#or that oh I had a sloppy presentation for teaching and I’m always behind on grading which is true

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Sometimes i decide not to post vent posts bc if someone says something nice or appeasing in response to it I’m going to snap and become evil

[tennessoui]

29 G.A.t.W. AU - The C.W.s start 2yrs early bc of Galactic Law EVERY Natborn in the GAR MUST be 18yr old. Obi-Wan is forced to leave behind his young Padawan. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.. Without the Masters being able to be there physically they have to start training programs to help the Pawadans. Every Master now has to teach certain subjects. Anakin finally sees a mind healer & finds inner peaces without the Council breathing down his neck. The Temple Locked Down so No Sith Influenc

so this is a beautiful ask and beautiful future and i followed it like i follow my google maps directions which means maybe 30% of the way but i was watching lord of the rings and thinkin about braids so here is this and i'm very sorry it's what it is

29. Going Away To War AU (Tatooine slave culture, 17!Anakin, preslash/Anakin's pining, mullet!Obi-Wan)(2.3k)

The Padawan braid isn’t the first braid Anakin learns about. It’s not even the fiftieth. By the time Qui-Gon Jinn, Queen Amidala, and Obi-Wan Kenobi land on Tatooine, Anakin is well-versed in the language of braids and what each means. He hadn’t had any of his own yet, seeing as how he was only nine with no accomplishments or triumphs or romantic entanglements to advertise, but if he had stayed on Tatooine, he’d probably have gotten his first braid after he won the podrace.

HIs mother would have done it with gentle hands and a proud smile, and their neighbors would have gathered outside their door to try and be the first one to congratulate him.

Braids are important. They’re sacred. Their style and the beads woven through the strands signify everything important to know about the Tatooinian wearing them. He’d see the freed people’s braids in the marketplace and burn with envy. He’d see a blushing girl braid her lover’s obsidian into his hair to signify courtship, and know one day he’d do the same to someone else. He’d practice his braids until his hands hurt from the motion, wanting to be perfect at it before he’d need to know. After all, as a slave, there wouldn’t be much else he could offer them except beautiful braids and beads.

There is only one braid he doesn’t know the meaning of, and it’s the one that hung down Obi-Wan Kenobi’s shoulder when they first met.

He thinks about asking him, even though it might be considered rude, but before he can, they’re at the Jedi Temple, then on Naboo and then Master Jinn is dead and Obi-Wan’s braid is gone, and Anakin thinks, oh. So the braid means love.

Mourners on Tatooine cut the braids off their dead and then a single braid from their own head, to mean that a part of themselves has died as well. Obi-Wan tries to be extra nice to Obi-Wan after that.

That is, until the man approaches Anakin with a serrated knife and a rueful grin and tells him that because the Council has allowed him to take him as his padawan, it’s time for Anakin to have the Padawan haircut.

The fit Anakin throws at these words could probably be heard back on Tatooine, but his new master must be made of the same strength Lukka crafts the sandstorms from, because an hour later, Anakin is looking at his shorn locks on the floor in a state of horrified shock.

Obi-Wan kneels down at his side as he begins braiding together the lone strand of hair Anakin has been allowed to keep.

“I’m sorry,” his master says quietly. “I know that your hair is very important to you on Tatooine.”

“How will I practice my braids now?” Anakin asks despondently. If he is to have short hair until he’s Obi-Wan’s age (ancient), then he won’t ever be able to practice the courtship braids. The engagement braids. The marriage braids. All the other ones too. Do the Jedi just present their beloveds with sloppy braids?

The thought has him near tears.

Obi-Wan looks very panicked. “Please don’t cry,” he begs. “Jedi apprentices shouldn’t cry.”

Anakin’s vision becomes even more blurred at this. Now he’ll never be able to practice his braids and he’s a bad Jedi.

“Oh blast, that’s not what I meant,” Obi-Wan backtracks, hesitantly putting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. It’s not very comforting, but it’s the best Anakin has so he resolves to make do and lean into the touch. “Well. You can, uh. You can braid my hair?”

Anakin sniffles. “Your hair is short. And ugly.”

His master laughs and ruffles Anakin’s own short hair. “I’ll grow it out, just for you if it’s that important to you.”

He would? Anakin looks up at him hopefully. That could work. It even makes sense, kind of, for Obi-Wan to let Anakin braid his hair. After all, Anakin’s going to be wearing Obi-Wan’s braid, even though he doesn’t love him yet.

Maybe the Jedi do things differently. Maybe the Jedi weave the braid, and the love comes later.

---

“I remember a young boy telling me my hair was ugly,” his master says consideringly, as he lets himself be pushed to the floor while Anakin clambers onto the bed behind him.

“You bring that up every time, Master,” he sighs as he strokes his hands through Obi-Wan’s admittedly beautiful mane of hair. It’s not as long as he’d like, not really, but it doesn at least go down to his shoulders. “I don’t know how many times you want me to apologize.”

“Oh, just once more,” his master smiles with his voice. Anakin will miss this. Anakin doesn’t know how he’ll live without it, without Obi-Wan’s quiet wit and wry humor, his willingness to indulge Anakin no, even if it’s been eight years of braid-practicing.

“Once more might be all we have time for, Master,” Anakin whispers. His fears are not the sort one can say loudly.

“Do not think like that,” Obi-Wan turns his head to the side just enough so that he can look up at Anakin. “It will be fine. I will be fine.” “You’d be better if I came with you!” Anakin argues loudly. “You know I’m old enough! It’s not fair!”

His voice cracks on the last word, making him wince as Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

“The Jedi Council and all Republic legal branches have spoken. We will not take children into a warzone--”

“Then don’t, but I’m almost eightee--”

“--And I agree with them.”

Anakin’s fingers slacken on the strands of hair, loosening the braid. “You do?” he asks, feeling betrayed. “You want to leave me here at the Temple while you go get yourself killed on some Mid-Rim planet?”

“I want you safe, Padawan,” Obi-Wan corrects, breaking away from him so that he may stand up and sit beside him on the bed. “A war is no place for Jedi, but while us knights have no choice but to fight, we would keep our younglings as far from it as possible--even those younglings who are only a few months shy of being eighteen.”

“You’re taking away my choice,” Anakin says quietly, anger abating enough that he has to struggle to hide the fear in his voice. He brings his knees up against his chest and curls tightly into himself. “What if you die and--and--” he breaks off and pulls useless at his Padawan braid.

He knows what it means now after eight years spent at the Jedi Temple. It’s supposed to denote the Padawan from the Master, and signify the respect an apprentice has for their teacher.

But he’s never been able to shake his original conclusion that it was a representation of love, though he’d never say that aloud.

But when he touches it, sees it in the mirror, he’s reminded only of the love he bears for his master. A guilty, shameful love that takes up too much of his mind and heart. He’d fallen in love with Obi-Wan somehow. Now when Anakin dreams of marriage beads, his fingers are invariably braiding them into coppery blond hair. Now when Anakin dreams of--well, other things, it’s always Obi-Wan’s body beneath his, over his, inside of his, around his--

And now the galaxy is at war, the Knights and Masters of the Jedi Temple called to defend the Republic, and Anakin is too young to follow his master.

“And what, dear one?” Obi-Wan asks gently, hand coming up to unclasp Anakin’s fingers from his braid. “If I die, you will let me go as any Jedi would. I will become one with the Force and you will continue forward.”

Anakin almost wants to shake his shoulders. Doesn’t his master know anything about Anakin at all? How could Obi-Wan say these things as if he believes them? If Obi-Wan were to die--if he were to die away from Anakin, without Anakin--if the unthinkable were to happen--Anakin doesn’t know what he’d do.

A part of himself would die as well, he knows that immediately. He’d cut Obi-Wan’s braid from his hair so that the man could be buried with it, and he’d never weave another.

“Have faith in me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan tells him softly, hand falling to rest on his shoulders. “I will come back. Or perhaps in a few months you will join me.” He sounds falsely enthusiastic, like he’d do anything to keep Anakin away from the war.

As if Anakin would let that happen as soon as he’s legally able to fight.

“Will you let me braid your hair?” he whispers, slowly sitting cross-legged.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says immediately, sinking back to the floor.

“Will you keep them in this time? For as long as you can?” Anakin asks, shily, running his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair slowly, savoring the softness of the strands.

“I will do my best,” his master promises him. “What will they mean?”

“Good fortune,” Anakin replies, seeing the braid come together in his mind’s eye. Yes, good fortune, a plea to the gods who see Obi-Wan in battle to look the other way. To take someone else instead. He gets to work, collecting a chunk of hair on the left side of Obi-Wan’s temple to braid back.

Nothing’s fixed. Nothing’s better. The person Anakin’s pretty sure is the love of his life will be sent out to fight tomorrow at dawn, and he might die never knowing how Anakin feels about him.

But it’s not like Anakin can tell him either, not when he’s seventeen. Not when he’s Obi-Wan’s Padawan.

He’s always planned to wait until after he’s been Knighted, after Obi-Wan has been given enough time to see Anakin as a man who has a choice whether or not to love him. And, yes, the Code forbids attachment and Jedi cannot marry, but it’s not like Anakin would ever be able to marry Obi-Wan legally even on Tatooine.

But he could give him the braids, if Obi-Wan wanted. That way, when they both died, in their sleep of natural causes, the Goddess Leia knows to keep their souls intertwined as she transports them to their afterlife.

Anakin’s fingers pause as he thinks of something that would make him feel better.

He bites his lip. His mother would disapprove. To give the braids to someone without their knowledge is heavily frowned upon.

Anakin winces, even as his hands change direction. These are extenuating circumstances. There’s a lot at stake here. Anakin can’t risk a life and an afterlife without his master. And he’s going to ask him eventually. Just not now. Just not yet.

The braids for good fortune form a crown over one’s head. The braids for marriage…

They start similarly enough at the temples, but connect to each other at the back of the head, where a third braid is begun. Then each braid is braided into each other. The left braid represents the braider. The right braid represents their beloved. The third braid that begins when the two meet represents the life that they will create together.

Anakin holds the three braids loosely in his hands, staring down at them in some sort of surreal shock. This is not the circumstances he has imagined doing this under, but he’s heartbroken. Not when it’s Obi-Wan who will be wearing his braids.

“Dear one?” Obi-Wan asks, breaking the heavy silence. “I do not mean to rush you, but my knees are starting to hurt.”

“You’re so old,” Anakin quips back, stroking a thumb over one of the braids, the right one--Obi-Wan’s.

“And you are so very young,” Obi-Wan retorts. “The two of us together is the equivalent of one good soldier.”

Anakin’s heart pauses for a second. “Would you want that?” he asks nonsensically.

“What?”

“If you could choose. If I were eighteen. Would you want to be…” Just as suddenly as he gained that sudden burst of confidence, he loses it. He sighs, mostly in disappointment at himself.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan prompts.

“You’d want me there with you if I weren’t too young, wouldn’t you, master?” Anakin finally says.

Obi-Wan hesitates, and Anakin’s chest feels tight. “I would want you safe, regardless of age, dear one,” he settles on saying.

Anakin’s fingers clench down on the almost complete marriage braids. “But if there were no war,” he forges ahead. “If the war never happened. You wouldn’t want to leave me behind. You’d want to stay together.”

Anakin can just imagine the furrowed eyebrows Obi-Wan must be sporting as he tries to figure out what Anakin wants from him.

“Just answer the question,” Anakin begs, tightening his hold on the braids to prevent Obi-Wan from turning around.

“You are my Padawan, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says slowly. “And someone who will one day be my partner, my friend. I would like...very much to be allowed to see you finish growing into the fine man you will be. The one that in many ways you already are.”

“And then?” Anakin asks doggedly. “When we’re both knights. And you’re assigned...a mission. And you get to choose your partner. And it’s me or. Or someone else. I don’t care. Who would you choose?”

“Well, I suppose it would depend on if this fabricated mission depends on stealth. Secrecy. The ability to tell a believable falsehoo--”

“I’m being serious,” Anakin insists, cutting his master off. He almost wants to drop the braids, let them fall apart. Clearly Obi-Wan doesn’t...perhaps won’t ever--

“It’d be you,” Obi-Wan murmurs very quietly, as if afraid to speak louder. “We are better together than we are separate.”

Anakin blinks and then smiles, only a little teary-eyed at his master’s confession. “Yes, Master,” he agrees, finally--finally--braiding the three braids together and tying them off neatly. He pictures the material of their souls responding the same way that Obi-Wan’s hair has. The thought makes him feel equal parts giddy and guilty.

“After all, someone needs to make sure you don’t crash every ship in the Jedi Temple,” Obi-Wan continues dryly.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin agrees again, running a hand lightly over his work.

He’ll tell him when he’s a Knight. Really.

[donutloverxo]

Classy girls wear pearls

Written for @chrissquares @starlightcrystalline @amythedvdhoarder @drabblewithfrannybarnes ​ @pumpkin-and-pine challenge! Thanks chrissquares for the festive dividers! Used the prompt snowstorm + this gif!

Summary - Andy gives you a pearl necklace 👀

Warnings - 18+only please, smut(m/f), daddy kink, deep throat, d/s relationship, cum play.

Pairing - Andy Barber x reader

Word count - 1.4k

Masterlists are linked in the bio!

You grinned wickedly as you looked out your windows.

Your pretty suburban street, which is usually bustling with people trying to get to work and kids running around, school busses and such, now so quiet and quaint, covered in white, as if a pale blanket was draped over it.

You turned around when you heard your husband groaning, thinking that maybe he’d finally be up, but he simply slept on his back, mumbling something in his sleep.

You made your way over to the bed, ready to wake him up because you missed him - even though he was right fucking there - and you wanted to give him the good news. But then you noticed the tent in his briefs.

“It would be a nice early Christmas gift,” you mused, taking his morning wood out of the tight restraints and then looking back at him to see if you had woken him but he looked like sleeping beauty.

Deep in his slumber, his long dark lashes kissing his cheekbones, his naked chest falling and rising with ever breath he took.

Pumping him a couple of times with your palm, you swirled your tongue around his head, already weeping with pre-ejaculate, moaning as you tasted some of the salty liquid before you swallowed him whole. Or as much of him as you could. With how HUGE he was, it was always a struggle.

But you tried hard, remembered everything he had taught you, relaxed your throat till your nose touched the fuzzy soft curls at the base of his length. You tried to hold him there but then choked on him, the loud noise waking him up.

“What the...” he sprang up, causing his head to hit the back of your as you choked again, holding onto his thigh for support.

You looked to your side, blinking at him, you pulled him out with a loud ‘pop’, panting and trying to breath in some much needed oxygen. “Just wanted to wish you a good morning, daddy,” you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, “and give you an early Christmas present.”

He smiled down at you, caressing your cheek before holding onto the back of your head, “Thanks, honey, you’re the sweetest girl in this whole world. Always taking such,” pushing you back down on his cock, “good care of your daddy,” he sighed as you licked a stripe up his slit before rigorously sucking him.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, entranced by the sight of your plump behind, sliding your thin panties to the side before swirling your juices over your puffy lips, “and you’re fucking wet,” he observed, his Bostonian accent prominent in his voice.

Your cheeks heat up at being caught red handed, you avert your gaze, trying to get away from his fingers, slipping into your heat.

“Aw, is my girl shy? There’s no need to be, sweetheart,” you mewled as he curled his fingers inside you, “Look at me,” he ordered, and like a good little doll you followed looked back at him, “You always look at me when you suck my cock, do you understand?”

You nodded, not being able to verbally answer with your mouth full of cock or pull away since he had a tight grip on the back of your head.

“Hold on, honey,” he rasped, lifting his hips off the bed, making you gag again, “remember to breath through your nose, we don’t want you choking,” he groaned.

He kept driving his hips into your mouth, squelching sinful noises came from your mouth, you tried to breath through your nose as he had asked you to, ready to swallow his creamy goodies as you always do. It was a nice way you often start your day but then he pulled you off of his throbbing cock which was blushed pink.

“I’m gonna cum, doll,” he stroked his cock, pulling your head back, “Take off your nightie,” he ordered and you slipped the straps off, exposing your breasts to him.

“Daddy,” you huffed, jutting your lower lip out, trying to get a hold of his dick because you wanted to finish him off but he swatted you away with his other hand.

“Don’t pout, honey, daddy’s gonna give you a nice pearl necklace as a thank you,” his head fell back against his pillow, his balls tightening as spurts of his hot cum landed all over your chest and breasts.

“It’s pretty,” you giggled, swirling his cum around, maybe you liked this better than swallowing him down, it was as if he was marking his territory. “I belong to you now,” you lay to his side, putting your head over his chest to listen to his heart beat, which seemed to be calming down now.

“You’ve always belong to me,” he tutted, his hand back in your panties, spreading your weeping petals.

You moaned, grinding against his palm, arching your back when his palm brushes against your sensitive clit.

“Not now, sweetheart,” he cruelly took his hand away as you slapped his chest in frustration. He growled, “You best watch yourself, honey, I still have enough time to teach you a lesson,” he threatened, delivering a harsh slap to your ass.

You yelped, holding onto his pectoral and giggling.

“What’s so funny?” he wanted to know.

“They’ve made today a holiday! Because of a snowstorm that’s supposed to come tonight. So you can stay in bed all day!” you squealed, pecking his lips before nuzzling your nose against his soft beard.

“I’ll still have to work from home, sweetheart. But that’s good, because now I get to,” he flipped you so you were under him, looking at his spend on your chest with a heated gaze “Teach you a lesson. And some manners. Waking me up with such ill intent...”

***

You were snuggled up with a warm blanket on your couch, sitting up on a fluffy pillow because your ass was still sore from the ‘punishment’ Andy gave you that morning, a nice warm hot chocolate in hand with plenty of marshmallows.

You had dropped one off to Andy in his home office as well, with no marshmallows because he was no fun sometimes, hoping to maybe get some more action even though your pussy was still sore but he was too busy.

He promised to give you all the love and attention the whole week of holidays - starting tomorrow.

You had already decorated your entire home at the beginning of November, since you were a Christmas fanatic, and already cooked up a nice chicken roast and some fudge cake for dinner, there was nothing else to do.

You thought of maybe bothering Andy again but he’d just shoo you away like he did before.

You giggled as you felt a familiar pair of hands covering your eyes, “Is it Santa?” you tried to guess.

“Ho ho, it is!” he tried his best to speak in a deeper voice as you both laughed, “And I’ve got a treat for you!”

“But it’s not Christmas yet!” you squealed. Already excited to see what present he had for you. “Is it an ice cream cake? Or a new stuffie?”

Since you had not so subtly hinted at wanting a stuffed unicorn and rolled your eyes when he said you already have too many. As if anyone can have too many stuffies.

“Something much better,” he removed his hands, handing you a turquoise box and sitting next to you.

“From Tiffany’s?!” you screamed, opening it hastily, “oh my god, these are beautiful,” you marvelled at the ivory pearls, touching them hesitantly, they were the perfect size for you.

“I got some earrings to go with it too but you’ll have to wait till Christmas for them,” he took the necklace out of the box and worked on clasping it around your neck. Smiling fondly as they sat so beautifully on your neck, “Money well spent.”

“Thank you so so much,” you smothered his cheeks and his face with sloppy kisses, “I don’t have such a nice gift for you though.”

“You being here is gift enough, honey. I’m done with my work now and all yours,” he watched as your face lit up. His heart warm and excited to spend the holiday with his wife in his warm cosy home.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated❤❤

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to join my taglist or follow @donutloverxoalerts and turn on notifications!

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

[cybernaght]

The Rebel/叛逆者: A Review of Sorts

After being only semi-invested in the Rebel, I ended up getting so into it in the final weeks of its release, I’ve shelled out on IQIYI premium just to get the final couple of episodes a few days earlier.

That’s right kids, it’s a Review of Sorts. Unfortunately, I could not find a translation of the novella the drama is based on, so will be looking at it as a separate entity. 

Most of this post is spoiler-free, however I have dedicated a few paragraphs at the end of it to discussing the final episode, as there are a few specific things about it I wanted to mention. There is a clear spoiler warning before that part.

If you don’t want to risk it, TL;DR version of this review goes something like this: Rebel is very decent, and positively one of the best things that I have seen to come out of China since I’ve jumped into that particular rabbit hole. It’s pretty well written, it’s very beautifully dressed and shot, and the cast is killing it. I thought it dropped the ball a little in post production, and I did not always love the pacing. Other than that, it’s incredibly decent, and well worth watching, unless communist propaganda really irks you, in which case stay very well away. 

I have been having many conversations with @supernovasimplicity​ all the way through watching this drama, so there are likely to be some thoughts here that are influenced by those. 

The story centers around Lin Nansheng, a struggling servicemen in the Guomingdang party. He has a great analytical mind, and absolutely no emotional capacity for his job. He has trouble handling violence, he is impulsive, he cannot speak to his superiors without bursting into tears, and has nothing even remotely resembling a poker face. And that is what makes this drama as enjoyable as it is. 

I don’t think Lin Nansheng’s journey would have been nearly as exciting had he started it from a place of competence. He botches up everything he touches because his big brain switches off the moment his emotions kick in. And so, when you see him grow in confidence, learn to control himself, learn to fake his smiles and compliments, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. It also makes Lin Nansheng very likeable as a character for reasons other than Zhu Yilong’s ability to look like a bush baby.

It did take me a while to feel fully engaged with his performance - not because there is anything lacking in it, but just because it’s hard to be truly surprised by his choices after the exposure I have given myself to his work. That said, at about a half-way point I got charmed by him anyway, and there were quite a few scenes that were truly mesmerising. There were scenes where he broke out of the familiar mould of big unguarded eyes and fluttering wet eyelashes, and tried something that was not pretty: every time to a great success. I am hoping to see more of that in his future work. 

I really wanted to like the female lead, Zhu Yizhen, but unfortunately both the way she was written and the way she was performed by Tong Yao left me somewhat cold. It did not help of course that the screenplay ended up sidelining her at every turn, leaving her with very little personal agency. She was set up so interestingly, but in the end her sole purpose became being someone for Lin Nansheng to pine over. It is particularly curious from a perspective of meta storytelling: seeing how this is all centered around superiority of communism, which as a whole was, arguably, ahead of its time in the matters of binary gender equality.

The ensemble cast of the drama is stunning. Wang Yang came very close to  stealing the show at several points as Chen Moqun, somehow managing to make his rather unlikeable character interesting. I can say the same thing about Zhu Zhu who absolutely shined as Lin Xinjie, showing an incredible range and imagination in her performance.

The overarching story of the show is engaging, with some incredibly suspenseful elements; every narrative arc including a nice progression through it. As spy thrillers go, it was fairly well plotted. You could if you go looking for a few things that did not pay off in a satisfying way (notably, the Chekhov’s cyanide capsule), but you overall the story really was well told for the most of it. 

I did, however, feel like the pacing started to fall apart in the last quarter of the drama. Last episode in particular really did feel rushed, not just due to its pace, but also in a way it failed to pay off the final mission in any visible way. There will be more on that in the spoiler section of this post.

Important to note that The Rebel is a show made in Communist China in the year 2021. It does not ideologically side-step from the path that was laid out for it by that fact. Which is to say, it is, undeniably, filled with propaganda. Communists are the good guys, and if you think a good guy (or gal) is not a communist, they probably secretly are. With one exception of a friendly character who is not a communist, and whose fate we actually never find out. Curious, that. 

The Rebel is not a kind of a show where censorship-appeasing scenes are shoehorned in. It’s a kind of a show in which the main theme is Sacrifice For the Party.

Aside from the being the moral vector of the show, Mao’s gentle teachings explicitly help get Ling Nansheng out of prolonged depression following his injury, and almost annoyingly, this sat incredibly well with the character, as he was written. Lin Nansheng is conceived as this naive idealist who wants to be on the front line, who needs validation and support of others. His - and I can’t believe I’m saying this - his being disillusioned in his beliefs and choosing to join a party which includes people whom he likes and trusts makes sense. Him finding this one thing that gives him hope and letting it propel him into gaining confidence and competence makes sense. 

In many ways, the Rebel is a story of Lin Nansheng’s failure to become an antagonist within the world of the drama.

I have honestly spent this past couple of weeks pondering whether being well written makes political propaganda better or worse, whether the subtlety of it makes it more or less palatable, whether it’s enough, as a viewer, to be aware of it to shrug it off. Ultimately, this is not something I could or should make moral judgements on, but I do believe that it’s possible to acknowledge the fact that propaganda exists in the drama, and still appreciate it for a good piece of television that it is. 

That said, I am very well aware that me being kind of okay with it stems entirely from my own removal from the culture this is made in, and I am, perhaps, lucky to even have a choice as to whether I want to engage with a product which is, undoubtably, here to dress political ideology in fancy clothes.

I have, on the other hand, also seen many things in Russian media of the “Annexation of Crimea is Good Actually” variety and those make me feel very unwell, so feeling somewhat at ease with blatant political propaganda in Chinese media makes me the biggest hypocrite.

But, I digress.

Before we go into some specific plot-related things, I would like to mention that the Rebel has this weird dichotomy in which the production is sublime, and the post-production… not so much. The show very well shot. Every element of it sits perfectly together, not a single prop out of place, not a single extra underdressed, not a page of script not put to good use. It’s lit to perfection. It’s scored beautifully. So much of this show is just stunning.

And then… there is post-production. 

This is not even about bad CGI (and the CGI is, indeed, bad), it’s just that most of post-production as a whole feels rushed.

Starting with surprisingly imperfect editing, which at times just fails to make the scene flow together. The final line of dialogue would be spoken within a scene, and it would fade to black instantly without a single breath to indicate a full stop. A montage sequence would be created, but every shot within it condensed to a second, making it feel incredibly fast-paced when the effect should be the opposite. There would be a cut away from a speaking character and to the same speaking character from a slightly different angle, making it dynamic without any reason to do so. There are a couple of truly startling jump-cuts.

I did not speed this gif up. This is part of a romantic montage, edited like it’s a goddamn action sequence.

And of course dear old friend slowing down footage shot at 24FPS. Please don’t do this. You think no one notices - but we do.

There are other tell-tale signs of production rushing to the finish line: occasional, but very noticeable ADR glitches, very sloppy job done at sound mixing, which contribute to parts of the show feeling ever so slightly off.

It’s not unforgivable, but it does make me wish the same amount of care and efforts that went into shooting this drama would also go into it after it was all in the can. 

Oh, and just because if you know me you know I have a professional fixation on fights, and I am happy to say most action scenes are toe-curlingly delightful. Hot damn those fights are good. I am absolutely in love with the shot below, for example. Placing an actor behind a piece of set so he can exchange places with the stunt double during a one shot is such an old trick, but the execution, timing and camerawork are just... flawless. This is what perfection looks like.

Now we got all that out of the way...

SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE BELOW

Here’s the thing. I wanted to love the ending and I found that I could not.

The final mission was presented as important, and honestly the scene in which Zhu Yizhen is sending the vital message out as Lin Nansheng holds his ground in hand to hand fight is incredibly dynamic. Party, this is due to the fight itself being incredibly well choreographed, yes, but it’s also where it sits within the narrative, how high the stakes are for everything surrounding it. 

But then, the tension all but bleeds out. The Important Message is sent, the fight is won, and we are treated to ten minutes of a very slow car chase, problem of which is not even its speed as much as its placing within the story. As in, by this point both of those operatives have lost their cover, and completed their Very Important Mission. It would be very sad if they died, but their survival does not technically contribute to their cause. Moreover, Zhu Yizhen getting mortally injured in order to protect Lin Nansheng as part of her mission read a little empty when the mission is technically over. 

While I personally found Lin Nansheng slow recuperation and his low key ending enjoyable, I think I would have preferred to have seen a more tangible pay-off to all the sacrifices made in the name of “bright communist future”, just a little more justification for every moment of death and despair we witnessed. I would have certainly at the very least preferred to see Wang Shi’an’s death on screen. Considering how many likeable characters martyred themselves on screen, denying us the death of the one antagonist just seemed cruel. 

I really did love the ambiguity of the final few scenes however, if we consider the children choir at the end a fantasy. The idea that Lin Nansheng will live out his life in this hope that Zhu Yizhen is still alive, imagining her just outside of his field of vision, his only joy being in this fantasy of her… now, that is incredibly strong. I equally like the idea of rest being promised to him at the end of his journey, and said rest being painful, and slow and unwelcome.

But it felt like as they chose not to to lean into the “sweet” part of the bitter-sweet tone of the ending and we’re unable not commit to the “bitter” part either, so it lands with a splat which is somewhat lacklustre. 

---

This concludes my thoughts on the Rebel. 

I am more or less out of Zhu Yilong’s filmography to watch, which is probably a good thing at this point. I have just emerged out of several back to back work projects - literally today - and will hopefully once more have time for things I grew to enjoy doing during the lockdown. 

Those things, if you have not guessed, include watching Chinese television and writing things about Chinese television. 

[oreosmama]

Volleyball on the Brain (Kageyama x Reader/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: In a world where soulmate’s thoughts are written on their other half’s hand, your soulmate always has the same thing on his mind every day: volleyball and the occasional dumbass ginger.

A/N: Thank you so much for 300 followers! Like holy crap, that’s amazing how fast that happened, so thanks again you guys! Here’s the celebration fic, but I’m pre-sorry bc it’s not as good as I hoped it would be. I’m sorry, but I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3076

        Ever since you hit the age of puberty and soulmarks, your soulmate only had one thing on his mind: volleyball. Almost every single one of his thoughts revolved around the sport.

        ‘Did I set that right?’

        ‘Will Oikawa help me learn how to serve?’

        ‘Why didn’t Kindaichi go for my set?’

        ‘I’m not leaving this court.’

        It’s been driving you insane since you were in middle school. But lately, ever since you started at Karasuno, they’ve become… calmer in a way, with the addition of a new “Hinata.”

        ‘Damn, carrot top actually reached that set!’

        ‘That red headed idiot actually beat me in a race! I won’t let it happen again!’

        ‘Hinata, that idiot. He seriously served it right into the back of my head! I’m gonna teach that dumbass a lesson.’

        Every new thought he had drew itself in his own sloppy writing on your left hand. They ran over the back and in the middle of your palm, each new addition darker and bolder than the last, while the oldest faded away to make room for more. 

        At the moment, you inspect the freshest mark on your hand before a kind voice interrupts you.

        “Hey YN! Whatcha doin’?” Yamaguchi, one of the only friends you’ve made since you first began high school, approaches your desk with some pep in his step. He waves at you shyly and you smile. 

        “Just lost in thought,” you respond absentmindedly. You stare back down at your palm, watching a new, more vulgar phrase take the place of a previous thought about yogurt. 

        “That’s what your soulmate is thinking, right?” You nod. “What does it say?” With a huff, you run a finger over the words. 

        “They’re still talking about this redheaded weirdo. It’s so stupid!” 

        “Oh really?” A smug voice pipes up behind Yamaguchi. “Can I take a look?”

        “Sure, go ahead.” You twist in your seat and hold out your hand to Tsukishima, who doesn’t care enough to flip it and read others. The one on your palm seems to satisfy him enough. 

        “Interesting,” he mutters with a smirk. You throw a confused glance at him before the school bell lets out a chime to bust your eardrums. 

        “What do you mean ‘interesting’?” Tsukishima shrugs away the question before exiting your class and Yamaguchi gives him a wave, taking his seat next to you. 

        “Do you know what he meant?” you lean over and raise an eyebrow at your companion, but he only waves it away dismissively.

        “Don’t mind Tsukki, he’s always aloof like that. It’s better to just ignore it.” Yamaguchi’s attempts to reassure you doesn’t stray your mind from the initial problem.

        Does he know something?

                                ~~~

        “YN, you’re up.” The teacher waved the slip of paper with your name on it like a surrender flag. It was public humiliation day, and you were the first to go. Wonderful. At least you could get your presentation over with quickly, but that wasn’t what really gave you anxiety. It was him. At any given moment, your hand could whip out a cuss faster than a bullet and you couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. 

        “Okay,” you accept your fate and the risks it provides, ambling your way up to the front of the class with note cards written nonsensically. Curse my chicken scratch.

        “Umm, so my presentation is about-” a snort echoes about the room, followed by a few more snickers, and lastly a gasp from your teacher. 

        “YN!” she whispers your name oh-so discreetly in front of the group of students. “Your hand!” The words are scandalized, like you had slapped her with your glove and declared a duel. 

        “Whatever do you mean?” You stay wide-eyed innocent and purse your lips in confusion. How long can I play this before she excuses me? 

        “Please take this pass and go to the office for a glove,” Bingo. “You’ll have to present tomorrow.” Rescind the Bingo.

        With a grumble, you snag the germ-infested pass and exit the room. It’s on your journey down the hall that you glance down at the word on the back of your hand.

        ‘FUCK!’ it says, capital letters and all. It covers the entire spanse of skin too, written sideways and reaching all the way up to your wrist. 

        “What the hell did he do?” You shake your head frustratedly while stepping into the main office. 

        “Excuse me?” There’s only one person bumbling around the room, and it’s a younger member of staff who flinches and pushes up his glasses at the sight of you.

        “Yes? Did you need something?” You enter the cramped space and hold up your hand, squinting to see the ID card reading “Takeda.” He tenses at the word before nodding solemnly.

        “I understand, let me find a glove for you.” Everyone is now used to the idea that soulmates can have profane thoughts more often than not, so it’s not uncommon for someone to wear a glove on their left hand to hide this.

        “Aha!” “Takeda” is crouched behind a desk but waves around the hopefully unused glove he found victoriously. “I got one!”

        “Oh, thank you,” you say, approaching him and extending a hand to accept it.

        “Of...course…” his voice trails off as he reads the words on the palm of your hand.

        ‘Hinata, the dumbass. He can’t receive for shit.’

        You laugh awkwardly and hide the words behind your back. “Sorry, he’s always thinking stuff like that.” The faculty advisor nods slowly, but pulls the glove just out of reach as you go for it.

        “O-on second thought,” he mumbles, ears growing pink, “t-this is unacceptable.” 

        “Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes at him and raise an eyebrow. What the hell is he talking about?

        Takeda clears his throat and glances at the ceiling. “You should know by now to cover your hand with a glove, especially if your soulmate has been thinking this way during your school hours.” What the fuck?!

        “I can’t control his thoughts, you know!” You sneer at him and cross your arms.

        “Y-yes but this is unacceptable,” his tone loses its nerve but he continues. “I may have to give you detention.”

        “What?! Why?!” 

        “Unless you’re willing to volunteer at our boys’ volleyball game tonight. We could use some point-watchers.” 

        “Hell no,” you seethe, eyes burning with rage. 

        “An hour of detention or helping out at the game tonight, your call.” The staff member wasn’t cruel or mischievous through any of this. In fact, he seemed almost happy, like a father who had just bought his child a puppy for Christmas. Even so, this doesn’t quench your thirst for blood.

        “Fine,” you clench your teeth together and roll your eyes, giving in to his stupid rule, “I’ll help at the game.” At least you didn’t have anything going on tonight.

        “Wonderful!” Takeda smiles at you gratefully and nods his head, handing you the glove before dismissing you. 

        “School is so fucking stupid,” you hiss on your way back to class, snapping the rubber glove indignantly up your forearm.

                                ~~~

        Set one, thirteen points to five. Or was it six? Oops.

        So it turns out you weren’t doing very well at your mandatory volunteering job. Imagine that. While most of you wanted to blame it on the fact that you had been unwilling in the first place, a small part of you thought, no, knew that it was the blueberry on the court.

        “Nice set, Kageyama!” A third year smacked your eyes’ favorite person on the back. You assumed it was the team captain who did this, and you assumed he had just spiked the ball and earned a point. 

        “YN, flip the card over,” the blonde girl, Yachi was her name, urged you with wide eyes. 

        “Right, right, sorry.” You bite your lip and flip it over before returning your gaze to the court. He seemed to have an attitude problem, and hot damn if that wasn’t your favorite type of man. 

        “There’s something wrong with me,” you whisper, glancing back down at your hand guiltily. You couldn’t help it; “Kageyama” was just so pretty! I love him- whoa, where did that come from? Shaking your head for clarity, you read the words on your palm to avoid eye-fucking him for a couple more seconds. 

        ‘That blocker’s not jumping very high. I’ll have Hinata spike it directly forward and over his fingers.’ 

        You smile fondly before returning your gaze to the game. Still thinking about volleyball, huh? I guess we’ll have something in common for once. 

        The redhead of the team charges forward just as Kageyama tosses up the ball. The shorter male jumps high enough to make you blanch while he slams the ball to the ground, just brushing a blocker’s fingertips. 

        “Whoa,” you flip over the card while gazing in awe at the court. “Yachi, what’s that little guy’s name? The one who just spiked the ball?”

        “Ooh, that’s Hinata! He’s amazing at jumping, and he’s really fast too!” The blonde hops up and down excitedly.

        “Yeah, you’re right!” you admit breathlessly. “That was-” Hinata. “-amazing….” Hinata. His name is… Hinata? Oh. 

        “YN!” A hand waves in front of your face frantically. “Pay attention before you get smacked in the face! Trust me, it’s terrifying.” She shivers beside you while you try to breathe properly. Oh my God. It’s him. It’s the blueberry. 

        On the court, Kageyama fist pumps to himself and Hinata copies the action, both yelling heatedly at the point. 

        “Shut up, you two!” Daichi smacks them both on the back of the head and they switch off like a light, repositioning for the next serve. Just as he wipes away a bead of sweat rolling down his face, Kageyama’s eyes catch on something. Her thoughts.

        ‘His name is Hinata?’

        ‘Oh my God. It’s him. It’s the blueberry.’ Did she… find me? He shook his head, trying not to take it to heart before more words, almost indecipherable, scrawl themselves on his hand.

        ‘That Kageyama guy is my soulmate.’ Holy shit. She knows! 

        “Kageyama! Block it, now!” A shout coming from Sugawara on the sidelines causes him to jump into action. Except he got a little too excited.

        “Ooh.” The crowd and players all share the same grimace at the faceshot Karasuno’s first year setter has just taken. He got the point, though.

       You flinch at the sight of Kageyama taking a hefty spike to his pretty mug. A collective gasp arises from the fans and his teammates surround him, inspecting the damage. A coach jogs out onto the court to do the same, and it’s around that time that your gut tries to tell you something.

        Go over there! Umm, how about no? Just do it! You’re not Nike, shut up!

        “Man, I hope he’s okay. Kageyama’s always been tough, but that was a hard hit!” Yachi anxiously bounces on her toes beside you with worry in her eyes.

        “Do you think he’ll be able to keep playing?” you ask, watching as the other female manager hands him a rag for his nose bleed! When did that happen?!

        “I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll have to pull him, if only to take him to the infirmary.” You swallow nervously at her response. The urge in your chest to run out there just got a whole lot stronger.

        Go! No. Go! No. Go out there, YN! All right, fine!

        You bound your way over to the scene. It’s a nervous sprint on your tippy toes, so you wouldn’t be surprised if you resembled a two-legged gazelle prancing along the court.

        “We need to take you to the nurse, just for a checkup.” The closer you get, the better you hear them.

        “No, I’m fine.” The gruff voice makes your heart skip a beat. Oh wowww. Hello there.

        “I-I can take him.” You step up behind a shorter player- Hinata- and speak up. The ginger jumps in fright at your sudden voice. 

        “I don’t mean this to be rude in any way, but who are you?” The captain of the team, an intimidating brunet, regards you curiously and a little defensively. You don’t take it to heart right now, but maybe you can spare a couple hours of sleep tomorrow to dwell on it.

        “I’m really sorry to intrude, but, I mean, I can take him to the nurse’s office so nobody kind of essential has to leave.” You shrug and suddenly realize how half-baked your plan actually was. Little too late now. Kageyama watches you suspiciously from inside the circle of people.

        “I agree,” a squeaky voice adds. It’s Takeda! “YN can take him to the nurse real quick. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Right, YN?” He gives you a pointed look.

        “Yep,” you nod slowly. What is he doing?

        “Ughh, whatever, let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Kageyama pushes past the crowd, including you, and walks towards the gym doors. With a head nod from Takeda, you take the cue and hustle after him, joining him in the silent hallway.

        “Hi.” You want to slap yourself silly.

        “Umm, hi?” He gives you a weird look but continues on his trek, nose now dry of blood and soiled rag held by his side. A tuft of dark hair almost covers his heart-stirring blue eyes, but you're thankful it doesn’t. God, he’s so pretty. How’d I catch this? The thought reminds you of the main reason you were out here with him.

        With a deep breath, you snag his arm and halt his movements. Kageyama grows confused and impatient with you, but you try not to let it deter you. 

        “I know this is weird,” you avoid his gaze, but his attention still gives you butterflies, “but can I do something for a second?” His eyebrows rose.

        “Like what?” I think you’re my soulmate. You grab his hand and hold it up to his face, clenching your eyes shut and bracing for his reaction. 

        It’s deafeningly quiet. All before a single “Huh.” 

        Huh? Huh?! What, did you find an Easter egg or something? What does “Huh” mean? For a split second, you forgot he could read your thoughts. A deep chuckle breaks out between his lips.

        “It means I found you. And I’m okay with that.” You open your eyes if only to glare at him. 

        “Oh, you’re okay with that? Thank God, I’m so glad you’re okay with that. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t-” your breath hitches when he palms your cheek. “-okay… with… that.” The words die off your tongue and you wait. His pupils are dilated, so you wait. His palm is so rough, but still warm and tender against your cheek, so you wait... for nothing apparently. 

        “I think…”

        “Yeah?”

        “I think we should find the nurse’s office. My game’s still going on, and it’s going on without me. That’s a problem.” You snort at him, shaking your head exasperatedly before grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers.

        “I should’ve figured you’d be just like your thoughts.” You lead him to the infirmary, but his long strides easily catch up to yours.

        “What’s that supposed to mean?” He suddenly grows loud and offended. Oh man, you are going to have so much fun teasing him.

        “Nothing bad. Now that I’ve met you, I guess it’s kind of admirable that you think about volleyball so much.” His hand squeezes yours at the words and your chest grows tight with joy.

        “Thanks, I guess.” A flush creeps up his face and you chuckle at the sight, inching closer to his side.

        “Of course.”

                                ~~~

        Well, Kageyama didn’t damage anything serious, but his nose is a little purple from the hard hit. The game is won by a landslide, and he offers to walk you home, a chance at which you jump furiously. 

        “You played amazing tonight.” You smile up at him and he hesitantly returns the gesture. Through another hand squeeze, you infer that your soulmate is more into physically showing his love than any other way. With a returned hand squeeze of your own, you infer that you’re going to be totally okay with that.

        “Thank you. I just wish that dumbass Hinata had-” Your eyes widen and you swiftly press a finger to his lips. 

        “Nope!” His face grows visibly confused. “Nope.”

        “‘Nope’ what?” He asks against your finger. You try not to let your eyes roll back at the feeling. It’s not much, but you figure it’s the closest you’ll get to his lips touching your body tonight. Not that you mind that! You’re totally fine with it! It’s just that, you know, he’s fucking drool-worthy. And he’s all yours.

        Kageyama glances down at a watch he doesn’t have and gulps at the sight. Then he draws up his blown-out pupils to meet yours. “Thanks,” he repeats. “I think you’re pretty hot yourself.” He licks his lips and you follow the action dutifully. “And you’re all mine too.”

        Yep, you were gonna die. Your heart couldn’t handle an attack like this, so you worm your hand out of his grip and start to giggle like a maniac while cupping your burning cheeks. “Why,” you laugh your way through the question, “did you have to say that?” It ends in a high-pitched squeak that causes him to flinch.

        “I’m sorry, was that too forward?” No. More please. “I’ll take it back-”

        “Don’t!” You shake your head rapidly and hold your hands out to stop him. “Please don’t ever take anything like that back, please. I’m gonna need it for my sanity.” Confusion washes over his face for a split second before he nods slowly, glancing down at his left palm just in case. 

        “Okay, I won’t.” You nod affirmingly and grasp his hand again, leading him on the right path to your house. 

        “I just have one question.”

        “Shoot.”

        “Do I really look like a blueberry?”

[twstarchives]

Sebek Zigvolt・Voice Lines

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Get to class now! You’re wasting time.”

Groovy “Someday I ought to teach you how you’re supposed to behave towards your superiors.”

Home Setting “I take close care of my appearance.”

Home Transitions “I was miraculously able to enroll at the same school as the Young Master. I’d like to watch his growing success from as close-up as possible.”

“I’m hungry... The bread from the school store isn’t filling at all. I want more meat.”

“I joined the horse-riding club because I thought it’d be wise to pick up practical activities. All knights should be able to ride a horse.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “To make sure that you’re not a threat to the Young Master, I’ve decided to observe you all day today. Don’t run out of sight.”

Home Taps “Styling my hair every morning is a chore, but I never want the Young Master to see me looking sloppy.”

“Silver is the only person I know in the Valley of Thorns from the same generation as me. ‘My friend’...? As if I’d call him a friend!” 

“The Young Master is also taking classes here. It’s 1000 years too early for us to be skipping them!!”

“I have a loud voice? What are you saying? Your voice is just too quiet!!”

“Are you trying to play tag? I’ve long since outgrown childish games like that.”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “As if I’d lose any contest! The training all of you have done is nothing compared to mine!”

Groovy “Want me to tell you my training routine? Only if you can keep up.”

Home Setting “Let me take you on.”

Home Transitions “To improve yourself, you need to eat well, work well, sleep well, and play hard! ...That’s what Master Lilia taught me.”

“I train so that I can be the Young Master’s sword and shield whenever he needs me.”

“I heard we’re having a long-distance race for our next PE class. I’m better at short-distance, though... No. You aren’t a guard without good stamina.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Why is your back hunched over like that? You look sloppy! Stick out your chest and fix that posture!”

Home Taps “Whenever I go to practice for the horse-riding club, the horses always get scared of me. I’m not going to eat them or anything. They’re so skittish.”

“Being left-handed often comes in handy when I’m sparring. But no matter which hand I use, my victories will always be in the name of the Young Master.”

“There’s no point in training without a reason. It’s important to me that I gain power to protect the Young Master.”

“Don’t waste your breath. All that matters while you’re training is willpower, persistence, and a fighting spirit!! That’s it!”

“You want to play soccer together? ...Alright. I certainly have no plans of losing to a human.”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “Your appearance reflects who you are inside. I won’t let a single wrinkle to pass.”

Groovy “You want to study with me? Very well. Show me what you’ve got.”

Home Setting “I don’t have any blind spots in today’s class either.”

Home Transitions “I’ll get the highest score on our next test. And then the Young Master will praise me...!”

“The environment in the greenhouse is just amazing. It’s warm, humid, and so easy to relax in there.”

“I learned everything that was covered in our lesson last period when I was in middle school. Education in the Valley of Thorns was very intensive.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “The most I’ll do is give you a few hints for your assignment. I’d rather not be dragged down during our joint class.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “You look exhausted. I’ll share some tips with you on how to remain focused.”

Home Taps “I’m very good at solving both numerical and chemical equations. But there’s never a need to use cheap tricks like that when the Young Master is around. Heheh.”

“Do you have any Awakening Potions? I want to try making Silver drink an entire bucket full.”

“Master Lilia gave me this drink. He said it’s an excellent beverage that lets you take in your meat, fish, fruits, and vegetables all at once!”

“I’m not good at art, since it’s so subjective. Subjects where the solutions are very clear is more my speed.”

“Stop tugging at my clothes. I can’t appear in front of the Young Master looking indecent!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Could you recommend a book for me? I’ll try reading it tonight.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “The Young Master would never get upset over something as minor as a school assembly.”

Groovy “Hmph. Even you look befitting today.”

Home Setting “I don’t want to see the Young Master look so dejected...”

Home Transitions “As if I’d ever feel nervous at a school event of all things! Festivals in the Valley of Thorns are so much grander than this.”

“Have you seen the Young Master anywhere? I haven’t been able to reach him in a while. ...Don’t tell me he— ...Again?”

“It’s not worth having a ceremony if the Young Master isn’t participating. They should just stop it midway through.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “YOUNG MAAAASTER!! Where did you go...? Oh, perfect timing. Come look for the Young Master with me.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Grim was causing a ruckus again. I swear, I can’t believe how much of a pig he is. ...What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Home Taps “Before coming to this academy, I spent an entire year dedicating myself to my studies. I did it because I had faith I’d be able to get into this school too.”

“No matter how alert you think you are, Master Lilia will always find a way to sneak behind you. Oh, see? Turn around.”

“I feel like I’ve gotten taller again lately. These robes might even end up being too small for me.”

“Do I look okay? Nothing’s out of place? It’s fine if I appear in front of the Young Master like this, right..? ...Oi, are you even listening to me?”

“Stop with that mumbling. If you want to say something then say it loud and clear!!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “The Young Master’s ideas are so grand. Sometimes, I can’t even begin to understand them. That’s why I admire him so much.”

Birthday Celebration Outfit - SSR

This card was only obtainable during Sebek’s birthday event (Mar 15 - Mar 21, 2021).

Login on Birthday “Human, have you come to give me a birthday present? I see... Thank you! I was just giving the Young Master my gratitude earlier as well. I am the luckiest man at this school!”

Unlock Card “No matter if it’s my birthday, I’m not going to abandon my duties as a guard or stop being vigilant!”

“I-I never thought I’d be able to receive a birthday blessing from the Young Master... How lucky am I!!”

Groovy “Despite being a human, you’re celebrating to make me happy... I’ve improved my opinion of you, just a little. J-Just a little!”

Home Setting “Alright! I think I can still perfectly carry out my guard duties in this outfit.”

Home Transitions “This cutlery and tableware is placed in the wrong order. Did you not know I’m left-handed? You didn’t do enough research beforehand!”

“Lilia told me that ‘a sound soul lives in a trained body.’ I must not forgo my training, even on my birthday.”

“My magic manifested at a late age. When I was little, I always wanted to be like my older brother and sister, who could magically light the candles on a cake.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “I’ve gone hungry all day to get ready for this party. I only had three servings for lunch!”

Home Transition (Groovy) “I-I lost again... This may be a party game, but I can’t stand to keep losing to the likes of a human! One more round!”

Home Taps “Azul told me ‘I heard you liked Magical Analysis’ and gave me a rare book on it... but I feel like he wants something big in return.”

“Riddle gave me a special horseback riding lesson. You don’t often get a chance like that. I’ll remember it as a fond birthday memory.”

“Silver, that bastard! He gave me dumbbells as a gift! That can’t mean anything but him thinking my training isn’t enough!”

“Epel gave me a fruit carving of the Young Master. It’s an incredible piece of work... but there’s no way I could bring myself to eat it!”

“I-I hear an explosion!? What’s happening!? ...Oh, you’re popping party poppers? It’s so loud! You know you’re bothering the people around you!!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Here, I went and got you ten plates of food. ...You’re good with just one? Heh! I know you’re a human, but you eat so little.”

Duo Magic Sebek: “Let me thank you for your blessings, Cater!!!” Cater: “HBD, Sebek-kins~!”

Tutorial “Follow me, human! Make sure you commit the grand sight of the Young Master to memory.”

Lv Up “Did you see that!? Look at the progress I made!”

“I’ll be able to take even more action now with this!”

“Mm. Not bad.”

Max Lv Up “Maybe now I’ve turned into a man who can gain just a little of the Young Master’s approval. ...No, I shouldn’t act conceited. I need to get rid of these thoughts and focus on keeping myself devoted. Let’s go!”

Episode Lv Up “I always viewed you as nothing but a meager human, and yet you’ve become someone I rely on so much... You’re just always surprising me.”

Magic Lv Up “This power...! Young Master! Did you see that just now!? Wait... He’s not here. Kgh. That must mean this still isn’t enough...!”

Limit Break “I need to get even bigger, smarter, and stronger to be a proper servant for the Young Master!”

Groovy “I’m feeling happy and energized! This really does feel nice. Make sure you never forget all this success I’ve made!”

Lesson Select “Human! I decided to take a class with you today. Which one do you want? Hurry up and pick.”

“What? You look so nervous. Isn’t the point of classes you’re weak in to be a challenge for you?”

“Master Lilia taught me that your classes are just another part of your training. I’m not going to slack off in any of my subjects.”

Lesson Start “Let’s give today our all!”

Lesson End “Knowledge enriches the body and soul! Let’s work hard next time too!”

Battle Start “I’ll swallow you whole!”

Battle End “This win is for our king!”

Other

Profile Quote “Don’t even think that you can come close to the great Lord Malleus Draconia, lowly human!”

January 2020 Trailer “Are you a new student too? Take utmost care not to be rude to the Young Master.”

Countdown Poster “Meager humans ought to bow down before the Young Master.”

Login Bonus “Hmph! You’re pretty capable for a human. But I don’t go a single day without training myself.”

Player Birthday Wish “What are you doing here? On your birthday, you’re supposed to eat your favorite food, sing, and celebrate. You didn’t even know that…? Very well, then. I’ll teach you how to spend your birthday the right way!”

Magic History

Good ★

“Come at me anytime!”

“I’m... not tired!”

“Humans are so shallow.”

“I learned a lot from this.”

“The Young Master is even more incredible.”

“Cat! Shut up!”

“Serve the king.”

“The Young Master will make history.”

“Silver’s asleep?”

Great ★★

“I want to get closer to the Young Master.”

“Fascinating...”

“Piece of cake!”

Perfect ★★★

“Easy.”

“I have no business with weaklings.”

“Don’t make light of me, human.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“My answer is this!”

“How old is the Headmaster...?”

“I won’t let you disturb me!”

Flying

Good ★

“It’s a beautiful morning.”

“I’m not letting Silver win.”

“I’m not scared of getting hurt.”

“I can’t turn smoothly.”

“Trust me on my speed!”

“My stomach growled.”

“I respect our coach’s stamina.”

“Take control of your problems...”

“I’m going to master this.”

Great ★★

“Oh...! Young Master!”

“I feel like jumping for joy!”

“I’m never off my guard.”

Perfect ★★★

“No one can catch up to me!”

“All right!”

“You want to challenge me?”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Headmaster, what do you need?”

“Don’t stand where I’m about to go!”

“Everyone’s so slow!”

Alchemy

Good ★

“You’ve looked miserable all morning.”

“I’m keeping an eye on Master Lilia.”

“I’m very adept.”

“Let’s do this!”

“Immortality, huh...?”

“Did I get ahead of Silver?”

“That’s a gross color...”

“I’m hungry...”

“I’m not a dog!”

“Did you read the footnotes?”

“I see.”

“Humans are so greedy.”

“Gold isn’t going to satisfy me.”

“This jewel would suit the Young Master.”

“Be quiet and take your lesson!”

Great ★★

“There’s nothing I can’t eat.”

“Please praise me!”

“You think I could fail at this level?”

“Hmph. Piece of cake.”

“Gape at the power of the Valley of Thorns!”

Perfect ★★★

“Young Master, please accept this.”

“No trouble at all.”

“This is probably how the Young Master would do it.”

“What do you think? Perfect, huh?”

“You still can’t do it?”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Stay cool... and composed.”

“No one could outshine the Young Master.”

“Hm? He’s watching me.”

“I’ll get grades that won’t tarnish our dorm’s name!”

“A perfect brew.”

[takerfoxx]

Jurassic Park 4: Doki Idol Live Festival!

magic5ball submitted:

Remember how you asked me about my idea for a Jurassic Park sequel? Well, here you go:

The two velociraptors stood outside a pastel colored town house in Hokkaido prefecture, Japan. If any passerbys thought that was weird, they certainly didn’t show it. Probably because the raptors were wearing fedoras and fake mustaches, so they looked like humans. Also they had guns. Very cool, very intimidating mobster guns. A tommy gun and a sawed-off shotgun, respectively.

You needed guns, to survive Shinzo Abe’s little empire of vice and socialized medical care.

“So this is the place, huh?” muttered the velociraptor carrying the sawed-off shotgun. His thick Brooklyn accent hung in the air like concrete. “Kinda… frillier than I was expecting.”

“It better be.” Replied his companion, who sounded like your racist conservative uncle trying to impersonate that one cool guy from ‘The Godfather’ (You know, the one with the mustache who was played by Robert de Niro). “We hadda kill a whole lotta people to get this hellhole.”

Sawed-off shotgun licked his non-existent lizard lips

“But hey. That airplane stewardess tasted mighty fine goin-“

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, would ya stop thinkin’ with your stomach and help me with this f*ckin’ knob!” cried tommy gun, trying to work the doorknob best he could with his raptor claws, which, in all honesty, wasn’t much, because raptor claws are terrible at operating things meant for human fingers. Little did he know, the door was a ‘pull’, not a ‘push.

At least he didn’t have to wait long before someone unlocked the door from the other side: another velociraptor, this one a bit on the short side. And p!ssed. Very, very p!ssed. You could tell he was the cool one because he wore an eyepatch over one eye. An eyepatch with a Captain Underpants logo on it.

“Didn’t your parent’s ever teach you idiots about using the doorbell?! I was just about to enjoy lunch with my beautiful wife and you-!“

He paused, recognizing the two figures facing him.

“Well, well, well” Said tommy gun, cocking his weapon “If it isn’t SWEET JOHN HAMMOND’S BALLSACK WHAT THE F*CK AM I LOOKING AT?!”

For the cool raptor was dressed in a gothic Lolita maid outfit, complete with a bonnet and penny loafers. Under his arm he carried a human sized pillow depicting what appeared to be a blonde floozy with massive tits.

 “Oh this? This is Mami Tomoe, my beautiful wife.”

“WHAT THE F*CK!?!?” Tommy gun pulled out a flask off orange Fanta from his butthole and drank the whole thing in one go. He did NOT have time for this homosexual weeaboo nonsense! Still, he and shotgun hadn’t left a mountain of corpses the exact height and width as Mt. Fuji behind them. Too many to go back to Isla Nublar empty handed. Er, clawed. Because they were dinosaurs. Who have claws.

Shotgun took a deep breath. “What the Boss means to say is, ‘May we take refuge in this fine establishment?’”

Cool raptor opened his mouth to reveal a pistol he’d hidden there. And by hidden I mean replaced his tongue with it.

“You know, for all crap you guys used to give me in the past, I oughta pump you full of lead right here and now. Buuutttt… the lady of the house is present, and I’m not in the mood to create more work on her end. So come on in! You’re just in time for lunch.”

Lest they attract unneeded attention, the three dinosaurs hopped inside.

.   .   .

Lunch was omurice boba tea with a bottle of teriyaki sauce on the side. It was just boba tea, but the boba had been replaced by omurice because F-Bomb hated the flavor of boba, which he likened to rabbit crap. The teriyaki sauce was teriyaki sauce.

It was the most racist thing shotgun had ever eaten.

“Well, now that you jerks have gotten a taste of my sloppy seconds, I suppose some introductions are in order. You’ve already met my lovely wife” Cool raptor gestured to the body pillow seated next to him “So that leaves you two. Mami, meet A-Hole and D-Bag. A-Hole’s got the tommy gun, D-Bag is ridin’ her sawed off shotgun, as always. They’re old… acquaintances of mine.”

“He.” Corrected D-Bag. “I’ve been using he/him pronouns six months now.”

“Well that’s an improvement. Now instead of bein’ the Boss’ side B!tch literally, you’re just his b!tch figuratively!”

“Well screw you too, F-Bomb!” laughed the boss. “An’ speakin’ of screwing, what’s with the fruity get up? You a prostitute now or something?”

 “Even better! This might surprise you, but I’ve got legitimate work now. This here’s my uniform, my uniform for MILF TIDDIES!”

A-Hole chugged his entire bottle of teriyaki sauce in one go, lest his mind implode from the sheer stupidity of that sentence.

“The Hell’s a milf tiddie!?”

“Only the best freakin’ maid café in Hoikaido, hookers!”

He gestured to a wall, covered in hundreds of photos of cute floozies dressed like they were attending a vampire’s funeral. Among them was a photo of F-Bomb in his drag, serving a deep fried hot dog to some elderly Japanese dude.

“As you can see, yours truly is serving Japan’s national desert to none other than 57th Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe!”

“Hold it up. Youse been hobnobbing it with politicians?!”

“I wish! You’re thinking of Shinzo Abe, 57th Prime Minister of Japan. This guy is his twin brother. Still pretty sweet though. We DID win a Grammy for that, after all.”

A-Holes eyes bulged out of his scaly raptor head.

“YOUSE WON A GRAMMY FOR THAT?!”

“Dang right! Milf Tiddies has won sixteen Grammys since I started working there!” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. A very special piece of paper, if the six holes punched into it were any indication. “Did you know that if you win ten Grammys in a row, they give you a free orphan? That’s how the wife and I got our glorious daughter, Lil’ Nagisa!”

F-Bomb pulled a faded photo out of his wallet. A photo showing himself, his pillow wife, and a smaller body pillow of a ten-year-old moeblob wearing a Green Bay Packers cheesehead helmet.

“So youse couldn’t even conceive your own kid?” Inquired D-Bag sexily. He was munching his omurice slowly, so F-Bomb knew he was being serious.

“Are you implying I have sex with my own wife, you sick freak?! I’m a weeaboo, not some degenerate anime fanboy! Get it straight!” He instinctively cocked the pistol in his throat. It was awesome as hell.

In response, D-Bag pumped his shotgun. Loudly.

“Permission to put the sick freak out of his misery, Boss?”

“Firstly, don’t call me Boss when we’re not having anal sex. Second, no can do, my spicy lover. We need F-Bomb alive.”

F-Bomb heard all of this even though A-Hole whispered it, but he pretended not to make A-Hole feel clever.

D-Bag mumbled about how the Boss was lucky he was so mind blowing in the sack, otherwise he would have left the relationship long ago. The sack in this case being a really kinky sex dungeon. Like really kinky. So kinky even Donald Trump wouldn’t go within a mile of it. D-Bag had almost died of autoerotic asphyxiation more times than I’ve gone to the bathroom in my lifetime. That’s why he was the smartest dinosaur out of the three of them. Now where was I again?

Anyway, F-Bomb interrogated

“Alright guys, what’s the deal? I know folks who come to this socialized medical care infested hellhole, and they don’t come here just to eat omurice boba tea. You WANT me for something.”

He cocked his mouth-pistol again. Sparks flew all over the carpet, which was made of alpaca fur so it didn’t catch fire.

A-Hole scandalously kept his cool.

“It’s about Isla Nublar.”

The second those words left A-Hole’s lips, F-Bomb escorted his wife out of the kitchen, but leaned her against the kitchen door, because that’s what she would have wanted.

“Well what about it? I told ya guys, I’m done with that dump.”

“They’re puttin’ the screws on us, F-Bomb. Making us pay for eating those tourists back in the nineties.”

“And what makes you think I care? Like I said, I’m done with that place. I got a wife and kid now.”

“But F-Bomb, doesn’t the Park mean ANYTHING to ya!? What about the time we ate that park ranger that called you a girl? ‘Better than sex’ I recall you saying.”

“Nice try, but I’m not exactly in the mood to get misgendered again. Don’t you guys got any ideas that don’t involve me?”

“As a matter of fact, yours truly had this really spectacular one!”

D-Bag did a hand gesture wherein he constantly crossed his dinosaur claws across his throat rapidly in quick succession. A-Hole, being very smart, knew this meant he should continue, loudly enough so that everyone in the prefecture could hear.

“It was called ‘Trump Ballz’. We’d harvest Donald Trump’s testicles, see, and sell them to the highest bidder, so they could do whatever people do with lopped off testicles. I’m not one to judge. It was a terrific idea. I know because when I told my best friend Donald Trump about it, he said, ‘A-Hole, this is an incredible idea. Absolutely terrific! This is probably the best idea in America! You are very smart, very intelligent dinosaur! I oughta buy you a prostitute!’ Of course, we didn’t realize that Trump’s ballz don’t grow back when you lop them off. Did you know that by the way? Human testicles don’t grow back-“

F-Bomb cocked the pistol inside his throat gain, getting the Boss to shut up. This was probably the most heroic thing anyone had ever done in the history of the universe. He also asked a question:

“SO WHAT THE HECK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!”

A-Hole vomited a severed arm and a pamphlet onto the table.

“EVERYTHING, ya WEEB trash!”

The pamphlet was for something called the Doki Idol Live Fest- DILF, for short. F-Bomb was no stranger to the DILF, but they had parted ways years ago. Six, to be exact, when he had buried Nico Yazawa’s still screaming corpse by the side of the highway. And neither was he stranger to the prize.

It looked like a beer and soda drinking baseball cap, but only to complete idiots who didn’t know crap about the Idol Life.

And F-Bomb wasn’t one of those people, er dinosaurs.

“THE MCGUFFIN OF SIN?!”

“Dam* straight! And like it or not, youse the only one with enough idol know-how to help us win it! Thing’s worth, like, a zillion dollars.”

A zillion in this case was equivalent to half a million. Still, isn’t that impressive?

F-Bomb stuck his nose in his omurice and snorted, a common intimidation tactic among velociraptors. I know because I read  it in the Scientific American.

“Sorry, guys, but even with that on the line, no can do. I’m DONE with the Idol Life, any I’m not letting you filthy casuals drag me back in.” He cocked the pistol in his throat. “NOW SCRAM!”

A-Hole and D-Bag jumped out a window, so they could get the jump on a feral dog humping its’ owner. Nobody realized they were dinosaurs because of their fake mustaches, so it looked like a pair of mobsters were eating a puppy.

When they were gone, F-Bomb pranced to the bathroom, which was filled with plush alpacas he had collected over the years. So many, in fact, the bathroom did not meet OSHA compliance. Which was why F-Bomb had made it an independent nation state, only to realize that OSHA didn’t apply to him anyway, since he lived in Japan.

He had felt really stupid after that, but at least he got his own country out of it.

Anyway, he vomited sixteen liters of blood into the sink, for F-Bomb had a secret: he was dying. Back when he was a fetus in an egg in a lab on some island in the Caribean, he’d become addicted to the illegal street drug known as WEEB, and frequent use had poisoned his lungs. The doctors had given him Socialized Medical Care and four more years to live. The WEEB had taken eighty years off his life. Socialized Medical Care had borrowed his lawnmower and never given it back.

But F-Bomb also had a dream: he and his wife were going to build their own maid café, and it would be even better than MILF Tiddies. He’d already picked a title: DILF Tiddies, and it was going to be the greatest food-selling establishment in the history of Japan. Omurice boba tea was going to go global. But he’d never get the funds on time, not on his meager salary. Unless…

His beautiful wife greeted him as he exited the bathroom.

“Get a pen and some razor blades, sweetgums. I’ve got a letter to send.”

.   .   .

The message arrived in the neck of a mailman’s severed head. This is the traditional way velociraptors send letters to each other. I read it in a book.

D-Bag didn’t see the letter, but the look on A-Hole’s face told him everything.

“What’d I tell ya, D-Bag? Like I always say, when you’re dino you’re dino all the way, till youse dead in the ground or youse come out as gay!”

“Yeah, we really need to update those lyrics.”

End Chapter 1

...I cannot for the life of me decide if this is the greatest thing I've ever seen or the worst, but it at the very least had me staring speechless at my computer screen for a long time.

[beetlebitchywitch]

Yes, Professor

So our discord server might have come up with some professor AU’s for the Conglomerate and we might’ve gone a weeeee bit feral. So here’s what came of me deciding to target @realmonsterboyhours with two of her favorite boys, Zhuk and Bajo. Enjoy!

(If you’re unaware of the Conglomerate, a Mafia!Beej AU with 5 iterations of him, click here to get the full rundown courtesy of @monsterlovinghours

Warning: NSFW, some degradation, double teaming, spanking, just a fun time to be had

“Professor?”

“Hmm? Ah yes, come in, dorogoy.” 

You hesitated in the doorway to his office, taken aback for a moment by the lavishness of the decor before you slowly entered, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. You took a deep breath, thankful that your professor’s eyes were trained on his tea as he raised his bobbing tea bag in and out of the steaming mug. The truth was, Professor Zhuk had always intimidated you. Though he was a physically imposing man, it was his regality that truly made you feel small next to him. He spoke with an air of confidence and intelligence that no other professor could match, save for-

...Oh dear God. 

“Buenos dias, querida,” Professor Escarabajo said from the plush armchair in the corner, a playful smirk playing on his lips. You stopped in your tracks, your brain sprinting to try and catch up with this unexpected turn of events. You knew you had to see Zhuk to speak about your grade in his Marxist Literature class, so why would the head of the History Department be waiting for you as well? You felt your cheeks stain a light pink despite your desperate attempts to keep yourself in check, already shrinking under the intensity of the professor’s mirthful gaze. 

“This is my colleague, Professor Escarabajo,” Zhuk said cheerily, seemingly unaware of your growing nervousness as he gestured to the other man. “He will be joining us for our brief meeting. I hope that this won’t be a problem?”

You avoided his gaze, simply nodding as you sunk into the chair across from the two of them, thankful for the plush softness enveloping your body. After a moment, you felt composed enough to meet Zhuk’s gaze with a polite smile, folding your hands in your lap to disguise the telltale tremble of an intimidated woman. 

“Not a problem at all, sir,” you replied softly, thumbing over the soft fabric of your skirt. 

“Excellent,” he said, sipping at his tea- Earl Grey, you suspected, given the earthy aroma- before fumbling with his little gold reading glasses, sliding them over the bridge of his nose as he read through a few papers strewn across his desk. 

God, what you wouldn’t give to be those pa-

No. Stop. You couldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts in front of the man you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Christ, watching him command a classroom, demanding the attention of his students with a booming voice as he masterfully took you all through the intricacies of some of the most complicated literature you’d ever read...it made you want to throw yourself out of your chair and beg him to fuck you in front of the rest of the class. 

But you couldn’t think of that. Not here, not in his office, not in front of another professor. You pinched your leg softly, hoping to distract yourself away from the fantasies that could only be making your cheeks redder by the second. 

“Now, it seems you’ve been struggling on your reflections for Marxist Literature,” he said, looking over what you assumed to be a stack of the assignments you’d managed to turn in on time. “Tell me how I can be of help to you, moy dorogoy.” 

You felt like you were short circuiting, your mind lulled by the sweet timbre of his beautifully accented voice, especially when he called you something in Russian that you were aching to know the meaning of. Gulping, you straightened your body in the chair, attempting to look as professional and put together as you knew you could never be in their presence.

“Well, Professor, Marxist Literature has honestly been a challenge for me,” you replied, hoping honesty would truly be the best policy. “I find it hard to look at literature from a Marxist lens when I’ve learned so little of his political theory in my classes up until this point.” 

“Ah, should I tell Professor Scarabee that he’s slacking off in his teaching?” Escarabajo asked, his golden eyes alight with mischief. Your stomach lurched, oh God you were going to vomit, you couldn’t handle even the gentlest of teasing from this professor who was somehow just as handsome as Zhuk, except rougher, clearly looser, and apparently feeding off of your evident nervousness, if the look in his eye was anything to go off of. 

“No, no, not at all!” you stammered. “I haven’t had the pleasure of being taught by him, but I’m sure he’s great at what he does, Professor Escarabajo.” 

“Please, querida,” he said, his playful smirk softening as he gave you a little wink. “Call me Bajo.” 

“Bajo…” you replied, and, despite everything, giving him a little smile of your own. 

“Yes, well…” Zhuk said, clearing his throat to regain your attention. You snapped back, your stomach churning with anxiety as he stared you down. “I am happy to provide you with a few extra lessons, dorogoy. In fact, it seems to be fate that Professor...Bajo was here with me today. He just so happens to know quite a bit of Marxist political theory, yes?”

“Indeed I do,” Bajo replied, lounging back in the plush chair. “And I have nowhere to be. Will you allow for a bit of extra tutoring, pequeña?” 

This felt like something straight out of a romance novel. Two gorgeous professors giving you a private study session behind closed doors? You nodded, shooting them a thankful smile as you tried not to let those kinds of thoughts into your mind. You needed to learn about Marx, and your professors were kind enough to help you, so you wouldn’t waste their time getting distracted by the demands of your body. You pulled out your textbook and sat back in the chair, ready to finally get some work done. 

Of course, the world seemed to be against you from the start, because you simply couldn’t grasp a single thing the two of them were trying to teach you. It felt like your brain had turned to mush, the difficult political concepts sloshing around inside your skull and never finding a place to stick. Your answers were sloppy, your insights poor, and with every passing minute, you could feel the tension in the room grow. Zhuk was a patient man, you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you, but there was only so much even he could take. You could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, which only served to discombobulate you further. Finally, when you couldn’t even form an answer to the simplest of questions, Zhuk tossed your papers frustratedly onto his desk, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Dorogoy,” he began, his voice deep and tense in a way that made your muscles clench. “We are doing all that we can to help you, but we are of no use to you if you refuse to pay attention.”

“N-no!” you stammered, feeling hot shame flush your cheeks once more. “That’s not it!” 

“Then what is it, pequeña?” Bajo grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took deep, slow breaths. “Because I refuse to waste my time trying to help a student who won’t repay the favor by actually listening.” 

“That’s...I-I…” you fought the urge to curl in on yourself, your fingers digging into your sides as you tried and failed to put yourself together. Suddenly, Bajo stopped, looking down at you curiously before a broad grin spread across his face. 

“Look up at me, querida,” he demanded, putting two fingers under your chin to lift your face so your eyes met. Your cheeks were already shamefully flushed, but the minute you looked into his deep, golden eyes, they grew even redder, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants. You could see the satisfaction in his gaze as he let go of your chin and turned to Zhuk. 

“I believe I see the problem, amigo,” he said slyly, striding back towards his chair and taking a seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he leered at you. “The only thing distracting our student from us...is us.” 

“What are you talking about, Escarabajo?” Zhuk replied, looking you over quizzically. “She seems fine to...oh.” 

You looked up at him with a soft gasp at the last word and were startled by the look in his eye. What started as confusion slowly morphed into realization, and realization quickly and readily became hunger. He looked at you like a man starved looks out over a Thanksgiving feast, and though it sent a shiver down your spine, you couldn’t look away. Could this be real? Could the man you spent class after class fantasizing over be looking at you like he wanted you back? The very thought felt shameful, and yet...right.

“So you see it too, hmm?” Bajo asked, startling you out of your reverie. “How naughty of you, mariposa. What ever are we to do with you?” You watched as he looked at Zhuk, his eyes silently asking, begging for permission. Zhuk nodded, letting his eyes flit over to you, frustration still present despite the ever-growing presence of lust, lust, God, you couldn’t even deny it. 

“Get up, dorogoy,” he commanded, and the unwavering dominance in his tone had you scrambling from your seat before you could even process what you were doing. You watched fearfully as Bajo strode confidently over to Zhuk’s desk, reaching into the desk drawer to pull out...a long, wooden ruler.

...Christ.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you, tonta?” he said bitingly, smacking the ruler threateningly against his palm. You could feel your legs tremble as you nodded, sniffling under your breath knowing you were about to get what you deserve. “Good girl. Over the desk.” 

You hesitated for a moment, a rush of mixed feelings taking you over; fear, shame, excitement, curiosity, desire...it was that last one that got your feet moving, and when you reached the desk, you bent over and braced your arms against the dark wood, the slight breeze against your bare legs making the blood rush to your cheeks once more. You kept your eyes trained on the desk beneath you, shivering at the sound of Bajo’s deep, foreboding chuckle. 

“What an obedient girl,” he mused, touching the ruler to your thigh and dragging it up to flip your skirt back, revealing your black, lacy panties. You jumped as his cold hand took hold of the waistband, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass in a way that somehow made you feel more exposed than if he’d taken them off altogether. You could feel Zhuk’s eyes on you, watching silently from behind his desk with his arms crossed in front of him, and you felt it best to sneak a glance at his face. You nearly choked on your tongue at the sight of him, gazing intently at the roundness of your ass like he didn’t know whether to kiss it, smack it, or make love to it. You never imagined your professor looking at you in such a way...well, no, you did, but you never expected those thoughts to come true. 

“You will count them for us. Do you understand?” he finally said, his words dripping with a stoic desire that somehow fit him just right. You nodded nervously, your fingers already curling against the wood in anticipation. You heard the whistle of the ruler through the air before you felt it, smacking against your ass loudly though still drowned out by your even louder cry as the pain radiated across your skin. Still, you remembered their command and were afraid of what might happen if you did not obey. 

“O-one…” you whimpered, your voice thick with unshed tears. 

“What a smart girl,” Bajo said mockingly, bringing the ruler down again with a sharp crack. “Though apparently not smart enough to pay attention. Is it going to take a fucking spanking for you to learn your lesson, mierda por cerebros?” 

Tears spilled from your eyes as you stammered out a quiet “Two...”, a hot rush of shame filling your belly not at your lack of attention span, but from how much you liked his degrading words and the pain of each smack of the ruler against your slowly reddening ass. And God, the fact that Zhuk was just watching, staring you down as you were slowly taken apart by his colleague...

“Don’t you have something to say to us, gatita?” Bajo asked angrily as he brought the ruler down for the tenth time. “You made us waste an hour trying to teach you something that you couldn’t pay attention to because you were too busy being a fucking slut. Don’t you feel like you owe us something?”

“I-I...I’m sorry,” you whimpered thickly, watching as your tears dripped onto the wood of Zhuk’s desk. 

“Louder, malenk’iy,” Zhuk said sternly, finally moving closer to you and brushing his hand over the raised welts on your ass. You hissed, but still bucked into his touch.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out. “I’m sorry, sirs! I wasted your time, I was a bad girl, I’m sorry!” 

“Si,” Bajo said softly, running the ruler soothingly over your ass for a moment before suddenly, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back so he could press his mouth right against your ear. “And you forgot to count.” 

Oh fuck. A deep sense of dread filled your belly, your eyes widening as your tears continued to pour down your cheeks. 

“I, no wait, I’m sorry! Please, sir!” you begged, but his hand in your hair only tightened, pulling a choked off whimper out of your lips. 

“Escarabajo,” Zhuk interjected, placing his hand on top of Bajo’s in your hair. Yes, your knight in shining armor, come to rescue you from your fate- “I believe it’s my turn.” 

...Well, shit. 

Your entire body shivered as Bajo’s hand was quickly replaced with Zhuk’s larger one, his touch gentler as he gripped your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek was pressed against the cool wood. 

“You were a very bad girl, kukla,” he said sternly, using his free hand to finally pull your panties down until they pooled around your ankles. “Wasting our time, forgetting to count...perhaps a stricter punishment is in order.” 

Your breath came out shakily as you heard him quickly unzip his zipper, his cock slapping against a welt on your ass and pulling a hiss from your lips. He chuckled darkly at the sound, letting his fingers trace gently over your reddened skin. 

“What do you say, Escarabajo?” he asked, shooting Bajo a bemused look. “Would you like to keep her quiet for me?” 

You could only imagine the wicked grin on Bajo’s face as he and Zhuk rearranged you, Zhuk still behind you while Bajo stood in front of you, your head now hanging off the edge of the desk and at eye-level with his hardening cock. He quickly freed himself from his pants, stroking it just inches from your lips with a soft groan. 

“You bet your ass I would. Time to put your mouth to better use, muñeca,” he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your lips. You opened them obediently, allowing him to slide inside and moaning softly at the weight of his cock against your tongue as he hit the back of your throat with ease. Zhuk’s fingers, now wet, slid between your legs, teasing at your entrance before sliding inside, making you gasp around Bajo’s cock. 

“That’s it, gatita,” he crooned, slowly starting to fuck into your mouth. “Fuck, she feels like fucking heaven, mi amigo.” 

“Treat him well, kotenok,” Zhuk said, his voice hushed as he marvelled at how wet you were from a simple spanking. “See if this teaches you how to be a good girl, da?” 

You moaned your assent around Bajo’s cock, looking up at him obediently as you did your best to pleasure him, bobbing your head in time with his thrusts as Zhuk’s fingers sent little bursts of pleasure all the way to your fingertips. You felt properly full, your mouth stretched around Bajo’s cock while a second and third finger slid inside you, Zhuk doing his best to stretch you in preparation for what you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. You never expected a second partner thrown into the mix, but you wouldn’t complain about the taste of him in your mouth, the delicious stretch in your jaw as you swallowed him down, the wonderful groans as he fucked down your throat…

It felt like an eternity when Zhuk finally pulled his fingers out of you, and you groaned in protest despite the ache slowly forming in your jaw. He chuckled, smacking his hand cheekily against your ass and amusing himself with your pained squeak. 

“Are you ready for your punishment, dorogoy?” he asked, dragging the head of his cock through the wetness of your folds. Confusion and dread took hold in you- you knew you had to be punished, but what could he possibly have in store that they hadn’t already put you through? Finally, he pushed inside of you, his thick cock stretching you more than you could’ve imagined as you let out a long, low groan around Bajo’s cock. When he finally bottomed out, he groaned softly, reveling in the way your pussy clenched around him. With a smirk, he grabbed your hair from behind, holding onto it like a leash. “Because if you’re going to cum...you’re going to have to beg.” 

Oh God. You could tell Bajo was getting close, his groans growing higher pitched and his thrusts growing more erratic, his cock sliding fully into your throat with each thrust inside. Your ministrations grew sloppier as you felt hot rushes of pleasure radiating through your body as Zhuk began to take you, his cock dragging so perfectly inside you. It was all rushing to your head, the feeling of being taken so completely, filled to the brim, taken apart piece by piece with unrelenting pleasure. You gazed up at Bajo, your eyes going cloudy as you silently pleaded for him to cum in your mouth, spill inside you, make you his. He obliged a second later, pushing fully into your mouth and holding your face against him as he spilled down your throat, his choked off moan reverberating throughout the small room. You obediently swallowed every drop, gasping for air as he pulled out of you and immediately slumped into the nearest chair, running his fingers through his hair with a blissed out look on his face.

“Ooh, gatita, look how pretty you are when you get fucked,” he crooned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to watch you intently. “Give it to her a little harder, amigo, she can take more than that.”

Zhuk obliged, grunting as he sped up with ferocity, pulling on your hair to lift you off the desk so your back was pressed fully against his chest, his hand moving down to wrap around your throat as he took you so hard you thought he was trying to breed you. The very thought sent a warm shiver down your spine, along with Bajo’s eyes watching happily as your tits bounced from each of Zhuk’s thrusts. The head of his cock dragged perfectly against your G spot, pulling pitiful moans from your fucked out mouth.

“What a good little slut,” he growled, mouthing roughly at your neck. “Does someone want to cum?”

“I don’t know, mi amigo, she doesn’t seem to want it that badly,” Bajo said flippantly, his eyes glinting with mischief. You groaned in protest, trying to reach down to circle your fingers around your clit, but your hand was immediately slapped away, Zhuk growling a warning into your skin. 

“I told you to beg,” he snarled, hovering his fingers teasingly over your clit, just an inch away from where you needed them to be. “Better make it pretty, too, if you want to cum.” 

“P-please!” you whimpered, desperation quickly bubbling up inside of you as the pleasure halted just on the edge of oblivion, needing just a little more in order to boil over. With each thrust, the desperation grew, your hands frustratedly scrabbling for purchase on the desk as you were assaulted and teased with pleasure that refused to finally peak. “God, I need it so bad! Sir, please, please let me cum!” 

“I can’t hear you,” he growled, tightening his hand around your throat until your voice was only a mere squeak. Bajo watched with delight, amused and aroused at the sight of you struggling and failing to beg for what you needed. “Louder!” 

“PLEASE!” you cried out, frustrated at the bare whisper you somehow managed with the large hand clamping down on your throat. You whined at the sound of their laughter, but it quickly turned to a soft cry as his fingers finally descended on your clit, rubbing in perfect little circles as you finally toppled over the edge, cumming with a silent scream. The pleasure rushed through you like waves, and you sunk deeper and deeper as each one passed until you finally succumbed to the darkness quickly clouding your vision. 

When you came to, you were surrounded with a pleasant warmth. Your eyes slid open to find your head nestled onto Zhuk’s chest, with Bajo curled up behind you with his head buried into your shoulder. You blinked away the fuzziness at the edges of your vision to see Zhuk smiling down at you, resting his head against his pillow.

“You got me to the bedroom while I was out?” you asked, nuzzling further into their embraces.

“Of course. It wasn’t exactly difficult, tsvetok,” Zhuk chuckled, stroking a hand comfortingly through your hair. 

“What did you think, mariposa?” Bajo asked, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder before hooking his chin over it, smiling over at you. “Were we convincing?” 

“Incredibly,” you yawned, smiling sleepily at them. “You make quite the literature professor, moy muzh.” 

“Mm, well I’m glad you convinced us to humor you,” Zhuk replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now go to sleep, moya lyubov. You’ve earned it.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your eyes slipped shut happily, comforted by the embraces of your favorite boys as sleep once again claimed you. 

[joopiterjoon]

Boy Meets Evil- MiniMoni

Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin

Genre: PG-13, Strangers/enemies-kind-of to lovers?

Warnings/Tags: Kittygang!Jimin, Professor!Namjoon, swearing, mentions of gangs and gang violence, minor threats, bad art history knowledge

Wordcount: 3k

a/n: this started as a short drabble but now I have 3 parts so I think Imma turn it into a series maybe? and thanks as usual to @megahwn​​ for betareading and reminding me I don’t suck at writing~~~

Part of ficswithluv’s #FWLBingo! 

Namjoon rakes back his tawny hair with frustrated fingers. He scratches in bafflement as he circles another misspelling of Da Vinci. When he started teaching Art History, he never thought he’d have to teach spelling, too.

He doesn’t realize how far he’s sunk into his chair, now scribbling away on Renaissance essays with his nose only inches from the table, until someone bumps into his chair. He hurriedly corrects himself and takes the moment to have a break from reading about the same exact art piece again. He’d given his students free reign of the entire Renaissance to choose art from, yet they all chose from the first five google results.

One of those students sat across the cafe. He glanced up as Namjoon spotted him and gave a small smile of acknowledgment. Namjoon tried to give the same, but knew his distress was evident if not on his face then definitely by his haywire hair. He shakes his head, adjusting his glasses.

Jungkook. A good kid, trying to get a minor in Digital Art. Namjoon knows a lot of students have to take his class as a requirement, and he’s come to appreciate the quiet yet studious students like Jungkook. He may not speak in class, but he submits decent work on time. Even now, while several pairs of probable-students sit in the cafe off campus chatting and laughing, Jungkook has his laptop open and camera plugged in.

Seeing a student working hard motivates Namjoon to plow through the last three essays he has. 

Before his red pen starts scribbling again, his attention is swept away by a man entering the cafe.

Art.

Namjoon loves art. It’s captured his attention since he was young. He read books on woodwork while his friends read Haikyuu! He took every art elective his senior year instead of taking early dismissal. He managed to get a degree in architecture to appease his parents just so he could also get a minor in art history. He finds art in everyday life. He appreciates unique design and complex color palettes. Art is not only his passion but the way he interprets the world.

The man who just walked through the cafe doors is art.

Soft, pink dusted hair smooths back as the man raises his sunglasses into his hair with a ring-clad hand only to reveal large, almost black eyes. His plush lips are pursed while he clearly looks for something, licking them in impatience. And as he weaves between tables, Namjoon has a clear view of a tight ass in tighter jeans, thick thighs bulging above the slits in the knees. As he rounds on a specific table in the back, Namjoon catches a glimpse of slim, delicate shoulders as the man’s jacket slides to his forearms. Namjoon glances down at the purple feathers lining the shoulder pads, trying to make out the words as the man bends over to place his hands on the table before him.

Kitty Gang

Namjoon’s throat dries. Kitty Gang, a notorious group of gangsters and good for nothings that wreak havoc as they please. Always pushing the law but never quite breaking it, at least, for the activities they get blamed for. Namjoon hadn’t heard that they were also so attractive. Maybe that was part of the man’s aura that drew Namjoon in to stare so long. Just like art, the deeper meaning of a person can shine through how they present themselves. And this man caused people to turn away, to scoot their chairs farther in, to gasp as his boot stomped on the floor.

Why is someone from Kitty Gang inside a student cafe? Namjoon heard about them on the edges of the college town. Were they here to cause an issue? Namjoon glanced around, trying to see if there were any other adults around. If not, he had a duty as a teacher. Especially since one of his students is here.

Namjoon does a double-take. His student, Jungkook, is who the member is talking to. Doing his best not to draw attention to himself, Namjoon tries to switch chairs. He’s not the only one, several girls craning their head to get a look at that powerful, attractive stranger. Namjoon’s not sure what he should do. If Jungkook catches his eye, maybe he’ll give him some kind of signal to help.

But when he catches sight of Jungkook, Namjoon’s surprised, to say the least. The boy is leaning back in his chair, laughing with the man. He seems completely at ease as he points to his screen. The pink-haired man steps around, putting a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder as he leans into his space to watch the screen together. They talk in hushed voices, a dangerous grin growing on the man’s face that regrettably makes Namjoon’s stomach warm, something causing him to squirm in his seat.

Then, the man grabs Jungkook’s jaw, holding him close as he plants a sloppy kiss on Jungkook’s cheek. That warming feeling in Namjoon’s gut grows, his heart racing. He tries to shake it off, adjusting in his seat. He’s always been drawn to the ghastly, to things eccentric that stand out. That’s art. That’s just what’s happening here. Of course he knows this is a dangerous situation that he might need to handle.

Jungkook shoves the man away. Namjoon’s jaw drops. Jungkook said no more than 5 words in class all semester. He always kept to himself, gentle smiles as he left the classroom, and here he is shoving at a… a gangster.

Oh, this is bad. He shouldn’t feel comfortable in this situation. He shouldn’t be locking forearms with the man as he shrugs his jacket back on, closing his computer and following the man out of the cafe. Namjoon watches, dumbfounded.

A feeling of protectiveness wells up in Namjoon, replacing the strange feeling from before. He has to do something as a professor and as an adult. Jungkook can’t go down this path.

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As the lecture hall empties after Namjoon’s lecture, he watches Jungkook make his way out of class. On time as always, attentive as always, and a soft smile as he makes his exit as always.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon says in a hushed voice. “Please wait a minute.”

Jungkook looks puzzled but pauses obediently, nodding as the others pass. Once the room is empty, he adjusts his backpack and asks, “What’s wrong, Namjoon?”

Namjoon feels a bit relieved for the difficult conversation ahead. He’d offered to all the students that they could use his first name. It helped level the hierarchy of the classroom, and it definitely made conversations like this seem more informal.

“I saw you at the cafe the other day,” Namjoon starts, setting down his paper and walking in front of the table that lines the Smartboard behind him.

Jungkook smiles a bit wider, “I know! It’s always funny seeing teachers outside of class.”

Namjoon chuckles. He remembers being like that, too. Wait, that’s not what this is about. “I also saw your friend.”

Jungkook tilts his head, eyes turned to the ceiling as he processes the information. “My friend?”

Namjoon narrows his gaze, not sure if Jungkook is playing dumb or really isn’t grasping it. If it’s the latter, it’s a good thing Namjoon stepped in because the boy is more naive than he expected. “Your friend with the pink hair.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap back to Namjoon. His cheeks turn a bit pink as he shrugs his shoulders. “Ah, him. That’s, yeah, that’s my friend.”

Namjoon straightens his glasses and tries to hold his shoulders back. When he practiced in the mirror, this pose looked relaxed yet strong. “Jungkook, you’re a college student, but you’re still young. You have many possibilities ahead of you. Some of them might seem more exciting than others, but you need to think about how what you do or who you associate yourself with now might affect your future. I try not to individualize praise or show favoritism, but you’re a good student. I can tell you’re hard-working. I just want you to think seriously about who you are getting involved with and make the best choices for yourself.”

Namjoon wants to pat Jungkook on the shoulder as the boy sinks in a bit more at Namjoon’s speech, but he refrains. Jungkook fluffs the back of his bedhead, not looking at Namjoon. “Ah, yeah, I appreciate your advice. Especially about me being a hard worker.”

Namjoon nods, giving a sympathetic smile. He was a junior in college once. Very recently in fact. He knows that there is a lot going on and a lot of tough choices.

“But Jimin isn’t as bad as people make him seem!” Jungkook suddenly blurts out. He seems surprised as Namjoon that he just said it, taking a step back like Namjoon might physically reprimand him.

“Who?” Namjoon asks.

“Jimin, my friend,” Jungkook says. Ah, the pink-haired man is named Jimin. It rings a bell in Namjoon’s skull, maybe having seen it in an article or two about Kitty Gang. But the real concern is Jungkook’s deeper than he thought, defending these people.

But there’s really nothing more he can do, Namjoon thinks as he sighs. He’s just a concerned teacher. He has no proof, and the only preemptive precaution he can do is send a notice to the university of potential care. That might be sent to Jungkook’s parents, and Namjoon doesn’t want to get all that involved.

“Look,” Namjoon tries, seeing Jungkook get more and more uncomfortable. “Just know I’m here if you need someone to talk to, okay? And if things get bad, you can reach out to me.”

“Things couldn’t get worse,” Jungkook says to the floor, where his eyes are now glued. 

Jungkook’s word choice confuses Namjoon. He tries to lean into Jungkook’s field of vision. “Has something already happened?”

Jungkook lips part before he’s vigorously shaking his head no. Namjoon takes a deep breath through his nose and heads to the door, letting Jungkook know he can leave now. He can’t press this anymore or it might turn around on him.

“But if they do,” he adds kindly, just so Jungkook knows he’s here. Jungkook nods, cheeks a little red, and heads down the hall at a brisk pace.

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

Again, Namjoon finds himself in awe of how his students manage to study the material but not really pay attention to the details. Three students in a row wrote 7100s instead of 1700s. Is this the power of test anxiety?

Shaking his head, he makes note of the error just so the students are aware, but continues to read through the passages to check the content. He’s starting to think he may need to change cafes soon. This one is starting to fill with negative energy, too many times he’s been here frustrated, tired, and underpaid.

It’s midterms, so the place is also brimming with the anxiety of students. The chatter that boomed weeks before is now filled with grumbling, complaints, and unspoken stress that somehow rings the loudest in the large cafe. Students mill in and out, some stopping by for distractions or to cheer on friends, so Namjoon just hunkers down and tries to focus on the fourteenth response to how Michelangelo Caravaggio influenced other Baroque painters.

So it’s no surprise that he doesn’t look up when the door opens. Doesn’t bother when he hears hushed whispers and girls giggling. Doesn’t glance when someone walks past his table. He only looks up when the chair across from his squeaks against the floor and someone plops down, elbows on the table and leather jacket fringe spilling onto his essays.

“Heard you’re interested in me,” a voice practically purrs. Namjoon frowns, wondering who would interrupt his work.

When he looks up, he decides he really needs to change cafes.

Soft, plush lips spread so wide across a face that almost looks cherub-like as eyes crinkle from the power of the grin, a head propped by ringed-fingers tilting this way and that. Newly dyed pink hair brushes back and forth over dark eyebrows.

Jimin.

Namjoon’s pen drops from his hand. He watches the barista stare him down in shock, a previous student who must know who Jimin is. Shit shit shit. Namjoon closes his eyes to process, then immediately opens them, not sure what will happen if he takes his eyes off the man.

“Not exactly interested,” Namjoon quips.

“Oh?” Jimin’s lips pull together to pout. Namjoon’s terrified that his first thought is cute. “But Jungkookie said you even pulled him aside to chat about me.”

Namjoon blanches at the man.

“It’s okay,” Jimin sighs, lifting his head to turn in the chair, crossing his legs casually. When he tosses his head over his shoulder and winks at Namjoon, Namjoon balls his fists against the flutter in his chest. He’s not attractive, he’s dangerous. The reminder is right there on his jacket, the edge of a sparkly “K” visible in the creases of leather. “Everyone is interested in me these days. Has to be my cute face. Don’t you agree?”

Namjoon chokes on air. The man laughs at that, doubling over. The sound is similar to glass tinkling in a sink, the sound soft but not quite shattering, but it rings louder than anything else in the cafe to Namjoon. He’s not the only one, several others turning in irritation then immediately going back to their work when they see who it is.

Jimin must be a notable figure in the gang, Namjoon assumes. Even the kids here know who he is.

“I am not interested in you,” Namjoon finally musters when the man’s laughs die down. “I’m interested in Jungkook having a-”

“Oh my god,” Jimin clasps his hands over his mouth before he’s bracing on the table to lean in close. Namjoon gasps at the sudden intrusion of personal space, and the smell of oil and something fruity fills his lungs. “Teacher, you’re interested in one of your students?”

“What? No!” Namjoon hisses, eyes darting this way and that for anyone who might have heard. But the one place he can’t look is in the sharp eyes boring into him, an eyebrow quirked in his peripheral. He coughs and adds, “Mind your distance.”

Jimin snorts. As he leans back, a smirk spreads on his face. He tips the chair back, balancing on the back two legs. Namjoon wishes they would slip on the floor. “No, sir, I think you should mind your distance. Moreover, mind your business.”

Namjoon gives the man his attention again, only to settle him with a cold look.

“Jungkookie is one of mine, you see. He’s like family. Don’t go giving him silly ideas like backing away from me,” Jimin drops the chair to the ground, and Namjoon curses the fact that he jumps at the thud. “He can’t leave me. You hear? So butt out of your students’ lives and mind your own business.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat at that, immediately pissed off by this, this punk trying to tell him what to do. But before he can even continue, Jimin’s hand is on his. It’s gentle at first, sliding up, until he’s sitting on the pulse point of Namjoon’s wrist. Namjoon looks down, Jimin’s hand surprisingly small and warm, but the rings feel cold against his palm.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?”

Namjoon feels the words shock him. Like a bolt of electricity running from where Jimin’s thumb pinches his pressure point up into the back of his skull. He cringes, not sure if Jimin’s actually doing something or if it’s the mere weight of his insinuation making him uncomfortable. He glares at him, but Jimin’s just smiling pleasantly at where Namjoon’s pulse races beneath his thumb.

“Looks like you got the message,” he hums, turning Namjoon’s wrist over. He places the pen back in his hand and pats it lightly. “You should focus on your actual work, teacher. Help all those students fulfill their dreams of working in cafes or an office or something.”

Jimin shrugs lightly as he stands. Namjoon, on the other hand, feels frozen. He even finds himself nodding when Jimin tilts his head in search of a response. When he does, the man smiles brightly and claps a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. Much the way Namjoon wanted to do it to Jungkook to get his point across, the sincerity of his words.

And Jimin’s words had been Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?

When Jimin’s hand leaves him, the spot somehow feels warmer. His pulse is still racing not only in his wrists but in his ears. He can’t help but turn to watch the man leave, noting the way everyone else watches, too. And damn it all, he’s reminded of how good he looks from behind. More so than the toned figure visible in his loose clothes, it’s the air he exudes. Reckless and brazen.

And even worse, something in Namjoon wants to know what would happen. What that anything could be from a man like Jimin.

This is part 1. Click here for part 2!

[uzuitengensfourthwife]

Again. (Chrollo x Reader)

A scenario in which you forgive him... again.

warnings: none really, its just a tiny tiny bit angst

word count: 2848

authors note: well... idk.. I felt kinda okay writing this? Still Im sorry if its sloppy or shitty to you

He was gone for a year now, a whole damn year without telling anyone, not even you. One day he was calling you and not letting go of you and the next day he is gone. He left without leaving any trace, it was like he has never existed. Even when you tried to contact the authorities, he seemed to not exist. At first, you cried and sobbed and didn’t move an inch. In fact, you were a depressed little piece of shit, for a total of 3 long months. But after some time, your sadness turned into anger and therefore you promised to beat the crap out of him once he turns up in front of your door again. You wanted to make sure, that once he enters this very apartment, that a fucking shoe would hit his face. No roses, no necklaces and no chocolates could make up for his disappearance and you had to make sure not to fall for his lovey-dovey talk about how sorry he was. This time, oh this time his little game wouldn’t work on you.

And you had to admit, you weren’t really sure when he would appear again, but you were already mentally preparing yourself to yell at him.

And yet, at the same time your thoughts showed that no matter what would happen, you missed him a lot. Gosh, you weren’t even sure if you were able to keep up that act once he’s in front of you. Will you be able to be mad at him? Or will you cry like a child, that has been deprived of their lollies? You weren’t sure, in fact everything could happen.

Then suddenly, your doorbell rang. You turned around, a bit confused, you had to say.  It was late after all, probably 11 PM and you were sitting here and working still. For a short moment, you hoped that it would be your lover, however there was no certain prove that would support your assumption. You assumed that it would be one of your neighbours, so you answered quickly. ,,Coming!’’

You got up hastily, making your way to the door, just to unlock it with your keys and then opening it. But once you finally looked at who was standing in front of you, you couldn’t bring out a word. You were standing there, in a trance. Here he was. He was back. Finally, he was back.

,,Darling.’’ The man in front of you greeted, a bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a little box in the other. He spread his arms a bit more just to gesture that he was waiting for a hug. But you didn’t move, not even an inch. ,,Chrollo…’’ you whispered, your voice so quiet and shaky, probably from the shock, the sudden surprise. The sight suddenly seemed to get blurry, indicating your eyes that started to get all wet and watery. ,,No need to cry darling, I’m back.’’ A smile appeared on his face as he stepped closer, still holding the flowers and the little present.

But your sudden sadness then turned into anger. He DARED to show up in THE MIDDLE of the night, just like that. You were about to lose it.  In fact, you were about to punch him right on his nose, because that’s what he deserves. Punches and pain. ,,You..’’ you hissed, stepping closer and pointing at him with your finger. His expression changed in no time and confusion was plastered all over his face. ,,You left me, without telling me. You left no traces, you disappeared. YOU made me feel like shit. Do you REALLY think that flowers and some necklace you stole are going to make up for it? Go to fucking hell.’’

After this little threatening speech of yours, it should’ve made him feel guilty, it was supposed to scare him off. To make him cry. To make him SEE what HE did wrong.

But all you got as a reaction was him laughing at you like you’ve just told some funny joke. He didn’t take you seriously. God, he never did.

So you frowned, you really wanted to scold him again, however he seemed to be faster. ,, Darling,’’ He said, slowly leaning forward, an amused expression on his face. ,,Yes, I didn’t tell you and yes I did disappear, however I have missed you a lot.’’ He smiled oh so dearly, as he then fully stepped into your apartment, giving you the flowers and the little present.

,,I wasn’t finished-‘’ you started, but he ignored you as he examined your apartment, looking for any changes. Seriously, he was unbearable. ,,You didn’t change much here, still into the same stuff.’’ He stated, without even looking at you, he was still busy with strolling through your apartment. As if there was some kind of hidden treasure in your apartment.

,,Are you still keeping my books?’’ he then asked as he opened a few of your drawers to see if his collection of books were inside of them and god did you want to slap him for leaving such a mess after only returning. He had no respect for you, no that wasn’t it, he just loved to see you all riled up, he found it quite attractive. ,,Quit acting stupid Chrollo, you know where they are.’’ You said through gritted teeth, trying not to give him the satisfaction of your angered behaviour. Gosh did you hate him at some point.

,,Excellent.’’ He exclaimed with a subtle smile, as he then slowly opened the cupboard right next to the TV. His smile only grew bigger as he then quickly grabbed one of the new books you have gotten him last year, but he never got to read them, since he then suddenly disappeared. ,,I couldn’t wait to finally read all of them.’’ - ,,If you would’ve stayed-‘’ you started, only then to get shushed by him, as he stepped awfully close to you. He looked down at you, his smile faded. ,,Darling, I was working and you know how important my work is.’’ Scoffing, you turned away your head, as you answered. ,,You’re a criminal Chrollo. Instead of stealing you could do better things, you could do stuff that is less illegal. For instance, teaching literature.’’

,,Dearest,’’ you glanced at him, not sure what he was about to say. ,,You’re just mad that I’ve been gone for so long. I promise, I’ll tell you next time.’’  He then brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, softly smiling at you. God, he really was giving you a hard time to be mad at him. But at some point, even you got tired of his promises, of his so called ‘great’ promises, that were nothing but empty promises in the end. The more you tried to believe him, the harder it actually got. You sighed, as you then stepped away, leaving some space between the two of you. ,,That’s exactly the problem. Your empty promises.’’

There was silence, no one talked.

Chrollo was usually a man that respected you and your intentions, he tried to understand you. But this time you could see in his face, that he did not understand you. In fact, you weren’t really able to guess what was going on in his mind, no emotion leaked through his shell. Suddenly, fear hit you. What if he’ll get mad, although you were pretty sure it wouldn’t happen, after all Chrollo never got mad. Not even at you. ,,If my promises were empty, I wouldn’t be right here in front of you.’’ Every other girl would’ve forgotten the fight after his sweet words, but you understood what he really was trying to say. He could drop you at any time, once he’s bored, he could disappear, nothing was really holding him back. Therefore you wouldn’t even know if he’d return after some time or not, you would live in constant fear.

You gulped down your fear and looked at him only to see that his back was facing you, he was looking at a picture of your family. ,,The necklace,’’ he then said, his voice sweet again. ,,You should try it on.’’ You really didn’t want to give in, you were supposed to still be mad at him. Yell at him and throw things at him, just… just were was your anger? What was wrong with you? He did this all the time, was your anger not enough to withstand him? No, IT HAD to be enough. He’s been doing this for five long years now, you really should be able to tell him off.

,,I’ve told you. A stolen necklace won’t make up for it.’’ He turned around, raising an eyebrow at you. You were already preparing yourself to sound as mad as possible, when he suddenly stepped closer and opened his arms. ,,Is a hug what you want? You could’ve just asked dearest.’’ But you weren’t moving. He really made things hard for you. Yes, you did want to hug him at some point since you’ve missed him a lot, but he was giving in way too easily.

After some time, in which you didn’t move, he embraced you in a tight hug, his chin resting on top of your head. The warmth he gave off was soothing, making you feel safe. You didn’t realize how much you’ve missed him until now. ,,Don’t cry darling.’’ He suddenly whispered in your ear, his arms tightening around you, his lips on your forehead. You slowly touched your face and then realized that he wasn’t joking. You were crying in his arms. Pathetic, you thought. You should’ve been mad at him; you should’ve kicked him out. But here you were, crying in his arms for god knows what reason.

The two of you stayed in this position for a while, when he suddenly let go of you, making you look up to him. His eyes were fixed on you, a sweet and kind smile on his lips as he then softly kissed your wet cheeks. ,,Even while crying, you don’t fail to look amazingly beautiful.’’ No no no no, he was doing it again. Complimenting you until you’d apologize for yelling at him, for even doubting his actions. ,,Stop…stop it,’’ You demanded, backing off a bit. ,,You’re always doing this after you come back. You’re always sending me on a guilt trip, when it actually is your fault, not mine.’’ It was hard to read him, but you did realize that he now understood. This time, fooling you was no option.

He sighed and slumped onto a chair that was standing right next to your dining table. ,,Darling,’’ he started as he slowly leaned back. ,,Let’s talk this out tomorrow. I am quite tired, and I bet you are too after all you’ve been working all day.’’ You shook your head, as you then replied. ,, No, let’s talk this out now.’’.

He didn’t answer for a while, he just watched you and tried to see if you wouldn’t change your mind and go to bed with him like a normal couple would. You were sure that he hoped you would change your mind, so you would eventually forget that you were mad at him to begin with.

And of course you didn’t, you had to talk to him, you had to tell him how you’ve felt over these past few years in which he has appeared and disappeared. You just had to fight against the feeling that told you to stop fighting him, you had to be strong in order to achieve at least a tiny bit of change. ,,Okay then. What is it you want to talk about, darling?’’ he probed, sitting up straight and crossing his arms in front of his chest. You took a deep breath as you then began to explain. ,,You hurt me a lot,’’ shortly, you stopped, waiting for a  reaction. However, you continued after a few seconds of silence. ,,You always had me crying when you just disappeared without even leaving a message. And then after months, you just appear again, acting like you’ve never even been gone in the first place.’’ You saw him nodding, showing you that he tried to understand the situation from your point of view. He tried, that didn’t mean he really did understand.

He didn’t answer you for a good while, and in the time, he just observed you in silence, you felt your anxiety giving you a hard time again. It wasn’t like you feared him or anything, it was more of… him having you under complete control. You loved him a lot, and yet you didn’t want him to leave you, despite the little time you have actually spent with him, it felt like you have made the best memories with him, the most valuable. From all the guys you have dated before, it felt like he was the one, you saw yourself with him growing older. Yes, you saw yourself marrying this man, so you thought this was why you couldn’t let go. But still, his unannounced disappearances were still unacceptable.

,,My job brings it’s prices. Unfortunately, this is one of them. I am trying to be with you as often as I can. And for making you cry… that I am sorry for my dear.’’ What was this feeling you felt just now? Sadness, guilt? You were pretty sure it was guilt. The way his eyes were fixed on you, with a saddening shine in them, made your heart ache. All the anger, all the doubt you have felt throughout this whole time have now turned into guilt. You felt bad for doubting him, for being mean to him, even for talking back.

,,Chrollo…’’ you sniffed, letting your feelings take over you. ,,Im sorry… I…I wasn’t thinking.’’ Your eyes were getting watery again, you hated yourself, but you couldn’t hate Chrollo. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t hate him. Gosh, you were such a mess, your feelings were all over the place, you weren’t even sure what you were really feeling right now. In the beginning, you were to make sure that you yelled at him, but over time your feelings for him took over. Even with all the anger that was stored  inside of you, your feelings for him were just so much more stronger. No, he was smart enough to make you feel like that.

,,No tears darling, it’s fine.’’ he whispered, as he approached you and took your hand. You didn’t dare to face him, after the mess you’ve caused, you just felt horrible. ,,You’re tired, lets get you to bed dearest, how does that sound?’’ You nodded as a response, still not having the courage to look him in the eye.

But it didn’t bother him, in fact he has done it again. He had made you give in again. So without exchanging any more words, the both of you got ready for bed. When you were already sitting in bed, he was still in the living room, looking for a new book to read. He seemed content with what he has achieved once more. After all he was able to make you forgive him again.

But you on the other hand already started to regret everything. It was always the same. You always prepared yourself to yell at him, you always were angry when he came home, and yet, once he stood in front of you, you couldn’t resist him anymore. It didn’t really matter how mad you were at him, nor did it matter how much you would doubt him, in the end you would always be the one apologizing and begging for forgiveness. Fights with him were always one sided, he never really talked back, but in the end he always won. No matter how hard you tried.

You sighed, you were really tired. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just too tired to think straight. Jus the fact that you were still working at 11PM showed that you were overworking yourself.

,,You’re still awake darling?’’ you heard him ask, once he entered your bedroom again. You just nodded; you didn’t really have much to say to him anymore. All the bad assumptions and insults about him have left your mind all at once, after you apologized to him. Now, it was him who sighed. He sat down next to you with a book in his hand, he leaned closer. ,,You must’ve been up since 6 am, right? You really deserve to get some rest darling.’’ A smile appeared on his face, as he then softly pecked your lips. His lips were as soft as you remembered them to be. ,,Alright..’’ you whispered tiredly, he was right after all, you were up for too long. His lips then touched your forehead as he whispered a quiet ,goodnight darling’.

And with you let yourself drift to sleep.

Another night in which you let yourself get guilt tripped, oh how you hated yourself.

[dust2dust34]

Four Walls (Of Law Firms and Honey) - Olicity AU, Explicit

Summary: Oliver is Felicity’s boss at Queen & Queen, a prestigious international law firm. She’s the tech genius, he’s the top dog’s son, and they viciously disagree on nearly everything. Despite that, they work together, neither outright acknowledging the ever-present simmering attraction that has slowly been growing hotter and hotter…

Until a chance meeting at a grocery store one night has them crossing a line, a tiny little line that was never meant to be crossed.

A collection of ficlets in the same ‘verse: Of Law Firms and Honey.

Rated: Explicit

Full fic: AO3 | Tumblr | Timeline

Reminder: This is not a story about love. This is a story that ends in love, but it definitely does not start that way. 

Please read the story tags and notes at the beginning of each chapter.

This fic is being told out of order. Please see the timeline to read them in order. Please see the previous installments for additional author notes and story information.

Check out the Four Walls playlist, and if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

Additional A/N: This was originally intended for Olicity Clue, but I’m super late on that now. My prompts were Felicity’s glasses, Queen Consolidated, and Isabel Rochev. This is partially written for a Fic For Food Drive I’m taking part in (please check out the details here, and consider donating!), and I say partially because I intend on writing something else in this series for a generous donor.

(read on AO3)

10:06 p.m. Queen & Queen

“There you are. Of course you’re in the last box I check.”

Felicity fished out the honey, destroying her beautiful packing job in the process. Her stapler fell over and the Doctor Who mug she used for her pens and pencils tipped precariously against the tray filled with projects she wanted to finish. Projects you should probably delegate since you, you know, have people to delegate to now. Felicity made a face. Yes, fine, it was a logical idea, but they were hers, damn it. It was her blood and sweat that had made them, and she wanted to finish them the way only she knew how.

Not very boss-like of you.

“Learning curve,” she grumbled. She pulled the bottle out with a triumphant, “Ha!”

Silver caught her eye and she inched her door open to see the letters fully.

Felicity M. Smoak Director of Information Technologies

With a smile, Felicity brushed her fingers over her new title like she had, oh, twenty thousand times over the last two weeks. Her name, on her door, on her corner office - her huge corner office with glass walls that turn opaque when you click a switch, and a bathroom, and a couch… Everything was looking up. She was settling into her promotion, she was getting dinner with Caitlin and Barry this weekend, she had been given leeway to hire more techs to go along with being given the reigns for setting up the system at the new Queen Consolidated…

Everything was good.

Her computer dinged.

The smile evaporated as she spun to her desk.

“No.” Felicity hurried over to her computer. The thick area rug she’d bought first thing muffled the smack of her bare feet until she hit the marble floor again. “You’re not supposed to find anything, what are you finding?”

She landed in her chair with a plop so hard it sent her chair - an ergonomic monstrosity that still reeked of plastic from being packed away - rolling. She grabbed her desk to stop from crashing into the credenza behind her. The honey bottle got in the way and she tossed it away, sending it rolling into her still-steaming mug. Tea sloshed over the sides, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were too busy bouncing between the three screens before her, looking for what had made that very specific noise that had all the hair on the back of her neck rising.

Foreign code was in the system.

In her system.

“Frak,” Felicity breathed, attacking her keyboard. “Frak.”

A few keystrokes later, the alien code popped up on the middle screen, and she was ready to launch into a full-on attack…

Felicity frowned.

It was her code.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

It had her framework, her technique, but it was nothing like what she used here, at all. And nothing she had used, considering it was missing her signature. Which meant someone else had used her code on her servers. And simplistic as it was, it was still hers and very capable of doing damage. Which it had, she discovered with a curse, as she dug deeper, tripping over holes where files had once been. Not that it was hard - everything this person had touched was a flashing red hot mess that she would have eventually found anyway because they hadn’t even tried to cover their tracks.

So it was stolen and sloppy.

“Oh. Hell. No. You steal from me, and then you use it on my servers, and you don’t even try to pretend you didn’t? Do you even know who you’re messing with? Ooh no, no, no…”

It took all of twenty-three seconds to follow the trail.

She expected it to be from outside the building, to lead back to some whippersnapper who didn’t know who she was, and who was about to learn that when you mess with her company, you’re messing with her…

But it didn’t.

It led to a terminal right here in the building: QQ112.

Her chest hollowed, buzzing filling her ears, scorching heat numbing her fingers.

It was impossible to remember who was assigned to every computer at Queen & Queen. A handful stuck in her mind from her technician days. The attorneys who barely knew how to open their email. The users who lacked any common sense when it came to downloading any old thing they found on the internet. Those who thought they hid their browsing history on the extremely not-safe-for-work side of Reddit, and those who didn’t even bother. The ones who insisted on fixing problems themselves and always wound up making it worse.

And Oliver Queen’s computer.

She fought to breathe as she stared at the letter and number sequence. She waited for it to change, to become something else, attached to someone else, to not be this. But nothing happened.

Except something had happened, hadn’t it?

Ice scored her insides.

She had shown him that code months ago, before anything had happened between them, back when she thought he might have been a friend. She had shown it to him as a courtesy, to teach, to spread the knowledge and maybe make Queen & Queen better by association. Not to use it against his own firm’s servers. Not to use her code on Q&Q’s servers. If someone who knew half of anything happened to be in there, they would be able to spot it.

They would be able to trace it back to her.

“Son of a bitch.”

Rage tore into her gut.

“What did you do?” Felicity growled. She went after the code with a fervor that had her keyboard scooting over the desk with every furious keystroke. Her eyes darted across her screens as she used everything she could think of to find out exactly what he had been doing. Angry tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away rapidly with a harsh curse. No. He didn’t deserve her tears. He didn’t deserve anything. She forced herself to breathe through a growing pressure in her chest, but all she could manage were short, sporadic breaths as she murmured, “You bastard. You stupid, stupid bastard…”

He had used the code two times. Both in January.

Felicity’s fingers faltered.

She hadn’t found out about her promotion until February.

The word sabotage seared her mind.

Is that what this was? They were co-directors now, more or less. They shared the department instead of her answering to him. She had taken his old position as Director of IT and a new one had been created for him - Director of Production. She had no idea what happened behind closed doors, but she’d wondered if everything she had done here - all that Oliver had taken credit for - had finally seen the light of day.

Or was this something else? Was it about Isabel, about the holiday party, about the horrible night that had followed here before she started separating herself from him and the debauched things they had done the last few months?

Fire ripped through her and more goddamn tears burned the back of her throat.

Isabel was gone and things hadn’t gone back to the way they were before.

Did he think they would?

Felicity fought to keep her hands from shaking - with anger, she told herself.

Things would never go back to the way they were. Because she didn’t want them to. Because she didn’t want him. She didn’t like waking up looking for him, missing his touch, or that there was an emptiness she couldn’t explain inside her. She hated that she felt anything at all. She hated what they had done. She hated who she was with him. She didn’t want whatever had been between them. And things were good now, she was happy, she was-

There.

He had deleted…

Emails?

Felicity leaned closer to the middle screen, as if she could make sense of the data fragments, but they were too broken still.

The only good thing about him using her code was she was able to deconstruct it quickly. Her code was effective, but it was simple, and it had nothing against the algos she threw at it to put them back together. If it had been someone else’s, it might have taken longer. But it was hers and she had a backup on top of her backups, and it was just a matter of time before she would see what he had destroyed…

All too soon bits and pieces of correspondence appeared. Broken email chains without senders or recipients, or dates or times, the words appearing in splintered sentences that had just enough for her to try and make sense of them.

It’s being split. I brought this up last month anyway,

It’s hers

Call me when you’re out

What do you want

Are you positive?

It can go out next week if you want

CONFIDENTIAL

We had an agreement. This is what you’ve been working towards. Are you sure?

Do you have any idea what you’re doing?

I found them

Let me know and we will get this in motion

I don’t think that’s a good idea

We have a deal

Call me.

yes

It’s best for everyone to get Felicity out

“Get Felicity out of what?” she demanded.

She tried to beef up the program to make it work faster, but there was too much information to cull through to find what was missing from the servers. Felicity huffed, even though she knew it was going as fast as it could within its limits. But waiting for every piece to appear, in the right order? She cursed under her breath. Her leg bounced in time with the speed of her thoughts, nearly matching the agitated beat of her heart. Pinpricks of heat danced over her cheeks, burning. It wasn’t until a lance of pain sliced through her jaw that she realized she had been chewing on the edge of her lip enough to tear a piece of skin.

“Ow,” she hissed, grimacing when her tongue touched the tiny wound. The taste of copper flooded her mouth.

Email addresses.

“Oh,” she blurted.

She could narrow the search to see who was involved. She hammered at the keyboard, changing the directives, switching priority to email addresses, and to order them by the amount of emails they appeared in.

A list immediately began populating.

bkaye@qqlaw.com oqueen@qqlaw.com rqueen@qqlaw.com tthompson@creelgrouppr.com nvalle@qgroupinc.com nparks@gmail.com sdempse@creelgrouppr.com irochev@qqlaw.com

The floor fell out from under her.

Felicity stared at the last one, waiting for it to pop up and explain itself, but it didn’t. Instead a boulder crushed her chest and the back of her neck burned as ice showered her insides.

“I thought I’d find you up here, Oliver.”

“I see old habits die hard.”

“I like your shoes.”

“Isabel knows.”

The list continued.

mbritt@qgroupinc.com nperci@qqlaw.com jsloyo@creelgrouppr.com fsmoak@qqlaw.com

“What?” she breathed at the last one, but before she could even begin to put any of it together, the program started bringing up the corresponding emails. Her email address was attached to only one, and the subject simply read:

Please see the attached.

It wasn’t done loading, but she didn’t wait, opening it anyway. There was nothing in the body of the email. It was just the attachment, addressed to her…

And Oliver.

The attachment was a video.

From Isabel.

“Oh god,” she choked out, her stomach twisting. Her hands shook so hard the keyboard rattled and she snatched them back, digging her nails into her palms. She stared at the email, dread coating her insides like tar.

She told herself it was because it was still loading that she didn’t immediately hit play, but even when it finished - even when the other emails finished coming together - she didn’t touch it.

Felicity wasn’t sure how long she sat there until she finally opened the video.

All she saw were black and white flickers and pixelated snippets. The cursor along the bottom told her it was playing, but nothing showed up, and for a blissful second she let herself believe it was nothing.

Then an image appeared.

An agonized moan fell from deep in her chest.

It was her and Oliver, in an elevator. He had her pinned to one of the walls, his face buried in her neck, one hand in her hair, making a mess of it, the other migrating down her neck, then her chest. She didn’t have to watch to remember the feel of his fingers slipping inside the band of her skirt and yanking her blouse out where it was tucked, so hard it tore one of her buttons. She had one of her legs up as much as her skirt would allow and wrapped around his, so damn eager that she hadn’t cared in the slightest where they were.

Isabel had this.

Her stomach pitched until she thought she was going to be sick.

In a twisted haze, Felicity watched her own hands claw down his back, raking over Oliver’s suit jacket where it strained against the width of his shoulders. She dug her nail into his neck. Her eyes half-closed, her mouth slack in pleasure, so obviously flushed despite the grey wash of the video. She remembered waking up with hickeys and bite marks all over her neck and chest. She had been so mad, she numbly recalled. But not while it was happening. Never while it was happening.

The Plaza, she remembered. They had used the suite the firm kept there for high-end clients.

“They never check the records, Smoak. They don’t want to know.”

The video abruptly switched, and it showed her walking backwards with Oliver following her down the hallway, towards the Premier Suite.

It occurred to Felicity in that second that it wasn’t showing his face.

There was no way there wasn’t video somewhere of him - entering the elevator, at the very least, because someone else had been on there when they’d first gotten on. Oliver had been standing next to her, only attacking her when the person got off a floor later. But the way the video played, if someone didn’t know, it looked like Felicity was taking some random person up to the suite.

His back was still to the camera as they reached the door. She had the key card, having taken it from him earlier, and she slipped it into the lock. She twisted the handle before turning to enter the room backwards. The soft lights overhead reflected on her glasses as she grabbed Oiver’s tie and yanked him in with her.

A blip of static overtook the screen and then it showed her slipping out of the room some time later, head bowed, her hair up in a chaotic ponytail, her clothes askew, her heels in-hand as she hurried to the elevator.

Alone.

It was all her.

The numbness cracked, just enough to take a breath, to frown, to think.

Felicity switched back to the email from Isabel. Short. Simple. To the point. To both her and Oliver.

So why…?

But if someone knew it was Oliver with her, that they were using the suite under his name, under the firm’s name, then there wouldn’t be much reproach, would there? Because regardless of his status within the firm, he was still a Queen. A hand-slapping, perhaps, and she would surely get reprimanded in some way.

Just her, though? Seemingly taking advantage of the firm like this?

But then why had she gotten the promotion she’d been angling for since long before Oliver swooped in and stole it out from under her last year?

She shook her head. None of it made sense.

Heart fluttering so fast it hurt, Felicity flipped through the other emails. There were so many of them, a couple dozen easily, most of them formalities, simple back and forths, nothing substantive. The ones between Oliver and his father were the most confusing, both of them talking in shorthand about a plan, something Oliver had been working towards, their conversations talking around something they both obviously knew and didn’t need to explain.

She stopped when she saw an email from oqueen@qqlaw.com to irochev@qqlaw.com.

No subject, no body, not even a signature.

Just an attachment.

A draft announcement naming Isabel Rochev as CEO of the newly formed Queen Consolidated.

Release date: March 1.

Felicity stared at the mockup uncomprehendingly. She read the words over and over until they blurred. She noted the empty spot where Isabel’s picture would go. She stared at the question mark after the date in parentheses. She tried to think, to understand what she was seeing, what she had seen. What had happened. How it had happened… and all without her ever knowing. It was blackmail, plain as day. Isabel had the perfect leverage in her possession.

And she had used it to get what she wanted.

“Oh my god,” Felicity blurted. “What did you do? What did you do?”

She grabbed her phone with trembling hands, swiping it open, going straight to her phone app. Muscle memory dialed the number she could never forget, but when his name appeared because her phone recognized it, her heart spasmed and she almost hit the END button.

A soft trill echoed from down the hallway.

Felicity’s head jerked up, her breath catching.

Another trill, so faint she barely heard it.

But she did.

Her phone hit her desk with a thud, but she didn’t hear it, already up and out the door. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she followed the ringing past darkened offices, a copy room, the shadowed kitchen, to the opposite corner of the floor.

To his office.

The trill abruptly stopped followed by a harsh, “What?”

She heard it from the open door that came into view when she turned the corner.

A nervous wash of adrenaline crashed through her veins, especially when a softer, “Felicity?” followed. The closer she got, the more her limbs felt like they were going to shatter, each step shakier than the last. “Felicity?”

She heard him so clearly her mouth went dry.

Felicity stopped when she reached his door.

Oliver stood by his sitting area, just like the one she had, his office a mirror version of hers. He had a sheaf of paper in one hand, his phone in the other, a dark glower on his face as he glared at the little coffee table before him.

Her chest squeezed tight.

It had been so long since she’d been in here - so long since she’d seen him, period. He seemed bigger, yet somehow he took up less space. His muscles were bulkier, but his waist was leaner. His face had a gauntness that hadn’t been there before, his jaw sharp and angular. His tie was off, the first buttons of his shirt undone, the sleeves rolled up in messy bunches, his hair askew from running his hands through it. Dark circles underlined his eyes and in place of his signature scruff was the beginning of an unkempt beard.

She had deliberately not sought him out. She didn’t look for him. She barely offered him a glance when they had to interact outside of telephone calls or emails.

He looked like hell.

She stepped inside.

“Are you…?” he started before he saw her.

Oliver’s words died off, surprise widening his eyes. Then he frowned, and the closer she got, the deeper the furrow between his brow went.

“Felicity?” he said, his voice low, rough. “What’s wrong-”

She grabbed his face with both hands as she pushed up onto her toes and kissed him.

He froze. She barely noticed under the press of his lips to hers again. They were dry, chapped, but still so soft, just like she remembered.

Felicity whimpered and grasped him tighter, pressing closer, kissing him harder. The little wound she’d given herself a few minutes ago burned under the pressure, but the pain only edged the heady sensation of his mouth against hers again. God, she had missed it, she had missed him, more than she wanted to admit. But it was impossible to deny right now, when it had been months, when the last time she had kissed him had been in anger, her only intent to hurt and maim, to inflict the pain she’d felt. There was none of that now. This was different.

He stood stock still. He didn’t even breathe, stiff and unrelenting, implacable.

Until he wasn’t.

Oliver melted into her.

She gasped at the abrupt surrender, the sound morphing into a strung out cry as he kissed her back. He dropped the papers and his phone, both landing with a thud, the papers hitting her naked toes, but she barely felt it. He wound his arms around her and yanked her off her feet.

It had been so long.

Too long.

Felicity opened her mouth at the same time he did, their tongues meeting halfway. She groaned at the first taste, eclipsing his breathy whine. He clutched her hard as he bowed forward, chasing the kiss with vigor, his tongue spearing into her mouth. Her knees buckled, her feet hitting the ground in an uncoordinated mess, and it was only because of his hold that she didn’t fall. But then she pushed off the floor, shoving back against him, kissing him with equal ardor. Teeth collided, lips yanking, pulling, sucking, tongues exploring and tasting and tangling. Despite how they chased each other, he still eclipsed her, surrounding her, swallowing her up. She whimpered at the overwhelming sensation and he drank it all in as his hands roamed all over her, before falling to her ass. He gripped her so hard she broke away with a cry.

He didn’t let her get far, though, and she didn’t want him to.

Not anymore.

Oliver captured her mouth again, sucking on her bottom lip, groaning when she nipped at him.

The back of her legs collided with something hard before she even realized they were moving. The coffee table. The heavy, low-sitting furniture scooted across the floor, but they just followed it. Oliver urged her down with hard hands. Felicity clawed into his shoulders, unwilling to release his lips, forcing him to follow her as she laid back on the table. It was awkward and uneven, but neither of them cared, or bothered to fix it, because it meant stopping, and that couldn’t happen. Oliver loomed over her, gripping the edges of the table, his muscles rippling to keep from crushing her as he ravaged her mouth with a thoroughness that left her head spinning.

But then all too soon, he was wrenching away.

With a ragged gasp of air and fogged glasses, Felicity arched up to follow him - don’t go, don’t stop, don’t - but he just fell to his knees before her. She tried to spread her legs to wrap around him, needing to feel him pressed against her as much as possible, but her skirt was too tight. She frantically yanked it up as his hands flew to his belt and pants.

Heavy breathing and the rustle of clothes were the only sounds for a moment.

Pants half-hanging open, Oliver grappled for his wallet. He ripped it out of his pocket and dug out a square package. He tossed the leather away as Felicity pushed her panties down, pulling her legs up enough to yank them down one leg, leaving them hanging off her foot as she spread for him.

Oliver’s eyes dropped to her sex. Mouth swollen, cheeks flushed, lids heavy, he stared at her as he rolled the condom down his length, his pupils eclipsing the stormy blue as he drank her in.

A shiver shot down her spine.

She missed this, missed how he looked at her, half-drunk with need that matched her own.

“Please,” she begged, grasping the edges of the table and scooting closer to him. “Oliver.”

He grabbed her hips, yanking her until her ass hung off the edge. The swollen head of his cock rubbed up her cleft, and then back down, nudging her entrance.

“Yes-”

Oliver thrust in, hard and fast.

Felicity shouted at the intrusion. Her back bowed, her eyes squeezing shut as he filled her to the brim. The pressure was incredible, his girth stretching her nearly to the point of pain. She felt him in every inch of her body and it stole the air right out of her lungs.

“Shit,” Oliver gasped, his hands grabbing her waist as he pulled back out. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Felicity pleaded. “Don’t-”

She found his hips and yanked him inside her once more. She hissed when he stretched her so wide it was all she could to keep breathing. But she did, and she angled her hips to take him in even deeper. She hadn’t realized how much she had shut down, shut him out, not even entertaining the option, to the point she wasn’t ready for him like she would have been before. But she would be, again. She knew if they kept moving, her body would catch up. It would.

Her name fell off his lips in a choked moan as his fingers dug into her ribs.

To stop her. To pull out. To leave her.

Felicity shook her head wildly.

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she babbled breathlessly, but her voice breaking betrayed her. She arched up to keep him inside her. “It’s just… been a while, I’m… I’m okay, I’m not… I can’t… Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop-”

She was begging him.

The anguish in her voice sliced her heart to ribbons. She felt ready to burst into a thousand pieces, for a thousand different reasons, and absolutely none of them made sense. She had prided herself on keeping her distance, on being stronger than whatever was between them, on being able to walk away.

But now all of that was gone in the blink of an eye, just gone, as if it had never been there.

The realization tore through her and Felicity fell back against the table with a broken cry.

All of it had been a lie. She was a lie. Everything she told herself she felt was a lie.

Another sob threatened to escape, but she bit it back. Because the only thing that mattered in this moment was staying here. With him. She needed to be here - with him - and she couldn’t think about it, about what it meant. She could only feel.

She only wanted to feel.

“Please,” Felicity breathed, arching up again, her legs winding around him, her nails scrabbling under his shirt. “Don’t stop. Please-”

“I’m not,” Oliver whispered in a rush, falling over her. It changed the angle of his hardness inside her and she whimpered as he cupped her face on a ragged, “I’m not stopping. Ever,” before his lips found hers in a burning kiss.

It matched her desperation so perfectly that tears burned her eyes. It shouldn’t soothe her, and she knew that. But it did, and it felt so good, so right, to be here, to be back with him. But it was more than that. It grounded her, in a way she couldn’t do herself. She mewled, opening for him, winding her arms around his shoulders. He kissed her until they were both gasping for air, and then he kissed her even more, deeper, harder.

He invaded her in every way possible.

More.

Felicity twisted his shirt, twisting it, yanking. She slid one hand under the collar, and then his undershirt. His skin was blisteringly hot against her palm, and she moaned, kissing him harder as she dug her nails into his muscles. His hips jerked into hers, and this time they both moaned when he slid in a little easier, sending tiny bolts of pleasure through her.

“Off,” she mumbled, tugging at his shirt. “Off.”

He didn’t bother with the buttons, ripping his dress shirt off along with his undershirt. Buttons went scattering, but Felicity barely heard them pinging, or felt the ones that hit her as she yanked her own shirt off.

Her breath caught at the sight he made. His abs stood out in stark relief, too stark, the lines of his body harsh and rigid, a wall of pure muscle. He had always been well-defined, but this was extreme. Felicity flattened her hands to his stomach and smoothed them. She was transfixed by the feel of his hot, silky skin over such hardness, her fingers ghosting over his taut nipples, his rock-hard pecs…

“C’mere,” Oliver grunted, hooking his fingers in the front of her bra and yanking her up.

The lace tore across her skin and she yelped as she crashed into his chest. The pain only fueled her need as the new angle had him shifting inside her again, gasoline on a fire, turning a simmer into an inferno.

Felicity’s teeth found his collarbone.

He cried out, grabbing the back of her neck. He crowded her closer as she worked her way up his neck, savoring his salty taste, sucking and nipping, leaving little marks that would be there for days.

“Fuck… Felicity…”

She’d never heard her name so many times from him like this. She was always Smoak. But not right now, and the knowledge that he was just as undone as she was had her licking and sucking harder, wanting to hear more of it. He gave it to her, a raspy plea as he turned his face into her hair, his breathing hot and damp, his fingers digging into her neck as she marked him, up his throat, his jaw…

On a groan, Oliver captured her lips with his as he inched his hips forward.

He filled her up, so much more smoothly, so good, so perfectly. Burning need arched through her, the pressure changing, her slickening inner walls clamping down on him. Oliver swallowed down her cries, matching them with his own as he pulled out a bit to thrust back in. He rubbed against her with each thrust, his pubic bone hitting her clit, sending little bursts of pleasure sparking through her. She keened, clinging to him, and he did it again, and again, slow and steady, making sure she was ready for him.

“Yes,” she whimpered, grabbing his face, kissing them both breathless. “Yes.”

His fingers found the clasp of her bra. He undid it quickly and pushed her back down to the table.

The cold tabletop was a shock, but then Oliver was pulling her bra off, tossing it away…

And then all she felt was the burn of his gaze, and then his hands as he grasped her waist.

His hips slowed as he stared at her with unfathomable eyes, so dark, so intense. It was almost like he couldn’t get enough of what he saw. Captivated. Transfixed. His gaze danced all over her, up her chest, her neck, her mouth, then back down to her breasts, her abdomen.

“Felicity…”

He dragged her name out, tasting every single syllable. Did he know what he was saying? He couldn’t, she thought, not with how he looked at her, or how he touched her. There was a reverence that hadn���t been there before.

Felicity’s heart skipped, her mouth going dry, her stomach fluttering.

She had missed him, so much, and not just his body. But that was the confusing part. They didn’t have a relationship. They didn’t have anything.

And yet… the way he looked at her… how he made her feel…

“Felicity…”

She shivered, and fought to breathe, but then he was touching her. Oliver smoothed his hands up her waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts before slipping back down, one hand cupping her ribs, the other spanning the width of her stomach…

So soft.

So gentle.

Felicity shuddered, goosebumps erupting over her skin. They sent another shiver ripping down her spine, and another. The goosebumps spread everywhere, her chest, her stomach, her breasts, peaking her nipples into hard little beads that ached.

It was nothing compared to the way he stared at her.

It was too much.

“Oliver,” Felicity choked.

His dark gaze flew to hers and her heart clenched at the look in them.

Too much.

She grabbed his hands and slid them up to her breasts, cupping herself with his fingers. Lust slackened his face and he took over, squeezing them before raking his thumbs over her nipples. Pleasure spiked through her and she moaned, loudly, and he did it again.

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding, closing her eyes as she arched her back, rocking her hips. “Please. I need you-”

On a harsh growl, Oliver squeezed her breasts, so hard and fast it took her breath away. Using his grasp on her to keep her still, he thrust into her, burying himself as deep as he could. Her hands scrambled up his arms for something to hold onto as he gripped her breasts, relentless and unforgiving, and thrust into her again. Again. Again.

“Oh… god!” she cried. “Oh… oh god…!”

Oliver fell on top of her, pinning her to the table, spreading her legs impossibly wide.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his mouth finding hers in a messy kiss.

She struggled to respond, but his demanding lips stole her ability to do anything. He ripped away only to shove his hands up into her hair. He destroyed her ponytail, pulling on the long strands until enough was free so he could make tight fists. Oliver braced himself over her and used his new leverage to pull out nearly all the way before thrusting home, so hard the table shook. Felicity shouted, grabbing his sides for something to hold onto. She was completely at his mercy and it had a rush of arousal sweeping through her, her juices flooding her sex, a desperate ache for him to fuck her sensenless razing her from the inside out. Blood rushed in her ears, her heart pounded, heat swamped her veins, a mind-numbing pressure deep in her core coiling tighter as Oliver thrust into her so hard the table slid across the floor.

“Say it.”

“I need you,” Felicity gasped. He groaned at the words. “I need you. I need you. I need you.”

They moved together, finding a rhythm to his pleading, “Again,” and her breathless, “I need you,” echoed by the sounds of their harsh pants for air and her wet sex taking in every inch of him over and over until they both dissolved into mindless cries.

The orgasm hit her in a tidal wave, bowling her over, eclipsing everything. White sheeted over her eyes, a series of short, startled cries flying from her as she fell to pieces.

Oliver’s grip on her tightened so much she whimpered as he started thrusting with abandon. Hard, harder, each collision sending her higher, dragging her pleasure out until she didn’t know where he began and she ended. His forehead landed on hers, skin slick, his breaths hot and ragged against her mouth. Felicity grabbed hold of him, cradling him, nonsensical words falling from her as he plowed into her, erratic and frantic, chasing his pleasure.

He jerked, his back bowing, his pistoning hips stuttering.

With a strangled, “Felicity,” on his lips, he came.

Oliver collapsed on top of her, burying his face into her throat, her skin muffling his desperate noises. He didn’t stop, his hips rocking into her as he rode out his orgasm, her inner walls milking every last bit out of him, his cock twitching deep inside her with each burst.

It was a long moment before he finally slowed, and then fell still.

Buzzing filled her head.

Pleasure. Satisfaction. Shock. Confusion.

She wanted him to move. But she didn’t. She wanted to want to. She wanted to get off this uncomfortable table, to get his bulk off her where he crushed her, but at the same time, she didn’t. She didn’t want to move. Ever.

Oliver made the decision for her.

He slowly pushed up. He slipped out of her, trying to quiet his groan when he left her wet heat. Felicity bit her lip so hard it nearly tore the skin as her sex clenched at the sudden emptiness. And then he was off of her, pushing to his feet. He grabbed his pants, yanking them back up as he turned away from her.

He didn’t look at her once.

Felicity sat up, grimacing at the throb blossoming between her thighs. She stood up gingerly, her hands shaking as she pushed her skirt back down. The silence was deafening. He moved to his desk, peeling the condom off as he went before tying it off and tossing it. The cool office air stung her sweaty skin and she crossed her arms over her breasts, looking around for her blouse.

She spotted it in a crumpled heap next to his tangled shirts.

It smelled like him when she slipped it over her head.

“Were you supposed to be the CEO of Queen Consolidated?”

Silence.

Felicity looked at him where he stood by his desk, his hands frozen where he’d been re-buttoning his pants. The slacks were tight across his backside, stretched over his thighs in a way that they hadn’t been before. His back was covered in red marks where she’d raked her nails over him, making the well-defined muscles in his back stand out in harsher relief when he finished fastening the buttons. His belt was next.

That was it.

“You were, weren’t you?” she asked. The full weight of that hit her and Felicity’s ribs closed in around her, making her gasp. “You were leaving Q&Q. But now you’re not. Because of Isabel. Because of…”

Us.

He turned his head slightly, but that was it.

“How did she know?” she asked. She caught the edge of his forehead creasing in a frown. “About the Plaza. That we were there that one night…” He finally turned, his brow creased in muted surprise, and she huffed. “C’mon, Oliver, give me a little more credit than that. This is my system, remember? I know when something’s wrong. Or… missing. I saw the video. And the emails. And the announcement about her, that you sent. Like it was… gift-wrapped. Because she had something that she couldn’t have possibly known about, didn’t she? But the odds of her picking that one night…”

He didn’t answer her. He just turned to his desk.

“Oliver-”

He opened one of the bottom drawers and pulled out…

“My glasses?” Felicity frowned when she recognized the frames. She absently reached up to touch the replacement pair she currently wore. “I thought I lost those.”

“A couple weeks ago…” Oliver said in a low voice, not making a move to hand them to her. He tilted them back and forth in his fingers, the move so easy and familiar, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He stared at them as he spoke. “Isabel walked into my office and handed these to me. I told her they could be anybody’s, but then she showed me the security tape.”

Felicity’s heart sank. “Oh god…”

“I told her to go to hell,” he continued, still watching the glasses. He huffed. “She must not have liked that very much because then she sent the video to both of us. Except this time it was focused on you. She said she wanted you gone, and that if we didn’t do anything about it, she would take the video to the Board, since you not only work here, but are slated to be so involved with getting Queen Consolidated set up.”

Felicity closed her eyes.

This was her fault. It wasn’t them, together, specifically. It was her. She remembered wanting to escape that room the next morning more than anything, before Oliver woke up, before she had to face what they had done. Again.

“It was a game to her,” he said and she opened her eyes to see his locked on her. “She wanted to see what we would do when she pushed us into a corner. If it was just me, or if it was both of us, I could have at least… But it was you, and I knew I couldn’t do anything without risking her releasing that tape, so I gave her something she couldn’t resist.”

“Queen Consolidated.”

“Queen Consolidated,” he echoed. The broken way his lips lifted in a half-smile, an attempt to hide the depth of what he had given up, cracked her open. “It didn’t matter, though. Whatever we had, it had nothing to do with your job. You’re the best asset this firm has and I wasn’t going to let you pay the price for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Felicity could only stand there, staring at him, too overwhelmed to comprehend any of it.

So she focused on the one thing she could fix.

“She still has the video.”

Oliver pursed his lips on a slow nod. “Yeah.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing they tapped me to set up Queen Consolidated, isn’t it?” She gave him a tight smile before lifting her hands to wiggle her fingers at him. “I’ll get it. Somehow. Once I’m in, I’m kind of hard to escape.”

Something flickered over his face, but it was so tiny, nearly indiscernible, that she wondered if she saw it. Then she remembered how he’d looked at her a moment ago and her heart faltered.

He dropped his eyes back to the glasses.

“Here.” Oliver cleared his throat as he stepped towards her and held them out to her.

Felicity slowly took them. “Thank you.”

All he had was a tight nod and a bland attempt at a smile before he turned away.

She grabbed his arm. “Oliver, wait-”

He looked back, his brow twisted in what she could only read as concern, but she barely gave herself time to discern it.

The second he faced her, she pushed up onto her toes again and kissed him.

It was soft, chaste, her lips capturing his with an ease that settled something deep inside her.

“Come home with me,” she whispered against his lips.

He hesitated and her chest caved in.

“Please.”

An eternity passed, their breaths mingling, noses brushing, but that was it.

She pressed her lips together before biting her bottom lip, the urge to ask him again - to beg - overwhelming her, nearly taking over.

Please.

Oliver pulled back and she barely bit back a whimper. He was going to say no. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to see the look he gave her, to face what she was asking him, after she had slammed the door in his face. Felicity bit her lip harder, fighting to keep more words from falling out…

He cupped her jaw.

Felicity’s eyes flew open as his thumb tugged her lip away from her teeth with a whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The word was out before she could think, and the second it was, his mouth was on hers. With a sigh, she fell into him as Oliver wound his arms around her, pulling her into him. They opened for each other, and she whimpered when he took a deeper taste, re-sealing the unspoken bond between them.

“Yes.”

*

Thank you so much for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse!

On a final note, I want to thank everyone who has engaged with me about this story. I appreciate every single comment and tweet and DM and ask. I know the way I'm writing them in this 'verse is very challenging, and demanding, and it's not an easy read. But it shouldn't be, because I don't want it to be. I don't want my readers comfortable during certain parts of this story, because I'm not comfortable. I'm pushing a lot of boundaries with this story. This is my most difficult undertaking to date, and I question myself at every turn in this process. All the more reason I truly appreciate those who continue to read, who reach out, who share their thoughts with me. I'm learning a lot about myself as I go on, and I thank you for being on this journey with me!

[gra-sonas]

With only two episodes left to Season 2 of The CW series Roswell, New Mexico, questions are piling up and everyone is desperate for answers, as the town welcomes CrashCon and Liz (Jeanine Mason) and Max (Nathan Parsons) find themselves trying to piece together who’s behind a potentially deadly plan targeting the popular festival. Before all is said and done, there are sure to be life-or-death stakes to survive, heart-wrenching choices to endure, big moves to make, and loose ends to be tied.

During this 1-on-1 phone interview with Collider, actress Jeanine Mason talked about what it was like to make it to Season 2, getting to have a much deeper understanding of her character, what she’s learned about leading a TV series, seeing Liz come to terms with the fact that she can’t solve every problem, having her past come back into her life, the affect CrashCon will have on Roswell, her reaction to the Season 2 finale, and how Shiri Appleby has inspired her.

Collider: You’ve previously talked about doing seven pilots and a couple of TV shows that only had one season. What was it like to learn that you’d have a second season for this show, and then to also now have a third season pick-up?

JEANINE MASON: It’s crazy. It’s so bonkers. I’ve been hoping for this, for so long, that it was so cool to get that pick-up news. It’s layers of confronting the excitement and the nervousness, of course. But the most honest one for me was, I sat down, as I do every year, to work with my acting coach, who’s half of my brain, and in our first session, we started breaking down the script and I said, “Okay, so in the pilot . . .” I assumed it was the pilot again, instead of Episode 201, and he was like, “No, no, no, this is 201.” I was like, “Oh, my god, it’s 201. We’ve gotten to 201. This is crazy!” It was awesome. That was my personal favorite moment, in which it hit me that this was no longer starting from the beginning. We were getting to move forward from having a really deep understanding of these characters.

From what you just said, clearly your acting coach is important to you. Was that something that you sought out having? Was that something that you always felt like you wanted to have there for you?

MASON: It’s the way that I’ve always worked. It’s the way I was, as a dancer, as well, before this. I’m just someone who operates as an athlete, as well as an artist, in whatever I’m doing. So, it makes sense to me to have coaches. It’s also a celebration of the collaboration of it all, which is ultimately my favorite thing about this. Different people contribute and are pieces of the puzzle, and to see it all come together, it’s not just one person’s effort, so it makes sense to me to get the opinions of the people that I admire most. Along with my acting coach, I have a good girlfriend, who’s an actress, an activist, and a Chicana. I’m Cuban, so she’s another person that I lean on, a lot. She’s been indispensable for me in this process, as well. I’m just someone who loves the collaboration of it and loves having help. I love leaning on people.

How does it feel to return to a show where you’ve already set up the character, in the first season, and established these relationships that she has? What’s been the most fun about digging even deeper, in the second season?

MASON: The most rewarding thing about it has been the moments in which it really pays off, on set. We all are in a groove now, and the moments in which Lily [Cowles] will suggest a joke for Isobel, and it gets a reaction out of myself and Liz that we can possibly feel, is spot on. That’s the best feeling in the world. That is Season 2. That is the delight of having a second round.

This is also your first time leading a show. Does that get any easier in Season 2, or is it even more challenging, as they give you more because they know you can do more?

MASON: I think they would say that they’re definitely doing that, and I love it. I feel like I’m more confident and I’ve acquired a lot of skills from Season 1, that I am more proficient at now. That being said, the nature of this job is that there’s always more to learn, and I’m learning, every day, things that are just taking it up a notch. It’s asking me to be a better and more consistent number one, and I love that about this, so much. The most rewarding bit of this job has been seeing how much being in this leadership position teaches you. I always knew that. I always knew, of course, you’re gonna learn, and you’re gonna have more time on camera, more say, and more of an impact, but actually being in it, it’s insane to me. Every day, I go to work nervous because I know it’s like, “Okay, let me try to be on my game,” because I know new things are gonna be asked of me, and that’s huge. I feel like I lead every season, like an acting titan. It’s great.

Did you also have to figure out how to mentally and physically keep that up? When you’re doing 13 episodes a season, and each one has to have the same level of energy as the last one, how do you keep that consistent? Does your dance background help with that?

MASON: My dance background helps so much with that. I am so grateful. I remember being in dance class and having my teacher say to me and to all of us that, regardless of where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do, this was preparing us. I really do believe that athletics, but particularly dance, because it’s the athlete and the artist together, in a way that doesn’t really exist much, except for maybe ice skating, and I’m always amazed by the way that prepares me. I think the mindset stuff is the biggest, and that is my dad’s realm. He’s just fed me a little bit of that sports mentality, for years. Even on set, people will laugh because our camera operator and I will be talking about something and I’ll equate it to baseball, but that’s my dad. That’s the way my brain works. I’ll be like, “Okay, let’s give it another at bat.” When it gets tough and people get tired, that’s when people start to get sloppy and that’s when I can trust that I will stay on the straight and narrow. That’s a huge relief to me because then I know that I can utilize the rest of my brain to try to connect to that ephemeral thing of, can I give a great performance?

You’ve said that you knew, early on, that Max was going to die at the end of the season and that Rosa was going to be resurrected. What was your reaction, when you first heard that, and how do you feel now about the way that all played out and how that’s affected the second season?

MASON: I loved it, immediately. I thought it was so brave and that it honored the sci-fi nature of our show, but it felt impossible to connect to that amount of grief and elation, and the blurry way that they cross over each other. I immediately got excited about trying to figure that out for Liz and trying to play with that big of an event. That’s the cool thing about doing a sci-fi show. You get these big stakes moments that very rarely exists in shows that are just about mere mortals. Acting wise, it’s just like the Olympics. So, that felt really exciting for our show, and I was pumped about it. And then, the way it played out, I thought was quite brave, as well, and right for Liz, in that it was such an immediate thing for Max to save her, as the catalyst for our show and our pilot episode, but it’s not as immediate for Liz. We were able to get those five episodes of her and the Scooby gang bringing him back to life, and I loved every bit of seeing her work through her grief and her frustration, and having that fuel her work. It felt really human and honest, in an impossible situation.

Now, the two of them both have things that they’re dealing with, that Liz can’t really help them through. They have to get through these things they’re dealing with on their own. What’s it like for her to have these two people that she loves, back in her life, but also see them going through these things that she can’t really help them with?

MASON: It’s so hard for Liz. She likes to be able to take care of people, and she’s a problem solver. When it comes to her people, the woman will mountains, without question. So, for her to not be able to solve this for them, kills her, but she has to learn. That’s what I love about a protagonist that’s truly on a journey. I’m so sick of shows, where there’s nothing to be learned or earned for your protagonist. She has to let go. She has to realize that this is Rosa’s journey, and as much as she wants to be like, “Sit here and let me make it work,” Rosa is like, “Girl, I’ve gotta go to rehab. Lemme be.” Rosa is right, and Liz is learning. It’s really fun to watch her try.

Liz has had to deal with the return of Rosa, the return of Mama Ortecho, and now Diego is back in her life. What’s it like for her to have her past reuniting with her present? How is she able to handle all of that, with everything that she’s been through?

MASON: Yeah. What I loved about Mama Ortecho and Diego coming right now is that, we all go through changes and every decade we can notice shifts, but the shift that has happened in Liz’s life, in this two-year period is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to her. She was so closed off. She was someone who kept you at arms length. She was someone who was used to running. She was someone who felt very abandoned. The first season is her heart getting pried open. So, for the two of them to come in, it really felt like whiplash. It might have just been a year, but she’s such a different person now. So, that was really exciting to me. It was fun to imagine the little flashbacks with Diego, where we could go back to her life pre her return to Roswell, pre-Max, pre knowing there are aliens in the world. To see her then, you really get a sense of how far you’ve already been with her, how far you’ve seen her go, and how happy you are for where she is right now. I liked that it clued the fans back into that.

I think it’s fun that you’ll be having a CrashCon episode (Episode 212), which pays homage to the original series and their UFO Convention episode. What can you say about having this convention in town, the attention that brings, and how that’ll affect the story?

MASON: Oh, man, it’s so fun. It’s gives you so much OG Roswell nostalgia. It’s pretty great. There are a couple of really fun Easter eggs, and we just kept dying on set, every time we encountered posters that said things. We were just like, “That’s really good. Good work, writers.” It’s huge. What I love about The CW is that there’s always an episode, or a pair of episodes, centered around a big event. Last year, we had the gala, and this year, it’s this. Small town events are massive. Everybody’s out. With the amount of extras and the costume pieces, and the creativity of our wardrobe department and our props department, in dressing everybody in alien and sci-fi and actual properties that get little nods, I think it’s gonna be a feast for the eyes. I think it’s gonna be so visually beautiful. I was impressed. I read a script and get so excited by the writer’s ideas, and then we get to set and we try to figure out the logistics, three times over, and how to do it justice and do right by the excitement of the words. These last two episodes, that happen in the convention/carnival, exceeded everything that I had imagined and it was incredible to see. I can’t wait for people to see. I really think the last two episodes are gonna have people on the edge of their seat.

Without giving away spoilers, what was your reaction to reading the finale and seeing how things would end up for this season, and how do you think fans will react to it?

MASON: The beautiful thing about this season is that things have been weaving in and out, and so much has been set up, in a way that fans are conscious about it. There’s so much stuff that you wouldn’t have thought twice about, that’s gonna come back, and there are so many people that we’ve met, even in passing, who are gonna have such prominence, in the last two episodes. They’re so full. So much is connected and a lot is revealed, in terms of the mythology of our world. But then, there are also personal decisions made that are heartbreaking and that are really not where some characters thought they would find themselves, for sure not at the beginning of the season and definitely not even a week before this whole convention goes down. I’m proud of the decision that characters make, to look out for themselves, but it definitely sets us up for a lot of complication to sort through in Season 3.

Max has been finding out some new and unexpected things about his alien side. Will we also see that affect his relationship with Liz?

MASON: Yeah, absolutely. That’s a lot of what I’m trying to dance around. I’ve gotten some little hints, as to where we’re going for Season 3, and our show is about otherness. That’s what it is and has been, from day one, and feeling other. You can’t help but wonder when you’ll be satiated and when you’ll feel like you have enough information, either in front of you or historically, to feel like you’re  happy with where you are. Ultimately, a lot of our characters are still asking those questions for themselves.

Have you also started to have conversations about how to go back to work and make sure that it is safe for everyone?

MASON: Absolutely. It’s been really inspiring to see the way that everyone is so willing to be creative and to take it very seriously, to figure out a way that we can get back to work, but do so safely. Everyone is just guessing, right now, and a lot of the suggestions range in possibilities, but the main thing we’re all saying is that we’re grateful that we’re now going to be a Season 3 show. We feel confident and we feel like we got in such a groove by Season, as a production, that I’m excited we’ll be able to get back to set. Even in honoring all of the protocol that we have to, I feel like we’ll be able to just connect back to the well-oiled machine that we are now. That is just a really gorgeous gift.

What’s it been like to be directed by Shiri Appleby? She’s been an actress for many years, she’s led a show more than once, herself, and she even played Liz in the original Roswell series. What sort of insight do you feel that gives her, as a director, that makes her different from everybody else?

MASON: The woman is a dream. People always ask me about what’s been the most surprising thing about being number one, and the most surprising thing is that I like it. I didn’t know how it would feel on me, and I love it. I hope to have a career like Shiri, where I get to do this again and again. I admire her because the reason she’s had that career is because she’s such a boss. She is 100, constantly. The woman is a machine, and it’s really just inspiring to be around her to see her life force at work. I’m a huge Shiri Appleby fan. I cannot wait for her to be back for Season 3, to direct us again. Every time she’s there, it’s fun to just pick her brain and get her advice. ’m living in New York now, and that was something I read by Shiri. She was like, “Oh, hell yeah, go to New York.” And I was like, “Okay.”

Has she inspired you to want to step behind the camera, at some point? Is directing something that you’re also looking to do?

MASON: Yeah. I’ve directed for stage. I love it, and I wanna do more of it. As of late, I’ve gotten more inspired. I think it’s also because I’m in New York and, prior to the pandemic, was seeing so much theater. I’m excited about just getting involved out here more, and finding my people out here. So, directing for stage excites me. It just brings back my dancing and all of the things I love about physicality and relation. I love the medium and the palette that is the stage. I’m excited about that, right now. But, we’ll see. Maybe, eventually, working with the camera will be exciting. To be honest, where I’m at right now, in my journey, is excitement about working with directors that I love. That will be next, hopefully.

Do you have a dream list of directors that you’d like to do a project?

MASON: Oh, man, so many. I would love to work with Guillermo Del Toro. He has such a love of cinema and a love of movement, and I love his brand of magic. I would love to play in his movies. It would be so fun. I have a lot of film aspirations. That’s the next frontier. I’ve always had aspirations to work with great filmmakers, absolutely, but now, it’s changed to great filmmakers who seem like a great time. I’m getting older. My 30s are coming, and what I really wanna do is spend my time, preciously. I wanna be with my family, and if I’m gonna be working, then I wanna be working with legit and delightful people. Hopefully, that’ll be the 30s.

~ Collider

[crue-sixx]

Chasing Ghosts

Title: Chasing Ghosts

Fandom: The Dirt 

Summary: Frank comes to your door in tears, says nothing and takes you against the wall.

Warnings: Smut, violence, swearing, abuse mention.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of abuse so if this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read.

In the winter of your fourteenth year, you met Frankie Ferrana.  He was a rough and tumble kid from Seattle who at the time lived with his Nona and Grandpa Tom.  He at first wouldn't give you the time of day but when he saw all the bruises on your body he felt for you.  He gave you some lessons in self defense, if you ever gained enough courage to fight back against your father.  He regretted ever teaching you when you missed school for a week, him going to your house only to see your face busted up.

He eventually went behind your back and called child services on your dad, the day after they paid a visit your father made an executive decision to uproot the family from Seattle, Washington to Montgomery, Alabama.  When you told Frankie about it, he looked so disheartened that he just hugged you and whispered in your ear "Call me, anytime...I'll come get you" you knew his number by heart and you nodded.

The two of you stayed in touch for two years, making weekly phone calls.  When you missed his weekly call, he grew worried and begged Tom to take him to Alabama to come see you.  He declined, the loss of contact continuing for a month.  When the phone blared at 3 in the morning, he knew it was about you.  "Hello? Y/N?"

"No" your sister Gina said in a hushed tone, her being older than you by a few years.  "It's Gina, her sister.  You need to come get her..."

He was on alert now and said "What the fuck is going on?!"

"Last month our father got really mad at her" she was choking back silent sobs "he poured boiling oil on her while she was sleeping..."

Frank didn't know it was possible to have his blood freeze and boil at the same time.  "Where is she?" he said darkly.

"Saint Xavier's Hospital.  Third floor, room 403" she quickly said and hung up the phone.  In the background, he could hear their father demand to know who she was talking to.  Frank knew Tom wouldn't believe him without evidence, so he opted for the less legal option-he took the truck without telling Tom and drove from Seattle to Montgomery.  He gassed up a few times and just drove off without paying, time was of the essence.  He made the trip in just under 40 hours, using empty soda cans to piss in when he had to go.

He kicked the door open to your room, the place being empty save for the patient of course.  He didn't recoil from your burn, the bubbly skin on the right sight of your face and neck, just touching your shoulder.  He unhooked your IVs from your arm, taking the wheelchair from the corner and putting you in it to wheel you out without being caught.

He stopped dead in his tracks when a nurse turned the corner and stared at you both.  He was so afraid of being busted, but the nurse just smiled at him and put a finger to her lips, gesturing that she'd keep quiet about your location.  He nodded his thanks and went on his way with you.  You woke up a little, able to get up and climb into the truck on your own "You came...." you softly cried.

"Gina called" he drive off back to Seattle "Just rest now, Y/N...you need it..." he stroked your thigh, but not in a sexual way.  You laid your head on the window and slept the whole way back.  Tom and Nona were understandably pissed at Frank for stealing the truck, but recoiled the moment they saw your face.  

He let you share his bed with him, both of you needed each other close.  He was kicking himself for letting you leave with your father, wondering how many other injuries he had caused you to get.  While you were sound asleep and dead to the world, he brushed your hair from your face and said "You're so beautiful..." and planted a soft kiss on your lips.

Over the next year, you and Frank had moved to L.A., to get away from his mother, Deanna.  He made sure to include you in all his dealings, and shared his booze and drugs with you.  On many occasions, you two had even had drunken, drugged up sex, both of you too scared to admit having feelings for each other.

It was one night he asked you to be left alone, that he needed to do something by himself.  This was out of the ordinary for him, but  you obliged him.  He had done so much for you, and you granted him this one favor he asked of you.  He had left with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand, and was back in a few hours.  He banged on the door and when you opened it he pushed you back against the wall and started kissing you.

You returned the gesture, pulling away and seeing that he'd been crying "Frank?  What's wrong?"

He was breathing heavily as he tore off your shirt to kiss your breasts "No..." he pulled down your bra to get at the nipple, teasing it with his tongue "Don't call me Frank..."

You groaned in need, needing him to be inside you soon "What do you want me to call you then?"

"Babe" he reached down into your pants and inserted two fingers inside you "just call me Babe for the moment..."

"Babe..." you sighed, you feeling his fingers slipping in and out of you.  He then bought his fingers up to your lips, you licking one clean and him doing the same to the other "fuck me..."

"Yes, Ma'am" he used his switchblade knife to cut off your pants and panties, you spread your legs to allow him to enter you.  He stepped back to release his cock from his pants, the thing bouncing at the very sight of you naked in front of him.  He pressed you against the wall, and dove right in.  

"Fuck, Babe" you gasped as he roughly entered you.  You could smell the whiskey on his breath, the scent seeming to seep through his skin.  It turned you on even more, you wrapping one leg around his waist.

He grunted "You're always so fuckin' tight for me, Y/N..."

"That's cause nobody else will fuck me with this monster face" you said.  He suddenly stopped and gave you a stern look.

"You're beautiful" he gave a hard thrust, you squeaking from the sudden pressure "the way" another thrust "you are..." he took both your legs in his arms, him being strong enough to hold you up and thrust.

He'd never done this when you two fucked before, so the feeling was new to you.  "Jesus Fuckin' Christ Babe..." you clung onto his neck to help him hold you up "Keep that up, I'm gonna cum..."

"Me too..." a few thrusts later, you felt him twitch and release himself inside you, his hips shuddering as he did so and he let out a loud "Y/N!  FUCK!"

When you came right after him you bit into his shoulder, making him cum harder than he'd ever did while he was with you.  His cock pulsed a few times, releasing more of his semen.  When he caught his breath, he pulled out and let you down.  You reached up and gave him a tired kiss, the both of you having been spent.  You took his hand and went to the couch to cuddle, you in the nude and him having done up his pants.  After a few minutes of blissful silence you asked "What was that all about?"

"Me fuckin' your brains out?" he laughed softly.

"Yeah that," you caressed his thick arm "and why you were crying" you interlocked your fingers with his, allowing him to take his time with answering.

"I called my dad..." he finally said, you looking up at him in disbelief.

"Well what did he say?" you were anxious to hear all about it.

"He told me he didn't have a son" he sniffled "and to never call him again..."

"Oh Babe..." your eyes were sorrowful for him.  He'd told you that he wanted to have a relationship with his father all his life, him only showing up once in a blue moon.  The one time he actually remembered clearly that Big Frank gave him a birthday present was a sled when he was seven.

"I don't want my name anymore" he stated matter of fact "How do I change it?"

"Well you have to go down to the social security office and apply for a name change, bring your current ID and fill out what your name is and what you want to change it to" you had some working knowledge about the issue, you working at the post office in the back sorting mail for delivery.  "What do you want to change it to?"

"I dunno" he said, his mood and voice perking up a little "something cool!  I wanna be a rock star!"

You thought about your ex back in Alabama "Nicky Six?"

He looked down at you and asked "How is it spelled?"

"N-I-C-K-Y S-I-X"

"The name sounds cool, but not with that spelling" he pouted cutely.

"N-I-K-K-I S-I-X-X?" he grinned at you and kissed you again.

"That's so totally metal, Y/N" he put his arm around you, kissing you deeper now.  You could feel his hardening cock in his pants against your thigh.

"Again, Nikki?" you raised an eyebrow at him, he grinned at the use of his new name.

"You're just so gorgeous, Y/N" his hand moved down your body "I can't help it..." you obliged and wrapped your legs around him while lying on the couch.  "Hey..." he stopped, being serious "Wanna officially be my girl?"

"What?" you stopped too, suddenly getting self-conscience about your face "you want to be seen with a girl looking like Quasimodo?"

He sighed, exasperated that you still thought of yourself as unlovable even after he assured you multiple times you looked radiant. "Y/N.  You are perfect, the way you are...I will help you see that" he bent down to kiss you, this time making slow, sweet love instead of a tangled mess of sloppy fucking.

The next few months were peaceful, or as peaceful as they could be with Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, Mick Mars and Vince Neil around as your lover and friends.  You were alone in the apartment one night, as you were fighting a bad cold when you heard a knock at the door.  "Guys, I can't believe you're home so early from a show!  Did you totally bomb?" you opened the door to see the man who struck fear into your soul for many years.

"Hey, my wayward daughter" he stepped in, you stepping back out of terror.

"I-I don't think you should be here, Daddy..." you stammered, tripping over the sofa.

"I'm here to take you back home, child" he grabbed at your hair and pulled you up to him.  You screamed and bit his arm, him releasing you from the pain.  You scrambled back to the couch, where you knew Nikki hid one of his hand guns.  He'd given you lessons on how to shoot, and they'd come in handy.  You grabbed the thing and your father had grabbed your leg and was dragging you backward.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore!" you shouted back to him.  "You have no power over me!"

"I am your father!  You are my property!  That burn on your face if proof of that!" he started to lunge forward, but from behind he was pulled back by Nikki, who held his switchblade to the older man's throat.

"She doesn't answer to you, asshole" his eyes were fully black, him pressing the blade to your father's neck drawing blood.  With three more men who were more than capable of kicking his ass behind him, your father relented and stepped back.

"This isn't over, Frankie" he scoffed.

"My name is Nikki" your boyfriend corrected him "and if we ever see your face again, I'll gut you like a fish."

Your father then left, you breathing a sigh of relief and saying "Thanks guys..." you didn't need to say anything else, all of them knowing full well that it was your father who burned your face.  Nikki helped you up.

"You okay, Y/N?" he gave you a once over "You're not hurt are you?"

"No, I'm fine" you assured them with confidence.  "Just shaken up is all" soon people started pouring in for the party, Nikki never leaving your side.  While you were making out with him later, you smelled the whiskey on him and grinned against his lips.

"Wanna fuck?" he asked, taking you to your room.

"Hell yeah!" you screamed against the music, then slamming the door for semi-privacy.

[the-sleepy-silurian]

Women Of Remorse Chapter Two

     “We cannot ignore our past together, only decide how it will shape our futures apart”

Available on AO3 here: (x)

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

     Night had fallen, and the light of the seven moons combined with twinkling gems and lanterns cast a warm glow over the inner courtyard. Two figures were visible in the ambient splendor, seemingly in the midst of some form of training.

    “Try again princess,” Praxina cooed from her perch in the bejeweled tree. “It’s not like it could be any worse than the rest of your creatures”. All of the hesitancy of earlier was gone and a wicked grin was just visible from behind a polite hand.

    Talia could only grit her teeth and glare furiously at the girl lounging on an outstretched limb above her head. Dozens of failed attempts ran about her feet-or at least tried to run-many of them were, rudimentary to say the least. Even the dog shied away from her grotesque, flawed creations. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her robes-impeccable only hours earlier-were caked with dust and covered with grass stains. Her parents would flip out if they saw her like this. Speaking of flipping out, her new “friend” was starting to really annoy her.

“You are the worst student I’ve ever had...” Praxina mumbled gleefully.

“I’ve been doing it exactly the way you did!”

“And you’ve been doing it exactly wrong!”

    This time the girl had gone to far. Who was she to speak to her like this!?! How come only she could summon animal playmates!?! And why was she still smiling like that?!?!

    “It’s not fair!” the bluenette yelled and stomped her foot. As she did so a huge azure circle sprang from underfoot. The xerian felt a surge of magic coursing through her. Tingling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She closed her eyes until it passed, only to open them again to the sound of an earsplitting roar. Standing before her and reaching up past Praxina’s branch was a hulking creature with blue fur and eyes.

     Suddenly face to face with a set of gaping jaws, Praxina squeaked and jumped down from the tree. Landing nimbly at Talia’s feet, she shattered what were left of the princess’ previous efforts with a flick of her wrists. Turning towards a still seething Talia she said sweetly

    “Congratulations your highness, I knew you could do it.” Crouching down to pet the returning dog, Praxina calmly endured the ferocious looks of both Talia and her bear as they turned towards her. “What’s wrong your highness, don’t you like it? I’m sure I could teach you to summon another Earth creature, but I’m afraid you don’t have all night to spend in a courtyard with the likes of me.” she mused, not bothering to look up.

    “How did I do that? What did you do?” Talia demanded sharply. “Izira’s always yelling at me for not training enough, I shouldn’t have been able to pull this off...”. Her voice trailed off gloomily as she gestured vaguely to the huge form of the creature that had wandered over to a bush and was now trying to eat the decorative jewels. The girl with burgundy hair rose sharply, standing directly in front of the xerian, making sure to punctuate each word perfectly.

    “I. Didn’t. Do. Anything. This is simply the power of letting emotions into your magic. Do they not have feelings in Xeris?” she asked coyly. The bluenette’s face burned, she was always being told to be more serious. 

“Izira says disciplined magic is durable magic”

    “Speaking of your sister, I think it’s your turn to teach me princess” Praxina bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet. With a sigh Talia turned to her eagerly awaiting “student”. How different could Xerian magic possibly be?

“Which spell did you have in mi-”

“Crystimito” came the to-quick reply.

“A disguise spell? What makes you think I know that high level stuff?”

  “Because highness”, the girl recited in a singsong voice as she paced in circles around Talia “the princess of Xeris is well known throughout the lands for her pranks and undignified fun. It wouldn’t be to much to assume she knows a thing or two about disguises now would it?” She came to a stop behind Talia, and punctuated her last words by draping herself smugly over the bluenette’s shoulder.

   Talia shoved her off begrudgingly, her guilt riddled across her face. This was all the answer the servant girl needed and she stood happily awaiting her next orders.

“Fine, but you're going to get in trouble y’know...”

“You only get in trouble if you get caught. You of all people should know that Princess.”

  Talia smiled, they really were similar at heart. Drawing herself up to her full height she glanced disdainfully at Praxina, whose face dropped. With a few seconds pause she soon gave her best impression of her own tutor in Xeris: a haughty woman with no time for childish things.

   The bluenette’s voice became high and reedy as she mimicked: “Your magic is undisciplined, sloppy, and lacks technique but with the proper training I think you could have some potential.” With a wave of her hand and a short command Talia transformed herself into the girl standing before her.

   “Now lets see you try that ”, the double leered as the burgundy haired girl struggled in front of her. This continued as the next few minutes stretched out agonizingly slowly.

“Whats wrong little girl? Lost your nerve?“

    Being insulted by her own reflection was to much and soon Praxina’s anger got the better of her. With one last shout she overcame her panic and recited the spell. To her horror however, she couldn't make a full body transformation. Instead of looking like the Princess of Xeris she had merely succeeded in turning her hair blue and changing her uniform into Talia’s ceremonial robes.

   Talia really did try and keep up the act as long as she could, but the charade couldn’t last. Soon the fake Praxina’s hastily stifled giggles became to powerful, and she began to shriek with laughter at the sight before her. As she did the transformation spell wavered, until it shattered completely and regular Talia was left laughing in the dirt.

“Stop laughing!” Praxina huffed indignantly as she pulled at her new locks and strange clothes.

“Why not? You laughed at me earlier. Now we’re even.” Talia wheezed out as she gradually calmed down.

  Not one to be humiliated twice, Praxina bit her lip and tried the spell again. This time it worked, and soon Talia was looking up at her own copy.

“There! Now we’re really even. A spell for a spell.” She held out a hand to help the true bluenette up and the two exchanged a genuine smile.

   They practiced their new spells until the lantern’s candles burned low. The bear rumbled around and played with Praxina’s dog as Talia threw stick after stick for them to fetch. Praxina changed her form constantly to look like the other beings she knew: the dog, then the bear, Princess Talia, a boy with burgundy hair, and a tall man with green hair. Neither of which Talia recognized.

A familiar voice suddenly rang out into the night

“Talia! There you are, mother and father have been looking for you ever since the summit ended! Where have you been all this time?”

   Izira ran from the shadows and into the courtyard, enveloping talia in a bone crushing hug.

“Izira, you- you’re smooshing me!”

Setting her down, the crown princess gave her little sister one of her no-nonsense looks

“Serves you right, what were you thinking?! Sneaking out of an important meeting like this?!”

“But Iziraaa I was just sooo bored. And besides, you’re the one people are counting on, nobody cares about me...”

“Talia you know that’s not true, it’s part of your responsibilities as princess to represent Xeris and that means being on your best-”

Izira stopped short when she realized they had an audience. The surprise on the white haired woman’s face when she saw the dog, bear, and a terrified Praxina with her nose practically on the ground she was curtsying so low was enough to make Talia stifle another laugh.

“Y-y-your highness” Praxina stammered, not daring to look up. Talia smiled and ran over to her new friend.

“It’s just my sister, c’mon stand up” the bluenette said comfortingly while pulling at her arm. Praxina’s eye flicked madly from the crown princess to the ground, rooted in place despite Talia’s best efforts until she saw Izira give her a nod.

Smiling warmly at the two girls now clinging to each other Izira asked kindly: “and what is your name?”

“Praxina your highness, how may I be of service?”

“Ugh, stop saying stuff like that, Izira has enough people to wait on her already” Talia groaned. Turning to her older sister she puffed up her chest and announced: “And she’s my friend, you cant take her from me” the bluenette harrumphed and crossed her arms.

The bear, seemingly sensing its creator’s mood, mirrored her stance. Seeing the strange blue creature seemed to bring Izira’s focus back to the task at hand.

“What on Ephedia have you been doing? Have you two been out here the whole night?”

“We’ve been training! Y’know the thing you’re always on my case about?” Praxina winced at the lack of respect Talia showed to her sister with every new sentence.

“It’s true your highness. Princess Talia has shown great potential with summoning magic” she gestured at the creatures that had appeared at their side.

“Yes, certainly a....unique pair of creations. Where did you find-”

“Oh, and I taught Praxina something too! Show her, show her!” the princess needled the other girl, her excitement at showing off palpable in the night air.

With a reluctant glance at Izira, Praxina transformed into her new friend, presenting the crown princess with two little sisters; one bursting with excitement and the other riddled with guilt. Overlapping voices were quick to break the shocked silence.

“You showed her crystimito! What were you thinking?”

“I thought you’d be proud of me, this is a high level spell!”

“This is a dangerous spell Talia, spies could become anyone!”

“That’s not fair she would never-”

“It’s my fault highness, I pressured the princess into teaching me-”

“No! I wanted to learn how to make a playmate like that and-”

“Enough!” Izira let out an exasperated sigh and pinched her temples. “How about we make a deal. I agree to not turn the both of you in, and in return you each do something for me, got it?

“Fine.” Talia sulked.

Lowering the disguise, Praxina replied: “As you wish, highness”

“Ok” Kneeling so she was eye to eye with the two girls, Izira spoke: “Talia, from now on you have to come to every meeting, summit, and negotiation that Xeris is involved with.”

The younger princess began to protest but was quickly shot down.

“You need to learn that your actions have consequences Talia, dont throw a tanty. It will also help enforce your responsibilities as princess to see the inner workings of the Xerian government”.

“And as for you” she rounded on Praxina “I need you to swear to me that you will never use that spell outside these four walls again. Some very bad people would love to get their hands on it, and I’m sure hurting you to get it wouldn’t be a problem for them. This is for your own safety, do you understand?”

“Yes, your highness” the blue eyed girl gave a little shiver at the thought of strangers coming to the royal castle just to hurt her. Would the king’s guard protect her? She took Talia’s hand and squeezed it tight, welcoming the grounded feeling it gave her.

With a sigh Izira stood and brushed off her skirts. “Good, then this whole thing will be our little secret ok?”

As the younger girls agreed, the crown princess realized she had been gone for quite some time. Reaching for her sister’s hand she started the long walk back to their worried parents.

“Come along Talia, Mother and Father will be glad that you’re safe and sound. Say goodbye now, and maybe if you’re good we can come visit her”

As she was dragged away Talia beamed happily and waved goodbye with her free hand.

“Promise to play with me again at the next summit ok? I think we’re going to become best friends!”

“Of course princess, you can always count on me” Praxina waved back, the dog at her feet barking and wagging its tail in agreement as the two sisters disappeared through the doorway.

As the burgundy haired girl was left smiling alone in the courtyard the entire scene faded to black.

[ourownsideimagines]

Hide My Wings Tonight: Angels Dance With Demons (Chapter Four)

Here is Chapter Four!

Read it here on AO3!

Or read it here on Tumblr below the cut!

Based on the one-shot request by @jinxthequeergirl

---

(Name) felt betrayed. Everything inside her felt empty, she hadn’t felt joy in her miracles or blessings in the years following her realization that Gabriel never really cared.

She had spent so many years of her eternal life dedicated to making the archangel happy. And for what? A pat on the back and a lie? He had played her like a damn harp and she had let him because she thought it might lead to something more.

How could she be so stupid? How could she not have realized it sooner?

It had been nearly a century since Gabriel had turned her down. Angels were not made for that, he had told her. They had their jobs, and nothing could get in the way of that or the Great Plan.

Then he had the nerve to ask her another favor.

(Name) avoided going back to Heaven at all costs after that. She would let Aziraphale report back to head office, deliver the paper work. And he did. He was angry at Gabriel for hurting his sister, but he wouldn’t compromise any relations upstairs. He played his part well - he got in, he got out, and managed to do it all without punching the self-righteous archangel in the face.

Times were changing.

King Arthur was in power now, spreading peace, and Aziraphale had managed to talk himself into a seat at the table. He was Sir Aziraphale now, and (name) found it slightly amusing.

(Name) and Aziraphale lives in a small, cluttered cottage in the kingdom. Every inch of free space was crammed with her brother’s books and if upstairs didn’t send notes for frivolous miracles she would have snapped and put them in boxes - no, she would do most of the cleaning and rearranging by hand. She didn’t mind though - she needed something to take her mind off of the heartbreak.

Despite her pain, there was a part of her that knew that if he asked her, she would go crawling back to him - which is why she had to avoid him at all costs. Luckily, Heaven had not demanded her presence. Perhaps Gabriel had realized what he’d done and thought it for the best. Or maybe Heaven just hadn’t needed both her and Aziraphale for briefings. Whatever it was, (name) was thankful.

Aziraphale had left only an hour ago for his nightly rounds in the forest, making sure there were no threats animal wise or human wise. Which is why (name) was currently slipping into something easier to travel in - an old long sleeve shirt, and an extra pair of Aziraphale’s slacks. No one would question her - she wasn’t certain anyone would realize she was a she. Maybe that was because she wasn’t actually she, at least not for the moment.

Gender was an Angel’s choice, and when (name) wanted to get around quickly she presented herself as a he. Much like tonight.

“Sir,” Someone said as she passed them by, and she exchanged a nod in greeting. She followed her typical alleyways, the normal twists and turns of the town until she came upon an exit into the forest. Typically there would be some kind of guard here, but she had memorized his schedule down to his  bathroom breaks, and if she concentrated hard enough she could see him hidden within the brush doing his business.

She didn’t need to see that. She needed to get to the hill.

The hill in question overlooked the castle - and more importantly, the garden. And in the Garden, King Arthur would invite friends to dance. (Name) enjoyed watching the humans dance - she had always wanted to dance, but was reminded many times by the higher ups that Angels did not dance. So she settled for watching them, and hoping, just hoping that someday she might be able to join them.

“You’re a long way from home,” She turned quickly, preparing to grab the dagger she’s strapped to herself when she realized just who was behind her. Crowley had removed the helmet of his dark armor, along with the chain-mail to reveal his shoulder-length red hair and yellow eyes. (Name) felt herself calm, though she wondered why. She had always been told to keep on her toes around demons - but there was something about Crowley that was different.

Given what he was wearing (name) should have been panicked.

“Hello, (name).” Crowley greeted her.

“So, you are the Black Knight Aziraphale has been seeking.” She said. “Does he know?”

“He does now,” Crowley approached slowly, and she made no move to get away.

“Is he upset?” She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Yes, but not because it’s me.” Crowley shrugged. (Name) pursed her lips.

“Then why is he upset?”

“Because of what I said.”

“And what did you say?” She pressed.

“That we should just stay home - what we’re going here, the good and the bad. It’s all canceling each other out. And neither side would truly notice if we stopped.” It was sad to say that his words made sense. Aziraphale had been making little to no progress thanks to the doings of the Black Knight, who she now knew to be Crowley. If they were to both stop neither side would really notice.

Though it was also understandable why Aziraphale was so upset about it. He wasn’t one to do a lot of lying - at least, to the best of her knowledge. Maybe he was a fantastic liar and she just didn’t know.

“You know,” She began. “I could get into a lot of trouble for talking to you. Not only with Aziraphale, but the King as well.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to get into a little bit of trouble?” Crowley’s eyebrow raised in question, and (name) smirked.

“I never said that.” Crowley had come to stand before her now, and gazed down over the party she had been observing.

“Out for a late night miracle?” He asked.

“No. Any temptations to do?”

“Not that I know of.” Crowley turned his eyes back to her. “If you’re not out here doing your angelic wonders, what are you doing so late at night?” (Name) hesitated to tell him - again, Angels don't dance. Would he find her dream funny?

Why did she care what he thought at all?

“Nothing.” She said quickly.

“Ah, it can’t be nothing you looked too distracted for it to be nothing.” Crowley‘s tone wasn’t mean or hurtful - it was almost as if he was teasing a friend. But they weren’t friends. Right? They couldn’t be, they were on opposite sides after all. “Are you embarrassed, (name)?”

“Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed?” She folded her arms over her chest, and took one last look over the dancing couples - and for a moment too long.”

“You’re watching them dance.” He said. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a moment she thought about fleeing, but the way he looked at her and the tone of his voice calmed her. She nodded gently.

“Yeah,” She came around to sit again. The party was at its peak now - people had begun drinking, as they usually did. The dancing was a bit sloppy, but still happening. “I am.” There was silence between herself and Crowley, and if he hadn’t been wearing his armor she would have assumed he walked away.

“I know that look,” Crowley finally spoke up. “You want to dance, don’t you?”

“I don’t dance, Crowley, I’m an-”

“That’s not what I asked, (name).” He stopped you. “I know that Angel’s don’t dance. I’m saying you want to - am I wrong?” Silence. She sighed.

“It’s stupid.”

“Nah,” Crowley shook his head. “Not stupid - a bit surprising, yeah. But not stupid.” Crowley came to sit beside her, and the two watched in silence. (Name) was prepared to get up and leave when Crowley spoke up. “I could teach you.” He said.

“Excuse me?” (Name) said, shocked by his offer.

“I could teach you to dance.” He said. “Just because Angel’s don’t dance, doesn’t mean they can’t.” Crowley offered her a hand. “What do you say, Angel?”

“Are you trying to tempt me, Crowley?” (Name) asked, an eyebrow raised as she slipped her hand into his. He helped her to her feet, smiling mischievously.

“Maybe I am. The question is, Angel, are you going to accept the offer?” (Name) glanced down upon the party again, the longing in her heart to do something she knew she shouldn’t stronger than her need to appease Heaven. She looked back to Crowley, who had not taken his eyes off of her and she smiled.

“My brother would be furious if he found out.” She told him, and Crowley could only laugh.

“Then we’ll have to make sure he never does.” Crowley shrugged. (Name) didn’t bother to bite back her smile. If only Gabriel could see her now, being friendly with the enemy. A part of her wished she could see his reaction, were he to find out. The other part knew he wouldn’t care.

“You know,” He said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you smile before.” (Name) thought back to the handful of time they had encountered each other, and for the life of her couldn’t remember ever having smiled at the demon.

Oh how times change.

“Would you prefer I frown, Black Knight?” She said, lifting her head in the way snobbish women would. There was a playful smile on her face, one that the demon returned.

“Not at all.”

[creator-zee]

29

10 years ago...

       Madison leaned against me as we watched the movie on my bed. I glanced up as I saw my mom pass by the door. She suddenly paused and glared at me.

         “Montana, can I please have a word with you? It’s about your father.”

         I nodded. “Of course, Mom.”

         Madison sat up as I slid off my bed and walked into the hallway. Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. 

          “What do you think you’re doing?”

         I shuffled nervously under her piercing gaze. “Uh, watching a movie?”

          She glared at me. “I meant with Madison. You two were awfully close.” She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, and leaned down. “You’re not a lesbian are you? You now that gays like that ruined or family. Just look at your father, leaving me for some man. You better not be one of them Montana.” She straightened back up and returned her voice to normal. “Go back and finish the movie now, dear.”

       I nodded and hurried back to my bed sitting farther away from Madison ignoring her questioning glance.

Present Day...

       I tucked my back pack under the table as I pulled out my lunch. I was sitting by myself as usual. I had drifted apart from many of my childhood friends and never tried to make anymore. I saw Madison and her friend group walk by on the way to their table. I couldn’t help but admire how one of her friends, Dana, I think looked in the outfit she was wearing today. I quickly dropped my gaze, as I saw Madison looking at me. I went back to focusing my attention on my sandwich. Unfortunately, I ate it too quickly to last as a distraction for long. I shoved the bag back in my backpack to throw away before pulling out my sketchbook. I flipped to an open page and pulled out my phone to look up a reference image. I had been obsessed with this one show recently and wanted to draw some fan art. What’s the harm? Only I would ever see it. 

       Too soon the bell rang and I was forced to abandon my drawing in favor of going to biology class. Oh joy of joys I got to go be confused about neurons. I sighed as I entered the crowded hallways, senior year couldn’t end fast enough so I could just go to college already. I was sick of high school. Oh well, three more periods and I could go home. 

      Home sweet home. I stepped out of the truck my mom had gotten me for my 16tg birthday and headed up the path to the house. I opened the door calling out to announce my arrival. 

        “Mom. I’m home.”

        No response. She must not be home. I headed up the stairs up to my room and tossed my backpack on the floor. I collapsed onto my be sighing. I really didn’t want to do my homework. But, alas, this is the curse of the teenager. I somehow managed to summon up the willpower to get up and open up my backpack and pull out my schoolwork. I decided to also grab my sketchbook. I couldn’t finish my sketch then I would do my homework. 

          I was midway through a biology worksheet on action potential when my mom knocked on my door and walked in. What’s the point of knocking if you just walk in?

         “Hey Montana, How was your day sweetie?”

         I shrugged. “Good Mom. If you don’t mind I have some homework I need to focus on.”

          She nodded. “Of course, just let me see what you drew and I’ll be out of your hair.”

        “Wait no!” I lunged for my sketchbook, but it was too late. My mom already had it. She looked up in disgust at my most recent sketch. The fan art drawing for my favorite show. She ripped it out, angrily waving it in my face. 

         “What shit is this Montana? Why the duck are you drawing, drawing, ugh, lesbians.” She forced out lesbians like it would make her hurl just saying it. 

        I struggled to defend myself from her wrath. “It’s not-“

        “Oh shut it, Montana. I can’t believe you. After how gays like these destroyed our family. I better not catch you drawing anything like this again.” She paused in her fury. “You’re not a lesbian, are you?”

      I hung my head. “No, Mom.” The lie sat heavy on my tongue. 

        She ripped the drawing to shreds, and my soul broke a little. “Good, because if you were it would be out on the streets for you.”

       I nodded. “Ok Mom. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

        “Good.” She turned and stormed out of the room tossing my drawing in the trash as she left. Damn. I had liked that drawing. 

       As I turned back to the biology worksheet tears dropped off my face onto the paper. Would my mom ever accept me? Or would I always have to lie?

         The next day at school I found myself sitting outside at lunch. My sketchbook was on my lap lying open waiting for me to draw something to fill its pages. But the tattered remains of the page my mom tore out still clung to the spirals and I found myself lacking any motivation to draw. As I stared at the stupid price of paper I had to stop tears welling up in my eyes. Was my mom right? Was it really so wrong to be gay?

        I sighed staring at the school hoping for inspiration to suddenly strike me. Instead all I saw was Madison punning a girl against the side of the building making out with her. Great. Just what I wanted. To see a reminder of what I could never have. I shoved my sketchbook in my back back and slung it over my shoulder. The tears had escaped my eyes now and were silently sliding down my cheeks. I pulled my hood up and walked to the bathroom. I couldn’t go to biology looking like this. 

         I put my hands on the sink staring at myself in the mirror. I was pathetic. I ran the cold water and splashed some on my face washing the tears away. My eyes were still red, but that couldn’t be avoided. I could just lie and say I had allergies if anyone asked, not that anyone would. The bell rang and I walked out of the bathroom almost running straight into a girl. 

        “Sorry.” I hastily apologized as I went on my way.

          I sat down in biology class and pulled out my folder. I glanced up to the board, trying to glean some hint of what we would be doing. No luck. The board was empty. I would have to wait for Mr. Monroe to begin teaching. As I waited for the bell to ring and class to start I couldn’t help but overhear the conversations next to me. 

          “Where was Madison today at lunch?”

        “Probably with Kelsey.”

         “Ugh, ever since she got a girlfriend it’s like she has no time for us.”

       “I know right. I hardly ever see her outside of clas.”

        “Speak of the devil...”

        I glanced up at this and noticed Madison walking in right as the bell rang  I noticed her brown hair was messed up, and she looked a bit out of breathe. She must have had to run to class. 

       Finally, Mr. Monroe began teaching, continuing the unit on the nervous system. I really didn’t understand it at all. I found myself wishing that I had bothered to actually talk to other people so I could have some friends to ask for help. I sighed and just continued taking notes. I always had the internet to help me struggle through.

       Much confusion later, I found myself rushing to pack my stuff up as the bell caught me by surprise. I grabbed my backpack and followed the rest of the class out into the hall. Time for the most riveting class of all, history. Ugh I hate history. It’s all the same. Oppression, revolution, new government that oppressed other. Rinse and repeat. 

         I entered the class and looked ahead to my seat, but there was some guy sitting on it. Oh great. That’s really what I need right now. Having to deal with some jerk was just what I needed to improve my wonderful day. Note the sarcasm. Instead of actively engaging the dude that looked about like about six feet tall and absolutely ripped, I decided to just stand next to my desk hoping he would move, I didn’t want to have to fight him. 

        “What’cha staring at girl? Too hard to keep your eyes off my hot bod?” The guy turned to face me. 

         “No. You’re in my seat.” I stated flatly. I couldn’t find the guy attractive if I wanted to and I had tried, but there was one problem with him, he was, well, a guy.

        He laughed. “Oh, I’m in your seat? I didn’t realize we had assigned seats.”

        I looked up to meet his gaze. If this guy wanted to be a jerk, he would get another thing coming. I was in no mood to deal with his bullshit.

         “We may not have assigned seats but I have sat in that seat every day, since the beginning of the school year.” I glared at him. 

        He stood up cockily. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” He turned to his goons behind him. “Did any of you notice?”

       They all shook their heads burning some variation of “no.”

        He laughed. “Who are you again? I don’t remember seeing you around. Are you new?”

        I clenched my first as the urge to punch him built. “I’m Montana and I’ve been going to this school for four years.”

        The guy just laughed again. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. Who even names their kid after a state anyways?” He turned to his goons who all laughed along with him. He waved me away like I was a stray cat he could shoo away. “Go find another seat State. This one’s mine now.”

       I sighed clenching my jaw. “No.”

        He turned back to face me. “Sorry, what? I thought I heard you just say no, but that can’t be right. No one ever disobeys me.”

        I didn’t budge under his glare. I did t want to pick a fight, but him and his cocky attitude were just asking for one. “I said No. That’s my seat, move.”

       I stood up taking a step towards me so that he was right in front of me. “What did you say, girl?”

       I didn’t flinch despite him standing over me. I was only about 4” shorter but it was enough. “I said move.”

        He suddenly brought his fist around and punched me straight in the face. I stumbled back holding my face, as I felt blood drip down my face.

        He smirked. “That’ll teach you. A girl should always listen to a man, especially when that man is me.”

       I wiped the blood off my face with the back of my hand. I heard the bell ring but the teacher was nowhere to be seen just great. 

         “Move out of my seat.” I growled, stepping closer. The rest of the class was watching our every move but I didn’t care. I was not going to let this misogynistic douchebag win. 

        He tried to punch me again but I ducked. “When will you learn, cunt? It’s my seat now.”

        I didn’t dare punch back in fear of getting suspended so I settled for dodging his sloppy punches. Obviously, no one had taught him how to fight properly. Unfortunately, no one had taught me either, and he managed to land another hit in my face which caused me to stumble back. He followed it up by kicking me and knocking me to the ground. 

       “What the hell is going on here?” The teacher, Mr. Smith had finally arrived. 

       I picked myself up from the floor, while the guy tried to defend himself. “Nothing, Mr. Smith.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “So attacking another student is ‘nothing?’” He pointed to the door. “Office, now, both of you. Bring your stuff.”

       The guy groaned grabbing his bag and storming into the hallway, I followed him quietly. Great, the office. I really didn’t need detention. We arrived at the office and the pad just barged right in.

         The office lady looked up at the intrusion. “What can I do for you?”

        A man peaked out from one of the offices. “Send them in here. Smith just called that these two were fighting in his classroom.”

        The dude stomped angrily in the room sitting down on the chair angrily and slouching crossing his arms with an air of false bravado. I set my backpack down next to me as I took the other chair. I could still feel blood running down my face so I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop the flow as the man, Mr. Clark, surveyed us over his desk. 

       “So what happened?” He asked, coolly. 

         “I was just trying to get him to move out of my seat when he punched me when I didn’t listen to him and just go to a different seat. I told him to move again but he just punched me again.” I offered. 

        The other guy snorted. 

        Mr. Clark raised an eyebrow. “Do you have something to add Tyler?”

        “It’s the own bitches fault. She was asking for it. Wouldn’t just go to a different seat?”

         “Watch your language Mr. Johnson. We have a strict no violence policy here, and you no that. No verbal attack, if there even was one, warrants a physical attack. I will be calling your parents you have a three day in school suspension. And for you Montana, get cleaned up and head back to class, but if I hear that you threw fists too from the other students you will be joining Tyler in suspension.”

       I nodded and stood up. “Yes, Mr. Clark.” I grabbed my backpack and headed to the bathroom to wash the blood off my face. As I splashed cold water against my face, I sighed. Could this day get any worse? I glanced up in the mirror, figuring I was cleaned up enough and headed back to class. I walked in and silently went to my seat, everybody was working quietly. 

       “Nice of you to join us Montana. We’re doing a partner presentation on one of the movements in the 1970’s.” Mr. Smith said. I internally groaned. So this day could get worse. “I’ve paired you with Ash.” Much worse. I had never talked to Ask before, this was going to be painfully awkward.