#to be clear i’m quietly judging every tag on this post

[marisatomay]

the “i had a good time” factor still the unbeatable metric in deciding if media is good

[mcfiddlestan]

I posted 9,799 times in 2022

92 posts created (1%)

9,707 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea

@bouncydragon

@thekaiqueen

@maeve-curry-writes

@clintfbarton

I tagged 2,079 of my posts in 2022

#loki - 177 posts

#tony stark - 135 posts

#tom hiddleston - 102 posts

#frostiron - 84 posts

#sebastian stan - 79 posts

#bucky barnes - 60 posts

#chris evans - 44 posts

#steve rogers - 38 posts

#the essex serpent - 32 posts

#moon knight spoilers - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃😃🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀😀😀😀

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I hope Sebastian Stan gets to hang out with his crush, Tom Hiddleston at the BAFTAs.

23 notes - Posted March 13, 2022

#4

I have been trying for about three days to write a smut scene between Bucky and Loki.

A lot of factors have contributed to this situation. My own frustrating block — I haven’t been able to write for the past three months. Lack of focus? Maybe. Mind blank? For sure.

Also since it’s smut, I need to be in a position to kind of picture it — like a movie in my mind (which, tbh, is how I write everything. I’ve had people tell me it’s easy to picture what I write bc of the way I write it. Now you know why). And that’s hard to do when parents are interrupting every five minutes asking for pills or help with making food/getting up/any mundane activity that they are both getting too weak to do on their own. And of course the nephew. Who just wants my attention. Because…I’m Nina and the closest thing he has to a Mommy.

Anyway….just thought I’d vent my frustration. Thanks for listening and here’s a snippet to what I’m working on…

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

Loki was in the middle of the living area, standing before a large easel, swiping a paint brush furiously across it. He was barefoot, his black hair pulled up into a messy knot on top of his head, his worn-looking button-up shirt and loose-fitting sweatpants splattered with various colors of paint.

Bucky watched him for a moment, mesmerized by the intensity of his movements. It was like a violent dance. If there had been a way to punch the paint on the canvas, Bucky had no doubt Loki would have excelled at doing it. After a few moments, he remembered why he was there and crossed over to the stereo, lowering the volume to a level they would be able to hear each other over. Loki didn't bother to acknowledge Bucky's presence; he barely paused his movements, continuing to add more colors to his creation.

“Hey,” Bucky finally spoke up. Loki didn't respond, so Bucky took a step closer, studying the painting over his shoulder. “What's it supposed to be?” he asked quietly.

“I don't know yet,” Loki muttered under his breath.

“Look, I know you're busy…”

“That I am.”

Bucky swiped a hand over his forehead, carding his fingers through his hair. “Could you take a break for a second?”

Loki gave the canvas one more violent swipe of a bright red streak before stepping back, looking over his work. Bucky wondered if it was done yet. Judging by the way Loki scoffed at it and dumped his brush in a cloudy mason jar of water, he thought maybe not. Loki grabbed a hand towel and a bottle of what looked like oil, dampened the towel with it then dragged a stool away from its spot by the table. He dropped onto it, and lifted his eyes to settle on Bucky's, as he began to scrub at his hands.

Unsure why, Bucky expected Loki to say something first, but instead, for a few long moments, they just stared at each other. Until Loki finally gestured at him.

“Are you going to speak?”

“Yes. Sorry. Um.” He cleared his throat and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “So, I owe you an apology. For this morning.”

Loki said nothing, and made no movement but to continue scrubbing at his skin. Bucky swiped at the hair falling over his face, feeling more anxious than he expected. Especially with Loki's unflinching gaze directly on him.

“I admit, I jumped to conclusions.” He shrugged his shoulders when Loki still had no reply. “Obviously, I understand now that you were just trying to help.”

“I did help.”

“Right.”

“I picked you up off the floor, passed out in a corner, and put you in a more comfortable spot – which is how you ended up in your bed.”

“Y…yes.” Why did he suddenly feel like he was being scolded?

“I made sure you were safe and what did I get in return? Accusations and assumptions.”

“I know! I'm – Jesus, Loki, I'm saying I'm sorry here.”

“But for what are you sorry, James?” Bucky wasn't sure he was supposed to answer that. Thankfully, Loki continued, answering for him. “Insulting me? Or embarrassing yourself?”

Loki was more observant than Bucky gave him credit for. There were not many in this world who could call him on his bullshit. In fact, before Loki, there had only been one. His jaw clenched while he worked up the nerve to answer, “Both?”

After a beat, Loki scoffed lightly, and looked away as he tossed the rag to the table. Bucky tensed more. “If you're done then…”

“Hey, come on.” Bucky rushed forward, drawing up short when Loki whipped around again. He swallowed. Something about Loki being angry was strangely…attractive. He shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what else to do. “Haven't you ever made a mistake? I'm owning up to it, aren't I? The least you could do is accept it.”

Loki took a step forward, and it took all of Bucky’s strength not to retreat. “The least you could do is tell me exactly why you're sorry. Are you that unused to kindness? I'm not often that nice to people, so I thank you for helping me regret it.”

For a moment, Bucky's words jumbled together in his head. “No, I’m not – look. It wasn't about you, Loki.”

See the full post

34 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#3

WIP Game!

Post the titles of your current works in progress – then, if someone sends one of those titles to you, explain the concept or post a snippet!

Tagging: @rennemichaels @bouncydragon @slenbee @incredifishface @incubigirl and anyone else who wants to participate.

(I'm not including my ongoing challenges here, the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge and 100 Ways to Say ILY challenge)

Fools Rush In

Just A Fool

Royals AU

The Flame

The House Guest

Untitled MaLoki fic

Untitled SamTasha fic

Untitled Post WS Stucky fic

Hurricane

The Christmas Date

All I Ask

Second Time Around

Whatever It Takes

P.S. Thanks to @mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea and @just-fandomthings for the tags! xoxo

35 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

#2

New header.

47 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

72 notes - Posted March 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[formidxble]

summary: eating dinner with your parents and seungmin should not be this hard. maybe you’re just giddy to see your folks again or maybe it’ s because your panties are vibrating. 

pairing: kim seungmin x female reader 

word count: 4.9k 

genre: smut/ pwp and fluff 

smut warning: edging, slight degradation (use of the words slut and whore), use of sex toy, semi-public, softdom!seungmin 

tagged: @moonlit-lixie @lilixeu @meow-minho​

based on this request. this work is also a way of thanking everyone who followed my blog! happy 100 followers to me HAHAHA all jokes aside, thank you so much for the support. i hope to continue putting out work y’all enjoy, and most importantly, i enjoy. again, thank you, from the bottom of my heart!! <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist 

please don’t interact with this post if you are under the age of 18!

--UNEDITED-- “alright, thanks!” seungmin calls out to the delivery man, hands filled with a package he was waiting weeks for. he was supposed to gift it to you last valentines, but it didn’t arrive in time. now he’s sat in his apartment, wondering what the hell to do with the pair of vibrating panties placed carefully inside the box on his lap. on his bedside table, his phone rings. he reaches over to grab it before pressing the accept button.

“yeah?” seungmin answers. he hears you giggle in response and his heart skips a beat. his eyes travel to the box, wondering when and where he’ll be able to give it to you. there was no special occasion coming up and if he gave it to you randomly, wouldn’t it be weird?

“hey baby,” you greet, “are you busy this saturday?”

seungmin raises an eyebrow as he opens his mouth to speak, “no, babe. what’s up?” he removes the box off of his lap, setting it down beside him on the bed.

“my parents are inviting us for dinner, so i was wondering if you were free.” seungmin’s eyes widen at your words and he looks up at the ceiling, wondering if the gods above heard of his predicament. this couldn’t have come at a better time. he clears his throat before answering.

“of course, i’m free. if mr. and mrs. y/l/n want to see us, then you bet we’re going.”

that saturday night, seungmin retrieves the unopened box from his closet, placing it on top of his bed before opening it. he chuckles to himself as he lays the matching black lace undergarments on his bed. it looked beautiful like this, what more on you? he buries his face in his hands as a blush creeps up on his cheeks. this was new and something the both of you were definitely not used to. you two had talked about incorporating sex toys in your sex life, but no one really took the initiative.

until tonight.

though the undergarments looked heavenly to take off later, the main attraction was the pair of panties.

when seungmin decided to buy you a pair of vibrating panties, he never thought it would be this hard to set up. seungmin always thought that he just had to press a button and it would work, but it turns out that he had to charge the slim, vulva-shaped vibrator that’ll be placed inside the panties. not only that, he had to figure out how to put the vibrator in without worrying that it’ll potentially fall out. it takes him 10 minutes to realize that there is a small pouch in the crotch area of the underwear where he could slip the vibrator in. ah, he thought, that’s where the vibrations come from. seungmin hums to himself when he turns the device on using the remote, buzzing bouncing off of the underwear.

seungmin takes his time to admire the pair of panties as it buzzed. the vibrator was thin enough that it didn’t bulge out of the panties or make it too bulky. the buzzing wasn’t as loud as he thought it would be and that was a good sign. this was your first time with a sex toy and he didn’t want it to be traumatic. most importantly, seungmin didn’t really want your parents to know that he, your boyfriend, bought you a pair of underwear with the thought of using it to get you off in public. he exhales through his nose as he turns the vibrator off.

seungmin folds the undergarments as best as he could and puts it back in its box. he was nervous, but he knows that tonight will be anything but normal. he’ll make sure that it’ll be a night both of you won’t forget. he inserts the box in a small paper bag before making his way out of his apartment. while seungmin drives to your apartment, he busies himself with thoughts of anything else that doesn’t involve his plans for tonight.

you, on the other hand, are busying yourself with making sure you looked good for tonight’s dinner with your parents. you haven’t seen them in so long and you wanted to let them know you’ve been taking care of yourself. of course, there’s also the thought of looking presentable for seungmin, but you know he’ll love whatever you’ll come out in. you didn’t know how long you’ve been standing in front of your closet until you hear a knock on your front door. you groan softly as you make your way to it.

the door opens and seungmin is greeted by the sight of you still in your pajamas. he tilts his head, eyebrows slightly raised. you twirl around playfully.

“you like my outfit, babe?” seungmin shakes his head as he chuckles, stepping inside the apartment and closing the front door behind him. of course he does, no matter how simple and domestic it looked. it wasn’t the outfit he was expecting that you’ll be wearing to dinner, though.

“yep,” he hums as he tries to ignore how heavy the box of vibrating panties is getting in the paper bag, “i’m sure your parents will love it, as well.” it wasn’t the time to get cold feet, not when he’s standing in front of you. he puts the paper bag behind him as he watches you scoff at his remark and make your way back into your bedroom.

“give me a few minutes,” you call out, “i’m going to shower, then we’re out.” seungmin waits for you to close the bedroom door before releasing a breath he didn’t know he was even holding. after a few minutes of pacing around in the living room, he walks to your bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible. the shower was still running, so it was the only time he can sneak in his gift for you. before you could get out of the shower, seungmin removes the undergarments from the box and unfolds it to put on the bed. he tilts his head to look at his work, nodding after as he reaches out to your bedside table to grab a piece of paper.

“wear this tonight, baby.” seungmin writes. he leaves the piece of paper beside the undergarments before walking out of the bedroom to go to the living room, where he’ll be thinking of his life decisions until you come out again. it doesn’t help that his pants are starting to tent at the thought of you wearing the lingerie he bought for you. seungmin bites his lip when his back makes contact with the couch.

you’re humming a tune to yourself when you walk out of the bathroom. something on your bed catches your eye as you’re making your way to your closet. you gasp when you realize what it was. seungmin bought you a matching set of lace lingerie. you run your hand down the fabric, cheeks heating up as your eyes catch the note he left beside the undergarments.

you lift the bra up by its straps, giggling when you notice that seungmin bought you the right size. he took off tons of your bras before, surely he’ll memorize the size written on the tag of the bra. you remove the towel wrapped around your torso before putting the bra on. it hugged your upper torso perfectly and it held your breasts in place just right. you grabbed the pair of panties, slipping them on. it somehow felt heavier, but maybe it was just the weight of the fabric. you ignore the thought popping up in your head because seungmin couldn’t have, right?

right?

seungmin jumps slightly when he hears the bedroom door open again. the tent in his pants have long disappeared as anxiety took over his brain earlier. to say that he was nervous was an understatement. his eyes take in your figure as you walk over to him, your off-shoulder dress hugging the curves of your body just the way you knew he liked. it wasn’t too revealing and something he could bear throughout the entirety of the dinner. thank god. but one thought stood in his mess of a brain, were you wearing it?

“you really bought me lingerie?” you ask and seungmin nods sheepishly, a hand coming up to the back of his neck. “i like them, they look nice.”

seungmin nods, heart pounding in his chest as he realizes you didn’t know what you were actually wearing. you start walking over to him with a smile and that’s when seungmin decides it’s a great time to let you feel what it is he bought.

you squeal when you feel the soft vibrations between your thighs, legs instinctively closing together as you hunch over to grip the couch. you look up at seungmin, slightly glaring at him when you finally comprehend the situation. your previous thought of seungmin not being able to purchase sex toys? vanished, gone with the wind.

seungmin laughs at your reaction as he moves in closer to you to hold your hand. he was no longer nervous because you seemed to be enjoying it, judging from the way your body reacted with every vibration flowing through you. he watches you as you bite your lip.

“do you like your surprise, sweetheart?” you gasp when he increases the vibrations, squeezing his hand as you struggle not to moan. seungmin puts a finger under your chin, lifting it up so your eyes meet. you look into his eyes, trying to find some sort of answer for why he was doing this to you, minutes from the dinner with your parents. the people who raised you, the people who saw you grow up. he blinks.

“speak when spoken to, babe.”

you inhale sharply before saying, “yes, i do.” seungmin smiles at your response as he steps away from you. you were going crazy, but at least he decreased the speed. you couldn’t believe he actually pushed through with the idea of bringing in sex toys in your sex life. it wasn’t a bad thing, you just didn’t expect he’d be the first one to initiate it.

“here’s what we’re going to do tonight, baby,” he starts, bringing forward the hand that was behind his back, remote in hand, “you’re going to wear this to dinner and i will not hear a moan,” seungmin moves torturously close to you and his fingertips graze your collarbone, “a whimper, or even begging from you. you will continue on with dinner as calmly as possible.”

“you’re my whore,” you moan softly at his words, watching as his finger hovered over the increase button, “but, we don’t want your parents knowing, hm?” you shake your head immediately and he hums in approval. you squeeze your legs together as the soft vibrations continued their assault on your clit and on your folds.

“good,” seungmin whispers, turning the vibrator off completely. you almost whine at the lack of movement between your thighs, but you knew better than to complain. you straighten your back and clear your throat to bring yourself back to the present. your head was already a mess and this was only the start of what he was planning. seungmin grins, handing out his other hand as the other pockets the remote.

“you ready to go?” you roll your eyes at how upbeat he was. it’s like he didn’t tease you earlier. you nod, nonetheless, thanking him when he opens the front door for you.

thankfully, the car ride to your parents was smooth. seungmin didn’t turn the device on at all and you were thankful because you would have came more than once in the passenger seat. it scared you, however, because that would only mean that he’ll be turning it on during dinner, during conversation. you almost didn’t want to step out of the car, but here you were, standing in front of your parents’ house and waiting for them to answer the door.

“y/n and seungmin!” your father greets as the door opens. seungmin, the bastard he is, turns the vibrator on its lowest setting when you lean in to give your father a hug. behind you, seungmin swallows as he notices your legs trying to squeeze themselves together. only the two of you knew what was happening and that makes the whole situation hotter than he could have ever imagined. both of you can get caught any moment, but it doesn’t really affect his decision when he increases the speed slightly as you hug your mother.

“come in, come in!” your mother smiles, motioning for the both of you to come inside. your legs are already feeling weak, the vibrations continuing on your folds and on your clit. seungmin’s right beside you, putting an arm around you to support you as you both walked in your parents’ house, the house you’re about to desecrate even if you’re just going to be sitting at the dining table. you face turns red at the thought and it turns redder when seungmin leans in to whisper.

“remember what i said earlier, baby. be a good girl.”

“the food’s not yet done cooking, but please,” your mother hums as she walks into the kitchen, “make yourselves at home!” you smile at her to try and get rid of the redness on your face. you decide to sit down on the living room couch as the scent of your dinner flows through the room. you weren’t hungry for that, anyway. you were merely after some sort of release and you knew that will satisfy all your needs tonight.

but this night has only just begun and you knew you were going to be screwed by the end of it, both literally and figuratively.

sitting down while the vibrator was on proved to be a bad idea as it presses on your clit twice as stronger. you grip seungmin’s knee when he sits down beside you and he doesn’t give you as much as a glance and you notice his hand is in his pocket. before you knew it, the vibrations have increased. you lean back to rest your back on the couch, but it doesn’t help either. the angle only doubles the pressure, hitting your nub in the most perfect of ways. you scream internally when your father stands in front of the couch, a glass in hand.

“was the ride here okay? traffic’s been awfully bad today,” you father mentions before taking a sip of his drink.

“yes, thankfully it was, sir. the road’s have cleared up when we left her apartment,”seungmin grins, turning to look at you as you struggled to keep your composure. “but traffic has always been a problem here, so i guess it’s expected.”

your father nods, eyes glancing at how stiff you were. nevertheless, he opens his mouth again to say, “i think the construction of the new shopping center is causi—“ his words enter one of your ears and exits the other.

you’ve always known how much your father excelled in talking about the most mundane of things, but it was only tonight that you realized that he went on so many tangents that the main subject of the conversation seemingly just vanishes into thin air. it’s a talent, you think, how he bounces off of one topic to another. in other days, you would appreciate it, but right now? your pussy was throbbing along with the vibrations of your panties. you wanted nothing more than to end this conversation.

“—y/n?” your father takes you out of your trance and you smile, even though your body has become uncomfortably hot and your pussy is dripping your juices onto the fabric.

“yes?”

“you’ve been awfully quiet, are you alright?” you nod immediately in response, grip on seungmin’s knee tightening as he increases the speed again. you hiss softly and seungmin covers it up with a cough.

“of course, i am,” you answer, shifting in your seat to adjust yourself and hopefully lessen the pressure on your clit. “why wouldn’t i be?” seungmin ups the speed again and you fight the urge to hunch over or even squeeze your legs together as you feel your first orgasm creeping up. you close your eyes as you take a sharp inhale.

before your father could reply or even say anything about how weird you were acting, you hear your mother calling him over to the kitchen to help her set the table. your father mumbles a quick sorry to seungmin, stating that they’ll continue the conversation in a while. seungmin grins as he nods. he turns to you after forever, gaze burning your skin.

“what was that?” he whispers harshly. you throw your head back, lower lip bit to keep yourself from moaning. “i thought i told you to be a good girl.” you scoff at his words as your chest starts to heave. god, you were so near and if seungmin keeps this up, you’ll—

and as fast as your orgasm was approaching, the vibrations are gone. you lift your head up in surprise, your grip on seungmin’s knee loosening. little did you know that this will be the first of many stolen orgasms from you. before you could reprimand him, he leans in close to you.

“such a slut, hm? so eager to cum so quickly,” you shiver as you hear a growl in his words. you straighten your dress as you try to bring yourself back to reality. your pussy was absolutely soaked, throbbing with no abandon and you wanted nothing more than to cum.

“there are consequences for the actions you choose to take, sweetheart.”

you hear your mother’s voice calling out for the both of you, saying that the dinner’s ready. seungmin’s the first to stand, holding out a hand for you to support you as you stand. your legs fail on you as you stumble into him once you’re off the couch. before you could recover, seungmin pulls you into his chest, whispering, “be a good girl and you’ll get to cum however many times you want.”

you swallow, nodding as he leads you into the kitchen. you give your parents the sweetest smile you could muster up, thanking seungmin as he pulls out the dining chair for you. such a gentleman, even if he’s got you wrapped around his finger. you sit beside him, but before your ass even hits the seat, the vibrations are back up again and even though they’re in the lowest setting, the knot in your stomach threatens to come back as quickly as it disappeared earlier. you clear your throat as you push the dining chair in towards the dining table.

seungmin keeps the vibrations at its lowest as he and your father talk about whatever it was they found fascinating earlier. he increases the speed once all the attention turns to you in the middle of the meal.

“so, how’s school, my love?” your mother starts, “college must be stressful this time of the year.” you nod in response, your brain failing to make up words as it focused on the vibrations all over your cunt.

“it could be worse,” you manage to say, grabbing a mouthful of food to shove into your mouth to prevent further conversation. seungmin increases the speed of the vibrator and you almost choke on the food in your mouth. in the corner of your eye, you see him smirk ever so slightly. damn him.

“oh! i remember you telling me about your big project. how’s that going?” your mother asks after a short silence.

a complete opposite of your father, your mother is. if your father excelled at small talk, your mother excelled at talking about the most extensive of subjects. you groan internally as you struggle to make up a coherent story without a moan leaving your lips once you open them.

“a-ah, it’s been alright, mom,” you try to say, your voice now higher than usual as you feel an orgasm coming up again. “same old, same old, you know?” you put down your spoon to grip the side of the chair you’re sat on as you try to keep yourself grounded. you were not about to have an orgasm in front of your parents, but fuck did this toy feel good on you. you put your pointer finger on top of your lips, your thumb under your chin as you try to focus on the events around you.

“you could elaborate more on that, y/n. we haven’t seen each other for so long,” your father laughs. you close your eyes as you shift on your seat. you chuckle at his words, removing the fingers over your lips to be able to talk to your parents.

“it’s, um, nothing special, really. my group mates have been cooperative so far and—“ you’re cut off when seungmin puts the speed on its highest. if you could take him to hell, you would. you most definitely would. your pussy is screaming for release and you didn’t know if you could hold back. fuck it, right? if you were cumming, you-- your orgasm’s robbed from you again, the second time tonight, and you wonder if you’ll be able to live after tonight. you let out an exasperated sigh, but you cover it up with a cough as you struggle to continue your sentence from earlier. “um, the teachers have been kind enough to let us borrow some relevant materials from them.”

“they should have offered it to you, students, in the first place, right seungmin?” your father laughs. seungmin merely laughs along, putting down his fork on the plate to put his hand on your thigh. his contact with your skin electrifies you and you shiver. you shift in your seat again, adjusting yourself as you feel yourself dripping even more. your heart was pounding and your breaths were labored, but your parents didn’t seem to notice that their daughter was going absolutely crazy. high off of a high she was trying to reach, but couldn’t seem to.

you feel your throat tightening up when you feel the vibrations on your clit again. you couldn’t stand edging anymore. your cunt was starting to ache now and any sort of self-restraint you once had was now gone and has been replaced with animalistic thoughts of seungmin and what you’d let him do to you once you get home. this dinner couldn’t be any more slower. you lower your head to stare at the floor, biting your lip to keep yourself from crying when seungmin increases the speed again.

“okay, who’s up for dessert?” your mother asks cheerily. “i prepared a chocolate mousse that you guys might like.” your father claps his hands together, a smile on his face.

“you’ll enjoy it, guaranteed. y/n’s mother makes great desserts,” he tells seungmin. seungmin chuckles in response as he squeezes your thigh under the table. “i’m sure i will, sir,” seungmin smiles, “i’m actually craving some sweets myself.”

your pussy clenches as he speaks. this was seungmin’s effect on you. even if what he said didn’t have anything dirty attached to it, you couldn’t help but whimper at the thought of him giving you what you wanted, the sweet pleasure of releasing all over your panties.

seungmin increases the speed again when your mother asks you if you can help her get the mousses out of the freezer. tears well up in your eyes as you feel another orgasm coming up. you didn’t know if seungmin was about to give it to you, but you wanted nothing more but to get to where you needed to be. your walls pulse in anticipation for the surge of your juices, but as expected, seungmin turns the vibrator off for the third time tonight, successfully edging you again. you let out a loud whimper now and seungmin squeezes your thigh. your parents notice, much to your dismay.

“y/n, baby, is something wrong?” your mother questions, moving closer to you. you shake your head as you shakily try to answer, another whimper coming out when seungmin turns the vibrator on again.

“my—my stomach hurts,” you sob softly. it was a lie, of course, an excuse to get you out of the room. you push yourself out of the dining table, legs slightly shaking at the intensity of the vibrations assaulting your pussy. you feel seungmin’s arm wrap around your shoulders to support you.

“i’ll assist her, please don’t worry,” seungmin nervously chuckles as he leads you out to the bathroom around the hall. you hear your mother call out about the medicine cabinet having some painkillers. the pain you felt now couldn’t be cured with painkillers. it could only be cured by seungmin, the man who put you in this position in the first place.

the moment the both of you reach the bathroom, seungmin pushes you onto the wall as you struggle to close the door. he suddenly puts the vibrations at its highest, making you hold onto him as you bury your face in his shoulder. you’re gasping his name, moaning incoherently into his shoulder as you try to reach the peak you’ve been trying so hard to reach.

“look at you, such a slut for me,” seungmin groans softly into your ear, “gripping onto me like your life depended on it.” you moan brokenly, feeling another orgasm making its presence known and you find yourself begging him to make you cum, over and over again.

“god, you almost came out there,” seungmin chuckles, “such a whore, so desperate to cum even if it meant letting your parents find out.”

you feel tears start to flow out of your eyes as you bite your lip to keep yourself from making any sort of noise that could be heard outside. you find yourself bucking your hips up to get more friction, just for something that can help you cum quicker. seungmin smirks, putting his hand under your dress to cup your pussy. the vibrations grow stronger and you throw your head back, mouth falling open as you reach out for something to hold onto. the knot in your stomach threatens to break and you pray to whatever gods there were that seungmin’s going to give it to you, finally.

“does my whore want to cum for me? make a mess all over her pretty lace panties?”

you breathe out his name as you nod quickly. seungmin smiles as he says, “cum for me.”

and you do. you’re arching your back off of the wall and you feel your chest collide into his as you continue to hold onto him for support. you see stars as you feel your juices flowing out of your pussy as the vibrations continue to wreck all that you were and all that you will ever be tonight. you’re grinding yourself onto his hand as you ride out your high.

seungmin grabs the remote in his pocket with his free hand, slowly bringing down the speed to help you come back to your senses. you’re breathing into his chest after, the tears from earlier drying up on your cheeks. the feeling of such an intense orgasm flows through your body and you shiver. seungmin rubs small circles into your back, pressing soft kisses onto your forehead as you continue to come down.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” seungmin asks after turning the vibrator off. you nod, words not being enough to describe what you were feeling at the moment. you raise your head to look at him and he grins at you. 

“you seemed like you had fun,” he teases softly. you playfully push him away, adjusting yourself in your panties. you scrunch your nose when you feel how wet you were, the remnants of your first orgasm staining your fingertips. you wipe it off on your dress.

“of course, i had fun, asshole,” you mumble. before he could respond, you hear a knock on the bathroom door, making you both freeze. you both look at each other, panicked. did they end up hearing what the both of you were doing in the bathroom? if so, you’re both fucked.

“y/n, seungmin,” your mother’s voice rings in the bathroom, “i brought some water. y/n might need it.”

both of you sigh in relief. seungmin leans in to steal a quick kiss from you before moving away and twisting the door knob so he could go out to meet your mother. he closes the door behind him as he steps out.

“how is she?” your mother worriedly asks, eyebrows pushed together in concern. seungmin grabs the glass of water from her and he gives her a sympathetic smile. “seems like the food didn’t go down as quickly,” seungmin says and your mother lets out a sigh as she puts a hand on her waist. seungmin swallows, subtly looking down at the middle of his thighs to check if the tent on it is as obvious as he feels it to be.

“well,” your mother huffs, “thank you for taking care of her, seungmin.”

moments from tonight flash in seungmin’s mind as he smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides. he tilts his head as he nods. he really did take care of you tonight, just not in the way your mother thought.

“you’re welcome, mrs. y/l/n. you can trust me to take care of your daughter.”

[theregoesmylurkerstatus]

So... I have a lot of thoughts on the finale. I've deliberately kept my mouth shut, more or less, on the campaign overall because I'm a firm believer that you can't pass judgement -- at least not complete judgement -- on stories until they're over and done with.

Well, it's done! Kind of crazy. I've been watching Critical Role with almost insane consistency, viewing almost every single episode live, with maybe five-ish exceptions, since episode 19, and I've been blogging it for, what, two and a half years?

It's a weird feeling. It's been such a constant thing for me that I'm always gonna have love for it and remember with a lot of fondness.

...Which is in spite of the fact that I can now comfortably say I'm pretty eh on the ending. I know not being positive about something most of us have loved a lot for a very long time can sting a bit, but I personally think it also stings when people relentlessly crow over how good they think it is or want it to be, to the point where you feel you can't voice your absolutely valid upsets or dissatisfactions. So, here goes, if anyone's interested! I'd be curious to see other opinions, too!

I actually drafted a post talking about my overall frustrations with the campaign a whole two weeks ago, and then scrapped most of it when 140 blew me out of the water. I was really touched, and really happy. I hadn't expected it, but it shockingly felt right, you know?

Unfortunately 141 robbed me of most of that satisfaction and brought me right back to neutral.

The blanket statement you have to make, of course, is that you can’t criticise this as a DnD game, and you can’t be mad at the cast for playing it in a way they think is best for them. They’re the players, Matt’s the DM, and in the end it makes no sense for them to try to make themselves act how they think the audience wants them to, and I’m sure most of the audience wouldn’t like the result anyway.

That said, there is an audience. And that’s where I see this clash coming in. As a DnD game, as long as the players and DM have all enjoyed it and been satisfied, it’s a successful game! But for us, it’s not a DnD game. For us, we’re watching a story be written in real time through the medium of an RPG. And while as a DnD game you can’t fault it, as a piece of media, I completely get why the way things have gone has sat weirdly for a lot of people.

It's not satisfying to see so many character hooks dealt with so quickly or left as an offscreen "and then you do it." If they don't want to keep playing to dive into it, absolutely, but for us who have been watching this as a story with all these character elements get so built up, it's a huge anti-climax.

Which is a lot of what this campaign has been, really.

Oh, Nott’s cursed! But through a really cool character moment that problem is completely taken care of with no consequences we see. Yay, I want her to be Veth and that was an iconic move from Jester! Still, it kind of feels like this was built up to be a big problem and at the first success it was let go... Caleb's got a really intense frightening past he tries to hide, I wonder how the Mighty Nein will respond? Oh, they found out, but it's not a difficult revelation for anyone. Looks like it's easy for them to move past it and forgive. Yeah, that's healthiest for the characters, but huh, kinda undercuts it as a storyline or point of interest. Oooh, Avantika’s back! Ah, they’ve killed her and grabbed the eye again. I mean I don’t want them to die or for Uk’otoa to be free, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not much of a threat anyway. The Traveler’s been kidnapped! Nah he hasn’t, he tried to save Jester so he was let go with no further issue, and also he wasn’t actually in any danger anyway. Oh... Cool. So... Why should I care or be worried?

And these are just the biggest ones I remember being kind of let down by. I wanted to see them STRUGGLE for the successes to have meaning. To my view, threats of failure -- real failure -- really decreased the more the campaign went on, with a few exceptions.

Because don't get me wrong, we've definitely had struggles, and those have made for some of the best moments! Molly’s death, Yasha’s kidnapping, Yeza’s imprisonment. When failures that were threatened are allowed to occur, it’s far more gratifying when it’s followed by success, because you understand that that success was actually necessary. It shows us that what they do really means something.

Honestly, that's why the final battle really shut me up, because nothing makes you quite feel stakes and failure like having two PCs die, and having a resurrection ritual fail -- AND knowing that failure would be delivered on, had it not been for a seemingly miraculous roll of the dice to turn it around. One of the greatest failure's -- Molly's death -- made the success of his resurrection put a lot of my other issues to rest immediately, because to be honest? Molly's resurrection was the biggest success of the campaign, exactly because it was originally the biggest failure.

But this episode, we got to see the other side of making threats and successes feel disappointing -- when you get the impression that success was robbed from you. Again, their characters, their choices, but to have them roll an intervention to get Molly's soul, to convince Molly to come back with his own possessions they've so loved, after so long and so many struggles... only to apparently not get Molly at all?

Changed, of course. Memories, maybe he'd never get them back, though that seems inconsistent to how the initial resurrection was played and Matt's hints. It even makes sense that not having his memories and being a bit different, he might forge a new identity, but insisting Molly was a different person entirely after such a supposed hard won success to get Molly back, especially after what his death meant to the audience and potentially healing that old wound? It robs the narrative of a LOT of catharsis, at least for me and I know many others.

Trent, too, I'm very up and down on. He was so built up -- and what fun that build up had -- and I very much disagreed with the idea that the best story would be dealing with him offscreen.

It's true that you don’t need to explicitly address, confront, or explore every big aspect of character's story hooks and background ties for PCs to move past them and grow healthily. But that does not make it a satisfying viewing experience. People quietly healing in real life is healthy. People quietly healing in an explosive fantasy setting is frustrating for the audience.

What on earth is the point of a story if you don’t get to SEE THE ESTABLISHED CONFLICTS go anywhere? A lot of the characters got distant, quiet resolutions, if that, to everything we wanted to see.

Except, we did get to see Trent. It was a really fun, inventive battle, from opening to conclusion, but much like Travelercon, much like Nott's/Veth's problem with the hag, these were things that the audience in general wanted to see be really dug into and explored, and every single one of them got, in my opinion, quickly tidied up instead. Trent got beaten in the first and only proper battle they had with him, which, after all his build up, is pretty disappointing for a villain many of us wanted to see be a big deal. It really just felt like they were trying to tidy up to get on with the epilogue, which is not what a lot of us were looking for with Trent especially.

And that's how most of their endings felt to me. It didn't feel like any of them had reached a comfortable conclusion. Literally all of them, bar Veth and Caduceus, continued on their character journey threads, without each other and very quickly. Meeting Yasha's tribe and Vandran, Caleb finally openly debating changing time for his parents, Trent and Zeenoth's trials and the changing of the guard at the Assembly... All were things it would have been so fun to have all the PCs react to and explore together, and instead they were fleeting encounters in the latter half of a seven hour finale.

Is all this, from Molly not really coming back to Trent being a finale side plot to the Nein continuing on their individual journeys, potentially realistic to how these fantastical things might go down in real life? Sure! But that's not necessarily a good thing.

Stories THRIVE on conflict and resolution. That’s what makes them FUN! Conflict isn’t nearly so fun in real life and resolutions are often frustrating question marks, so no, past a certain point I don’t WANT stories to be realistic. I want stories to be SATISFYING.

And campaign 2 has fallen far short of the mark.

I haven’t spoken... Basically a word of this for most of the campaign, because as I said I’m a firm believer that you can’t necessarily judge something until it’s over, and because I ALSO firmly believe that being negative WHILE trying to enjoy something is counterproductive. I have had no interest in spoiling or naysaying the fun of the campaign for anyone, least of all myself.

But it's done now, and all I can say is... I really have had fun. I love the characters. I love their relationships. I’m pretty okay with where they’ve ended up. I’m not mad, really, and I’m still going to think of this campaign with a lot of affection. But it hasn’t been a satisfying story, even though for a week following episode 140 I thought, despite all the brushed over story threads, it might be.

So... to try and reclaim some of that satisfaction for myself, I might ignore some aspects of the finale proper. Namely Kingsley specifically. Taliesin's choice -- but to me, it's pretty clear that who we saw at the end of 140 was Molly, and the tags on my posts will reflect that, just as my 141 tags will be for both Kingsley and Molly, for clarity's sake. I personally want to believe Molly did come back, however others might want to interpret it. The victory in 140 that meant so much to me is hollow otherwise, and it just kind of hurts that we would lose Molly after everything. I was okay with him being dead -- I'm not so okay with his resurrection being stolen.

Kingsley will always be canon, but Molly is what I choose to acknowledge. I get if you don't like that take, and that's okay! I didn't care for canon's in the end. That's the good thing about storytelling, is that no one can stop you from making your own versions.

For the people who are hopefully hyped for campaign 3, heck yeah have fun! I’m on the fence. My investment, which... I think I can objectively say was pretty substantive as this blog will attest, doesn't feel rewarded, so I’m not convinced I can faithfully keep up for over three years all over again with a strong possibility that I will once again be left disappointed. It's been a huge chunk of my life, and... yeah!

I’ll take a break, probably, view (and liveblog, if people want!) campaign 1 when I’ve had a mental stretch and vacation, and then... I might start campaign 3. I definitely won’t be able to put the same time in it I did campaign 2 (my first love no matter what), knowing that it’s likely to not be so vindicated, in the end.

I swear I’m actually writing this in fairly good humour, but I totally get its always disappointing when the people you come to for fandom enjoyment just aren't sharing your fun. Honestly I’m half tempted to write all those frigging AUs I have sitting around! But I wanted to say my piece, and try and logically outline why this ending has been lacklustre for so many people, ultimately myself included.

Episode 140 felt right because it felt like a natural conclusion -- these disparate people coming together and finally being whole, finally soothing the hurt that MADE them so long ago. Episode 141 spat on that sentiment -- they all scattered to the winds, not as happy people to live out their dreams, but as confused people chasing up loose threads towards an unknown future, with the friend they thought returned still lost to them, ultimately.

It doesn't feel like the ending we should have gotten for the Mighty Nine, who were finally, finally all together. Until they weren't. So to me? I choose to acknowledge that they were, even if I have to force it to happen post-epilogue in my head.

[labomi]

carrot cake

summary: you and satoru treat yourselves to some sweets after completing a mission

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

words: 976

genre: romance, fluff

warnings: description of food

notes: ahh i feel bad i didn’t post anything last week but i haven’t finished any of my wips yet so here’s a short fic that was already up on my ao3. it’s written with the same universe/reader in mind as my other one-shot which you can read here for context. i promise i’ll have some new content soon!

“Oh, Satoru. Look!” You pointed at the giant carrot cake smothered with cream cheese frosting in the display window. It was nestled among a variety of other delicious-looking desserts that would surely satisfy any sweet tooth. “I think I want a slice of that!”

The two of you had just finished up a mission exorcising a suspected Grade 1 curse that was terrorizing a hospital. Satoru handled it easily without any issues which gave you two plenty of time to spend the rest of the night enjoying the city. There were clear perks in chauffeuring around the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.

After going on numerous assignments together, it had become a tradition for the two of you to celebrate a job well done by heading to a local cafe and indulging in desserts together. Satoru always seemed to look forward to the post-mission activities and you were happy to tag along, especially because he always paid for everything.

Satoru quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “No strawberries today?” He knew how much you adored any desserts that included strawberries. A beautiful strawberry cake glistened in the display case right next to the carrot cake you were eying.

“I’m trying to broaden my taste horizons,” you announced with a huff, trying to ignore how the strawberry cake seemed to be calling your name. “Don’t question me!” Satoru chuckled while you waved over the employee and signaled you were ready to order before you changed your mind.

“I’ll have a slice of the carrot cake please!”

Satoru ended up only ordering a cup of hot tea for himself, claiming he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry.

The cafe was relatively empty. It was a Tuesday night, and there were only a few other people seated inside. They seemed to be local college students judging from the numerous books surrounding them as they furiously typed away on their laptops. You found a small table in the back corner of the cafe far away from all the other patrons. Satoru brought over the tray, and you were unable to stifle your squeal of excitement.

Satoru sat down across from you and immediately ripped open five packets of sugar and dumped them in his tea. He used a small wooden stick to stir the drink and help the sugar dissolve.

“It amazes me how you never get a cavity,” you commented.

“Well that’s because I’m perfect,” Satoru purred. 

You crumbled up a napkin in a ball and threw it at him, but it predictably slowed down to stop in front of his face before he snatched it with his hand.

“Hey! That wasn’t very nice of you!” Satoru whined, but you ignored him and focused on your cake. The slice looked absolutely divine. Grabbing a fork from the tray, you immediately dug in with a big bite and a hum of pure joy.

“It’s so good,” you mumbled with your mouth still full. “We have to come back here again!”

Satoru nodded and sipped on his tea, eyes completely focused on you. During these moments, he was quite thankful he always wore sunglasses. It hid his current line of vision, and he preferred that you didn’t know exactly where he was looking. Every day, Satoru was extremely thankful that managers at Jujutsu High had to wear a black suit and tie. He was particularly grateful to whoever tailored your specific uniform. They deserved a raise.

You always looked prim and proper during a mission but afterward, you had a bad habit of immediately loosening your tie. It was the one part of the outfit you complained about. Satoru got Yaga to tell you it wasn’t necessary to wear a tie if it was uncomfortable, but you insisted on wearing the entire outfit to match the other managers. You were stubborn like that.

Satoru quietly watched as you continued to devour the slice of cake. Your tie was already loosened and sloppily hanging around your neck. He thought you looked even hotter like this.

“Hey! Are you listening to me?” You waved your hand in front of Satoru, trying to grab his attention.

He grinned behind his cup of tea. “Nope!”

You sighed. “Of course you weren’t. I was saying that if we have time off next week we should go watch a movie! We haven’t gone to the theaters in a while, and I know how much you like going.”

“Yea, that sounds good,” Satoru replied, resting his head on his hand with a soft smile. 

You looked at him strangely. Satoru was acting weird. He was quiet tonight. And he was never quiet. The man would normally be talking your ear off about something completely random like the power structures of early Rome or the separation of the church and state.

Why is he acting like this?

You grabbed another piece of cake on your fork when you finally realized what was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to Satoru, feeling a little ashamed. “I’m being rude. I forgot to ask if you wanted a bite.” 

“Yeah, I’ll try some,” Satoru smirked. Before you could offer your fork to him, he reached out his hand and swiped a thumb across the upper corner of your lips. He removed a glob of frosting from your face that you had failed to notice. You sat there frozen as Satoru brought the thumb to his mouth and licked it clean.  

“You’re right. It’s good.”

You could feel the heat starting to creep into your cheeks.

“Satoru,” you warned quietly, nervously looking around the cafe to make sure no one else saw the gesture. He loved when you got flustered like this. Especially in public.

“What?” the sorcerer asked innocently. “You had a little something on your lips. What kind of friend would I be to let you walk around like that in public?”

You threw another napkin at him.

[wagner-fell]

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

[raleighcarrera]

saved by the bell

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

blaine springs kennedy from her date in chapter 10.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T) / outpoint (T) / parry (E) / pulling punches (T) / ringside (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @dakotawinchester ; @flyawayboo ; @withbeautyandrage ; @blainehellyes ; @levineseth ; @gryffindordaughterofathena ; @thefirstcourtesan ; @josieplayschoices 

~3.5k words | T

he’s not going to look.

no matter how much his phone lights up with incoming notification after incoming notification, he’s not going to look. blaine refuses to torture himself by checking for photos of kennedy’s date, though his curiosity is eating him alive.

it’s a nice reprieve from worrying about her, at any rate, even if it is maddening.

lately it feels like all he’s done is worry about her, though that’s mostly because kennedy looks to be about an inch away from tears every time she’s around -- not that it’s often, anymore. there’s absolutely nothing worse than seeing her suffer from the sidelines; he still feels just as helpless as he did when he watched her give that first disastrous press conference in his dorm, the day after the pictures hit voyeur. 

it’s unbelievably frustrating, being forced to sit on his hands and watch everyone else try to control her life. kennedy’s under a microscope like neither of them have ever been before, and for the first time in his life, he’s in the uncomfortable position of having to be careful -- not because he gives a shit about himself or his own reputation, but because of her, and what it might do to her if he was reckless.

he’s bitten his tongue more times in the last week than he has in his entire life. it’d taken every last ounce of his self control not to snap and defend kennedy at the pet store, not to panic when she’d clued him in on her mom’s newest pr strategy, not to keep her locked in the teacher’s lounge with him for the rest of the semester and refuse to let her go when she snuck out to meet him.

already he knows he’ll never forget the names and faces of the classmates of theirs that’d picked on her. if he ever really does wind up in charge in ardona, one day, he’ll come to power with a ready-made list of enemies, all because of the way they’d made her look when she sunk down low into her seat in class, her shoulders hunched in shame.

he’s laying in bed, moping miserably, thinking over it all when peter pokes his head in with a hesitant knock. “how’re you holding up?” he asks, tactfully, given that blaine’s pretty sure he looks utterly awful. “those daily post photos were... rough.”

blaine groans, burying his face in his hands. “i’m not looking at them. i don’t want to know.”

“that’s probably for the best,” peter says sympathetically, and that does it -- seals the deal completely. he reaches for his phone, snatching it off the nightstand.

dionne’s also texted him, which means the photos are as bad as he’s hoping they won’t be. his stomach twists into knots as he navigates to his favorite gossip site, certain the pictures he’s looking for will be plastered all over the homepage.

sure enough -- there they are: kennedy and alexei, huddled together outside of some swanky restaurant, hand-in-hand. she’s all dressed up for the occasion, because with alexei she’s allowed to be; she doesn’t have to sneak out to see him, hidden under a baseball hat in some far away place where no one will recognize either of them. the point of this date is to be seen, and judging by the crowd of flashing lights surrounding them, they’ve done a perfect job selling their relationship to the press.

so the second picture accompanying the story is an unnecessary twist of the knife -- complete overkill. they’re kissing, in this one, lips pressed together chastely just outside the limo. he feels nauseous.

“they’re probably having a terrible time,” peter says, though blaine’s still staring at his phone, eyes fixed on the photo in his hands. “i heard that restaurant is horrible.”

“it’s fine,” blaine says hollowly, tapping back to his texts to answer dionne. she wants to know how he is, too, and he gives her the same answer: fine. everything is fine.

“you’re so full of shit,” dionne says, when she shows up at his dorm twenty minutes later, her arms folded across her chest and her expression unimpressed.

yeah. he forgot she knows him so well. “well -- whatever,” blaine sighs, dragging a hand down his face. it doesn’t matter. it has to not matter, for kennedy’s sake. “it’s not like i can do anything about it. this is the way it has to be.”

the look in dionne’s eyes grows distant, and he sits up slowly as a smile starts to overtake her face, cautiously optimistic while what’s obviously an evil plan begins to unfurl. “no,” dionne says, “it’s not. i think i have an idea.”

so -- that’s how he finds himself sweating through his jacket, overthinking this whole stupid plan while he waits for kennedy to slip out the back of the stupid opera house and meet him and his stupid rental car in the alley. he thinks back over all the ways they’d had to cover his tracks to get him here: how peter’d had to call in the car, how dionne’d had to threaten and sweet talk alexei at the same time, how there isn’t a single hurdle he wouldn’t leap or hoop he wouldn’t jump through for even just half an evening alone with her.

this is probably a terrible idea. at the very least, it’s dangerous, and sure to get them fucking caught again, no matter how careful they all were in making it happen.

maybe he should call the whole thing off. call dionne and get her to tell kennedy to forget it -- to go back to her date and take the easy way out, because who is he kidding, anyway?

the sound of heels on the cobblestones takes the decision swiftly out of his hands. blaine looks up to see kennedy standing in front of him, admiring the rental with a gentle smirk on her beautiful face. she looks even more ridiculously gorgeous than she had in the daily post pictures, as annoying as that is. 

she’s alone.

“no limo? that’s not very romantic, mr. hayes,” she teases playfully, mouth stretched wide with a smile.

he leans over to pop the door open for her, grinning to cover up his nerves. just having kennedy around is going a long way towards keeping him calm -- he feels undeniably more sane out here with her than he had in his room, pouting with fruitless jealousy. “take it up with dionne,” he shrugs, eyes raking up and down her outfit. she really does look nice. “now hop in.”

“we have three hours and forty-five minutes,” kennedy says helpfully, as soon as they’ve slipped out of town unseen and headed to the highway, “i have to be back by curtain.”

“i know,” blaine hums, sighing with relief as soon as he glances in the rearview mirror and sees they aren’t being followed, “dionne briefed me. she figured out a whole plan.”

“oh,” kennedy says. she sounds... happy. “that was really nice of her.” there’s a pause, and he fidgets with the steering wheel for a moment before shifting his left hand up to the top to steer so his right arm is free to drape across the back of kennedy’s seat. she leans in closer to the center console and continues, “i really wish it was you in there with me.”

he exhales heavily. more relieving than not being followed, than being with her at all is hearing that -- that he’s not alone in his insanity. lately he feels like a completely different person, and he has no idea what’s come over him, so it’s comforting to know that it’s all for something, beyond just making kennedy smile. evidently, she wants to be his stupid girlfriend just as badly as he wants her to. “me, too. you have no idea. i’ve really missed you, these past few days.”

“i know. it’s weird,” kennedy agrees, “hardly seeing you. not being able to text you, and tell you about my day... i mean -- i barely even get to talk to you, outside of class.”

yeah. he knows. and when there’s other people around he has to watch what he fucking says, too. it’s far from ideal, and he knows he’s gotten sloppy, but...

part of him almost wants someone to catch them. blaine knows it’s selfish and stupid, but he wants it all the same. because if someone found out the truth and spilled the beans... they’d be free, and the impossible decision of what to do next would be out of their hands.

he could never ask kennedy to go public on her own. he would never ask her for that, no matter how badly he wants it. but a slip-up... that would be beyond their control.

blaine shakes his head. “it’s fine,” he says again, clearing his throat, “i’ll plan some secret meet up for us every night, if you want. even if it only buys us a few minutes.”

he glances to the side just in time to catch the look that crosses her face. kennedy’s quite obviously touched by his offer, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she stares down at her hands. forcefully, he drags his eyes back to the road. “i’d really like that,” she murmurs, so quietly he almost misses it. when he only nods, she raises her voice and asks, “so, where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” he directs, taking the exit that’ll bring them to the drive-in, mentally cataloging the travel time it’d taken to get up here and making a note of the minutes he’ll need to account for to get kennedy back, especially if he has to circle the block until the street is empty before he drops her off. 

her eyes light up when he pulls into the parking lot. “a drive-in theater, seriously? i used to love going to the drive-in back home. i didn’t know they had them near vancross.” her nose is practically pressed against the window as she looks around excitedly while he idles.

“this is my first time,” blaine admits, though how eager kennedy is definitely bodes well for the experience. even if it completely sucked, he’d still bring her back every weekend, just to see her smile like that. “we don’t really have these in ardona, but dionne talked it up.”

kennedy finally peels her eyes away from the window to smile playfully at him again, her eyes sparkling. “so you’re a drive-in virgin? interesting.”

his face feels hot, suddenly. blaine rolls his eyes at her, gesturing at the map of the venue in front of them. they’re kind of holding up the line. “yeah, yeah. pick your movie, rutherland. it’s just background noise for the real show, anyway.”

if he’s being honest, he barely hears her make her choice, the instructions on where to go flying in one ear and out the other. all he cares about for where he parks the car is that it’s secluded, and dark, away from prying eyes and any other people in the lot.

fortunately, blaine finds them the perfect spot, and he doesn’t even waste a second pretending like he gives a single shit about the movie at all, his eyes on her just as soon as the gear shift’s out of his hand.

kennedy’s turned in her seat and already looking back at him. she smiles and says, “thanks for doing this. it’s nice to have a normal date. i never pegged you as the type of guy who was all about carnivals and drive-ins and making these fun experiences for us.”

he shrugs, more nonchalantly than he feels. “probably ‘cause i’m not,” blaine answers honestly, “but everything’s different, with you.”

kennedy makes a soft sound of disbelief, lifting her hands to cover her face. when she peeks out from between her fingers, he sees that she’s smiling widely again. “you keep saying stuff like that. it’s so charming.”

blaine laughs, reaching out to tug her hands off her face. “that’s kind of the point.” he clears his throat, then continues more seriously, “but... i want you to know how i feel, you know? you shouldn’t have to guess. the truth is... i’ve been all-in for awhile, now, and -- those pictures were just a shitty setback. they don’t change the way i feel about you at all.”

she reaches out for his hand, and he lets her lace their fingers together, squeezing affectionately. “you have no idea how nice it feels to hear that,” kennedy sighs. “honestly...” the hesitation in her voice makes it clear she’s unsure of whatever she’s about to say, but she continues, “it kind of just felt like i ruined everything. things were actually going pretty well, for once, but now it’s like there’s this... dark cloud hanging over everything i do. i can’t even hang out with you without worrying we’re going to get caught again.”

his expression softens. he’s not usually one for optimism, but for her, and in the interest of getting some of that thick sadness out of her voice, he’ll try. “well, we’ve done a pretty good job avoiding that so far.”

“that’s true.” kennedy’s head tips back agains the carseat, and she smiles at him again. “i guess we’re making it work, in our own way. i love that i can always count on you to be real with me. it’s so -- refreshing, after all the fake posturing we deal with.”

well -- that’s probably as good an opening as he’s ever going to get. he spares a moment to silently thank whatever god is listening for the chance to ask the question that’s been eating at him for hours, the one thing he’s most desperate to know, beyond even the other stuff that usually keeps him up at night, everything from the simple inner workings of kennedy’s mind to why he’s so tripped up over a girl he’s only spent a few short months with. “speaking of fake...” blaine pointedly looks somewhere beyond her, staring out at the parking lot, “how’d your date go?”

kennedy’s quiet for long enough that he has to look back at her. there’s a knowing little glint in her eyes that he decidedly does not like. “are you jealous?”

“what?” he scoffs, “of course not. you left alexei to go out with me.”

“right,” she laughs, one small word injected with endless disbelief. “well, we had a good time. alexei’s not so bad.”

he’s an egomaniac and a self-centered prick, actually, blaine thinks. out loud, he says, “oh. cool. glad it worked out. cool, cool, cool...”

he fidgets restlessly. kennedy’s visible amusement only grows. “you know it was still a fake date, right? neither of us have any interest in the other.”

“i know,” blaine insists defensively. kennedy only arches an eyebrow at him. with a groan, he slumps back in his seat, a hand rubbing at his jaw. “fine, maybe i am a little jealous. give me a break, okay? this is kind of a unique situation for me.”

“if it helps, i think you’re doing a pretty great job.” she’s still smiling at him, but less like she thinks he’s being funny and more like she thinks he’s being sweet. she leans in a little closer, and -- it actually does help. the knots in his stomach that’d been coiled there since she first said her mom’s team was planning a pr relationship for her are finally starting to unwind.

“yeah?” he asks, gratified by the immediate nod she gives. “that’s good. i don’t wanna half-ass this boyfriend stuff just because it’s new to me.”

there’s a long stretch of silence. he realizes what he’s said all at once and starts to feel nauseous all over again, staring silently back at kennedy while he waits for her to say something -- anything.

“boyfriend stuff?” 

“ah.” his hand slips around to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. “sorry. slipped out.” he should probably just cut his losses now -- bring her back early to be on the safe side and go back to his dorm and drown himself in the shower, because he is an idiot and that’s what an idiot deserves. “i know you kind of already have a boyfriend.”

kennedy huffs out a quiet laugh. “i kind of do.” she tilts her head to meet his eyes, forcing him to look at her again. his heart stutters painfully in his chest, picking up into a pace that’s almost frantic. “but... that’s not a ‘no.’”

their hands are still linked together. he looks down at where their fingers are interlaced, hoping his palms aren’t as sweaty as they feel. blaine disentangles his hand to lift it instead to kennedy’s face, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes with a hesitant smile she immediately returns tenfold. 

it’s also not a ‘yes,’ but he’ll take what he can get. 

as it turns out, three hours and forty-five minutes is kind of not actually a long time at all.

or maybe it would be, for some people, but with kennedy in his lap, squished between him and the steering wheel so she can kiss him senseless, the time flies by. they watch what’s probably ten minutes total of the movie, they’re so busy kissing and talking, his hands wandering along her new outfit to show his appreciation for it the only way he knows how.

for her part, kennedy gives as good as she gets, tugging his hair out of place and messing up his jacket and making him forget his own name, with the way her hips are pushing into his lap and all the sweet little sounds she makes when he whispers something dirty in her ear and presses her in closer against him.

no amount of agonizing over her fake dates and not being able to kiss her in public is ever going to drive the way she shivers with her whole body when he says something she likes from his mind.

still, the drive back is somber. it’s time to bring kennedy -- kiss-swollen lips and raised hemlines and all -- back to the opera house before he knows it, and he’s really not looking forward to everyone who sees her thinking she spent four hours fooling around in the private box with alexei, of all people. he’s looking forward to driving home alone and going to bed by himself even less.

tomorrow he’ll have to sit by her in class again and pretend like everything’s fine.

because they had tonight, and he knows he should be content with that. the problem is -- he’s not. 

“you okay?” kennedy asks, checking the time on the watch on his wrist with a frown. she’s holding his hand in both of hers. “and don’t say you’re ‘fine.’”

“i am fine,” blaine insists, running his thumb across her wrist. “this sucks, but it’s what we have to do. if you’re good, then i’m good.”

she studies his expression for a minute, then sighs. “i’m as good as i can be,” she murmurs, “but things will get better.”

he knows that, too. even if no one ever finds out it’s him in the photos, even if they have to spend the rest of their lives sneaking out and ditching their bodyguards so they can find a few hours alone together -- things are good. the alternative -- winning the fight with his parents to keep him away from vancross, never getting the chance to know kennedy as well as he does... that’s a future that seems bleak, now that he’s seen the alternative.

“it’s really alright,” blaine assures her. “i’ll miss you, but... do what you gotta do.”

something about the way he says the words seems to instill new confidence in kennedy. she straightens her shoulders and glances back at the opera house door with determination. “thanks,” kennedy sighs, squeezing his hand one last time before slowly pulling away. she probably has only seconds until the finale starts up, though he’s desperate for a way to make them stretch longer. an eternity would be a nice place to start.

“will you... text dionne goodnight before you go to bed?” she asks, looking so hopeful he finds it’s impossible to do anything other than nod.

he grins widely at kennedy, leaning in to steal one last kiss. “dream about me, will ya?”

“every night,” she promises, and blaine lowers the window to get a better view of her and the sway of her hips when she slips out of the car and back inside, sighing heavily once she’s gone and he’s alone again, whacking his head against the carseat.

this is some mess they’ve gotten themselves into.

but, he figures, as he pulls away from the curb and starts back towards campus, the image of kennedy walking away in the heels and skirt she’d been wearing playing over and over again in his mind like a highlight reel, it’s definitely not without its perks.

[hey-its-nonny]

So, thanks to the lovely @themerriweathermage, i can repost all of my chapters of in between!! Again, a huge, huge, thank you, love. i can’t tell you how happy i am about this.

Chapter one of In Between!

i’m super excited for this!! hope y’all like it!!

note: this first chapter will start out (and maybe end) in Legolas’ POV just for somewhat of his backstory. the rest will be told from your POV!!

~~~

The battle was over.

Burials for the dwarves had come and gone, and while Tauriel was grieving over Kili, Legolas was left with a broken heart over the she-elf in question. He just didn’t understand. Tauriel was supposed to be the one. At least he thought so.

Was there something wrong with him? His father would have told him so. He didn’t understand why it stung so harshly, but he supposed that was the risk you took when you fancied someone.

But, a broken heart didn’t really matter now, did it?

The truth was that Tauriel had all too quickly slipped out of Legolas’ grasp; and there was no getting her back. Like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in his face, it had only been a matter of time before Tauriel slipped away from him. So, he traveled for months to meet a man by the name of Strider.

At first, Legolas had lost his sense of just about everything. He knew where he was going, but he didn’t want to find his way there. Everything he’d loved had slipped out of his grasp in a matter of weeks, and he had no power to stop it.

That’s what he hated: being unable to change things in his life. He was a prince, for Valar’s sake. Changing things to get what he wanted was quite literally what he was used to. He understood that he was privileged, although his father said he’d deserved every bit of what he got, unsurprisingly. Somehow, though, he felt he didn’t.

Just like he didn’t deserve Tauriel.

But, as his walked on with his thoughts tormenting him every waking second, he bumped into something- or someone, to be precise. While lost in his thoughts, Legolas’ feet had taken him to a small village -somewhere near Rivendell- he guessed, judging by the forests and whatnot.

It was a man. He’d bumped into another man. Upon realizing this, the elf froze, his senses coming back to him quicker than he’d lost them. He murmured an apology to the man, and the hooded figure nodded, quickly turning to go on his way.

Legolas realized he didn’t know where to go next, so he went to ask the man. “Do you know a ranger by the name of Strider?” He called, stopping the man in his stride. “Who’s asking?” He replied, low voice ringing in the almost eerie silence.

Legolas somewhat scoffed. “I am.” He stated, knowing full well what the man meant. He was angry and hurt, so a little sass or sarcasm could be expected from the elf. Who would blame him?

Apparently, you would.

Laying the pile of wood down, you readjusted the strap of your pack as your combat knives found their way into your hands. “Answer the question properly.” You spoke out, causing the elf to flinch. Cute. A fight prior to this meeting had put you in a bit of a sour mood, so any further irritation would only make things worse.

Legolas turned and faced you, eyes slightly narrowed, making it evident he wasn’t in a good mood either. “Legolas of th-“ He started, cutting himself off to correct himself. “Legolas Greenleaf.” He stated, turning to face Aragorn once more. “Now, answer my question.” He returned, raising a brow.

You shared a quick look with Aragorn, a questioning gaze evident on your features. “Strider.” He answered, and your expression phased into a calm one. You never really trusted people easily, and this elf would be no different, no matter how pleasant his face looked. Whenever Legolas heard this, however, he looked a bit embarrassed.

You smirked, leaning against the tree with a quiet hum. Aragorn grabbed both yours and the elf’s attention as he spoke up, removing his hood. “Why are you searching for me?” He asked, hand readily reaching for his blade. The bitter cold made this exchange far more intense than it should have been, but the elf showed no intentions of harming either of you.

The elf cleared his throat, searching for the answer to that question. “I merely wish to follow along whatever path you choose to take.” He said after seconds of silence, bringing down his ego as best he could. “Companionship, if you will.” He clarified, earning a distrustful, yet knowing exchange between you and Aragorn.

You walked over and pulled Aragorn aside, hoping to get out of ear’s reach from the elf. It took a while, but once you both were far enough from him, you whispered, “Are you going to let him follow us?” You asked, nodding in the elf’s direction.

The man huffed. “Perhaps. I cannot fully trust him yet, but I feel that it may be good to have him around.” He admitted, gazing at the leafless trees that surrounded you. You sighed, brows furrowed. “I don’t know if it is a good idea,” You replied, uncertainty and caution churning your insides. “but I trust your judgment.”

“We’ll have to take night watch, though.” You added, earning a chuckle from the man. “Let’s get a move on, then.” You sighed, trudging through the woods with Aragorn trailing behind you. A hopeful Legolas met your gaze, searching for any signs of confirmation. He didn’t get anything, though.

You simply grabbed your pack and firewood, tightened your tunic, and went on your way. Aragorn spoke up one final time, doing the same as you. “We do not stop until nightfall.” He stated, earning a swift nod from the elf.

~~~~

Hours later, you all finally found a resting point in a cave and started a fire, gathered around it in attempts at gaining some warmth. Aragorn had gone to scout the surrounding area, leaving you shivering and alone with Legolas. As you huddled close to the fire, shaking due to the cold, Legolas stood, walking over to the pack he’d brought.

He pulled out a thick cloak, walking over to offer it to you. “Take it. You need it.” He quietly stated, draping the fabric over your shoulders. The warmth was almost instant, and you allowed a sigh of relief to escape your lips. “Thank you.” You smiled, to which the elf nodded.

Suddenly, your curiosity got the better of you. You peered at the elf from across the fire, staring into the sky blue eyes he possessed. “Where are you from?” You asked, trying to pass the time. “Mirkwood, as they call it now.” He answered reluctantly, though he seemed a bit more at ease now. “And you?” He returned, raising a brow as he met you e/c eyes.

You stared at the flickering flames in thought, pondering if you should give the elf an answer. It was only fair. “I don’t remember.” You quietly admitted, a solemn expression on your face. “My parents passed when I was young. I’ve been with Strider ever since. He’s like a brother to me.” You explained, earning an almost sympathetic look from the elf. What were you doing?

You stood before he could offer pitiful condolences and drew both of your knives. “Speaking of Strider, I am going to search for him. Excuse me.” You quickly blurted, gently folding the cloak and setting it down.

You rushed out, internally scolding yourself for such foolish behavior. You searched for Aragorn, wondering what possibly could’ve taken him so long. After a while, you came upon a slight clearing, the silence heavy over the bitter air.

Then, you heard it. Orc voices could be heard nearby, and you assumed Aragorn was with them. You cautiously padded through woods, making no noise as you passed. You counted twenty five orcs surrounding Aragorn, preparing yourself for battle.

Then, quicker than the wind, you dashed towards the orcs from behind and began slashing at them, taking out four within a minute. But, as fate would have it, you got caught in a fight between two particularly determined orcs. “Run!” You ordered, earning a scoff from Aragorn as he faced the majority of what was left of the group.

You took the two down, your worry for Aragorn outweighing your will to survive. Aragorn fought well, taking down the mindless creatures with a certain grace only Aragorn possessed. Just as you thought you were finished, you caught a glimpse of a blade held at Aragorn’s neck.

“Aragorn!” You shouted, cutting down whatever orcs stood in the way as you bolted for you best friend. Amidst the chaos, you were caught again as another group stole your attention. You fought hard, taking the orcs down with urgency. Luckily, however, an arrow was caught in the center of the orcs head before too much harm could be done.

You looked in the direction from where the arrow came and found Legolas standing there. You finished off the rest of the group with both of the boys’ help, panting slightly once it was over. Without hesitation you went to embrace Aragorn, quietly letting out a sigh of relief. “Please don’t do that again.”

The man returned the embrace, and you pulled him along back to the cave, grateful he was still alive.

~~~~

You sat at the campfire once more, both of your companions sound asleep a little bit away from you. You watched the flame climb the air, relishing in the warmth it provided you. Then, you remembered the cloak Legolas had given you, and you picked up the soft fabric.

You wrapped it around your shoulders and sighed, making sure to keep an eye on the entrance to the cave. You made it a point to thank Legolas for saving Aragorn, unsure of what you would’ve done if things had turned for the worse.

At the end of the day, Aragorn was alive and well, and you had another companion to get to know. Legolas saved Aragorn’s life, and that was all that really mattered to you.

Maybe the elf wasn’t so bad after all.

~~~~

ugh this SUCKED, but it’s done! i’ll probably edit it later, but i just wanted to post it.

@elvish-sky is the only person on my tag list at the moment i think?? pm me if you want to be added, otherwise i won’t remember lol 😂 hope you enjoyed it!

~~~~~

[ssson-of-sparda]

A Dozen Ice Cream Cones (Dante x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Patty wants to know what happened to the girl who offered Dante his very first strawberry sundae. But to know the rest of the story, she must erase the dozen ice cream cones from Dante's tab. (Part 2 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1)

Tags: Pre DMC3 Dante / Dante is Tony Redgrave / Flirting / Lost Friends to Lovers / Implied Sexual Content / Explicit Language

Author’s note: You wished for Part 2, there it is ;-) If you want to place this part of the story in the DMC timeline, I'd say that it is shortly before DMC3. Dante is roughly eighteen (and so is Reader) and still goes by the name Tony Redgrave. Again, the Dante who is talking to Patty is definitely post DMC Anime. I decided not to give many details about him so that he could be the one of your choice. Can definitely do a part 3 if you want.

MISSION 2

Dante was about to get fleeced. He could feel it in his guts, which had somehow developed this strange ability to knot tightly in his stomach each time he was about to lose. Probably the result of so many years of bad luck in gambling. And yet, Patty’s eyebrows were weirdly furrowed as she was quietly eyeing all of the cards in her hands. She had to have a straight flush. Dante had no doubt about that. So why wasn’t she playing? “You know, Dante. I was thinking …”       “Not again.” The man grumbled, wondering why she was taking her time. But Patty had learned to ignore Dante’s sudden irritations long ago, knowing they were always brief and harmless.       “You didn’t stay friends, right?” Dante arched an eyebrow and stared at the girl in front of him as she was sitting still, big blue eyes fixed upon his face, patiently waiting for the answer to her unexpected question.   “What are you talking about?” A sigh escaped his mouth. He knew what she was talking about. He just wanted to elude the answer. But the little blonde was not one to easily give up. “With the little girl. The one who made you first strawberry sundae. You didn’t stay friends. Why?”                   “What makes you think that?” Using a question to avoid an answer. Yes, could work.             “Well, if you had a friend making you strawberry sundaes for free, then you would not spend an unreasonable amount of money on them. So, I’m guessing she must not be around anymore.” Patty was perceptive. Dante could give her that quality, for sure. Though right now it was more a bother than anything else. “What happened?”       “She moved on with her life.” was the only thing that he felt like answering as he quietly stood up to take a beer in his fridge, certain that this was just the beginning of another long questioning.               “So you never saw her again after that night in the diner?” Patty asked as she watched Dante slouch back in the couch, taking his cards back in his hand to cover whatever expression Patty was trying to spot on his face.       “Yes, I did saw her again.” He finally confessed, eyes on the dog-eared Queen of Hearts he was grazing with his thumbnail.             “Then tell me!” The girl begged, unable to resist the excitement growing in her body any longer. “ Why would I? Don’t you have any stupid soap opera to watch?”       “ The TV’s broken… AGAIN.” She complained but he couldn’t care less. He had no money to afford buying a new one or fixing this one. Plus, there was nothing worth watching on TV so …“Come on. I’ll erase the dozen ice creams cones from your tab if you do.” Dante looked away from his cards with a sudden tiny smirk as he noticed Patty on the edge of her chair, impatiently waiting for the new part of his story to begin. “Now you speak my language, Patty.”         “ You never do something for free! It’s annoying!”       “Are you kidding me? I do a lot of things for free. That’s why I’m so broke and live in this hellhole.” He waved at the place with open arms before taking a gulp of his beer with a grimace. Yuck, it’s hot! And of course it was. He hadn’t paid the bills yet again.           “So we have a deal, then. Now tell me.”

A DOZEN ICE CREAM CONES

                 It was the nineties – perhaps the most awful period for anyone who had even just a small sense for fashion or music - and as the city of Red Grave was still lovingly dancing on ridiculous love ballads on Friday nights, wearing tight crop tops, colourful scrunchies and platform sneakers, Dante – now named Tony Redgrave - was trying to make his place as a young mercenary in the rough areas of the city, hanging in bars serving some drinks stronger than strawberry sundaes (though he would always order one at some point) and in clubs where women would gladly take their clothes off if asked too, mind a few bucks of course (except for Venus. Venus would always flash her breasts for free for her sweet Tony).

“Not sure I want to know that.” “ Oh yes. Forgot the story must be PG-13, sorry. Anyway …”

He was looking for jobs, something that would help him pay for a proper roof over his head and the fancy long red leather coat he had just bought (five hundred bucks but worth every single dime) and luckily for him he knew the perfect man to find him that.

His name was Enzo Ferino. A short and chubby Italian-American broker, probably the best informant in the neighbourhood, one who could smell high-paying jobs for miles around especially those Dante loved to refuse.

“Where was Morrison?” “Can I tell my story please?”

“Come on Tony! You can’t refuse that job. Not another one. Not again.” He almost threw a fist on the counter before he remembered the last time he did so. Two bullets had whizzed the top of his black curly head and he had had thanked his mama for making him so short. “Haven’t you heard the reward? Don’t you see all the zeros on that check, my friend?” Yes, there were four and enough to pay the bail and few rents of the place he wished to rent to create his own agency. But Dante didn’t want that check nor did he want that job.             “If he wants to recover a stupid necklace, he can call the cops for that … or a bailiff. I don’t go after silly poker players. I have better things to do.” He took a sip of his whiskey, the third of the night, not even looking at the two men sitting next to him and begging him to take that damn job with pleading eyes.               “You have nothing better to do!” Enzo shouted, throwing his hands in the hair like a living Italian cliché. “Please Sir. It’s my girlfriend’s necklace. One she offered me on our anniversary. It’s very precious to her.” The man who wished to hire him declared as he started rummaging in the pocket of his designer coat.               “And you bet on it?” Dante scoffed. “Damn. What a perfect boyfriend you are. But that’s still a no.”

The man pressed a piece of paper next to Dante’s drink. A photo, a polaroid, judging by the quality of the paper, carefully placed face down like a poker card, showing that that man was most probably a pro-gambler or at least was used to card games. Another reason not to help. He would probably lose the damn necklace right after recovering it.         And yet, Dante took the picture in his hand. Though he didn’t really know why he did. Certainly the curiosity to know what kind of chick that prick could have in his life or maybe the will to use the picture to taunt him about his taste in women. He imagined a prude church girl, some daddy’s girl probably as rich as him, not very pretty but fancy, wearing pearl earrings and silk headscarves matching her shiny shoes. The type of girl that swaggers in the street and roll her disdainful eyes when they see men like Dante (though they might secretly wished he would rumple their sheets).  

Patty cleared her throat. “What? Every girl loves some good bad boy once in a while... And how do you even know what that means?”

He couldn’t be more wrong. And he couldn’t be more surprised. He would recognize those big (colour) eyes and that sweet smile among thousands, despite the time apart, despite the years that had turned a fearful little boy into a daredevil mercenary and an adorable little girl into a magnificent young girl. He would recognize them always because they were the first that had made in smile when he thought he would never smile again.                 “Her name is Y/N. She’s the sweetest girl in the world. Innocent. Pure.” Dante cringed at the man’s words, finding them rather repulsive and somewhat perverted. Something in the way they were rolling off his tongue.       “Come on, Tony. You can’t say no to a sweet girl.” Enzo’s sentence was met with a glare that made him shiver but when he saw his partner stand up and empty his glass of whiskey, he somewhat relaxed. “You’re pieces of shit. Both of you.”         “Does that mean you take the job?” Dante didn’t bother answer.

                 But he took the job. Not for Enzo. Especially not for his shitty client. And even less for the cash. For her. Just for her. To finally return the favour after so many years. Because he owed her one. Because she was possibly one of the few humans he’s always respected in his ten years wandering the nighty street of Red Grave. And because she didn’t deserve an asshole like the one she dated to lose something apparently so precious to her in a silly game of cards. An easy job for someone like him but one he despised nevertheless. He hated to deal with humans. They were sometimes worse than demons and you can’t fix problems with them by using a sword.

“Don’t tell me you won the necklace back?” “ I did. Fair and square. Well … almost. I ended up using my sword. Turned out the Mafiosi who had Y/N’s necklace were a bunch of demons who had made a few bars in downtown Red Grave their lairs.”

But once Dante had Y/N’s necklace in the palm of his hand he did something only Dante could do. He refused the reward, refused all the zeros on the check and the chance to finally buy that agency he wanted so badly. “The things you do for beautiful women.” Gunsmith Nell Goldstein had said when she had given him back his guns, all polished and fixed, after he had wrecked them on the job again. “They’re your weakness, Tony. Always leading you around by the nose … or something else.” Perhaps, but he never minded.        

And as he watched Y/N approaching the door to her home out of the corner of his eye, a bunch of books under her arms, looking for her keys in her bag, Dante knew he would not regret his weakness for women or his decision to refuse the money.      

She looked as sweet as he remembered, as delicate as in the picture if not more. And just as her shitty boyfriend had said, she indeed seemed rather innocent and pure. Almost fragile. Nothing like the girls he had met before, especially those he had seen undressed at Love Planet or in one of the magazines he kept in his drawers.       “Goodness grac…” She almost dropped her books as she jumped, surprised and somewhat scared, and put her hand over her heart that had certainly missed quite a beat when she noticed this insanely tall stranger on her doorstep.   But her sudden fear disappeared immediately when she recognized the silvery white hair covering the icy blue eyes of the man before her. “Tony?” She arched an eyebrow and he smiled with the same childish joy she had witnessed on his face years ago. And just like that, she was certain it was him.       “Hello, Y/N” He offered his hand and she briefly stared at it, remembering for a small instant the time she held out her tiny hand to him the same way, the night they met. And so she grabbed it, genuinely happy to see him again and yet curious to know how he had found her and why he was back after so many years.       But when she fell something cold and metallic in his hand she got her answer. “My necklace. How?” “Won it back for you.” He simply answered but that was enough for her to understand what happened. “[Boyfriend] lost it on a poker game, didn’t he?” And even though that didn’t really surprised her as she knew how much he loved gambling despite her telling him not to, it disappointed her anyway. “You shouldn’t date boys who have a streak of bad luck in gambling… Except those like me.” She looked up at Dante’s piercing blue eyes, unsettled by his flirtatious humour, thinking he accidentally let that slip but he definitely did not. Those last words, impulsive and yet somewhat well thought out, had rolled off his tongue with a scandalous smoothness and a self-confidence that had rooted her to the spot, speechless, but in a weirdly pleasant way that made her want to slap herself. “Or especially me. Depends if you like trouble.”     With a smug smirk, he stared at her, deep in her eyes, almost … hungrily? She didn’t really know. All that she knew was that never a man had looked at her that way. Certainly not her boyfriend. And who knew such icy eyes could set fire to her cheeks like that? “But, judging by that place and your guy, you seem to enjoy some well-ordered life.”

Not really. Not at all. Her life was boring, plain and dull. Nothing like in the books she read. Nothing like what she had dreamed of. But exactly what her mother had wished for her.         She was an adorable daughter, a top student finishing up high school, ready to leave Red Grave with her well brought up boyfriend to start a life many would envy but that she cared little about.     She wanted adventure. She wanted excitement. Passion. Frivolity. Freedom. And maybe even some danger. She wanted all that and more.           And as she looked at the self-assured man in front of her, she couldn’t help but believe that he had somehow managed to obtain all that. And she wanted to know how. How did that life feel? How could he live such a life? How could she have the same?         And Dante noticed that small fire, that tamed lonely flame burning deep in her eyes that needed just a drop or two of gasoline to rage and shine brightly. Something he could easily provide if she let him, if that’s what she wanted.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N” He nodded her goodbye and as he shifted to walk away, she opened her lips to say. “Would you like a strawberry sundae?” And she cursed herself for this, so damn loud in her head. You have a boyfriend! A voice repeated on and on, feeling the temptation in her heart and the ideas of what some people would call unfaithfulness seeping in her brain. But as she opened the door to her apartment, ready to finally kick the boredom out of her life for something else, for something more, the voice seemed to fade.           Guess the Devil truly finds work for idle hands to do.

[fencesandfrogs]

some thoughts on dovewing and hollyleaf

so i was like 1k words into my au for dovewing where she’s cloudtail and brightheart’s daughter and it was really good and then i lost it because tumblr doesn’t understand the concept of “are you sure you want to navigate away from this page?” and i can’t tell you how sad that makes me but i’m not going to despair, because i think the world needs this.

[1.5k words. 5 minute read. wall of text.]

right. so. basically. dovewing is going to be born to cloudtail and brightheart. i have Thoguhts on what other things could be changed in po3 but this isn’t about that.

also ivykit is red now sorry i don’t make the rules. (brightheart OR dovewing are now tortie to compensate for the change in genetics, not that warriors cars about that, but i do. cloudtail inherits brown from his mother and ??? from his father because i haven’t traced all of their litters, but i don’t see why dovekit couldn’t be grey.)

so cinderheart gets dovepaw because dovepaw is anxiety child. lionblaze gets ivypaw because that’s going to be a drama engine when he’s obsessed with her sister(’s mentor, but ivypaw doesn’t know that, also later it is dovepaw bc propehcy)

cloudtail and brightheart and cinderheart work out some Sensory Blocking skills. beavers happens. dovepaw, who spent most of her time as dovekit hiding in big fluffy father’s fur because Sensory, takes one look at big and fluffy and kind tigerheart and says: yes, he is safe. i will be his friend.

(i’m a fan of tigerheart and dovewing don’t @ me, they are the cutest, and after everything bramble and squirrel put me through, i deserve some pure kind love.)

anyway lionblaze figures out dove is 3rd cat, jayfeather is like “oh sick my sister’s back” dovepaw is anxiety child, everything is fine.

nothing happens in omen of the stars i stg

tigerheart and dovepaw continue to meet up. ivypaw goes from “sister worshipped i am unloved” to “sister fragile. must protect. (also i am unloved)” bc skirmish on border patrol and dovepaw just...can’t.

everyone is kind of wondering if dovepaw should maybe be med cat? i mean she has a good ear for prey, but she can’t really catch it, and, like, she’s weird.

she’ll mention snippets of information she shouldn’t know. she knows what you were coming to talk to her about before you get there. she’s never surprised, by, like, anything far away, but she barely notices if you sneak up on her.

something is not right about her.

but dove doesn’t really want that (reminder: tigerheart and her are still flirting-friends. he’s aware that she’s got some kind of, well, problem seems cruel, but what else should he call it?, and wants to help her, but has no idea what to do), and so cinderheart is like “well. we can do this. we can.”

idk filler stuff. ivypaw finds out about dovepaw and tigerheart. like, she knew something was up, but she gets explicit confirmation. ivy gets very protective of dovepaw, dovepaw is like ‘ur not my mentor’ ivypaw sees tigerheart in the dark forest, and she goes all

bluefur being like “snowfur ur bf has rabies” in bluestar’s prophecy

and it goes about as well now as it did then (altho tbf dovepaw is more close to being in the right than snowfur was.)

ivypaw and dovepaw now aren’t speaking. cinderheart is trying to get some space from lionblaze because dovepaw is anxiety child, training with ivypaw isn’t helping, and lionblaze needs to focus on ivy dammit.

anyway yeah in this ivypaw, after dovepaw’s initial success hunting, quickly surpasses her sister, and continues training in the dark forest because must protecc also need affection

(ivypaw is very pro dovepaw be a medicine cat. the fact that it keeps her away from tigerheart is a major bonus.)

cinderheart doesn’t know what to do. finally someone is like “hey what if we go to the tribe.” because the tribe deserves to fix clan problems for once.

the tribe is like “yeah the world sure is a big place with a lot to look at. that’s why only half of us look.” (i know that’s not exactly how cave guard’s work but close enough.)

cinderheart is like “hm. what if, dovepaw, just a thought, what if you just, you know, avoid battles? i know it’s part of clan life but judging by the two souls crammed into my body, i’d say there’s been very few major conflicts over this and, reasonably, you should be able to avoid being chosen for battle control.”

dovepaw says, “but cinderheart, i’m a main character! unless i’m being punished or taught a lesson about duty, i’ll be automatically registered for every battle patrol until i die!”

cindheart says, “you’re right, i’m so sorry. hey ivypaw, [whoops yeah ivy and lion are here too sorry i forgot to mention that] what if you two learn to work as a team.”

dovepaw says, “i don’t want to work with her.”

ivypaw says, “that’s a great idea.”

because dovepaw talks very quietly (she forgets not everyone can hear as well as her), ivypaw wins.

they work out their issues, return to the clans after quite some time.

(this also gives dovepaw a good memory for a long time in the future when shadowkit is born. i don’t actually know when that happens because i just finished tigerheart’s shadow and it’s not there, but i’ll find it eventually)

anyway dovepaw and ivypaw haven’t settled their differences, but they have a peace treaty. no one is sure how to integrate the team style in most effectively, but with her senses dampened from the tribe, dovepaw gets a bit better at hunting.

she’s also now 200% anxiety, meaning she’s basically vibrating all the time, but at least she’s learning. and she’s got the technical skills, too, she just couldn’t focus on applying them.

so dovepaw gets to really earn her success.

alright they become warriors, the battle is approaching.

this is like at least 3 books worth of content when you consider that jayfeather and hollyleaf are alive and hollyleaf is kind of, either dead or alive, tunnels or not, on top of shit in this universe. she knows shit gon go down. she’s going to be ready.

anyway right so dovewing and ivypool. that’s pretty much it except dovewing is more useful during the final battle. i’m not sure how i just know she is.

alright now i’m very tired and wanted to be done half an hour ago but here’s most of an au for you.

i came back like ten minutes later to add: the later three books would focus more on ivypool, hollyleaf, and jayfeather. dovewing is off in the background flirting with tigerheart. she and lionblaze have like one and a half brain cells between them. ivy holly and jay are the brains of the operation, and everyone knows it.

so they’re making plans and preparing and dealing with trust issues and lionblaze is like “what if? cinderheart. who is the best cat. what if she and i. had children. would they be. the best cat. squared?”

and dovewing, thinking of tigerheart, is like “no you idiot bestness is additive. that’s why my kits with tigerheart would be at least two times better than any other kits.”

*to be clear, kits are here the figurative marker of a relationship since warrior cats don’t have marriage. dovewing is basically like the fifteen year old doodling her name with tigerheart. she’s not serious about having children with him (yet), but it makes a tangible concept to picture their relationship in.

and meanwhile ivy is like “so if xyz is a taitor, that means i have to win over birchfall to make sure our numbers are evenly matched,”

(dovewing. i lovewing the dovewing, but she’s, well, not that smart.)

so yeah i think book protags would go:

dovepaw (i’d like to save her for later but unfortunately i think we need her deep characterization to provide context for her and tigerheart and sensory overload), ivypaw secondary

lionblaze, hollyleaf secondary (this is kind of a filler book while hollyleaf is set up as not a permanent resident of background character hell so lionblaze is just interpersonal drama moving the plot forward and filling in propechy info)

cinderheart, lionblaze secondary (i want them to be sorted faster, and dovewing’s second book needs to be later for tigerheart drama)

hollyleaf, jayfeather secondary (transitional book in focus, sharp narration turn because i have this working as 2 3 book arcs with a weaker overall arc, and since this is about dovewing i focused mostly on the first)

jayfeather, cinderheart secondary (dove+ivy need to close the arc together, also, cinderheart is like a central character to everyone else here, so she can sustain a whole lot of b plots)

ivypool, dovewing secondary (sisters, also, in this ivypool is far more important in the battle tha dovewing is. i mean sure dovewing is doing something, but the whole success of the battle hinges on ivypool, and everyone knows it.)

*in case I post more about it this au is tagged cloudtail's daughter. I already found calico dovewing that's gorgeous.

[ambidextrousarcher]

The Beat of a Heart

In honour of Doctor’s Day (barely in time), here’s a short story by my hand. It’s based mostly on real-life experiences, most of the scenes based on things I have seen in clinical postings. I am not sure whether I got the main character’s emotions right, but I did my best, so I guess that counts. 

[Image ID: A stethoscope with blue tubing, silver diaphragm and black earpieces lying on top of a blurred keyboard, a blue pad to the left of the stethoscope, with a piece of blank paper pinned on it. On the bottom left, the words ‘The beat of a heart...’ are written in red England Hand font. End ID]

I’m tagging my usual writer mutuals and putting the actual short story under a cut.

My taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @chaanv @arjunaparantapa @hindumyththoughts @spockswhore @ashsnipes​ @annlillyjose​ @seekerbrave​ @avakrahn​ @a-confusedmess​ @arachneofthoughts​ @paneerlajwanti​ @vishnupada​ @bookdragonfanish​ @iamnotthat​ @foreveres​ @shellweed​ @will-die-without-chai​.

She coughs a little, ignoring the rasp in her throat, wishing she could reach for her water bottle, but is impeded by the sheer number of people between her and the bottle in question. She reaches for the hand rub instead, the familiar smell of ethanol almost soothing for a moment. She blinks, turning to the older man sitting across her, the familiar questions on her lips.

‘Can you tell me why you’re here?’ she asks, noting down the man’s anxiety, trying to make her voice sound soothing. That is all the prompting he needs to launch into his long-winded story. She stretches a little, noticing the line of people in front of her, and the students hanging on each of her words standing behind her chair.

She smiles, looking behind her at the students, gesturing subtly for one of them to take over. ‘Make sure to examine him properly,’ she instructs. The student she had instructed nods, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the younger girl responds, leading the man to a bed. She can see the couple of students who had bothered to attend all clustered together, their discussion hushed.

She suppresses a grin. They’ll learn. She herself had. And indeed, one of the the students comes forward tentatively, stopping her peer who had been taking the man’s history, and begins the examination.

She turns to her work, leaving the students occupied for now. It’s a familiar battleground of questions and answers, having to rush the patients because of the lack of time. ‘Ma’am?’ it’s a young gentleman. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘I am sorry,’ he says hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand what you said.’ She nods. Clears her throat, looking wistfully at the bottle that still is too far to reach, and too empty besides. Looking at it only diverts her attention to the humidity the fan is doing little for, the sweat trickling down her back.

She shakes her head. Do not divert your attention. Her colleague shoots her an understanding look, as she explains the prescription once again. He nods, with a quiet ‘thank you.’ She nods back at him as he leaves.

‘Ma’am?’ She turns once more. If nothing else, she muses wryly, choosing medicine has definitely taught me to multitask. The students lead the first man back to her, their clinical skills enthusiastic if a touch inexperienced. One of the girls excitedly details the sound of an ejection click. She smiles, lending the younger girl her own stethoscope. The girl listens in with the man’s permission in quiet absorption, the ritual being repeated by each of her friends, all of them clearly awed.

The gentleman looks amused at the furore the click of his valves, amplified by his metallic pacemaker, has elicited. She corrects them when needed, leading to a response of all heads nodding at once.

As the clock strikes 1, the students ask for leave to disperse and the crowd of patients mercifully thins. She tells them to go and come back for a short class in the evening, finally leaving behind the pursuit of her elusive lunch and the all-important water.

Her lunch in front of her, her thirst finally quenched, she ruffles through her iPad for information to make the class slides for tomorrow’s discussion. All too soon the short break is over, the slides still unfinished, and she stands, following her friends out of the Duty Doctors’ Room to go on ward rounds. Her eyes flit to a notification on her News app, of a doctor being beaten by goons. She sighs. There is no use pondering over this. I can only do my best. She knows protests do little good, so she hardens her heart and strides out, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Somewhere in the middle of the rounds, the students following her and the senior doctor like ducklings following mother duck, one of them comes running to her. ‘Ma’am,’ his voice is high with fear. She gives him her immediate attention. ‘There’s a man on that bed…’ the boy points, ‘…17, he’s…he’s not really breathing.’

Oh, no. Her friend steps up, running to the patient, while she looks for his details, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

He is a new patient, there is next to nothing on his chart. She can hear a lady wailing and she winces. No one should see their loved one in such a situation, she thinks, even as she squares her shoulders, moving towards the bed, shaking her head at her friend, who had already started CPR. She gently moves the lady aside, trying to console her, even when there is fear in her own heart that the news she might have to deliver could be irredeemable.

‘Doctor?’ asks the lady querulously, ‘you’ll save him, won’t you?’ She looks down for a moment, before meeting the lady’s gaze. ‘We will do our best,’ she replies quietly, grave as the situation is. The lady nods, tears still pooling in her eyes.

She can hear her friend panting. Quiet and quick, she swaps her place with him, continuing CPR. He shoots her a grateful look. She turns her attention to the patient. Between the three of them, they manage to get the patient breathing, she notes with relief. That relief doesn’t last long, though, as she looks the patient over. The catheter connected to him, filled with orange urine, the gross ascites and icterus. He’s on Rifampicin. TB with hepatic encephalopathy. One glance at her friend tells her that he, too, is thinking the same.

The lady with the patient…his wife by the sound of it, reads the grave news on their faces, facilitated, perhaps, by her intubated husband’s gasps of breath. She sinks into the bars of the hospital bed for support. She is at a loss for a moment, as she always is when confronted by the inevitability of death. She kneels then, her hand on the lady’s shoulder, silently commiserating.

When she stands, she looks at the downcast yet awed students and forces a smile. ‘Well,’ she says, stopping them as they turn away, towards the exit, clearly assuming that class is cancelled for the day. She has no intention of doing that, though. They need to learn that life doesn’t stop for those of us still hale.

At the sound of her voice, they turn as one, looking at her with eyes comparable in size to dinner dishes. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and come back,’ she says firmly. ‘You guys go wait in the Duty Doctors’ Room for your class.’ They keep staring at her for a few moments. ‘Go on,’ she instructs. They obey, darting reverential glances at her, talking in hushed whispers. How could someone literally save a life and just go back to normal like that? She hears one of their voices, quiet, dazzled. Despite knowing the truth, the innocent fascination in the boy’s face makes her smile.

I don’t know! She hears one of his friends reply. I want to be a doctor like that, when I finish my degree, when we really become doctors, the girl says, making her smile wider. The younger girl sounds like a young child deciding the goal of her life.  

She tamps down the giddy joy and the grief simultaneously warring inside her, long since used to contradictory emotions, keeping a straight face as she strides to the washbasin.

When she enters the Duty room for the class, they’re discussing the exposure she could have had. She smiles wryly for a moment. This kind of exposure is a fact of life, she nearly blurts out, deciding not to, enjoying their impressed approval for a moment, before she clears her throat.

They all look abashed. She decides to proceed as if the moment before had not occurred, which was helped by one of them asking about the man she had done the CPR on. She summarises the case, gives them a few topics to read on and sends them home.

Before leaving the hospital proper, she circulates the wards once more. The CPR patient crashes again. This time, though they try long and hard, the lose the man, the beat of his heart forever silenced.

Her senior takes responsibility of the formalities, telling her to leave. Leave she does, casting one last glance back at the shell of the man, helplessness overtaking her for a moment.

She checks in with her colleague manning the night shift if she is free to go, fighting the uncanny feeling of déjà vu that comes with every patient they lose suddenly, the realisation striking anew that life goes on.

It is a leisurely walk back to hostel, the cool air soothing on her sweat-soaked shirt. She is thinking once more of the next day’s presentation, the number of slides still left to finish off.

After a quick wash-up and dinner, she sits with her iPad. It is nearly midnight when she finishes her work, fighting her drooping eyes. She checks in her WhatsApp, shooting a quick goodnight to her parents. The statues of her medico friends are full of calls for justice against the recent violence. Her non-medico friends are, as usual, conspicuously silent on the matter.

Ah, well, she thinks, it’s not like armchair social media posts can actually do much. Besides, this is not an issue that they face. Why judge? They’re probably thinking the same I do.

 She debates posting a status of her own then decides against it, for again, social media can only do so much. The bitter truth can’t be changed.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head, what mama had said the last time she had shared news of such violence. At least they didn’t kill him. You people get a lot of respect, you know?

She shakes her head, banishing those thoughts. She doesn’t want to have nightmares. Besides, tomorrow, she has to report for ID duty. She needs to be well rested for that. So she thinks of the awestruck students, the young girl’s voice playing in her head. I want to be a doctor like that, she said, when I finish my degree.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she is leaving for duty the next morning, she loops her stethoscope along the back of her throat, the diaphragm of the steth sitting firmly over her own beating heart. Time for another day at work.

Some terms that might be unknown:

Ejection Click: In some patients with heart problems, there is some backflow of the blood when the heart contracts. This backflow is heard as a ‘click’ sound when a stethoscope is used. This ‘click’ is amplified if the patient has a prosthetic metallic valve, as in case of the old gentleman in the story who is based on a real patient.

Rifampicin: A drug that is part of the four-drug regimen for Tuberculosis (TB). It increases the effect of another drug in the combination, Isoniazid, which is toxic to the liver. India has a huge number of cases of TB, being one of the TB-endemic countries. The orange urine is one of the most noticeable side-effects of using this drug.

Hepatic encephalopathy: Loss of proper brain function due to inability of liver to remove toxins. The patient on whom CPR was administered was in a coma due to this condition. He, too, was based on a real patient.

Ascites: Swelling of the abdomen due to accumulation of fluid in the abdomen.

Icterus: Yellowing of the sclera  (whites of the eyes) and bulbar conjuctiva, a hallmark of jaundice.

The doctor here makes the diagnosis of TB with drug induced hepatic encephalopathy because of the ascites and icterus combined with the rifampicin usage and the coma. It is an unfortunately common condition here. 

I just noticed that I haven't clarified ID Duty. It means Infectious Diseases ward duty. In this case, I meant COVID-19 duty, though it may not always mean that.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Kiara Carrera x reader

Requested by anon // Summary: You and Kie’s first official date. 

A/N: I hope this is full of fluff like you wanted and I hope you like it!! I was really proud of this one.

If anyone else has a Kie x reader request, please send it in. I want to add more to my list and want to write what people want to read!! 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: OPEN {CLOSED}

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

You and Kie have been best friends for forever. However, only recently had new feelings emerged from both of you. No one knew of your relationship, except both of your families. Both of your homes were safe havens for your relationship where you two could be yourselves and be together without being judged. Not even the pogues expected a thing.

It was a day on the boat when your relationship was almost not a secret anymore. It was your fault, you hadn’t even thought about what you were doing.

 You were putting sunscreen on Kie’s shoulders and back when you’d kissed her on the cheek, “There you go babe.”

Everyone on the boat had froze, their eyes wide, including Kie’s. She’d glanced over her shoulder at you, an eyebrow raised.

You’d cleared your throat, “What?” Looking around at the pogues, “You’ve never seen a girl kiss her best friend on the cheek?”

The boys exchanged glances all shaking their heads, “No. Never.” JJ says.

Kie turns around and wraps her arm around your shoulder, kissing your cheek, “She’s my best friend. Come on guys, get your head out of the gutter.”

You’d blushed a little and rolled your eyes at the boys. Kie did the same. The boys nodded, not necessarily fully convinced, and turned around to face the water so they could fish.

You looked at Kie, mouthing I’m sorry.

She laughed and shook her head. She’d leaned in close and whispered quietly, “No, it was cute.” She stole another kiss really quick, this time on your lips and went to the boys, grabbing a fishing pole herself and leaving you a blushing mess.

~

“So, do you girls want to hang out?” Pope asked when the boat arrived back at the Chateau.

“No, we have plans. We’re going to the mainland this evening.” Kie answers, stepping off the dock.

You do the same, “girls night. Sorry boys.”

JJ pouts, “Why do you guys always have girls night without us? I swear you two have one every other day.”

You and Kie both exchanged a glance. It was true. Your girls nights were between just the two of you either at her house or yours, cuddling on the couch watching movie or spending the evening by the pool. This is where the best friends thing comes in handy. It’s an excuse for the two of you to hang out all the time and them not expect a thing.

“We’re best friends, JJ.” Kie says.

“Yeah plus, we need a break from you goons.” You add, laughing.

“And you guys aren’t girls last time we checked.” Kie also adds, laughing.

John B pouts, “we aren’t goons.”

~

The two of you walk hand and hand down main street at a small town on the mainland. The two of you caught the attention of a few people, giving you disgusting looks but you ignored them. “So where is this place you’re taking me?”

“Well, that is a surprise.” She gives your hand a squeeze and flashes a smile. “I wanted to plan tonight out all myself and surprise you with it.”

You hum in response, “Okay..”

“We’ve never had a first real date and well I wanted to make this one special, so we can say this is our first official date if anyone asks.”

The two of you walk along the sidewalk by the water, leading to a beautiful restaurant overlooking the harbor. You could tell by the outside it was expensive. “kie, no.” You shook your head, “This place looks too fancy and expensive.” You stopped walking.

She sighs, facing you, “Well, it’s a good thing I have my dad’s credit card.” She tugs on your arm a little, “Come on, I told you I wanted today to be perfect.”

You frown, “Kie…”

“girl I swear.” She huffs, taking your head in her hands, and making you look at her, “We are going in that fancy restaurant. We’re going to order whatever we want. No matter the cost and we are going to have a damn good time. Okay?” She presses a kiss to your pout.

“Okay fine.” You take her hand in yours, following you into the restaurant.

~

The dinner was fabulous and delicious. There was an ice cream place next door, so you two headed that way. Ordering your ice creams and then taking it back outside where there was a picnic table overlooking the water.

“Here will be perfect.” She steps up on the picnic table, sitting on the table. You take a seat on the bench and lean back between her legs, watching the sunset over the water. It was the perfect amount of orange glow, the golden hour.

“Here.. try this. It’s delicious.” She reaches around you, a spoonful of ice cream.

You take the bite and hum in response, “Oh that’s good.”

“you got a little..” She gently runs her thumb over your lip, wiping the excess ice cream. “You’re so beautiful..”

You blush, taking a bite of your ice cream, “You’re gorgeous.” You lean up and press a kiss to her lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too..” She smiles.

You pull out your phone, “picture please?”

She rolls her eyes. You were always wanting to take pictures of the two of you or of just her. “Smile baby.” You lean away to capture the photo of her.

She gives you a smile as you snap the photo. “Okay your turn.” She motions with her hand and you hand over the phone. You smile and she captures the photo.

“And now one of the two of us.” You lean back comfortably in between her legs and she leans in close as you put the phone in selfie mode. Both of you smile as you snap the photo. You take another sharing a kiss and then her kissing your cheek. “We’re pretty cute.” You comment looking at the photos

She glances over the photos as you swipe through them, taking a bite of the ice cream. “We do. You should post them.”

You look up at her, “yeah I mean I was going to post the ones of you and then the one of me.”

She shakes her head, “No. post them all.”

“But.. people..”

She nods, “People would know about us. Yeah I know. That’s the whole point. I want people to know. I want to be able to show you off.”

Your eyes light up, “Wait really?���

She laughs, nodding, “yes, really. Post that shit! Let people know you’re taken.” She leans in and kisses your lips, “That you’re mine.”

You bite your lip and kiss her again, “I love you kie.”

She smiles into the kiss, “I love you too..”

Obx taglist: @tregua-oca , @weirdbiwitch , @losers-club6 , @treestarrrrrrrr , @omgwhattheeven , @normatural , @lreincarnationl , @laurenron , @junkiemuppettxx , @beth-winchester21 , @divcrdown , @timotaychalabae , @moose-squirrel-asstiel , @tangledinsparkles , @prejudic3 , @lanarichards5  @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch , @fratboystark , @nas-marie-loves-u , @sunwardsss , @annedub , @jellyfishbeansontoast , @turtlee-says-rawr, @fanficscuziranout , @wellthathappened2 , @write-from-the-heart , @louisolos , @outrbank , @sunset-d-rive , @family-buisnes , @traumaflavouredjuulpod , @http-cherries , @k-k0129 , @mileven-reddie , @eclecticpuppyhollywoodhumanoid , @cinnamon-roll-seth , @teamnick , @rockyyc77 , @ellojustafangirlhere , @sataninsatin , @lordsagittarius , @helplessquotess , @katerosexx , @kiarasgold , @thee-sex , @carefreecowrie , @ceruleanjj , @colie-babi , @ilovejjmaybank , @laubluered , @lcil123 , @notmcchkn , @ceruleanjj , @fangirlvoice , @maybebanks , @lolitstiana , @danicarosaline , @obx-beach , @katiaw2 , @hardyxlove , @kaelyn-lobrutto24 , @obxmxybxnk , @lasnaro , @thedarkqueenofavalon , @you-got-me-starry-eyed , @poguestyleskye , @poguesnobx , @godspeedlover , @coni-martina , @kaylinfayezink , @loveylangdon , @blossombxby13 , @thelovelydreamer17 , @chasefreakinstokes , @daddydobrockk , @you-got-me-starry-eyed​ , @kkmikayla​ , @thatweirdblonde​ , @bananasfromtarget​ , @popcrone818​ , @fanficsrmylife , @alexa-playafricabytoto​

*if your name is crossed out, tumblr won’t let me tag you

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 12

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes. 

TW: Language, sexual themes, injuries. Rated M 

(This chapter is a little less Rick centric, but none the less essential to the story. This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

A spotlight blazed at us. I stumbled backwards. “Harley!”, I hissed again. “Get back here!”.

She smiled in my general direction, unable to see me. “It’s fine, Chess”, she beamed. “Show yourself”.

I shook my head, but deciding to trust her, reappeared.

“Jonny, would you turn that down? It’s doing nothing for my complexion”, Harley called; and the spotlight was turned off; replaced by softer lights, coming from colored lightbulbs spread throughout the large hallway we were standing in.

A serious looking man in a suit stepped out in front of us, surrounded by masked enforcers; all carrying machine guns.

“Harley”, the man said. “You’re back. Again”. He did not sound pleased.

Harley introduced us. “Chess; Jonny Frost. Jonny; this is Chess. She’s my friend; and if you let anyone touch her, I’ll punch you in the dick. Again”, she jeered.

She took my hand excitedly. “Come on! I have someone I want you to meet”, she grinned; before stopping to plump up her hair. “Do I look ok?”, she asked. “You look like a high end escort, who got dressed in a candy shop”, I answered with a smile. “Perfect!”, she beamed.

Running up another flight of stairs and down a hallway – all the way dragging me with her – she stopped in front of a double door, painted over with a large grinning mouth, I knew all too well what represented. I didn’t like where this was headed.

The man named Frost had run after us with his men, and stepped in front her, blocking our path.

“This isn’t a good time, Harley”, he said gruffly. “Move, Jonny”, she said, and bared her teeth at him menacingly. “Or I’ll tell him about the time you tried on his favorite Rolex”.

Frost tightened his lips. “He’s got company”, he said. She shoved him out of the way. “Great!”, she smiled. “Bring us a tray of macaroons and some espresso. It’s been a long day”.

I grabbed her wrist, and held her back. “Harley; this isn’t a good idea!”, I whispered.

“This”, she said, “is our ticket to freedom!”.

She threw the door open and stepped inside.

“Hi, puddin’”.

---

We were in white walled conference room. Walls were adorned with old paintings of what seemed like very important men; whose faces had all been retouched with spraypaint – making them smile menacingly at me. There was a crystal chandelier hanging over a long table; set with plates and silverware for guests that didn’t seem to have had the guts to show up. There were lobsters, cheeseburgers, exotic fruits and jellybeans; laid out on silver trays. Jewelry and money were thrown about the table between the trays.

At the end of the table sat a man with a pale gaunt face, green slicked back hair, and terrifying blue eyes. He was wearing a white tuxedo, shirt open to show the many tattoos and gold chains on his chest. His painted lips spread in a snarl; and he stood up; putting his hands on the table to lean over it.

The Joker. My breath hitched, and I could hear my heart beat in fear.

Next to him, sitting in front of a bowl of what looked like clam chowder; was a man that seemed familiar. In another chair, in the corner, sat a man in a lab coat, working on a tablet.

“Princess”, the clown sneered. “Last time I saw you, we had an… exchange”.

Harley pouted innocently. “I know”, she said. “I shouldn’t have taken the lambo out on my own”. She fluttered her lashes at him.

Frost, who had followed us inside; was smirking at her from where he was stood, leaning against the wall.

Joker exhaled in a way that sounded like a mix between a growl and a laugh. “It wasn’t so much the joyride, as the scratch across the hood; from your impromptu dance party on top of it – in stilettos, I might add”, he said, slammed his fist into the table, and stared at her intensely.

Harleys eyes started to well up, and her pink lower lip vibrated.

“Harley…”, Joker said softly; and suddenly leapt onto the table; his snakeskin boot stepping in the bowl of chowder, spraying the content in the face of the man in front of it.

Kicking a lit candelabra out of the way, and stepping on a tray of pearls and grapes; Joker stomped down the makeshift runway of the tabletop. Harley squealed, and sprang up to meet him, running into his arms.

“I missed you, bunny”, he growled, and grabbed Harleys butt cheeks; making her jump into his arms, straddling his hips. She squealed, and latched on to his lips; and they began making out in a way I hadn’t seen anyone do since high school. “I can’t stay mad at you”, he smiled between kisses.

Frost met my eyes, and rolled them at me. Here we go again, he seemed to be saying; and I couldn’t help but smile.

Joker laid Harley down on the table, and crawled on top of her; shedding his tuxedo jacket in the process – revealing a gun holster carrying a large silver revolver. Harley grabbed on to the back of his head, as he moved downwards, attacking her neck and collarbone with brutal kisses.

Frost cleared his throat, and the green-haired crimelord looked up, meeting my eyes in a terrifying glare.

“What’s this?”, he snarled.

Remembering herself, Harley grinned at him. “Oh yeah!”, she said. “I brought you a present, baby!”.

Joker sprang of the table in a swift move, and walked up to me; head tilted – never breaking eye contact.

I couldn’t blink. Ok. I’m dead, I thought for the second time in just a few days; and swallowed hard.

Harley came running up behind him, hooking her arm into his, and smiled brightly – lipstick smeared across her chin from their make out-session.

“This is Chess”, Harley said. “Chess, this is my Joker”. She put her head on his shoulder.

Giving Harley a quick pat on the head – still not breaking eye contact with me – he shrugged her off, and stepped towards me again.

“Chess…”, Joker breathed, baring his gleaming gold rimmed teeth. “You’re the disappearing girl”. My breath hitched, as he came closer; and I began to move backwards. He grinned at me, and put his hand up, as if coaxing a small animal.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty…”, he said, and moved up slowly until his face was merely a foot away from mine.

“She’s got a killer smile, puddin’”, Harley said from behind him.

In a swift move, he grabbed a hold of both sides of my face, and moved in so close that I could feel his warm breath on my skin.

“Show me”, he demanded with a sneer.

Not moving, I glanced towards Harley, who was nodding at me encouragingly.

Taking a deep shaking breath; I focused, and smiled.

The clowns breath hitched, and his eyes widened from seeing my face disappear between his hands. He jumped back, looking from his hands to where I had been standing.

This would be a good time to run, I thought to myself, but for some reason, I decided against it. I reappeared.

Joker cried out at seeing my shape return; then began laughing. “Oh, honey!”, he declared. “This is the best present you have ever given me!”.

“Even better than the Rolex?”, Harley answered, sending a leering look in Frosts direction. The man looked down at his feet. “Can we keep her?”, Harley asked.

Joker growled, and grabbed her waist, pulling her into a violent kiss.

“Mr. Joker?”, a voice called from the other end of the table. The chowder man was wiping his face with a napkin. Joker angrily unlatched himself from Harley again.

“Jerry, I was having a moment here!”, he growled.

I looked at the stout man, whose suit was still stained.

Judge Jeremiah Kelper.

I breathed heavily – every fiber in my body in attack mode. I clenched my fists; and my claws sprang out. Storming towards the slimy politician; Frost sprang out of nowhere, and held me in a tight grip, as I snapped my teeth at his hands, trying to break free.

“Do you two know each other, Jerry?”, Joker asked with a smile.

Harley looked from me to the judge; eyes serious.

Kelper looked at me; a scar running from his cheekbone down to his chin. I made my mark, alright, I grinned to myself. “I’ve never met the young lady in my life”, Kelper said. Well I was invisible for most of our last… encounter.

“How’re the balls, your honor”, I hissed.

Joker turned his face to look at me. With a sudden realization, he laughed loudly.

“Ghosts, Jerry?”, he guffawed. He walked up to Kelper, and patted his cheek. “You should probably leave, before I let my newest pet loose on you. We’ll finish this meeting tomorrow”.

“But mr. Joker” Kelper began. “I really need to talk to you about these attacks in Downtown”.

Faster than a lightning strike; the clowns revolver was aimed at Kelpers head. He gulped. “T-tomorrow”, he stammered; and went to leave the room – taking a wide path around me and Frost.

He quietly closed the door behind him.

“Now, where were we”, Joker said; and looked at Harley pointedly. She shrieked excitedly, and ran into his arms.

“Let’s go. Give them some privacy”, Frost said, and pulled at me. I tried to struggle. “Trust me”, he said. “You don’t want to see this”.

From behind us I heard groans and moans. “Mr. J…”, Harleys voice gasped.

We left the room as swiftly as we could.

---

I was put in a smaller room furnished with an intricately patterned couch. A six-pack of off brand cokes were set on the table, next to a plate of sushi I didn’t have the appetite to eat.

I wasn’t exactly a prisoner; but a man had been posted outside the room for if I needed anything, as Frost had said, before leaving me alone.

About an hour had gone by, when I heard a gentle knock at the door. Harley stepped inside; wearing a bright purple minidress, and a brand new diamond necklace.

“Wow”, I said, staring at it. “It’s just a little something”, she beamed, and gestured for me to sit next to her on the couch.

“That judge”, she asked, “was he the one you neutered a year ago?”, she asked earnestly.

“How did you know?”, I asked. “I might have eavesdropped on you and the pole when you was talking”, she answered.

Rick! “Harley, we need to get out of here!”, I said, panicked. “Why”, she asked indignantly. “Because if we don’t return to Flag and the others, they’ll come in after us, and that’s not a fight I think they can win”. “Flag or J?”, she asked, brows furrowed. “Maybe both”, I answered.

Harley popped a maki roll into her mouth, and chewed audibly. “We can’t go right now. I haven’t seen my puddin’ in forever”. I shook my head at her. “This isn’t the time for a Bonnie and Clyde, going out guns blazing situation!”.

She sighed, and toyed with the heavy necklace. “I talked to J”. I raised my eyebrow at her. “What?”, she said. “We talk. Sometimes… in between…”. Her eyes glazed over for a second, before returning to focus, and she shook her head. “Anyway. My J has been hanging out with that judge for a while. He’s been throwing him some parties; helping him out with some cash. Apparently judgie is a fan of cheap strippers and expensive scotch; but that’s not so good when you got a political career to tend to… You know. That old story”. Another roll disappeared into her mouth.

“Is this relevant to our about to die situation?”, I hissed.

She looked at me, annoyed. “I’m gettin’ to it. Gosh…”. She licked her fingers. “So. J’s been throwing some money in Kelpers direction. And in return, Kelpers made sure the cops look the other way when puddin’s been doing business around the city”. So Kelper was working with the Joker. That much I had gathered. “And?”, I coaxed at her to continue.

“Kelper’s been getting’ a bit upset lately, since J’s moved in on Downtown. Some bank or other was robbed; and suddenly, the limp bastard doesn’t want to continue their partnership”. She raised a brow and smirked at me. “Apparently, letting criminals run free in your city, doesn’t look good when you’re running for congress”.

I was still confused. I was also drained, so I opened a soda can; and began drinking from it.

Harley continued. “Now today”, she suddenly leered at me, “Kelper told my J that he needed to back down. Or else”. “I’m sure Joker took that well”, I said, and took a sip. “That bowl of chowder in front of him wasn’t clam”, she grinned. “It was pigs balls”.

I choked on the soda running down my throat, and coughed. Harley slapped my back and giggled at me. Once I’d calmed myself, she continued.

“Kelper told J that he had friends in high places”, she said.

“That’s why Waller wants the Joker dead”, I realized. Having a crony in congress would definitely help her further her own agenda. Especially surrounding the question of tracking down bad guys, and sending them on what pretty much amounted to suicide missions. “Duh!”, Harley smiled. “Here’s the thing. You want to get back at that judge. And I don’t want my boyfriend dead”. She looked at me pointedly.

“So we work together”.

We heard running down the hall. Joker swung open the door and looked at us. He was flanked by the man in the lab coat, and Frost.

“Snickerdoodle, we have company!”, he said, and looked me in the eyes. “This is it, Chessy Chesschess. In or out”.

I heard gunshots from downstairs. He snarled at me. “You want that collar off?”. I looked down at my harness. The light was still green. I nodded at him. “Good kitty. Doc, make it happen!”, he growled. The doctor furiously typed something on his tablet, and the little light on my chest went black. I quickly rid myself of the harness, and threw it on the floor. Joker grabbed Harleys hand. “Lets go!”.

More gunshots. I could hear Ricks angry voice roar. Harley looked from my worried face to the clowns. “Don’t hurt our friends too much. And leave the soldier alone”. “You steppin’ out on me, pumpkin?”, he asked her in a menacing voice. “’Course not baby. But this one has a thing for men in uniform”, she answered, and nodded in my direction.

Joker gave a final snarl, and nodded at Frost – making the man run in the direction of the gunfire.

Harley took a hold of me.

“Grab her arm!”, Harley told Joker, and he put his cold hand around my uncovered wrist. I made us disappear.

---

We ran up down the hallway, leading us to a separate staircase. I heard running behind us, and a yelp from a henchman; as Croc bit into his shoulder, and threw him over his head.

“Where are they?”, Ricks voice boomed. I was aching to show myself; but the Jokers icy hand reminded me of what I needed to do.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, my companions let go of me. We were met by Frost holding open a back door for us. Outside stood the ghastliest sports car I’d ever seen. Chrome, neon purple varnish, and gold rims. “Get in!”, Joker yelled, and got behind the wheel; Harley joining him in the front seat. “Chess!”, she called.

The door behind us swung open, and Rick ran through it, clocking Frost over the head with the back end of his gun.

“Y/N!”, he hollered at me, eyes furious.

Joker aimed his revolver at him, and I stepped in to the line of shot. “Don’t, puddin’!”, Harley yelled, and grabbed for his arm. Joker growled, but put the gun down.

“What are you doing, kitten?”, Rick asked, voice shaking.

I walked up to him, and put my hands on either side of his face.

“Don’t do this, baby”, he pleaded; his eyes intense. I kissed him softly.

“You asked me to trust you. Now I’m asking you to trust me”, I said. “Let me go. Please!”. He furrowed his brows, then pulled me in for another kiss. He put his forehead to mine.

“Go”, he said hoarsely.

I ran to the car; and threw myself into the back seat. The Joker revved the engine, and then sped off; the force of it throwing me into my seat.

I turned my head to look out the back window. Behind us Rick and my friends were disappearing into the fog of the city.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​

@hyp-oh-critical​

[bits-bobs-and-barnes]

Heat {Tony Stark x Reader}

This is Part Six of the Stark Internship series, read the previous part here!

{Author’s Note: Welp! That was a long wait! Sorry for keeping you guys waiting! Here’s the next chapter of the Stark Internship! And, as a reminder, I also post this on AO3, where it’s been edited, and some more content has been added in previous chapters! If you’re feeling nostalgic, or want to join the cool kids club, feel free to check it out here!

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Age Difference, the normal tags for the story, lol 

Tags:  @vxidnik @madampomfrcy @rebeccaitsnotwhatyouthink@sbmarvel @can-you-actuallynot  @thevanishedillusion @classyunknownlover  @thatisthemagic @httphiddlestan @ur-honey-child @queenylime @ggclarissa @bethanylaw @godohammers @kasiarella @thebabewithoutthearms @jilldsumner @bellamyblakemorley @ariyafromonline @jewelswrites-ish @tony-stank3 @sparkling-gayyyy @bukoandcoconutsarelife @mcueveryday @spn-marvel-nerd @wecantgiggleitsafandom @chonisberonica @yosoymuyloca @mixedfandxms @badboysdoitbetter2 @the-professional-procastinator @kind-sober-and-fully-dressed-99 @snoopy3000​ @imcreepininyourheartbabe​ @quillvine​ @harryssxnflwr​ @ultramarvelslug​ @witheringblooddemon​ @babadobooie​ @introvertedmeglomaniac @hello-im-bi​ @multifandomfangirll​ @hulksmashin-bannerpackin​ 

The sun-warmed water lapped at your skin as Tony’s hands fidgeted around the clasp to your bra. There was hesitation, uncertainty in his actions, but he pressed forward, with one final glance towards the door to ensure your privacy. He undid your bra with a practiced grace, tossing the wet bundle behind you, and examining the newly revealed flesh. He gingerly caressed one of your breasts, as if measuring the weight in his hand, and carefully lowered his mouth to the supple skin. He could taste the chlorine on your skin, eyes flicking up to yours as he laid a line of hurried kisses down the valley of your breasts. He wanted to savor this, remember every part, from the way you scrunched your nose, to the little sounds you smothered between your lips. 

God, it had been too long. It was hard not to be embarrassed by the way you ignited under his touch, the way your heart pounded when he met your eyes, the way your thighs pressed into his hips. Surrounded by attractive superheroes, maybe it was a surprise that you hadn’t gotten “any” since your arrival in Wakanda… but it was true. Aside from a few drunken hookups in your final semester of university, the last meaningful sex you’d had was… with Tony. 

Tony’s hands had moved down to your hips, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties, pausing to study your expression. “What are you thinking about?” He asked quietly, voice soft with a latent fondness just returning to the surface. 

“The last time we…” you frowned, the memory souring as you remember what came after. “Were together.” 

Ah. A sore subject for both of you then. “I’m not going to leave you,” he promised, eyes searching yours for understanding. “Either we go together, or we stay.” There was a satisfying finality in the statement. 

Staving off the insecurity, you nodded, lifting your hips ever-so-slightly to return his attention to the task at hand. 

Tony smiled, pulling the water-soaked cotton briefs over your hips and down your legs. He tossed them behind you, presumably close to the bra, and met your eyes with a wry grin. “I’ve thought a lot about this,” he mused, pulling you closer to him, and rewarding himself with a fistful of your ass. 

You flushed, trying not to focus on the fact that you were fully nude and he was still mostly clothed, lips pursed in a tight line. “Do I live up to your expectations?” You rolled your eyes at the sight of his wide smile, unable to fight your own. 

“Always.” He tried to support your weight with a single arm, struggling with his swim trunks, and cursing under his breath. “Goddamnit, can you--”

Without a word, your hands overtook his own, effortlessly pushing down the elastic waistband, allowing it to harmlessly linger around his thighs. “Good enough?” A simple glance informed you that the scientist was more than happy to have you in his arms again. The thought filled you with a smug pride, after all these months, a few kisses, and a little groping reduced him to a blushing teenager. He lost the bravado, the character of Tony Stark, he was just… Tony. 

He let your curious eyes roam, focusing on the urgent task at hand. He let his hand drift between your thighs, gauging your arousal, and tempering his expectations. You needed a little more attention before you were ready for him, and he was then happy to oblige. He pulled you closer, leaving you the slimmest of supports to balance your weight on, and returning to his previous task of paving your soft skin with sloppy and hurried kisses. His hands roamed the uncovered expanses of your skin, before finally settling back between your thighs, using the added slick of the water to glide along the sensitive area, just shy of your sex. 

It was a sensual, teasing display, and you suspected Tony knew exactly what he was doing. He could very easily finger you, take any number of short-cuts to turn you on, but he was taking his sweet time. Maybe he wasn’t as desperate as you thought, you noted with some sweet irritation, if he was patient enough to toy with you. 

He spent a few more minutes like this, enjoying the way your breathing quickened, the flush traveling down your neck, and the clear restraint as your fingers curled over the stone edge of the pool. But, as an almost painful throbbing reminded him, he had needs too. He took the luxury of one final glance, but he didn’t get far. 

Your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes opened through narrow slits, wisps of hair stuck to the edges of your face. You were serenely beautiful, and Tony almost came undone at the sight. But he pushed it back, and gently looped his arms beneath your knees, judging the angle with a critical eye, and offering a delicate kiss to your jaw as he aligned his member with your sex. “I love you,” he reminded, almost too quiet to hear, before carefully pressing in. 

There was a brief sensation of stretch, but Tony’s careful preparation made you more than comfortable while he seated himself inside of you. You felt the tension leave your chest, taking a deep breath, and letting your head fall back. God, was it sweet. 

If he was weak for you before… he felt powerless now. Whether it was the time apart, or the sweetness of the reunion, each little movement seemed to pluck one of his heartstrings. He could feel the vibration deep in his chest, and let go of the breath he was holding. It was good, so good. He gave you a moment to adjust, and only when you wriggled in his arms, did he offer a few shallow pumps. It took every ounce of restraint to hold back his climax, the sweat of determination building at his temple. “Fuck,” he cursed softly, attempting to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Tony--” 

His brow furrowed. That wasn’t your voice. That was a man’s voice. He lifted his head, and gave you a curious look. But, he was surprised to find you white as a sheet, eyes wide open, and looking towards the entrance to the swimming pool. 

Steve Rogers was staring at you, expression one of pure shock, and frozen to the spot.

[angrylizardjacket]

mouth full of white lies {Machine Gun Kelly} 4

4. i wanna know what’s your quietest feeling

Summary: So you’ve met his friends, and now his daughter, who’s the only other person who knows that this whole thing is a setup. But all she wants is to make sure that you’re not gonna break her dad’s heart; it shouldn’t be too hard to convince her that your intentions are good.

the brainstrust: @sataninsatin @silvertonguedserpent @juliarose21 @kellysimagines @estxxbritt @machine-gun-casie @harringtonstudios @misscharlottelee @narcvissa @hiworlditishumbleme @angelwarner28 @nevilles-insinuations @rumoured-whispers @mgkobsessed @edwardtriggerhandzz @suckerforbarnes @wastelcve @bakerkells @local-troubled-writer @freddiessmallnipples @oopsiedoopsie23 @mayaslifeinabox @mrs-machinegun-norris @hxbbit

----

Colson writes. A lot. You’d noticed it here and there being close to home, being close his studio, he’s buzzing with new ideas. There’s a ratty notebook that he keeps in the front pocket of his suitcase, held together by fibers and hope, that seems to be worth it’s weight in gold to him, full of lyrics and ideas that he’s been hoarding for as long as he’s been writing. About ten percent of the book has actually come to fruition, but that’s not what’s important about it, it’s that it’s positively brimming with potential as much as it is memories.

It’s been less than a year since his last album, and he’s made a few songs here and there, but now he writes, when inspiration strikes him, after work, or between takes. He’s in talks with Motley themselves, apparently, working on a part for one of their songs, rereleasing with the release of the film. For now, he writes, and he hums, and tests out lyrics under his breath.

“That sounds good,” it’s Sunday morning; he’s up earlier than you, which isn’t necessarily an unusual occurrence. He’s wearing sweatpants, hair curling a little at the ends where he’s letting it air dry, sitting up beside you on the bed. He’s got his notebook balanced on the one knee he’s got drawn up to him, while the other leg is kicked out in front of him, and he’s humming something while scrolling through his phone. He’s muttering something, lyrics you’re pretty sure, while something plays from his phone.

He seems a little surprised, like he’s coming out of a trance that the music had put him in, and smiles with an honest sincerity.

You yawn, and wiggle a little beneath the covers to properly face him, face half-smushed into the pillow. For a beat he looks at you like he wants to do something, like he wants to reach out and touch your cheek, trace his thumb across your lip - 

Wishful thinking. Probably.

“Rook’s been working on some stuff; he sent this through last night,” and he tapped away at his phone for a moment, replaying the track on his phone. It’s an instrumental, beat-heavy and the bones for a solid bop. You nod along to it, and he starts rapping under his breath again. 

“I think it could be something good,” he sounds quietly hopeful; he doesn’t sound like that often.

“Of course it’ll be good,” you say around a yawn, and this time he does reach out. 

“Go back to sleep,” he pinches gently at your cheek, and a warm rush of affection floods through you. Without thinking, you turn to press a quick kiss to his palm, a moment of gentle familiarity, and turn away, to go back to sleep, without thinking to watch for his reaction. You hear a faint, almost disbelieving huff of laughter, before the music starts back up again.

It’s not long before you’re ingratiated with his friends, who’ve all taken you and Colson in stride. Mostly it’s drinking and smoking and making music and playing video games, so even your initial anxiety is quick to fade.

That first morning, Wednesday, cool but sunny, it’s easy; Rook’s the only one awake when you and Colson arrive. He’s sitting at the kitchen island, perched on a stool with a pen stuck in his mouth, and a laptop and drum pad machine sitting on the counter, and when you walk in, he gives you a long, evaluative stare, a joint in between his fingers, idle.

“Hey man, this is Ducky,” Colson doesn’t seem to notice how you’ve frozen awkwardly in the doorway, moving past you to start searching the cupboards for food; Rook nods to him, before looking back at him, “Ducky, this is my man Rook,” and at that, he holds out his hand for the joint, and Rook passes it over, before looking back at you. You give a little, uncomfortable wave.

“Ducky?” He asks, curious rather than hostile, and you let yourself breathe, stepping into the room.

“Or Duck,” you explain, heading to the counter where Colson’s now wrestling with a packet of Doritos, “or [Y/N].” And you put your bag down, taking the seat beside Rook as Colson passes the joint back to him to get a better handle on the bag.

“Tight,” Rook says after a moment, apparently finding something in you that he approves of, because he follows it up by turning the laptop towards you, asking if you were into music. Of course you tell him you are - who isn’t? - but you don’t have a lot of experience in the production side of things.

“I mean,” you concede briefly, “about two years ago there was a trend going around on YouTube where you make a diss track about yourself -” Colson’s entire face lit up.

“You wrote a diss track about yourself? Don’t you do like cutesy vlogs and shit?” He asks, and it’s not meant to sound as unkind as it’s worded, though you still roll your eyes.

“It pays to be on trend,” you shrug, still a little embarrassed at the memory, “but it was fun.” 

Colson is looks actually impressed, while Rook is still chewing on the end of his pen, typing away frantically. After a beat, Colson turns to him -

“Her channel name is DuckDuckBooth -”

“I’ve already found the video,” Rook says with a smile, and you have to hide your face in your hands as they watch with equal parts fondness, and a little bit of second hand embarrassment.

Colson posts to his Instagram story a video of Rook jamming out to your self-diss track, before the camera swings around to see you flipping them both off with a fond smile. Your video is the only sound that can be heard for the full duration of the ten second video -

“Too scared of you’re face on the big, big screen, you think YouTube’s gonna be more stable / even though you use your bro for views every chance that you’re able. / With all of the time that you spend around sets, they all think you’re a professional stalker / and you spill you’re guts when you’re NDA free; you’ve made a career as Hollywood’s biggest talker. / [As if! Who asked for the Perez Hilton of the production crew?!]”

He tags both you and Rook, and captioned the video with a question: Should we remix Ducky’s self-diss track from 2016? With two options for fans to choose: Yes. or Definitely.

But Rook’s not who your worried about. None of Colson’s friends really worry you. 

Casie arrives a week and a half after you’ve all moved locations, to see her dad, to meet you, and to sit in on production for about a week. 

When you finally meet her, her cocked hip and crossed arms reminds you of Colson; she’s four and a bit feet of skepticism and an unmatched, effortlessly cool energy, and you realise too late that you’re kind of intimidated by an elementary schooler. 

“I’ve seen your videos,” is the first thing she says to you, and you find yourself smiling, bewildered. 

“Cas -” Colson’s voice holds a note of warning where he’s currently getting his tattoos covered. He’s standing with his arms out, looking straight ahead while Corey, the key makeup artist, and his team, airbrush and colour correct like their lives depend on it.

“I’m making sure she’s taking care of you,” Casie, unwavering in both her conviction and her loyalty, shifts her weight to her other foot. “The drum video was cute.” And you’re not quite sure if it’s a compliment, judging by the cool tone of her voice, but she’s wearing a slight smile that you’ve seen on Colson far too many times to not recognize it. This feels like the first of many tests.

She’s adamant that she’s not someone to be bought, though the thought had barely crossed your mind. When she nods approvingly at your dismissal of the suggestion, you can’t help but frown.

“How many girls have tried to get on her good side by buying her stuff?” You ask Colson quietly, out of Casie’s earshot later that night. For a moment, he looks as close to guilty as you’ve ever seen him.

“Not a lot, like one or two maybe; not a lot of girls meet her,” he admitted, “but the ones that try and buy her gifts and shit, they always turned out to be the worst ones,” and perhaps the guilt intensifies a little more, “she’s a good kid; always saw that before I could.”

“She’s a good kid,” you repeated, softer this time, with a faint smile, and when Colson comes back to reality, he gives your shoulder a squeeze.

She’s on set a lot for the days that she’s staying with you all, and when she sees you at work, she appears to warm to you; you’re not sure when you forgot that she was just a child trying to protect her father, but you’re reminded when you see the starry-eyed look she’s giving the makeup artists.

“Hey Corey,” you ask, smiling a little, and the makeup artist who had been in the middle of his lunch looks up from his phone with wide, alert eyes, “could one of your people give Casie here a little bit of 80s glam?” You ask sweetly, and his expression tuns fond as he nods. Casie turns wide-eyed and a little abashed at request, and murmurs that she doesn’t want to be any trouble. Both Corey and yourself wave away her concerns, and Amy, one of the makeup assistants, is more than happy to give the young girl a bit of glitter and gloss to the excited young girl.

She’s got glitter on her eyelids, and blush and highlighter adorning her cheeks, and a shiny, clear lip gloss making her smile that little bit brighter by the time the makeup woman is done with her, and Casie is practically glowing.

“How in the hell,” Colson starts with a grin when she goes to him to show off, “did I end up with the most stylish kid in the world? Cas, you look like a model.” Pride is radiating off of him in waves, and he pulls out his phone, “babe, get a picture, she looks so fuckin’ cool,” he enthuses, and if your heart skips a beat as his casual use of a pet-name, you’re enough of a professional not to let it show. Casie is calling him embarrassing, but is still beaming, and with him in full costume and her all made up, the picture you take - he’s standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, and she’s got her arms crossed, both of them looking serious and menacing at the camera - you think they might be the coolest people you’ve ever met. Certainly one of the most photogenic father/daughter duos you’ve ever come across.

“Do not make it your phone background,” Casie presses her embarrassed smile into his shoulder where they’re reviewing the photo back in his trailer.

“But I’m not allowed to post it, and I wanna admire it every day - look at you!” He’s pointedly zooming in on her stony expression in the photo.

“[Y/N], tell him he’s being ridiculous,” Casie implored you, and you threw your hands up in surrender.

“I’m not allowed to say what is and isn’t a ridiculous phone background,” you say automatically, which piques both of their interests, and you immediately regret saying anything.

“Babe,” Colson says, prompting you, and you feel yourself growing flustered, both because you’re going to have to admit that your background is a photo of you two, and that he’s called you that twice in about half an hour. Casie’s amused now, smiling, her arms crossed as she raises her eyebrows at you expectantly. Taking a deep breath, you unlock your phone.

“I’m just trying to be a good girlfriend,” you say, avoiding their gazes as you show them your home screen, and your background; the paparazzi photo of you and Colson beneath the boardwalk.

“Is that how you organise your apps?” Is what Casie has to say, which has Colson snorting with laughter, though when you finally look at him, you see him wearing a weirdly pleased little smile.

“Ducky, that’s weird and adorable -”

“It’s not weird!” You protest, snatching back your phone, flustered, but Casie just rolls her eyes, pulling out her own phone.

“Come here, both of you,” she instructs, sounding terribly put upon by the both of you. You both crowd around her, with only slight confusion. “Look convincing.” She holds up her phone, and you both frown a little.

“What?”

“Look convincing,” she insists again, gesturing between the two of you, and finally coming to understand her meaning, Colson gives her an endeared, almost proud look, and you in turn are looking fondly at him. Neither of you have noticed that she’s already taken the selfie. After a beat, she lowers the phone and starts looking at the few photos she’d taken, and both you and Colson seem a little surprised at her speed. “Dad, I’ll send it to you, you send it to her; you can have a photo of both of us looking cool, and a photo of your ‘girlfriend’,” she explains with implicit air quotes, “and [Y/N], you don’t have to have a creepy pap’s picture as your background.” She taps away for a moment before swiftly sending the best photo to Colson, “plus you’ll match.”

“You’re a little genius,” you tell her once Colson’s sent you the photo. Casie beams at you.

“I know.”

And the way you’re smiling in the photo is more than convincing.

[ID: A series of three tweets from @machinegunkelly:

1: Retweeted with the caption ‘🥰🥰’, originally posted by @duckduckbooth with no caption: Two pictures of Rosa Diaz from Brooklyn 99 holding a golden retriever puppy with an edited caption reading ‘I’ve only known CASIE BAKER for a day and a half but if anything happened to HER I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.’

2: Tweeted: when me n my girls (my daughter and @duckduckbooth) hang out i realize i’m somehow the least fashionable in the group. when did that happen wtf 😳😳 

3. Tweeted: maybe you'll skip to the end and pass all the irrational decisions, patch up all the passion that was missin'. i think that's enough. i'm feelin' lovesick.

End ID.]

Maybe it’s that she likes you, maybe she’s just trying to keep an eye on you to make sure you’ve got her dad’s best intentions at heart, but Casie takes it upon herself to almost shadow you while on set, at least when she’s not with her dad.

“What’s your next video going to be?” She asks one afternoon when you’re both waiting for Colson in his trailer as he gets his makeup removed for the day. She’s watching a video on her phone and you’re reading emails on yours, and you look up, interested. After a moment, she pauses her video, looking up, looking back at you, “I like your ‘day in the life’ ones.” 

“I didn’t realise you liked my videos,” you said with faint amusement, and she gives a small smile.

“I’ve been binging them,” she admits, and shuffles a little, sitting up further where she’s reclining on the uncomfortable little sofa, “your editing is really nice; I liked your Euro-Disney video, it was really pretty.”

“Thanks,” you find yourself a little humbled at her compliment, and find yourself musing that you’d like to get back to that style of video, “hey,” you find yourself coming up with an idea, something Colson had said during your first actual date, and with Casie herself now here, it was the perfect opportunity, “do you wanna be in a video?”

“Hello! Hello and welcome back, ducklings! I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic for some of my older content, and was inspired by none other than Miss Casie Baker, so what better day than this beautiful Friday afternoon, to take you all along with Casie, Kells, and I as we head to a boardwalk fair.”

It’s a short drive to the boardwalk, and once you’re there, it’s almost unbearably cheesy. Rides, candy, you and Colson in competition trying to win a prize for Casie at one of the cheap game booths.

You’re filming on and off the whole time, getting aesthetic shots, your heart growing warmer with each genuine smile you manage to catch on camera. You take endless candid photos of Colson and Casie, and even though you know you can’t be out too late because you and Colson are due on set at eight, you make the most of the time you have.

After an hour and a half, you stop at the food vendor, craving hot chips, and Colson orders, while Casie takes your hand, the two of you hanging back.

"Can we go on the Ferris Wheel?"

"Just a minute kiddo, food's almost ready," Colson tells her over his shoulder, but she tugs at your hand, making her meaning more clear.

"You can catch up, we can go around twice; I wanna talk to [Y/N]," she tells him plainly, and you give her a smile, already acquiescing to her suggestion. Colson makes a noise of gentle protest, but he sees her hand in yours, and the reassuring look you've leveled at him. 

"Take care of my girl," he tells you with a faux seriousness, and Casie gives a small grin at that.

"I'll protect her with my life," you promise, leaning in to kiss his cheek. 

"You better," he grinned, tone fond and a little teasing, before assuring that he'd meet you both up there, and you're left wondering what about you screamed 'let's have a serious conversation on a Ferris Wheel' because if it happens again, it goes from a coincidence to a pattern. Casie drops your hand and trots easily through the crowd to the Wheel that had cast the rest of the fair in shadow as the sun set behind it. The ride operator gives you a toothy smile as she secures the door behind the two of you, and Casie links her fingers, resting her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands, evaluating you with an inscrutable look. She waits until the basket is about a quarter of the way around before saying anything; for your part, you’re silent, she’s the one who wanted to speak after all.

“Dad doesn’t do fake,” she says finally, sitting back, and lets you wonder in silence for a few moments, what that even means, “I know he did, I’m not blind or deaf, people… people talk to me. A lot. About things my dad’s done.” This piece of information has your expression souring - she’s just a kid - but she doesn’t seem bothered by it, she just seems… almost confused.

“I’m not going to -”

“I know.” She cuts you off before you can even voice what reassurance you could manage, “I’ve gathered that; you’re good. Better than probably any other girl who’s gotten with him for clout.”

“I’m not -” You try to protest and she does look a little apologetic, but after a moment, you stop yourself, and let her continue, trying to understand where she was coming from.

“I know why he likes you, I get it, you -” she averts her gaze for a moment, suddenly a little embarrassed, “you’re actually really cool,” she admits, and your heart softens, but you keep quiet, and let her build back up to her bravado, “but back when his manager had him with like, models and actresses and things, they were all - I mean sometimes they were nice, but they always thought they were better than him, or they just treated him like dirt when people weren’t around, so now, dad doesn’t do fake.” It’s said definitively. You’re at the top of the Ferris Wheel now, stopped for a few moments, and she looks out at the  rest of the fair, and then down to the base of the ride, letting herself smile when she spots Colson at the bottom, giving him a wave. 

Somehow, sitting in this basket in the sky, it feels like a mafia movie, like this little girl is implying she’ll break your kneecaps if you hurt her father. Or she’s implying something that your heart dare not read into, lest you get your hopes up.

“Dad doesn’t break his rules for just anyone,” Casie finally sits back up, and there’s a new, kinder quality about her voice, before it turns young, turns plaintive, and you’re reminded that she’s just a child looking out for her dad, her hero, “please don’t make him regret it. He’s a good person, I know what people say but he’s -”

“Casie, I care about him. A lot.” You tell her honestly, gently, and she blinks wide and surprised for a few moments, before her expression turns to almost weirdly pleased, maybe even a little smug.

“Good.” She says with conviction, before looking out at the horizon, “this would be a nice shot.”

“It’d be nicer with your dad,” you hear yourself saying, and Casie huffs out a laugh that sounds so much like her father, agreeing quietly. When your basket stops at the bottom of the wheel, Colson flashes his ride wristband to the kid operating it, and he slides into the seat beside you. Casie’s still smiling as she takes a chip from where he offered them.

“Nice chat?” He asks, and offers you the chips too. 

“I like her,” Casie announces, and you grin to yourself, “dad, I love you, but you’d better treat Duck right; we’re friends now.” Which sets Colson off laughing, and you turn on your camera.

“You were meant to be on my side,” he laughs, and Casie shrugs.

“I am, I’m on both your sides.”

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (2/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story). 

Notes: If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is posted, I can do that! I’ve seen others do that, and wanted to throw it out there.

~~*~~

Gilbert had grown so accustomed to the rattling of the window on the side of his face, that as the train slowed to a stop, he roused from his sleep. Around him, passengers shuffled on tired feet down the aisle of the train, but Gilbert squinted tiredly, adjusting to his surroundings. Where was he again? 

Outside the train,  a sign was lit up by electric lights: “Welcome to Toronto, Ontario.”

Oh, that’s right, he thought to himself, I’m going to medical school. At 4:30 in the morning it seemed. As he grabbed his trunk, his brain felt like it was trudging through mud. He’d left PEI on a ship to the mainland, then situated himself on the train for a fifteen hour trip. And he had kissed Anne. 

That woke Gilbert up. He had kissed Anne at exactly noon yesterday, and she had kissed him back. He kissed Anne. She tasted the way he expected sunshine would taste if you could jar it like honey. She fit perfectly against him when he pulled her close, drawn to him as strongly as he was to her. Soft hair framed her face, feathery tufts that grazed his fingers when he held her cheek. He’d never forget the sight of her, so beautifully grown, yet so breathtakingly Anne . The thought was distracting enough that he didn’t realize his footsteps had slowed to a halt in the middle of the path. 

He might’ve stood there forever, burning the memory of Anne’s kiss into his mind, but a drunkard rambled past him, colliding with his shoulder. Gilbert stumbled on his feet, righting his coat on his shoulders with a bristled frown. He needed to find his new apartment before he was swept away into whatever unsavory things happened at four in the morning.

From one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out a note in Miss Stacy’s familiar script. 

Gilbert, 

Emily couldn’t get you into a boarding house because of your late admission. She does, however, know a young man who has an extra room in his apartment. He’s agreed to let you board with him, and will leave the door unlocked so you may let yourself in. You’ll find Ronald Stuart at 293 North Sunset St - the right hand apartment. 

Good luck on all your endeavors! I know you’ll exceed beyond our expectations. 

Your Exceedingly-Proud Educator, 

Miss Muriel Stacy

Gilbert didn’t know much about this Ronald Stuart, but had sent the young man a letter telling him when to expect him. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t be living under the supervision of an owner of a boarding house, like Anne certainly would be. If he found this Ronald Stuart agreeable, they could become close friends and enact their own rules, answering only to themselves and to each other. 

The house on 293 North Sunset St. was a sizeable place built of bricks the same color as the PEI roads back home. Gilbert snuck as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs leading to the door of his new apartment, before twisting the door knob. Stubbornly, it refused to budge. 

Gilbert peaked at the house number, then his note, then tried the door again, this time with more strength. Maybe Ronald hadn’t gotten his letter in time? Maybe he’d forgotten to leave the door unlocked. 

There was nothing to do about it. He rapped his knuckles hard enough on the door that the noise likely could be heard by the next door neighbors. Even so, the door remained closed. The chilly August air was beginning to sink into his bones. Gilbert knocked again, more aggressively this time. 

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” came a voice from inside the house. Gilbert took a step back from the door, steeling himself for whatever would come once the door opened. A shadowy figure appeared behind the curtains before the door swung open. 

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Mr. Stuart?” 

The fellow before him was a tall one, lanky with hard angles. His dark hair was a mop upon his head where long, straight hair stuck out in all directions. Long eyebrows quirked back at Gilbert, who clenched his jaw. 

“Gil?” the man answered back. Gilbert cocked his head. No one called him Gil. Not even Bash or Anne. 

“Yes, that’s me. Gilbert Blythe. The door was locked, otherwise I’d have let myself in.” 

Ronald ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even greater mess. He stepped aside and let Gilbert enter the space. 

“I was real glad was Dr. Oak reached out to me about you coming to stay,” Ronald explained with a yawn. “The last fellow who stayed here graduated last spring, and I’ve been having trouble paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s not much, but it’s plenty for two men to share.” 

Gilbert pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his new roommate. Inside was the first of four years’ worth of rent payments. Bash had promised to send Gilbert his share of the farm’s earnings in plenty of time each month for him to pay his debts. 

“That reminds me, this is for you,” Gilbert said. Ronald only tossed the envelope on a nearby table and leaned against it, tired eyes examining his new roommate. 

“You drink?” he asked. Gilbert couldn’t tell if the man was offering or judging. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. 

“You snore?” 

Gilbert frowned. “...Not...that I know of?” 

Ronald shrugged and headed up the stairs. 

“We can talk in afternoon. I’m going back to sleep. Your room is up the stairs on the right. Mine’s on the left. There’s one more empty room, for guests I guess, if you ever have any.” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. Would the people from home ever come all the way to Toronto just to see him? Adjusting his cases in his hands, Gilbert took a deep breath. 

“Alright, thank you.” But Ronald had already gone. 

Outside, the street echoed silence around, giving it an eerie stillness. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve felt the weight of being so far away from home and his family. But exhaustion prevailed in numbing his thoughts, and he found his bed without any welcoming ceremony. Laying fully dressed on top of his blankets, Gilbert fell deep into sleep. 

~~*~~

“You a novelist or something?” 

Gilbert looked up from the kitchen table and found Ronald in the doorway. He must’ve looked like some sort of writer, with pages upon pages of inked words spread across the table in front of him. A mug of coffee steamed at both places and at the table, and Gilbert nodded down to it. Ronald accepted it appreciatively, sipping it with a satisfied smile. In the daylight, and perhaps after bathing, the man seemed to have a sophisticated air about him that came solely from his looks and not his attitude.

“No, I’m just writing some letters home. There are a few people who’d want to know I made it here in one piece,” Gilbert replied, somewhat nostalgic for home. His gaze found the opening line of the paper in  front of him: My Anne...

“Where is home, anyway?” 

“Avonlea, PEI.” 

“That far away, eh? No wonder you wandered up to the house so early this morning. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Avonlea, though.” Gilbert nodded politely, not sure how much Ronald Stuart wanted to share about himself or how much he wanted to share in return. “I’m Ron, by the way. I apologize that I’m not terribly friendly before seven in the morning.” 

Gilbert chuckled and shook his head. 

“I guess I didn’t realize the trip would be over sixteen hours. Sorry for waking you up.” 

Ron got up from the table, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and shoving a piece into his mouth. 

“What made you want to come here, anyway?” 

“Ah, my teacher from home knows Dr. Oak. I was initially intending on attending the, uh...well, the Sorbonne in France, but I changed my mind.” 

The expression on Ron’s face told Gilbert he was not convinced.

“Yeah right, you just weren’t accepted. That or you can’t speak french.” 

“No, I was accepted - or as good as, anyway. I just chose not to go.” Gilbert paused. “But you’re right, I don’t speak french very well.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert straightened his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively. 

“It’s a long story, one that I’m sure would make perfect sense if you were to hear it.” He paused. Would this Ronald Stuart be convinced that genuine love was more valuable than an educational opportunity? “But to tell the truth, I’d like to just write these letters and get them sent out before the post is collected in a few hours.” Ron held up his hands in surrender and trekked back up to his room. 

Returned to silence, Gilbert tilted his face to the sun pouring in from the kitchen window. He wondered if Anne was enjoying the same warmth on her first day of school. Picking his pen back up, he continued to write.

My Anne, 

I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter. It does my heart such good knowing that wherever you are, you might be anticipating this specific correspondence. I’d like to begin this particular letter by informing you that I have made it to Toronto safe and sound - albeit at four in the morning! I haven’t been a train for such a long period of time since I traveled with my father. Should you still desire to be my penpal (though I hope you’ll want to be a much more than penpals) you’ll find my complete address on the envelope. North Sunset street is just as beautiful as it sounds. 

Have I beat around the bush with enough formality? I may as well jump right in.

Anne, what a fool I’ve been. I’ve had sixteen hours to compose the perfect way to reveal to you in extensive detail all the ways I’ve been a fool, but I fear I don’t have your gift with language, so you will just have to tolerate my inadequate explanations. As Diana might have informed you, I never received your letter, and for the sake of clarity and fairness, I’m going to assume that you never received mine.  

I want to eradicate every doubt in your mind. Anne, I never had any real, genuine feelings for Winifred. I have learned the hard way that there is a vast difference between enjoying someone’s company and genuine love. When you love someone, you don’t just enjoy their company. You ache until the next moment you see that person, yet they’re always with you - in your mind, in your heart. The extent to which I adore you and take pride in your existence is so overwhelming that I wonder why I thought I could ever settle for anything else. Is it bold for me to hope you feel the same way? I truly do love you, Anne. 

With all that disclosed, I’m certain there are times when I made you feel like I didn’t care for you at all. For that, I hope you know how very ashamed and sorry I am. You won’t ever feel like that again, I promise. If, in our separation, you grow doubtful or lonely, I’ll be on the first train bound for Charlottetown. 

As for follow up questions: 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, when in heaven’s name did you start to have feelings for me? Most days I was certain I’d never win your heart, but then I’d catch you looking across the classroom and think maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all. 

Did you receive the letter I left you in your room? You never said anything, so I wondered. Oh! And what did your letter say? I’m so bitter that it disappeared.

Are you well? How are you adjusting to being away from home? I know Green Gables was so precious to you. How is Queens? Do your new classmates adore you, yet? I’m certain they do.

I’m sure I will have more questions the more I fondly remember each encounter I’ve had with you, but for now, I won’t bombard you. 

As for me, I’m better now that I’ve arrived to Toronto and have unpacked all my things. My roommate, Ron, is a peculiar brand, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not he is - as you’d say - a kindred spirit. So far, I have my doubts. We’ve known each other all of eight hours and he’s already called me an idiot. But we have our own bedrooms, and there’s more than enough space for the two of us, so I can’t complain. Class begins tomorrow, but I’ve some final paperwork to complete. I hope to explore the campus and learn all the hidden nooks where a medical student might read and daydream about his love back home.

I still have to write to Bash, and I want to send this as soon as possible, so I’ll conclude here. I miss you terribly already. Yet, how thankful I am that we got the time we did. 

Know that I remain always 

Yours, 

Gilbert 

(PS:  My roommate called me Gil at our first meeting. I’ve not decided if I like it yet, but maybe if you call me by that name, I’ll warm up to it.)

(PSS: Is it too much trouble if I ask you to enclose a picture of yourself, or something that I can keep on my bedside table that will remind me of you?)

Gilbert had just folded the letter up and sealed it, when Ron came back into the room. In his hand was a picture frame that Gilbert recognized immediately. 

“Who’s this?” Ron asked. 

Gilbert snatched the frame, eyes icy. 

“Were you going through my things?” 

“I was just leaving some clean linens, and I saw it on your table. Not trying to pry, but I’m...curious.” 

Gilbert peered down at the frame, and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him. It was a photograph he’d had taken shortly before Hazel had come to live in the house. It had been difficult to find a photographer who wouldn’t fall prey to their prejudices. 

“It’s my brother and my niece,” he explained. Ron seemed to sense the thin ice he stood on, so he nodded. 

“She’s sweet,” he commented, nodding down at Delphine’s bright eyes. 

“The sweetest,” Gilbert agreed, pushing away the photograph when he felt his throat close up. They were silent for a few moments when Ron fixed his eyes on Gilbert.

“Why didn’t you go to the Sorbonne?” he asked evenly. Gilbert matched the serious gaze, unashamed of his choices.

“I would’ve had to marry a girl I didn’t love, and leave behind the one I do.” 

Ron’s face didn’t change, but the lack of judgement was slightly promising. 

“Family and love, huh? Wish I could relate.”  Then he spun on his heels and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’m off.” 

“Oh, uh, bye?” 

The tense, awkward air in the room evaporated when the door slammed behind Ron. A long exhale left Gilbert’s lips and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper. This letter to Bash continued much like his letter to Anne’s had, full of apprehension about Ronald Stuart and anxiousness about the impending start of school. He’d exhausted all of his mildly uninteresting topics before he added:

I do have some news that might interest you. Anne and I are...well, I don’t know for certain what we are. Courting? Yes likely. More than friends? Absolutely. Together? In every way a man can be together with his love across 1000 of distance. I ended things with Winifred and ran like a madman through Charlottetown to see if Anne would give me one last shot. She did. Thank god, she did.

My courtship with Winifred actually ended two weeks ago, as poorly as you can imagine. But I did right by her in every way I could, and respected her enough to be honest that I could not be with her if it’s Anne that I so greatly adore. Not that I said Anne by name, but Winifred knew. She made me promise not to tell anyone until she could safely leave Charlottetown, which is why you are just hearing about this now. Though I regret having humiliated her to the point of returning back to France, I feel so much...lighter, happier. Knowing that Anne cares for me the way I care for her leaves me feeling confident I made the right choice. I think Winifred will see that one day, too. 

I miss you, Bash. Delly too. The more I’m here, the harder it is to imagine that I’ll be living without you. I can barely remember what it was like when it was just me - without my brother, without the laughter of the baby. There’s a room here for guests if you ever want to visit, but I’ll come home when I can. Something tells me if I stray from Avonlea too long, something vital in me will starve.

I love you all. I hope the harvest is going well.

Your brother, 

Gilbert.

With both letters sealed and addressed, Gilbert stepped out onto the new streets, drinking in the Toronto sun as he made his way toward town.