good point… You’re probably going to get a lot more rivals now. Well, I doubt they’ll show up that fast. Kachow!

??? (Shi-yoon foretold you, Serena): So it’s you, huh~? You’re this Player I've hear so much about, right?

So-min: What!? Instantly a rival-ish person has appeared!

??? (Kanon): We’ve heard a lot of rumours about you.

??? (Serena): Come with us for a sec...

So-min: Ahhh! Somehow we’ve gotten into a bad situation~!

(i have no clue what serenon are ever saying bye. Wasnt expecting them to show up ngl)

Chapter 16: The Chaotic Manzai Princesses

So-min: Ooooh… They brought us with them, just like that… Those two are MARs’ rivals, Serenon. This isn’t gonna turn into a… dangerous situation, right? I feel like we wouldn’t be able to run away even if we tried!!! Though maybe it’s not too late, let’s run away…

??? (Serena): Sorry to leave ya waiting~...

So-min: EEEP! They’ve appeared~!!

Serena: My name’s Jounouchi Serena! And she’s…

Kanon: I’m Toudou Kanon. It’s nice to meet you, Player-han.

Serena: We’ve been hearing a lot of rumours that a rookie star just appeared out of nowhere.

Kanon: You’re a newbie, yet you’ve been winning tournaments left and right, and…

Serena: You’re the rival of Rinne, the promising new prism star!

Kanon: How could Serenon leave such an amazing prism star alone like that?

So-min: They’re going to do something to you, Player!

Serena: Hehehe. We’re gonna…

So-min: I can hear my heart thumping!

Serena: ...ask you for a favour!!

So-min: Gah--! Wait, a favour?

Serena: Player, your power as a prism star is the real deal! We need ya to join us in a manzai prism show!! Serenon perform manzai prism shows, and we want loads of people to come see them!!!

Kanon: So we need Player-han’s power to achieve that. Would ya consider doing manzai prism show training with us!?

Choice: Hm… What shall I do…? / No~ I’m really not good at manzai…

Serena: (She’s crying. Why are both choices bad) Whyyyyyy!? You have the sense for comedy! You’re trampling on our dreams!

So-min: Please wait a minute! Player can do something else to help you two! They can’t practise with you, as they have to do lessons to prepare for the Rainbow Cup. And their showdown with Rinne isn’t over yet!

Serena: Rinne… She’s like a partner to you, huh?

So-min: They’re a bit different than manzai partners…

Serena: I’ve got it! I hear ya loud and clear! In that case, get ready to compete against us!

Kanon: If ya win, you’re free to form a pair with Rinne.

Serena: But if we win, you gotta do manzai with us!

So-min: Why this… I don’t get what’s happening anymore, but it looks like you have to do this.

Serena: If you look down on the power of laughter, you better look out! I’m Serena!

Kanon: And I’m Kanon!

Serena: And together we’re Serenon! It’s a pleasure to be here~

(prism show)

Serena: Gah----!! Player, your show was super fun...

Kanon: Being able to make the audience smile more than Serenon could is a great feat!

Serena: Grr~ It’s frustrating, but since you won, you can group up with Rinne.

So-min: No… They never wanted to form a pair with Rinne in the first place.

Serena: Huuuh? That so? That’s too bad, so.

So-min: Why is that?

Kanon: Player-han and Rinne-han seem to be really close after all. How do I put this, they seem to share a bond that’s different than their bonds with others.

Serena: A pair or group will end up having a mysterious bond, right? Our rivals in MARs are like that, and so are we!

Kanon: When I’m with Serena, whether it’s manzai or prism shows, I’m happy.

Serena: Woah woah woah! Why are you saying that kinda thing so suddenly!? I’m gettin’ all shy…

Kanon: What are you getting shy for!? You’re a manzai prism show star, how can you handle being the boke if you can’t handle this!?

Serena: Damn, I really messed up!! How could I~!?

Kanon: Hehe. Well, being able to joke around like this is one of the most fun parts about being partners. Of course, rivals have strong bonds too, like us and MARs. Player-han, forge some strong bonds with Rinne, okay?

Serena: Rivals and friends… If a duo like that did manzai, it’d be hilarious!! Player, you sure ya won’t try doing a manzai prism show?

So-min: ...they will not.

Serena: Ah! You’re a really great tsukkomi, ya know!

Kanon: Player-han, if you ever feel like a manzai lesson, drop us a line whenever, okay? Prism shows and manzai are both about making the audience members happy. I’m looking forward to seeing if you can make your audience smile at the Rainbow Cup!

Serena: Looks like it’s time to go. This has been Serena!

Kanon: And Kanon!

Serena: And this was Serenon! Thank you very much for coming!!

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain: s1e7 - tv or not tv

y’all do NOT understand how many times i have tried to post this. tumblr just will not stop eating it. this was supposed to be out last wednesday LMAO i am doing my best.

episode summary: brain engineers a pair of Mouse Dentures that give him a charming smile. anyone hypnotised by these dentures Suddenly Adores Him For No Good Reason. unfortunately, he’s also a bit of a shut in, so nobody is actually going to see his charming smile-- unless he gets himself a sitcom.

....or something.

the rundown:

we open on brain talking about the “weird and magical power” of celebrity. he has defaced several women, and is sticking his ass out. as you do. what is he doing to CINDY! and her ilk?? he must be stopped.

“those who have it weild tremendous influence. few can avoid the enchantment of its’ spell.”

“do you know what gives them this power?”

holy shit. he just stabbed CINDY!.

pinky absolutely does not care for CINDY!’s fate. “haha. narf. hey, paddlefoot, do you know what they call a quarter pounder in france?”

of course, sirius black was not in pulp fiction, and neither, as far as i can tell, was he in france. brain silences him with “enough gay banter”, like he wasn’t just sticking his ass out in his general direction, like, two minutes ago.

(this was the 90s, y’all. gay definitely meant gay back then. this is not the faraway tree.)

“pinky! behold the key to the power of attraction!”

“pushpins!”

“hurraaaaaaaaaaaah!”

“no, pinky.”

apparently the key to attraction is a

“winning smile”, as brain points out, tapping on CINDY!’s poor mutilated face for emphasis.

“and a nice healthy gum!”

“and... a nice healthy gum.”

it turns out that brain has “taken this idea of the influential smile to a new level - a level no less than world domination“, which is bold words for Mr Tumble Dryer. to achieve this, he has invented

teeth.

(okay. so it’s a bit bigger than that. he shows pinky the plans for,

and then a prototype of, a whole machine built specifically to engineer him little mousie dentures. a lot of work went into this one. shame, really.

“when did you have time to build that?”

“while you were engrossed in your mr belvedere reruns.”

“oh, i miss him. ):” )

anyway so. brain puts his teeth in.

there he is.

pinky describes this as

“enchanting (’:”

and brain affirms that it’s supposed to be. apparently the “reflective vibrations” (okay) of his smile stimulates the medula oblongata,

“causing the viewer to adore me for no good reason!”

“zort! i’m adoring you for no good reason!”

(he does point out, while brain is admiring his reflection in a nearby bunsen burner, “what if they’re wearing sunglasses?”

brain’s response is “we’ll work nights.”)

still, brain can’t just sit around in the lab twiddling his thumbs and expect the general public to Adore Him For No Reason. he needs exposure! and as pinky ponders “what would mr belvedere do,” brain asserts that he would “eat some butter”.

“i’m afraid, my friend, that you’ve seen far too much of mr belvede--”

more like mr belvIDEA lol. sorry i’ll see myself out.

“pinky, are you pondering what i’m pondering?”

“i think so, brain, bur it’s a miracle that this one grew back. ):”

.....okay.

thankfully, the plan is not, in fact, to amputate pinky’s leg. again???? instead, brain intends to use a weapon of “great stealth, power, and corruption.”

OUR OWN SITCOM.

✨

meanwhile, at the wb studio, we meet jerry kilmer. mr kilmer is currently being harassed by some dudes who also really, really want their own sitcom. for far less nefarious purposes, presumably.

“so there’s this guy, right?”

“and get this! he designs--”

“BIKINIS.”

“TINY LITTLE BIKINIS. OKAY okay okay okay so here’s the hook.”

“HE’S PRETENDING--”

“TO BE BLIND.”

it does not appear to be what mr kilmer is looking for.

(meanwhile, the mice are spying on the acme labs janitor. he seems like a cool dude! but the mice are not here for friendship.

they sneak into his jacket pocket!

and...... steal his.... car keys? “YES. to the television station!”

✨

this isn’t even the first vehicle he’s stolen. hopefully he’ll have this one back by curfew as well.)

they do get pulled over by the police, but i don’t want to go into that. unless you guys reaaaallly want me to. instead, they park outside the studio and harass some poor receptionist.

“excuse me. we’re here to-- pitch. as they say. a sitcóm. my dear.”

i don’t know why brain says words like that.

“appointment?”

“oh, i’m sure you can--”

“work us in.” says brain. he is sticking his ass out for no reason. all the appeal is in his sparkly dentures, so.... there’s really no need for that, my dude.

✨

“you’re next! for no good reason!”

these dudes are still here. “wait!” yells our budding comedian, “wait! check out this idea. it’s about a guy!”

original.

“who always sticks his foot in his mouth!!”

clever. unfortunately, his demonstration goes wrong, and he ends up kicking mr kilmer in the face.

bonk.

gives him a nasty black eye to boot. ouch.

“ugh. can’t i ever just see someone normal?”

good thing these very normal individuals have just shown up, huh? nothing shady about these guys. “ugh, thank goodness,” says mr kilmer. they introduce themselves politely as jonathan michael charles (left) and jamal spelling (right).

“you guys have quite a look.”

“thank you.”

✨

“alright then. what do you got for me?”

“egad, brain.”

“he’s not adoring you for no good reason!!”

“drat.”

“well. we’re young hip adults--”

“and hijinks ensue!”

“who sit on a big fat couch and whine--”

“with disaaaasterous results!!”

“and have lots of generation x friends who trade zippy, sarcastic banter.”

“and i have a monkey.”

a very original concept.

at least, mr kilmer sems to think so. “hmmm. fresh. but tell me! what really brings you here. what are jamal and jonathan all about.”

“actually,  we are two lab mice involved in a broad and sweeping plan to take over the world.”

mr kilmer thinks this is hilarious, apparently.

these guys do not. but they’re not important, for the moment.

the long and short of it, anyway, is that kilmer can’t give them a sitcom because nobody knows who they are, quote unquote. “the day i see your face on the cover of peeple magazine is the day you get a sitcom.”

irritated, jamal and jonathan make their exit.

and mr kilmer laughs so hard at the idea of lab mice trying to take over the world, that he falls out of his chair.

this will become relevant later.

meanwhile -- i just had to screencap this, okay, because of brain’s face. pinky suggests that he get on the cover of peeple by marrying prince charles. and brain thinks this is a horrible idea.

he’s much more interested in princess diana. but no, pinky, the path he must follow is “the same one followed by the leading sitcom stars of the day.”

“i must become a SUCCESSFUL STANDUP COMEDIAN.”

“so hey, how about those mitochondria? do they have enough cilia or what?”

“hey, why don’t you tell a joke you know!”

this may be harder than brain thought. undeterred, though, he presses on.

“do you ever notice how when you’re looking in the mirror of a quadrant electrometre, your forehead seems large?? why is that??”

“i just flew in from cleveland! and boy are my upper extremeties fatigued by a buildup of lactic acid!”

“booooooooooooooo!” says our guy on the left.

“go back to your troll village, squirt!” says his friend on the right. “what do you say to that?”

“i find you repugnant.”

(well. that made them laugh, at least.)

“your stupidity is matched only by the ill-slipped caterpillar, that chews off its’ own wings after emerging from its’ cucoon!!!”

“in fact! all of you! are just a gaggle of pathetically misguided root diggers!!”

“why don’t you all stand under a stalactite and bellow the resonate frequency, causing it to plummet onto your cranium!!”

“you’re all repugnant i say!!! repugnant!!!”

and with that little mousie tantrum out of his system, brain trundles off to sulk.

pinky claps him on the way out.

“egad brain! narf! they love you!”

“yes.”

so then he goes on tv, i guess.

“our comedy challenger is the master of insults! the prince of putdowns! jamal spelling!”

“you’re all a bunch of crevulating nitwits with peat moss for a cortex. repugnant!”

i don’t envy that guy third from the right. he doesn’t look like he’s having a very good time. he’s sensitive about his peat moss cranium, okay? don’t make fun of him.

NEXT ON G, HOWIE TURN HOSTS COMEDIAN JAMAL SPELLING.

“so, uh, jamal spelling. what kind of stupid name is that? cmon? what’s your real name?”

this would be racist if jamal spelling was a human man comedian and not like, a lab mouse. thankfully, this is not the case.

“my real name is the brain.” says brain, helpfully enunciating the “the”. “and you, my unwashed friend, are repugnant.”

HA HA. HA HA HA HA HA.

“oh, you’re hot, baby.”

okay.

but we’re, uh. we’re not going to think about that, and we’re going to go look at the david letterman show instead.

“uh, my next guest-- paul, do you know who our next guest is?”

“daaaaave, i know he’s a beautiful kind of-- nutty cat who just got us all a-wow.”

“here he is, ladies and gentlemen! for your comedy dollar, jamal spelling!!”

jamal spelling appears to be naked.

but he’s funny, so nobody minds.

“somebody here smells like a coagulated agar slant growing in a petri dish. repugnant!”

see! he’s just too comedy for clothes.

(meanwhile, we take a short trip to the office of janet mekko. “welcome, mr kilmer,” she says.

“my... secretary sent me here-- actually, i feel kind of stupid.”

“oh, honey. that’s a good thing! if there weren’t any stupid people, i wouldn’t have any business.”

“now. ya got some paaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiin.”

(in the distance, dan reynolds - at the tender age of eight - mumbles “you made me a, you made me a believer” in his sleep.)

“yeah.” says mr kilmer, completely unaware of this. “i fell out of my chair.”

“i’m gonna hypnotise you, so relax.”

okay.

“this’ll make you sleepy.”

“what is it?”

“a kenny g album.”

“okay. you’re in a trance. i’m gonna give you a random word. if you feel pain, say that word, you’ll feel good.”

“but careful! cause if you say it when you’re feeling good, the pain will come back! bad.”

spooky.

“and your random word is--”

“repugnant.”

there is, of course, absolutely no way this can go wrong.)

let us turn our view to happier pastures. namely, the mice are watching tv.

TONIGHT ON CIRCUS OF THE STARS

HARRY DEAN ANDERSON GETS SHOT OUT OF A GIANT PASTA MAKER

COMEDIAN JAMAL SPELLING FLIES THE TRAPEZE

AND BOB SAGET GETS TRAMPLED BY A BEAR. we hope.

pinky is elated! “egad, brain! circus of the stars! narf! you’ve really made it!”

pinky wants to be on circus of the stars, don’t you know. unfortunately, as he dutifully informs brain in pretty much the same breath, he hasn’t quite made it into peeple magazine yet.

“hm. it’s time to use plan b, pinky.”

“there was an a?? poit.”

ouch. jesus, pinky.

undeterred, brain marches his merry little ass over to the old timey corded phone.

beep.

“yes, connect me with buckinham palace, please.”

“egad! you did it brain! the cover of peeple!”

rule britannia is playing in the background of this scene. let’s... not think too hard about how this works, and agree that, yes, pauly shore, enough.

no more pauly shore, please.

conclusion:

jerry keeps his word, and, upon learning that jamal spelling is now legally married to princess diana (a fact which would certainly not lead to a warrant for his arrest in a couple of years) he asks him for a demo tape.

for such small hands, jamal sure does have very neat handwriting.

“make me laugh, jamal, and you got yourself a sitcom.”

“why don’t you all stand under a stalactite and bellow the resonate frequency, causing it to plummet onto your cranium!!”

he seems to like it! kilmer makes a little hee hee noise, unprepared for where this is undoubtedly going.

“you’re repungnant!”

“AAUGHGHGHHH.”

there it is.

“repugnant!”

“i say repugnant!”

repugnant repugnant repugnant repugnant

repugnant!

and with that, jerry kilmer falls out of the window.

as he does, he yells “i’ll get you, jamal spelling” which personally i think is unfair. jamal couldn’t have known, surely? don’t be mean to jamal. he’s got a lot on his mind, what with that restraining order against howie turn.

meanwhile, in the lab, the mice debate a good pitch for a pilot (i’ve got it, brain! it’s a show about nothing!) when jamal spelling gets a call.

“hi jamal! this is nina from the tv station. could you come down for a meeting?”

“mm hmmm.”

✨

it’s the WB.

as nina types away, jamal and jonathan enter casually, like this is their house, or something. “are you pleased to see us?” asks jamal, in a cocky, egomaniac labmouse sort of way.”

“yes i am!”

(nina somehow doesn’t notice.)

anyway then these guys find the dentures and pitch the first idea that comes into their heads.

“hey cortex! what do you wanna do tonight?”

don’t ask why mouse dentures fit a human man. we suspend our disbelief here.

(also there was no way this was brain’s fault. he couldn’t have known. outside influence it is. a shame, really.)

brain: 7 pinky: 7 outside influence: 14

thanks for the fun meme, @shuunthenonbeliever​ !

[genork-the-fandork]

Wintertime Shenanigans with Knight Zeno

Author’s Note: This is also an early Christmas gift for @lackadaisy-scribbles for the same “why not” reasons as the Florus one. The Zeno stans also deserve a little love, so why not let them have some? ‘Tis the season!

This features Daisy’s lovely OC, Emmet, as well as our favorite himbo knight, Zeno!

Happy holidays to all the Zeno stans! <3

It was really fucking cold.

Emmet hadn’t signed up for this—well, technically, he hadn’t signed up for any of this, but he certainly hadn’t signed up for this bullshit.

Why had he let that knight drag him out here again?

Speak of the devil, a helmeted head, sorely out of place in the rest of this fantasy world, peeked out from behind a tree. “Emmet! Are you coming or are you just going to stand there shivering like a fawn that was just born?”

Excellent as the metaphor was, Emmet rolled his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly prepared for snow.”

Through the helmet, Zeno was most likely blinking. “Ah. Yes. I forgot that not everyone has armor like this to keep them warm. Hm.”

The knight maneuvered through the snow and trees until he was in front of Emmet. “Here. Take this.” From seemingly nowhere, Zeno produced a scarf that was the same purple as the highlights on his armor. With all the grace of someone sliding across a frozen pond, he wrapped the scarf around Emmet’s shoulders and head, somehow managing to avoid the neck entirely. “Better?”

“Mmph.” Emmet could barely see, much less talk, with this thing around his face, so he reached up and rewound the scarf around his own neck. “Now it is.” And indeed, with the scarf on, he felt a little less chilled, and he pulled the fabric up to cover his chill-stung cheeks. “Thank you.”

When he looked up, Zeno had his hands on his hips, no doubt grinning beneath that helmet of his. “Wonderful! Now we can continue our mission!”

“Remind me why we’re trudging through a forest while it’s snowing?” Emmet hadn’t actually been given a reason for why he was out here—Zeno had suddenly appeared and dragged him out of the city without any explanation whatsoever. Not that that wasn’t unusual from the knight, but still.

“Why, we’re searching for clues of no-good troublemakers, of course!”

So, no reason. Got it. Emmet sighed and trudged behind the knight as he over dramatically searched for footprints from these “troublemakers” of his, only to find animal tracks and droppings instead.

After the third rabbit scurried away from Zeno challenging the air, Emmet grumbled, “Can we go back yet? My toes are halfway frozen.”

Zeno paused in his tracks and pulled his helmet off abruptly, the snow immediately settling in his hair. Turning to face Emmet, he smiled guiltily. “I got a little carried away, didn’t I? We can go back, if you want.”

Well, if you give me a look like that… Emmet sighed. Giving the knight a little smile, he said, “Okay. We can keep going.”

Raising his eyebrows, Zeno blinked. “But you’re getting cold.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” Zeno’s eyebrows furrowed, and in a flash, Emmet was cradled in his arms.

Not this again, Emmet nearly groaned. “Zeno! Put me down!”

“In a moment, Emmet. But first, we have to make sure you don’t freeze to death!” And he started running. Emmet sighed and crossed his arms, but he had to admit that it felt nice to be held like this again. At least now he was used to Zeno’s spontaneous behavior… and kind of liked it.

Before he knew it, they were back in the city, and Zeno carried him over to the tavern where they’d first met. Of course Zeno would bring him here.

To his surprise, it was delightfully warm inside, and Zeno set him down as soon as they were through the door. Leading him over to a table by the fire, the knight beckoned him over. “Nice and warm in here, right?”

“Y-yeah…” Emmet sat across from him, removing the scarf and wiggling his toes to get circulation going again.

The knight didn’t take his eyes away from Emmet for a good few minutes before mumbling, “Emmet, I have a confession to make.”

“Huh?” Emmet was rubbing his hands together towards the fire, but at the knight’s words, he looked up. “What is it?”

“There were no troublemakers.”

“I knew that already.” The proof had been in the plethora of animals in the forest and the lack of people besides them.

“What I mean is…” Zeno’s cheeks were tinted pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I lied.”

This wasn’t confusing at all. “What do you mean?”

“I brought you with me because… I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Emmet stared at the knight incredulously, dropping his hands to his lap. His heart pounded in his ears as he took in the embarrassed expression on Zeno’s face. He’d wanted to… spend time with him?

“But… why?” was all he could think to say.

Embarrassment melted into one of those sparkly smiles of his. “Why else? Because I like you, Emmet.”

Seriously, how did he get his smiles to sparkle that much? “I—what?” This was some elaborate prank, right? Right? There was no way—

Zeno laughed, amused by Emmet’s obvious confusion. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important right now.” The smile remained on his face as he leaned forward. “But I do have something else to tell you, Emmet.”

“What is it?”

“Come closer.”

Emmet almost didn’t do it, but after a moment, he leaned closer. His heart was most definitely going to leap out of his chest at this rate. By the time he’d leaned forward as far as he could go, their faces were mere centimeters apart. He stared into Zeno’s eyes, wondering what on Vallauria the knight needed to say that required this much of a personal space breach.

With a softer smile, Zeno touched his forehead to Emmet’s and murmured, “I won’t ever let you freeze.”

It was at that moment that Emmet’s heart and soul left his body.

[dansnaturepictures]

23/04/2021-Dancing Ledge (Ten different photos to those I tweeted tonight)

We did our final planned trip of the week days of in this patch of leave. Our annual Purbeck coast pilgrimage to Durlston near Swanage in April to see seabirds particularly, breathtaking views and anything else often flowers as was the case today. I wrote about our time at Durlston today in my next post, as this year we did something slightly different and before going to Durlston went to the National Trust’s Spyway car park and walked down to the beautiful Dancing Ledge. We had been here three times before, walking from Durlston in both 2007 and 2009 getting an exciting glimpse of our first ever Puffin on the former a key day for our birdwatching and wildlife life and love of seabirds especially early on and we came in 2013 too after a Durlston trip one Saturday. So this was a very exciting day.

We walked along the well laid path from the car park down to Dancing Ledge the beautiful area shown in the first picture I took today in this photoset, where Swallows skimmed over the grass and Skylarks performed overhead. Very soon into the walk we achieved a goal of the day when I heard and spotted a bird in a bush, it had the exquisite bright brown back which glowed in the sun, spendid grey head and of course creamy throat of the Whitethroat. A key spring bird target of ours and one I have had such a good record for seeing in the Durlston area on the trip the past few years so with Guillemot, Razorbill, Fulmar, Gannet and though we didn’t see them today Wheatear and House Martin other common year ticks on this trip already seen by me this year, really Whitethroat was the key year list target today and it did not disappoint, we saw one coming up the hill on the way back too and saw some at Durlston later in the day. It was wonderful to see this beautiful bird back in the UK. My year list now stands at 145, only my 2018 and 2019 year list my highest ever totals was higher at this point in a year, and I didn’t reach this figure until May last year, which is another stunning moment to show how my revival of my year list after full lockdown has been so spectacular. I have so far got fourteen year ticks during my week off which I am over the moon with and that makes it twenty six year ticks this April, leveling my highest ever amount of them I got this month in 2014 which was phenomenal and something I found so amazing with some really high calibre species seen along the way and it’s really something I am so proud of.

In order to get to Dancing Ledge from these fields full of life, including Blackbirds with young too, we had to go down a massive and steep hill. From here, before and when we reached this striking coastal feature we took in some simply breathtaking and sensational views especially seeing right down the coast my very favourite type of coastline and type of habitat really. In pristine, brightly sunny, pretty warm and sparkly blue conditions it just looked so purely beautiful and I took the second and third pictures in this photoset from the walk and ninth and tenth from the walk back and fourth at Dancing Ledge as we went down a rocky path to beside the water. 

Whilst despite me wearing a Skomer Island shirt with them on we didn’t see any of Dorset’s very few Puffins, we saw a good deal of birds at Dancing Ledge, Guillemots and Razorbills sat and flew over so gently on the bright blue water. Rock Pipit and a bright crimson almost paint dipped Linnet made very pleasurable sightings. As we spoke at a safe social distance to a lovely gentleman in great weather once again we spoke to a few brilliant people today we all enjoyed seeing a good few Shags with one appearing to build a nest on the cliff. A special moment with one of my B list favourite birds which I am having a good year for. I took the fifth picture in this photoset of some of the Guillemots and Razorbills here.

We made our way back up the hill and got our flower fix for the day started as we were over the moon to spot this star of Durlston ever year for us and as we would learn this similar area too some early spider orchids starting to come out I took the seventh picture in this photoset of one. We enjoyed some special moments with these stunning and distinctively marked flowers I do love orchids. I got my macro lens out and I took a good few pictures of them. The early spiders are interestingly placed in my camp of flowers I knew before 2020, I have said loads before that noticing and learning more flowers was my main lockdown/working from home project last year. So everything I did with these I did it at a greater scale today really making the most of them. But also with our usual April visit here last year postponed until late June by lockdown I missed these so this was the first time I got to photograph these flowers which I did well before for me especially in 2016 when one was the subject of my first ever flower Twitter display picture with my treasured new macro lens which I’ve probably taken more flower pictures with than my initial macro lens with my interest really increasing the past year or so since I got that macro lens for my birthday in 2020.

It was also nice to see speedwell here and some other flowers which I took the sixth and eighth picture in this photoset of. Further colour was added to a glorious walk of quintessential farmland birds by a Yellowhammer it was great to see clearer than the one we saw at Martin Down on Good Friday. We left for Durlston feeling so happy that we got to see the attractive Dancing Ledge for the first time in eight years and all this walk had to offer. We only did this today as one of the kind people we got talking to at a safe social distance whilst watching “Colin” the Cuckoo at Thursley on Wednesday mentioned this walk  as she had been and recommended it highly. Having ticked the four seabird species at Portland that we often would at Durlston in a year we could afford to do things differently today and I’m glad we did. I shall get my post about what happened at Durlston today shortly.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Whitethroat of the year, two of my favourite birds the Guillemot and Razorbill, Shag, Herring Gull seen very well on the low rocks at the ledge by the sea, Rock Pipit, Meadow Pipit, Yellowhammer, Skylark, Linnet, Swallow, Blackbird, House Sparrow we have seen so many of these on our rural trips this week a common urban bird which is always great and Jackdaw.