#yes i will continue to draw simon with a kind face and brown eyes it is my duty

[screamingsnowflakeart]

hello this blog is not dead haha

Here's a bunch of Shopkeeper (feat. Simon) from over the past 10ish months in mostly chrological order 🎀 First drawing I've been redrawing over and over on and off for over a year and one day I'll repaint it nicer lol the rest is just doodles, future outfit/hair idea, and more Simon

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Epilogue

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Epilogue

“How is this the third store we’ve visited that’s out of cranberry sauce?”

“Because it’s eleven in the morning on Thanksgiving Day?” Maia threw Simon a look that clearly said ‘duh.’ “I’m honestly surprised we managed to snag those last two pie crusts.”

“I should never have let myself get distracted while I was doing my shopping on Monday.” He fixed Jace with a stern glare. “No more distracting me at the grocery store.”

“You were pretty into my distraction, if I recall correctly,” Jace said with a lazy grin.

“You’re laughing now, but you’ve never seen Bubbe Helen when she doesn’t get cranberries on Thanksgiving. You don’t even know.”

Jace wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him close. “Hey, we’ll find Bubbe Helen her cranberries. We’ve still got a hundred miles left between here and New York. There’s bound to be a store along the way that still has cranberries.”

Simon relaxed in his arms with a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I’m being dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Jace corrected gently. “It’s tradition, and it’s important to people you love.”

“Wow, holidays make you really sappy,” Simon teased.

“You make me really sappy,” Jace corrected, reaching for Simon’s left hand. He brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on the knuckle right above his father’s ring. The same ring he’d used when he actually proposed two weeks ago, at the same table in Java Jones where they’d made their list of fake dating rules all those months ago. He’d hidden the ring under his muffin, knowing Simon would steal the last bite like he always did, and even though it wasn’t the kind of grand, romantic gesture his siblings had suggested when he asked for their help, it was theirs, and the look on Simon’s face when he said yes was really all that mattered.

“You make me pretty sappy, too,” Simon said, drawing him into a kiss.

“If you two start making out in the middle of the canned goods aisle, I’m stealing the van and going to New York without you.”

Jace pulled away from the kiss to give Maia an unimpressed look. “No one’s making you watch.”

“Yeah, but every minute I have to spend waiting for you is one I don’t get to spend with my girlfriend, who I live two-hundred miles away from and only get to see maybe once a month if I’m really lucky.”

“She does have a point,” Simon said. “Plus, Becky can be really vindictive when she wants to be, and she’s got easy access to the room we’re sleeping in tonight.”

“And the longer we stand around here, the longer other people have to buy all the cranberries at other stores,” Maia pointed out.

“Fine,” Jace relented, releasing Simon. “Let’s go find some cranberries.”

Simon took his hand, and Jace could feel the warm metal of his ring pressing into his skin.

~~~

“We have cranberries!” Maia announced as they entered the Lewis home.

“Oh, thank god,” Becky said. “Someone was starting to get a little agitated.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head significantly toward the kitchen.

“So, you’re only happy to see me for my cranberries, huh?” Maia teased.

“I’ve got a whole list of reasons I’m happy to see you.” Becky gave her a quick kiss, then turned to poke Simon in the ribs. “But I’m only happy to see this fool for his cranberries.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, poking her right back.

“I guess I just don’t even rate, huh?” Jace asked.

Becky turned a wide, mischievous smile on him. “Oh, no. I’m happy to see you for an entirely different reason. I want to offer you a trade.”

“Don’t do it,” Simon said. “She’s sneaky, and she will rip you off.”

“I am sneaky,” Becky agreed, “but this is totally above board.” She turned back to Jace. “I hear that you and Maia are drinking buddies.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Maia commented.

“That’s probably a pretty accurate description of our relationship, sure,” Jace agreed.

“Which means you’ve seen Maia drunk,” Becky continued. “Which means you probably have embarrassing stories about my girlfriend. Stories that I’m more than willing to trade embarrassing stories of my brother to hear.”

“See?” Simon pointed at his sister. “Sneaky.”

“Yeah, babe, I’m not sure you’ve actually thought this through,” Maia said.

“No, I have,” Becky told her with a smirk. “I’ve also thought up all kinds of ways to convince you to forgive me.”

“Please don’t elaborate,” Simon said.

“Okay,” Maia said, “but I have an even better deal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“How about we both tell embarrassing stories about Simon and Jace over dinner.” Maia leaned in and finished in a low voice. “And then you can show me how you were planning to get me to forgive you when we get back to your place tonight.”

“Oh,” Becky said. “Yeah, that’s a much better deal.” She turned to Jace. “Sorry, got a better offer. No hard feelings?”

Jace shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I mean, I can’t really blame you.”

“Is it too late to do Thanksgiving with your family?” Simon asked Jace. “Or we could just sit in the van and eat cranberries out of the can. That’s also an option that would be preferable to this.”

“Oh good, you found the cranberries.” Bubbe Helen emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She walked over and pulled Simon into a hug. “I knew my grandson would come through.”

Behind her, Becky shook her head emphatically, mouthing ‘lies.’

Simon kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without cranberries.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She turned a critical eye on Jace. He was pretty sure she still held a bit of a grudge over him supposedly proposing to Simon in a storage closet. “And what are your thoughts on cranberries?”

“Oh, uh.” Jace was pretty sure he’d never thought much about cranberries before this morning’s frantic search across half of New England. “I’m definitely pro-cranberry.”

“Speaking of which,” Simon interrupted, “we should get these groceries to the kitchen and get started on the pies. You’re going to love Jace’s pecan pie, Bubbe Helen. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Pecan, huh?” Bubbe Helen gave Jace a considering look.

Jace nodded. “With browned butter. It’s a family recipe.” Technically, it was Alec’s recipe, but Alec was family, so he figured it counted.

Bubbe Helen nodded. “You’ll do.” Then she turned with a wide smile to greet Maia, and Jace let out a relieved sigh.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Simon bumped Jace with his shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “It’s cute that my grandmother makes you nervous.”

“It’s not cute,” Jace muttered. “She’s terrifying.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, Simon’s mother was checking the turkey.

“Another half-hour, I think,” she told them as she closed the oven door. “If you work fast, you can put the pies in as soon as the turkey comes out. I cleared some counter space where you can work over there. Do not touch anything else.

“Hi, sweetie,” she added as an afterthought, giving Simon a quick hug.

Simon returned the hug. “Hi, Mom. Pie plates still in the same place?”

“Bottom cabinet to the left of the sink,” she confirmed. “Is there anything else you two need to get started on the pies?”

“Pie plates to the left of the sink, half an hour, don’t touch anything,” Jace repeated back to her. “I think we’re good.”

“Perfect. I’m going to go toss the linens in the dryer. You boys get started on those pies, and I’ll be back to check on the turkey in,” she checked her watch, “twenty-eight minutes.”

Jace watched long enough to make sure she was out of earshot before saying, “If we’re ever crazy enough to do joint holidays, she and Maryse cannot be allowed in the kitchen at the same time.”

Simon chuckled. “Mom can be a little intense about holidays being perfect, but I think it’s just because she wants us to enjoy them.”

“I get it.” Jace knelt down to retrieve the pie plates from the cabinet. “I mean, you saw what Maryse and Alec were like just over Christmas dinner. Military campaigns are less well-orchestrated than Thanksgiving at the Lightwood house.”

“Is it weird having Thanksgiving here instead of with your own family?” Simon asked as he rolled out a pie crust.

Jace set the pie plates down next to the pastry mat. “I am having Thanksgiving with my family. I’m having it with you.”

Simon smiled without looking up from the pastry mat. “If you keep saying romantic things, I’m going to kiss you, and then we’ll never get the pies ready to go in the oven on time.”

“I wasn’t being romantic,” Jace insisted. “It’s just, it took me a long time after the Lightwoods took me in to really start thinking of them as family, to accept that they thought of me as family. I’m not sure I ever would have if it wasn’t for Alec and Iz. They taught me that family can be people you choose, not just something you’re born with.” He shrugged. “And I chose you.”

Simon looked up from the now perfectly-rolled pie crust. “That was super romantic.”

“Maybe a little,” Jace conceded. He lifted the crust into one of the pie plates and began smoothing it into the corners.

“That’s actually part of why I wanted us to do Thanksgiving here this year,” Simon said as he began rolling out the second crust. “I know you haven’t always felt like you had a family, and even though I know you do now, I wanted to show you that you get to have my family now, too.”

Jace wound his arms around Simon’s waist. “Now who’s being romantic?”

The pies were not ready to go into the oven on time.

[acciomalfoy]

liquid luck (bill weasley x reader)

summary: reader is an exchange student that draws the attention of bill weasley just in time for valentines day

a/n: another collab with @fromashescomephoenixes yall already know the drill go follow her she is an incredible author as well as person!

-

Lifting myself off of the stoney floor, I find myself in a comfortable office filled with trinkets. The circular walls are covered with serious looking portraits, their eyes lit by the glow of the warm fireplace I recently fell out of. As I rise and brush myself off, I find myself face to face with a phoenix.

I stare into it's eyes for a moment as they swirl in fiery embers of color, before I snap back to reality. It had been a long journey, and I would have an equally long day tomorrow given I was arriving mid term- on February 13th.

Turning towards the center of the room, I see a small group of people eagerly grinning towards me. I watched as the girl bobbed on the balls of her feet, and the boy stood, completely relaxed, with a welcoming stance.

“Ms. y/l/n, welcome to Hogwarts!” Albus Dumbledore’s voice greets me. I smiled, my nerves eased by the kind welcome that they had prepared.

“We are most pleased to have you here,” Mcgonagal nods towards me. After properly greeting both of them, I turn my attention to the two people my age, waiting to greet me.

“Oh my Godric! I’m so happy to meet you,” The dark brown, curly haired girl greeted me with a soft hug. Her russet brown skin seemed to radiate warmth as she pulled me into a kind hug. “I’m Anya, and it sounds like you’re in my house. So you’ll be seeing lots of me!” She smiled kindly and nodded towards the pale, freckled boy behind her, signalling for him to come up.

“G’day mate!” The boy said in an extremely poor Australian accent. His honey-gold eyes searched mine, hoping to see the laughing twinkle of his reflected in mind.

“Oh good evening dear chap!” I responded without missing a beat in an equally awful English accent. The red haired boy laughed and I couldn’t help but notice the deep brown flecked through his eyes. Almost like cinnamon.

“So, do you play quidditch?” The boy demanded, grinning still. I was about to respond with an affirmative, but I was cut off.

“Mr Weasley! Your name!” Mcgonagal snapped. I grinned, silently laughing at the situation.

“I’m Bill. Nice to meet you,” He held out his hand. Gently, I placed my small hand into his firm one, and shook.

“Y/n,” I responded.

“I’ll have to show you around sometime y/n.” Bill grinned.

“And I’ll have to show you to our dorm!” Anya exclaimed, taking your arm. “You’re a Hufflepuff, right?” I nodded, remembering Professor Mcgonagal’s brief trip to Koolangka, the Australian wizarding school, to sort me. The strange hat was very different to the process at Koolangka, but seemed to work nonetheless.

“Right-o,” I grinned, enjoying the way my words stood out slightly. We hurried through the castle as Anya explained the basics of what I needed to know to me. By the time we reached the basement, I was nearly asleep on my feet.

The soft golden bedding seemed all together much to inviting, and I slept as soon as my head hit the pillow.

•••

I woke up to four girls standing over me, and I yelped in surprise, causing them to step back slightly.

“You’re y/n, right? I’m Amelia Abbott,” A brown haired girl began talking, and proceeded to point at the rest of the Hufflepuff’s. “That’s Ella Finch-Fletchey, that’s Caroline Jordan, and this is Teresa Berg.” She finished, and I waved at the girls in turn.

“Nice to meet you all!” I said as I hopped out of bed, and Teresa instantly took my arm.

“Anya told us you and Bill Weasley hit it off. He hardly ever speaks to girls, but that’s because we’re always drooling over him.” She said, and her blonde locks swung as she spoke.

“He’s nice, I guess.” I said, albeit uncertainly, and the rest of the Hufflepuff’s giggled.

“We can’t wait for you to date!” Ella chattered, and Caroline shook her head.

“You’re scaring her, the poor thing. We’ll let you get changed and meet you down at the common room, you must be starving!” The four girls were off in a whirl as Caroline herded them out, and I shot her a grateful smile.

As the room stilled, I took a deep breath. I was really here, at Hogwarts, in the badger’s sett, the place I finally belonged.

I took my time putting on my Hufflepuff robes, the cheery yellow making me smile. With that smile came the thought of Bill Weasley’s blue eyes, and the odd feeling I had had around him.

“Y/n!” A voice that sounded like Ella called from the common room, and I did a final stroke of the hairbrush through my hair.

“Coming!” I called, and I set the hairbrush down as I looked in the mirror.

I was ready.

The group of girls led me down the hallway, occasionally pausing their giggling and teasing of each other to point out important land marks:

“And that’s where Ella snogged Simon Brown!” Teresa grinned as she pointed towards a particularly large statue of a goblin. Ella slugged Teresa's arm in a friendly manner, and Teresa stuck her tongue out before we continued to move on.

“Oh my! That’s where those third years got in a fight about quidditch last week,” Caroline nudged me, although I doubted whether or not this information would come in useful later.

Finally we reached the great hall, and made our ways to the hufflepuff table. I eagerly searched for some vegimite on toast, or a Ned Kelly pie. But I was sadly disappointed as my friends explained neither of those things exist in England. Instead, Ella plonked a bowl of oatmeal onto my plate.

“Dig in,” she winked. I sighed, resigning myself to the warm slop on my plate. It could be worse I reckon: she could have given me scrambled eggs.

I’m shaken from my silent contemplation of the evils of scrambled eggs by none other than Bill Weasley himself.

“Top of the mornin’” Bill greets in an exaggerated English accent this time.

“Merlin, am I ever going to here your real accent?” I try to look annoyed before slipping into a smile.

“Ay. That depends,” he attempts a Scottish accent this time. I suppose it’s a running joke at this point.

“On what?” I raise an eyebrow, while reaching for my juice. Upon doing so, I realise all five of my new friends are eagerly drinking up this juicy interaction.

“I was hoping to show you around,” he begins looking slightly nervous. I notice he has begun to twist his wand between his strong fingers. I nod reassuringly and he continues.

“But I’m busy with head boy duties and all, so we might have to break curfew...” I nearly leap at the adventure, but pause contemplating. Would it really be a good idea to risk being caught breaking rules already?

“It would be an adventure,” he suggests, smiling while his eyes toil with excitement.

“Well, you’ll have to make it worth my time...” I smirk slightly. He grabs my hand and shakes it eagerly.

“Just you wait y/n!”

•••

I go through the rest of the day eagerly curious for what Bill has in store for my grand tour of Hogwarts.

Although, I can’t tell who is more excited for it: me or the five girls who have discussed the breakfast occurrence at least seven times by now.

“Come on, Y/n! At least promise us you’ll snog his tonsils out!” Ella begged, and I whipped my head round to stare at her. We were currently lounging in the common room, with Amelia checking the time every five minutes.

“He’s showing me around the castle, not planning to pull me into an abandoned classroom!” I squealed, and the girls squealed alongside me, eager at the thought.

"Well he'll have to pull you into an abandoned classroom if he's going to give you a full tour!" Teresa laughed, teasing me.

Luckily, we were finally in our last class of the day. Which we happened to have with the Gryffindors.

“Please partner up!” Professor Mcgonagal announces. “We shall be practically applying our skills at transfiguring human features.” She pauses to allow the buzzing students to partner up. I turn around to see Teresa and Caroline looking apologetically towards me. I face the other way and find Ella and Anya in the same situation.

“Maybe we could have a group of three?” Caroline offers, sounding thoroughly unconvinced of Mcgonagal’s enthusiasm for the idea.

“No need!” Bill grins as he swaggers our way, and leans against my desk. “Partners?” I grin as a slight blush creeps up my neck. Biting my lip I nod and let him brush my hand to guide me across the room.

“Please only transfigure your partner with human features!” Mcgonagal reminds us, and I shiver slightly as I remember the time my brother was transfigured into a part-human part- platypus form last year.

“So, are you much good at transfiguration?” Bill asks conversationally. I take a moment to answer, concentrating on the transfiguration I’ll be attempting.

I decide to give him a beard, perhaps slightly inspired by Dumbledore’s. I flicked my wand in a short line, and smirked as a fiery red beard grew. Unfortunately, I made it slightly shorter than anticipated and...

Fuck. He looked hot with a beard. He raised an eyebrow. “So I’ll take that as a yes?” I giggled.

“Sure,” I admitted. We spent the rest of class firing spells back and forth until I had abnormally long pink hair, with large sapphire eyes. Bill was sporting equally vivid green locks with some slightly scary purple eyes. And a beard of the previously desired length.

Our laughter echoed through the hallway on our way to the great hall. Just before walking into the hall, Bill threw his arm around me as he laughed particularly hard.

The moment was broken as he glanced at his watch, and frowned.

“I’ll pick you up tonight. Some time close to midnight,” he shouted as he walked away. I watched as he walked in a relaxed manner down the halls. Although, I raised my eyebrow as I watched him take a small sip of a strangely sparkling substance.

We were still sat in the common room at 12 o’clock, and there had been no sign of Bill Weasley.

“Maybe he forgot?” Caroline murmured, and Teresa bit her lip as she shook her head slightly.

“We ought to be off to bed, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Filch might have caught him!” She said, and everyone nodded.

“Come on, bed time!” Ella began herding everyone off to bed, and I numbly followed.  I wasn’t quite sure what to think after Bill’s no-show, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it now.

Tap, tap

I woke up out of my light sleep with a start. My owl, Goldie, usually only delivered in the mornings. I took a moment to rub my eyes and nearly tumbled out of bed as I saw that it wasn't in fact my owl, but rather a certain Bill Weasley. Throwing open the window, I tried to keep my voice down so I wouldn't wake anyone else.

"Bill? Why and how are you hovering outside my dorm window?" I asked, sleep thick in my voice.

"I'm here for your tour, pretty girl.” I blushed as he called me pretty, knowing I was anything but with my messy hair and bright pink pajamas. "You might want a jacket though," he frowned, gesturing to the frigid, snowy air.

I quickly pulled on my favorite denim jacket, and some leggings. Then, I went back to the window.

"A broom?" I took in the sight of his fairly muscular form on the broom, and noticed a golden, knowing sparkle in his eyes. As if whatever happened, he was one step ahead of me.

"You seem like the type to play quidditch," he shrugged. I grinned, rejoicing at the chance to get back on a broom after all this time.

"You were right," I slid out of the window into the slightly snow covered roof. Wrapping my arms around Bill's waist I let his warmth bleed into my freezing skin. Somehow this felt so right.

"You're warm," I mumbled. I only realised after I spoke how awkward this sounded, but Bill simply smiled and cast a warming charm over me.

"Bet you didn't have much use for those in Australia?" If only he knew how windy my city had been. Although he was right, I never learned a proper warming charm at school.

“Not so much. We spent hours on cooling charms though.” Just like that, I replaced Bill’s warming charm with a cooling one, and he yelped in surprise.

“Y/n!” He shouted into the night’s air, and I laughed as I clutched his waist tighter. It was gone as soon as I cast it, and Bill’s warming charm once again encased us.

“So I’ve been thinking, Y/n. Why’d you come to Hogwarts at the end of January? School term starts in September, you know?” He asked, and I peered down to see that we were circling the quidditch pitch.

“Well my old school, Koolangka, has school from the end of January to mid-December, and every ten weeks we got to go home for two. Every Australian school’s like that, probably because we’re superior.” I said, and Bill turned his head over his shoulder to grin before facing the front of the broom again.

“Say, did you have the sorting hat in Australia?” He asked, and I shook my head before realising he couldn’t quite see me.

“Not exactly. Australia still has the four houses, but instead they’re focussed on air, fire, water and earth. Caeli is Latin for air, ignis for fire, aqua for water, and terra for earth. We have a boomerang that assists in sorting us, and we just have to throw it as fair as we can. Whatever colour it returns covered in is our house.” I explained, and it wasn’t until I finished that I realised how boring it sounded.

“That sounds awesome! I’ve always wanted to go to Australia, but my mum is obsessed with Egypt, so I doubt I’ll get to go.” Bill sounded a bit sad, so I took a leap of faith.

“It’s awesome, Bill! I can show you all the secret spots, and we can visit Numisma, the Australian wizard school.” I said nervously, but I shouldn’t have worried.

“I’d really like that. I might land here on the pitch.” Bill soared down, and I laughed excitedly as we reached the grass.

My feet crunched into the frosty ground, and I spread my arms out as I breathed in the chilly air.

"Imagine playing here," I closed my eyes and pictured the stadium seats full of young witches and wizards, and the sky filled with brooms. Bill saw me and added in background  cheering. I laughed and turned towards him. He grinned, seeing my smile.

"Is this used for anything other than quidditch?" I asked, thinking that this huge space couldn't possibly be used only for quidditch.

"The only other thing held here is the 7th year ball," Bill explained. Instantly my vision of the stadium filled with quidditch fans shifted to a beautifully lit dance floor, filled with laughter and lovely dress robes.

"A ball!" I exclaimed enthusiastically. "Is it very formal?" I felt concerned, realizing I had no idea how to waltz, or swing, or foxtrot or anything...

"No, no. It's not really anything to worry about." He saw my distress, but then his face lit up. "Although I could teach you a few moves," He offered as he extended his hand. I placed my hand gently in his, and let him pull me towards him.

Lumos Maxima Bill whispered, and then whispered another soft spell to play a quiet waltz throughout the stadium.

Slowly and gracefully I let Bill lead me through the steps. Gradually we sped up, and I stopped stepping on his feet so much. His light charm faded, and soon our faces were only illuminated by the stars as we spun and stepped across the cool grass.

Eventually the music came to an end, but I stayed in my dancing position still.

"You're very beautiful," He blushed, glancing away and sticking his hands into his jean pockets. I smiled, although I'm sure I blushed slightly as well. "I er- I just mean..." he stammered a bit.

"The Bill Weasley? Nervous about talking to me?" I teased, and he blushed even redder.

"Well, you see it is Valentine's day," he smiled slightly, and I blushed a little. "And I just thought you might, maybe-" He took a deep breath and collected himself. "Perhaps you would want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" I beamed at him. Despite only knowing Bill for a day or two, I could tell that he was the kind of guy I wanted to know better.

"Of course!" I smiled, and hugged him. His arms wrapped around me, and I breathed in the slightly salty sea air smell about him. "Just one question," I looked up, and he gazed with concern towards me.

"Where's Hogsmeade?" We laughed, and he closed the slight gap to kiss me lightly.

He tasted like the dancing love of liquid luck.

[wolfywordweaver]

Here's my contribution to @transmagesweek day one! It started off as a "prom" prompt with a side of "coming out" but somehow that got flipped around. XD

Enjoy!

**

I was pretty well terrified as we made our way across the Great Lawn and towards the lit up building where the Leaver's Ball was currently in full swing. Even from this distance I could see people dancing out in the patio, the fairy lights twinkling daintily above them. Penelope wasn't saying anything, but I knew that it was only because there really wasn't anything to say.

The gates hadn't opened for me and she needed to let me in.

Swallowing thickly, I wondered if I should even be here or doing this. Sure, it had seemed completely reasonable up to five minutes ago, but now I was second guessing myself. It was something I hadn't really ever had time to do until the last few months.

Funny how losing all your magic and purpose in life will do that to you.

Watford wasn't an option after the death of the Humdrum and the Mage, and I spent the remaining months of Eighth year on the Bunces' couch. Every interaction with the Mage had been analyzed. Each fight with the Humdrum and its monsters replayed. Years of struggling with my magic observed from every angle of memory, and even all my interactions with Baz came under the light of introspection.

I couldn't talk about most of this with my therapist. She was a stranger, and as well meaning as she was it wasn't like I could just flip the switch of my upbringing. I still mistrust, am nervous, and the nightmares continue.

The flutter of my heavy wings remind me that many things are different too. The dragon wings and the devil tail have been a confusing albeit enlightening addition to my life. They were really what set me on the journey towards this evening, hours thinking about them drawing my attention to something else that seemed so obvious that it was actually embarrassing that I hadn't noticed it before.

Being the Chosen One will do that to you.

Keep you from noticing things, like how badly you want to snog your roommate or how the discomfort in my skin could mean more than just the sheer pressure of magic trying to spill out of me.

It had started with the musings over my wings and tail, something that I thought would go away since I no longer had magic, but the idea began to sprout even more after a comment from Penny.

"When have you ever fit into any box, Simon?"

She had meant it in consolation, not as something as earth-shattering as it had been. But there it was, a truth that I didn't even know I was looking for.

All my life I had been put into boxes by others. Orphan. Foster kid. Normal. Mage. Chosen One. Hero. Good.

Male.

When I'd talk to the Mage about feeling strange in my skin, about not feeling normal or comfortable, he'd always tell me it was because I was the Chosen One. Different from everyone else and full of more magic than any Mage in the history of the world. It stood to reason that if I was no longer the Chosen One and didn't have any more magic, I still shouldn't feel that way.

But I did.

My wings and tail oddly helped with that. They were in the way all the time and completely impractical, but they were a physical representation of something that I knew in my heart. I may be a Normal, but I wasn't...normal. When I flew over the tree tops at the nearby park, magicked invisible by a nervous Penny, it felt good. It felt free. My tail whipped around loosely and I felt at peace.

The euphoria lasted after I landed and until some girl passing me and Penny mentioned that I made a cute boyfriend. She was apparently some Normal friend that Penelope had back in elementary and Penny quickly corrected her, but I felt the bubble of joy pop.

Boyfriend.

I wasn't even appalled at the idea itself since me and Penny being a couple was complete tosh, but I was still bothered for days. Bothered enough that I brought it up to Penny. Three weeks of discussions that I could barely get out the words for and one weekend with a worried Baz later and I finally brought a printed internet article to her.

"This," I stated nervously as I held the paper out. "This is kind of what it feels like."

Brown eyes studied me for a moment before she took the pages and quickly read over them. "This is...a trans person's experience."

"I know," I whispered, tail whipping behind me in agitation and my wings tensing. "Is that bad?"

"Not at all, Simon." Her calm response eased my worry a bit and when she finished the article, Penny looked right up at me without disgust or fear or anger. "Are you a girl?" she asked curiously. My immediate balking startled a laugh out of her before drawing one out of me. "Nope, okay. What are you thinking, Simon?"

A shrug was my immediate response, but I sat next to her on the floor and stole one of her crisps before deciding that words were needed.

"I don't know yet. I've read things online about non-binary and genderfluid and even neopronouns, but it's all a bit much."

"Gender is weird," she agreed. "But it's not like you have a due date to figure it all out. Take your time."

After another thoughtfully chewed up crisp, I asked the question that was really bothering me about the whole situation. "Do you think...that is...maybe Baz won't...he doesn't have to..."

She looked at me in surprise. "You don't really think that a guy who's been obsessed with you for literal years is going to suddenly lose interest because you're having a gender identity crisis, do you?"

I shrugged again. "He's well gay, yeah? Gay guys only like boys."

"And Normals don't ever have magic," she chuckled while gesturing a hand at me. "Simon, have you ever fit into a box properly?"

It was like a sign from heaven, and I lit up immediately. The words that she had used to feed that niggling little seed of doubt were now being used to comfort me again, and it felt even more true now than it did a couple of months ago.

So here I was, a Normal walking through the Watford School of Magicks. A Normal whose large red wings were on full display thanks to Penny's careful magicking of a gauzy sleeveless shirt, and my tail sticking out of a slot that had been altered in a pair of high-waisted slacks we found at the thrift store.

"You don't have to walk me all the way inside," I offered quietly. Penelope had made it clear that she was going to leave as soon as I got there, and I didn't want her to feel awkward or badly walking all the way out on her own.

"It's okay," she huffed, her eyes fixed on the large wooden door we were approaching. "I want to catch a glance at Basilton's face."

A blush bloomed on my freckled cheeks and she laughed with an ease that filled my fond heart.

"You think he'll like...this?"

I didn't look much different besides the unusual appendages and clothing I'd never been seen in before, but somehow I felt another step closer to knowing who I was.

"Simon, he'd like you even if you were covered in merewolf blood and gore."

"Ugh, gross."

"He'd make you shower first, but yes, even that wouldn't put him off." Taking a deep breath and nodding, I moved to grab at the door handle before she stopped my hands. "No, wait. Let me."

Stepping back, I was surprised to see her put her ring hand up and hold it towards the door. "Wha-?"

"Baz isn't the only one who deserves a dramatic entrance," she smirked. "Open sesame!"

And like magic, a wind kicked up at the same moment the doors flung open, and my wings instinctively spread out to feel the breeze roll over them so that I wouldn't be accidentally pulled back. Everyone's eyes turned towards me, but before I could get flustered and embarrassed I caught sight of wide grey eyes and a mouth hanging open in shock.

I'd made Baz speechless.

[big-bad-ulf]

Hear You Me || Layla & Ulfric

Location: Graham and Frankie’s Apartment Complex

Timing: The early hours of May 30th, 2020

Tagging: @big-bad-ulf and @laylacooke

Content: Family death mentions, Grief

Description: Ulfric breaks the news to Layla about Celeste’s death

The knock on the door at Frankie and Graham’s apartment was ominous. She had spent all night tossing and turning and for that reason, she had ended up on the floor in a small, little corner in Frankie’s bedroom. It’s also why she was the first one up and sitting on the couch with the tv turned down low as she stared into space thinking about the day before. The knock had been the thing to draw Layla’s attention back to reality, and without thinking, she automatically got up and walked to the door. Opening it up, she saw Ulfric standing there, but no Ariana. No Celeste, “Ulf…” 

Ulfric almost groaned when Layla opened the door. Damned wolf hearing, she’d been so fast, he’d been hoping for a few moments longer of waiting on the doorstep figuring out what to say. Instead, he found himself stumped. “Layla… Hello. I’m sorry I asked you to leave on such short notice,” he apologized, realizing now how it could have easily been misconstrued as him tossing out after he’d expressly promised not to do that. It had seemed kinder at the time than just letting her sleep ignorantly surrounded by Celeste’s memories or telling her and having her stay up all night on the roof with him to wait for Ariana’s return, but now he was unsure if he’d done it for her so much as because he hadn’t been up to speaking the words aloud to anyone yet. He had promised Ari he’d take on this responsibility for her though, so he’d find a way to now. “Is there somewhere private we could go and talk?” He looked inside cautiously, unsure if her friends would still be around. 

Layla had known something was going on, and yet, again, she had felt left out in the cold. It seemed as though she was always the last to find out things from the other wolves. As if she would never fully fit in with the pack, and while him asking her to leave hadn’t necessarily crossed her mind as him kicking her out, it did sit uneasily with her for the remainder of the night, especially after the lingering sound of the howl remained in her mind. Simon’s message to her hadn’t helped either. If Winn’s mother calling and Winn texting hadn’t been enough, whatever this was, had been thrown onto her shoulders too, and now, she was about to find out what was really going on, “They’re both still asleep, but we can leave. I can come back for my stuff later.” She didn’t want to wake them up, let alone have Graham hear anything that was going on.

Ulfric considered her proposition for a minute, contemplating where they could go. He couldn’t bring her back home, that was the whole reason they were here in the first place, nor could he think of any other venue that would be ideal to break the news he had to tell her. “Maybe we don’t have to go that far,” he counter-offered, spying a fire escape snaking up the side of the apartment building. The roof would be good, private but open, as he suddenly realized that the thought of being trapped in a small room with Layla and words of Celeste’s deaths was rather unbearable. He led the way up the spiraling staircase in silence, pondering how best to initiate his explanation of the events that had occurred on prom night, though he hadn’t come up with much of an answer by the time he arrived on rooftop, pacing as he waited for her to reach the top too. “You were told someone picked up the bounty on Ariana and Celeste, yes?” He queried softly once she did. The beginning, that was usually a good place to start.

She wasn’t sure where they needed to go, but him wanting absolute privacy made her more nervous than she already was. How bad could this conversation be? When he spotted the staircase leading to the roof, she reluctantly followed him. Did she want to know? Could her heart take what he was about to reveal? And why wasn’t Ari there? She was the one that broke the news to Layla. She was the one that made sure she was okay. She was the one that had rescued her from the dumpster and sleeping under bridges and in seedy motels. Was Ulfric about to tell her that Ariana wasn’t coming home? She pondered this all the way upstairs, and when she made it to the top, she tried to prepare herself the best she could for whatever news was about to come, “Y-Yeah...Celeste told me that when I first moved in with you guys. Ulfric?” Her warm brown eyes held a heavy sadness behind them as she peered into his own eyes looking for anything that would give her some kind of heads up.

Ulfric tried to meet Layla’s eyes as he searched for his next words, but seeing the sadness already reflected there, he pulled his gaze away. Instead, he fixated on the horizon behind her where a patch of the sky still appeared slightly hazy from the smoke that had filtered out of the abandoned warehouse on the docks districts. “Celeste’s parents… They slipped Ari some kind of sedative at the prom, took her hostage, wanted to draw Celeste out so they could make her watch them kill her. We managed to get Ari out,” he barrelled through, wanting to assure her of Ariana’s escape, but he knew it would be cruel to allow Layla to build up hope that everything had worked out after that. To allow her to think that maybe Ari was a little worse for wear but that otherwise things would continue the way they were. So, he barely paused for breath before adding. “But Celeste didn’t make it. I’m sorry-- I promised she could take the lead. It was her vengeance to take and I thought-- I should have…” He trailed off, a thousand better actions, judgments, and plans he could have made filling the space between them. Unable to settle on one he just repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Layla listened closely as Ulfric explained what had happened. She didn’t want to miss anything or to make him have to repeat anything. When she heard Ariana’s name and that she was safe, relief came to her. But the short pause caused Layla’s breath to hitch in her throat. And when she heard that Celeste hadn’t made it, her heart stopped beating, “Wh-What?” Tears began to fill her eyes. And her hand fell to her side, where some of the stitches had remained from the last time they had really got to sit down and talk to one another. The last time Celeste had given her advice and saved her from bleeding out from another stupid teenage situation she had gotten herself into. Her hand covered her mouth in disbelief as she let out a muffled cry. And then her mind went back to Ariana and the howl. That had been the reason she howled. Crying out because the girl who had become her sister was lying dead at the hands of hunters. At the hands of her own parents. The woman that Layla had shared a similar history too. The only person that seemed to understand what she was going through, more than anybody, was dead, “No-No this...this can’t be right.” She began pacing back and forth anxiously. Fiercely wiping her eyes and nose with her arm; sucking in air through her nose trying to clear her sinuses. But she soon stopped as a tidal wave of sadness came rushing over her. Someone else, who just in a short time, had become so important to her, was gone. A mentor and an ally. And while she knew the hurt she was feeling was only a fraction of what Ariana was feeling, it still hit her and brought her to her knees on the rooftop. Sobs began filling the air as Celeste’s death had seemed to be the cherry on top of all the drama that had happened in the past few days, and her heart felt like it was crumbling. No wonder Ulfric had told Layla to leave. But how could she even begin to go back to a trailer that held all the memories she had with Celeste. From the first day they met to the night she explained to Layla that her time would come to be brave and to help the pack. Followed by the two watching Legally Blonde and laughing until tears were in their eyes. But yet here she was again. Left in the lurch with no one there to explain to her that sometimes life just went this way and that she wasn’t alone. In that moment, with Ulf standing just behind her, she had felt so lonely. The relationship with Ulfric, though still relatively new, had felt strained. Layla had struggled to trust him and even though he was the one standing there telling her, because Ariana probably couldn’t and Celeste was...gone, she knew the connection him and the other young wolf had would never be something she could obtain, and the adult she had felt like she was connecting with the most was dead, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye…”

Ulfric stood frozen, wanting to provide Layla comfort but not sure how to do so. They both knew the trust between them was a recent thing, and rather tenuous. An embrace seemed to him like it might come across as inauthentic. Still, he wanted to show her that a better understanding between them wasn’t impossible. His misgivings about her weren’t as set in stone as they had been before his realization about Celeste; that her actions had been driven by a genuine love for Ariana, not malicious intent or cowardice. If someone with a hunter’s blood and abilities was still capable of having a good heart, then he owed this hunter’s child who lacked the latter the benefit of the doubt. With that in mind, he placed his hand on her shoulder hesitantly and squeezed. “I marked her resting place,” the older wolf informed her softly. “I know it’s not the same, but you can visit her, talk to her there.” 

Tears continued to fall down her face as sobs could be heard. She was glad they had come to the rooftop. Glad Frankie wasn’t around to hear her weakness at this very moment. With Celeste gone, she felt confused. She had just started to find her footing. Had a parental figure in her life that she was starting to trust with both her head and her heart, and just like that, she was gone. Her mind jumped back to Ariana. Layla was older. She did feel protective over the younger wolf, but she was, by no means, capable of caring for anyone else. Hell, she couldn’t even care for herself half the time. Was she supposed to help Ulfric now? Those had been just a few of the hundreds of questions that ran through her mind. It was Ulf’s hand on her shoulder that stopped the swirl of thoughts and inquiries in her brain. The soft words gave way to quiet sniffles as her sobbing had eased, “And what about Ariana? Is she safe? Can I still see her?” Her eyes focused ahead as the sun was just pushing itself over the horizon.

“Yes, she’s safe,” Ulfric informed her, grateful and impressed that Ariana’s well-being was so forward in her mind despite how deep she still was in her own grief. He withdrew his hand but settled beside, on as equal a level as he could achieve given his natural height advantage, and joined her in watching the sunrise. “She’s staying with family friends, Deirdre Dolan and Morgan Beck. I’m sure she’d like to see you.” Despite his initial reservations about Layla he hadn’t failed to notice the bond she’d developed with Ariana, and now more than ever encouraging that bond seemed like it would do them both some good. “She just wasn’t ready to sort through her sister's things. And… neither was I,” He explained, confessing the last part reluctantly, but openness was something he needed to work on with her, if things were to be better going forward. “That’s why I asked you to keep out of there, but it didn’t seem right to explain the rest on the phone.” 

Layla wanted to see Ariana. She wanted to spend time with her, but most of all, she just wanted to give her a big hug. Of course, it didn’t mean she could keep herself from crying. In fact, she knew after Ulf had left, she was probably going to curl back up in her corner on the floor and sob, “I don’t think Deirdre wants me anywhere near her house. I don’t know if you heard about the bean incident, but I sorta wrecked her place, when she was having me chase after a dog - Simon’s dog.” She wiped her eyes with her arm. It was the last thing Ulf said though, that kind of stung. Keep out of there. It was as if she wasn’t welcome. Like he didn’t trust her. Looking towards him, but not directly at him, she spoke, “I wouldn’t have taken or touched anything, Ulfric. I know I’m just some stray that Ariana took in off the street, and I may not have known Celeste as long, but she meant something to me, too.” Getting up off the ground, she let out a soft quivering sigh, “I appreciate you telling me in person. And I won’t go back until I’m allowed to. Just don’t touch my bow. My name is engraved on it. I think I got most of my things out last night after you texted me.” She put a soft hand on his shoulder, before heading back downstairs to Graham and Frankie’s apartment. Slipping back inside, she found her spot back on the floor and laid back down, quietly crying to herself, until she couldn’t anymore.

“I doubt she’d hold some minor property damage against you now,” Ulfric countered, he didn’t know Deirdre very well but while she had come across as odd and a little dramatic, she clearly wasn’t uncaring. He doubted she’d be petty enough to stop the girls from visiting each other in this time of grief. “If you want to see Ari you should.” It wasn’t until Layla went on the defensive that he realized his mistake. “That’s not what I meant—” He protested, inwardly kicking himself for the poor phrasing. Keep out. He’d meant he wanted to keep her from harm, since his residence was now a treacherous place full of inescapable reminders of what they’d lost, not that she posed a threat to the sanctity of Celeste’s memory by being there. Still, considering he had outright told her he thought of her as a potential threat before, he couldn’t fault her logic. “It just didn’t seem right for you to remain, going about your business as if everything was fine, when it wasn’t,” he tried to clarify, by the young wolf was already descending the stairs. With her enhanced hearing, he had reason to hope she’d heard him, but not that she’d believe him given their history. With a sigh, Ulfric collapsed onto the rooftop and waited for Layla to reach the ground, allowing her to put some distance between them before he would leave himself. Above him, the stars had set, Celeste’s last night on this Earth had officially drawn to a close. Nothing remained but the bright morning sun to burn away any shadows that might have hidden the fact she was gone.

[cinenthusiast]

WARNING: The following contains heavy semantics. This is the equivalent of letterboxd users breaking down their dumb rating systems. OK, not as bad, but still! You have been warned!

I’m starting a new (and final) iteration of something I’ve done my whole life. A single list of my 50 Favorite Actors, covering the full scope of era and gender. I’ll make a new one from scratch each year as a kind of record. 50 doesn’t leave too much room for sudden or drastic evolution, but the long game is what I’m playing at.

All of my old lists (of any kind) used to be ranked. Frankly, fuck that. I’m all for ranking within narrow frameworks (Top Ten By Year, etc) but general lists like favorite actors and movies? Why do it? Numbers make the whole thing an arbitrary assessment, isolating the actors and films into a misguided hierarchy that doesn’t add any insight or clarity. Lists and rankings are such an oversaturated aspect of culture content as it is, and I’d like to avoid this feeling like just another ranking. The collective group is the thing, the totality of taste, interest, and meaning. Keeping this a singular entity (with one or two caveats) preserves this as a personal journal entry of sorts, a snapshot and not the end-all be-all. It’s a way of capturing my taste in film and the people in it. I’ve put a star next to my ten favorites, and I’ve got a separate long list of people I considered but ultimately didn’t add, and that’s the extent of it.

Growing up, I made favorite actor lists obsessively. When I was around six or seven I would play ‘School’. I was the teacher. My students? The likes of Tony Danza, Christopher Lloyd, Danny DeVito, and John Travolta. I had pages and pages of any actor whose name I knew (the entire casts of Angels in the Outfield and Addams Family Values were represented). I took very careful attendance to make sure everyone was present, calling out each name and imagining that yes, they were there. Each actor received a little check in their row of squares (I made sure I had the checkered graph paper to keep everything orderly and precise).

age 11

all of these were made at age 11

Then there were the dark days, the days when tween Katie made lists like Top Ten ‘Cutie-Patootie’ Actors (a reference to the Rosie O’Donnell Show, yes, the Rosie O’Donnell Show, seen above). As you can see, the kid from Dennis the Menace topped that one. I also had my constantly revised Top Ten Favorite Actors & Actresses. Five actors from the lists pictured above are also on this current one: Nicole Kidman, Jim Carrey, Winona Ryder, John Travolta, and Michelle Pfeiffer. They were major icons for me then, and they remain so now, 20 years after the fact. They are forever favorites.

the four quadrants, from 2006 (age 18)

What followed were continuously updated versions of this, covering half my lifetime: Top Blank (at varying points it was 20, 30, and 50) Modern Actors, Modern Actresses, Classic Actors, and Classic Actresses (‘Classic’ accounted for the Hollywood studio era). They were always divided into those four quadrants. I can timestamp the years by who was on them. Simon Pegg at the top? Must be 2008. Katee Sackhoff near the top? I must have been watching “Battlestar Galactica” then. You can find the 2012 versions on this site: here and here.

These categories created considerable grey area, swaths of actors that never really fit comfortably in their group. Those who either featured in films from both eras (Jack Lemmon) or were technically of the ‘Modern’ era but with careers that didn’t really transition into the current (Faye Dunaway). And those ‘Modern’ lists were always much more about the now. I never made room for these actors who qualified as ‘Modern’ but who could be pinpointed to the past. I wanted to feature the up-and-coming, people whose careers I was excited about now! Filmographies I could follow along with as they progressed.

This factor, which meant so much to me then, means nothing re: this new list. For one, I don’t follow current stuff to the degree I used to. 21st century film is less interesting to me (current TV far less so). But I’m really fond of a lot of actors working today, from relative newcomers to tried-and-true character actors to cemented A-listers. The group there was no room for, not by a long shot, were the relative newcomers. I’m an easy lay when it comes to loving actors. But with over a century of performers to choose from, it doesn’t leave much room for the young “oooh I love him/her/them, I can’t wait to see what they do next” ones.

But for the record, the fresher (2010 to present) faces that I’m most invested in are Adam Driver, Elizabeth Debicki, Tom Hardy, Lakeith Stanfield, Kristen Stewart, Jesse Plemons, Nicholas Hoult, and Jonah Hill (whose career trajectory I’m endlessly intrigued by, a man funnier than most of his peers, with the unstable depths of a Chris Penn, whose hyper-sensitivity about being taken seriously and joining the ranks of the prestigious show up on the screen).

The old lists, especially the 50-each ones that totaled to 200 actors, were actually more challenging than this list. Because with so much room, you’re fooled into thinking everyone can be represented. But they can’t; even those lists fill up quick. And now, with just 50 total, it gets down to essentials. There are the favorites, and then the ones who matter most. Oh, I love them? Cool, next! Oh, I love them a lot? Cool, next! Omgtheyaresoamazing? Cool. Next!

There are so many actors whose performances I consistently love or enjoy, that I always look forward to seeing and am often moved by. But there’s a difference between actors who frequently deliver great work, and actors who make something inherently more just by being there, that make me sit up in my seat because what they give either draws out extra engagement from me or they are so distinctive a presence that the fabric of the film/show is thereby altered. But none of this exists without the secret ingredient: that chemical thing that just draws you to one person’s talent and onscreen life more than another.

The factors are endless. Above is my next tier of favorites, the ones that I didn’t go with but thought about and in some cases agonized (yes, agonized) over whether to include or not.

What do you do when a specific stretch of someone’s work means more to you than most people’s entire careers? Most don’t make it (Patty Duke, Diane Lane, Juliette Lewis, Marlon Brando, etc) But a few do: pre-Dick Tracy Warren Beatty, Eric Roberts in the 1980’s, and Sandy Dennis in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s.

What do you do with the actors who are still alive but not working regularly, at all, or at the same caliber they used to? Most don’t make it (Nancy Allen, Tim Curry, Kathleen Turner, Fairuza Balk, Sheryl Lee, etc). But a few do: Jim Carrey, Shelley Duvall, Theresa Russell (a spot that could have been occupied by many that mean just as much to me, but I went with Theresa this time because it felt right), Eric Roberts, and John Travolta.

What do you do with the actors who mean a lot to you but whose careers were so brief that it’s hard to justify adding them over others? Unfortunately, almost all of those actors didn’t make it (Linda Manz, Paula Sheppard, Laird Cregar, Zoe Lund, James Dean, Pamela Franklin, etc). One does: Louise Brooks.

What do you do about the actors you love watching more than most but whose work you aren’t familiar enough with yet? None of them make it (Natasha Lyonne, Yaphet Kotto, Silvana Mangano, Helmut Berger, Dagmar Lassander, Tuesday Weld, etc). There are plenty of films from the 50 I’ve yet to see, but I’ve at least seen enough.

Then there are all the others, the really tough ones. I think about James Gandolfini more and more as the years go by. Harvey Keitel’s performances resonate a lot more as I get older (those defiant eyes, I can often feel him). I can’t believe I didn’t make room for Christina Ricci. Julia Louis-Dreyfus is the defining comedienne of my lifetime. There is only one Carol Kane, Donald Sutherland, Nicolas Cage, Joan Cusack, Parker Posey, Lily Tomlin, Crispin Glover. I get distinct pleasures from watching each of them. Some of my favorite immortals are Marlene Dietrich, Alain Delon, Judy Garland, Bette Davis, Buster Keaton, Cate Blanchett. I’m pretty sure I talk about Jude Law all the time. I will, and have, watched Jean-Claude Van Damme in anything I can find. In recent months I’ve rewatched a lot of key Samuel L. Jackson performances (Jackie Brown, Pulp Fiction, Black Snake Moan, Django Unchained), and was newly reminded that he is one of our most compelling living actors. His pervasive and phoned-in presence in every imaginable franchise had led me to forget that. I’ve been hooked on Gene Wilder, Charles Laughton, Eva Green, Cillian Murphy, and still am. It goes on and on and on.

But this is the challenge of it, and the fun of it. My 50 favorites capture my fascination with stardom and long-range careers with eras & reinventions (ex. Crawford, Cruise, Fonda, Monroe, DiCaprio, Farrell, Taylor), physicality (ex. Chan, Ball, Phoenix, Reeves, Olyphant) & commanding physical presence (ex. Reed, Kidman, De Niro, Mitchum), blue moon charisma (ex. Pfeiffer, Russell, Walbrook, Cagney, Reed, Nicholson), the ones I feel a deep connection to (all of them but especially Carrey, Brooks, & Hoffman) & offbeat god-tier character actors (Dennis, Dourif, Roberts, Black, Duvall) I would take a bullet for.

I start to realize some of the people that aren’t even on this second list: Tilda Swinton, Kate Winslet, Robin Williams, Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, Gloria Grahame, Katharine Hepburn, Michael Shannon, Al Pacino, Meryl Streep, Jeanne Moreau, Saorsie Ronan, Brad Pitt, Gena Rowlands, Dirk Bogarde, James Mason, Jeff Bridges, Ethan Hawke, Jeff Goldblum, Steve Buscemi, Julianne Moore, Catherine O’Hara, Catherine Deneuve, Juliette Binoche, Charlize Theron, Robert Redford, Julie Christie, Michael C. Hall, Michael Caine, Malcolm McDowell, John Hurt, Paul Newman, Anjelica Huston, Sigourney Weaver (every time I watch her in something I think about how much I love her. Her work in Alien 3 means a lot to me), Elliot Gould, etc etc etc. Hell, Peter Mullan is the only person on either list who appears in any Harry Potter film, and that franchise employed basically every British actor you can think of. Most of these actors have been on other lists in the past. Some you’d always be guaranteed to find there (Binoche, Deneuve, etc). As I type this I am realize I forgot Michael Stuhlbarg and John Hawkes in that second group. At the end of the day it just becomes about knowing who there was never any question about, and going with your gut on the rest.

But these 50 (ok, 52, I cheated, the truth is out!), the ones I ultimately chose, are the actors whose work collectively means more than the rest, my ultimate favorites: the ones I can lose myself in, and then find myself in. Who are yours?

1st Annual 50 Favorite Actors list WARNING: The following contains heavy semantics. This is the equivalent of letterboxd users breaking down their dumb rating systems.

[ac-ars]

drunk talking

ayy she is there she is done, its ta au which is always sin, more sin than normally, plus the prompt is sin so here you have it i hope you have fun 

day 5 - “I called one of the telephone numbers written in the toilet stall and now I want to fuck your voice”

🌙

drunk talking

Luna Valente lucked out today despite the fact she very, very overslept. It’s the worst day possible to be late, since today is supposed to be some test on chemistry and she was studying probably too long, because this very chapter has been such a bitch. Longer than others and mentioning more difficult shit and in general Luna just never liked this part of chemistry. They will never be friends and she guesses that it’s okay. Anyway, she was running around her apartment like a tornado, starting one thing and then another, without finishing the first one. She ended up washing her teeth and brushing her hair while wearing her underwear, one sock and a skirt. And when she was buttoning up her flowy, short sleeve shirt, she was also eating her cereal. That’s called multitasking and no one but Luna Valente in hurry can master it to this level.

She managed to catch subway, the one before the last possible she could take to be on time, she finished her tea on the go, and then ran a little towards the building in the campus, so now she is heading to the toilet, to gather herself together and look less like messy mess.

Those dark circles under her eyes really need to disappear under the concealer and her face would love to use a little blush, and those brown hairs that are sticking in every side probably will be happy to be hang out with a brush.

In the middle of miracle makeover Luna gets a text from Pedro, asking her where she is. She hums and rolls her eyes at this impatient asshole and answers that she will be there soon soon. Her thoughts kinda run away in some weird directions to what else should she do, maybe buy a bottle of water, but now or later? Does she have time for that? Will she go for lunch with Pedro later or will he be drama queen about how she cheated from his test? This eats definitely too much time of Luna’s while she is trying to untangle this messy ball of her hair under right ear, she looks around the ugly mirror until she spots some writing with permanent marker right below the corner of said mirror.

This part of the campus, more like this very specific building is waiting for some renovations out and inside, this means the toilets aren’t in the best state here. Not that they are stinky and disgusting, but there are weird writings around, some doodles and curses, many, many phone numbers. Luna isn’t a fan of ruining something, writing over something, because there are usually people who will have to work and clean it later or fix, and she is just a good person, trying to get them as little of unneeded trouble, as possible.

But! She leans her head to the left, to make sure all her hair where the tangle ball used to be, are fine and there is nothing to brush else. Her eyes follow all the writings on the tiles on the wall, wondering why are people like this, covering almost every small tile with some drawing. There is, though, this one number, written with bold, bold font, the digits seem to be a creation of someone writing the same number over and over again in the very same place, just making it more visible and bolder. She hums, because what could be so important, or who, to be left like this for future in ladies’ toilet. Luna, completely not sure what she is going to do with it, just saves it on her contacts and runs towards the class, because boy, chemistry is watching for her.

🌙

“What do we have tomorrow?” she asks lazily while playing with her empty glass after wine. Pedro looks at her with raised eyebrows and shrugs. “I don’t know. No test, that’s for sure, but I think we have physics.”

“Oh my, I don’t wanna,” Luna mumbles, cursing under her breath and he kicks her ankle softly. “Don’t pretend you don’t wanna go. You are dying to see that guy every damn week, Luna Valente.” He looks super smug right now and she opens her mouth wide, very offended.

“I very don’t are if it’s Matteo or not, the break is this weekend and everyone cancelled classes tomorrow except this asshole. I really don’t wanna see him.”

Her Spanish friend looks at her very skeptical and totally not believing her. “I can’t even imagine you looking or thinking about him anything but hungry, and it’s totally okay. We all have issues when it comes to hot people. For example I still can’t not stare at my English prof from the old times when I tried to study English.”

Luna rolls her eyes and crosses her legs. “I’m totally not staring at him any hungry.” The wine in her head isn’t really helping now when it gives her images of said Matteo Balsano, who looked incredibly attractive when she last time saw him. So attractive, that she actually missed what he was talking about at the end of the class, and missed why the whole group is so mad at him. Then Pedro told her, and now Luna and her brain have quiet days without imagining her ta before she goes to sleep.

“Yes, of course,” he says getting up and putting his empty glass on the coffee table and kissing top of the brunette’s head. “I’m gonna be going home since tomorrow we are seeing each other on physics. Please don’t waste yourself so I gotta come here and put you together.”

She pouts at this but sends him a kiss and he leaves, and she empties her own glass quickly, not sure what to do now. It’s gonna be probably boring, so she takes her phone and looks through all insta stories to check what’s going on around the world.

Ambar is hanging out with some weird goths again, but she seems happy or at least not annoyed so it’s a good thing already. Simon and his Roller bros are playing some concert in this small famous club on the other end of Buenos Aires and it’s like third Thursday in a row, so they told her she didn’t need to attend. Gastón is posting on his story some aesthetic pictures of student life in Oxford, selfies with some girl and generally pretty shit, while Nina is travelling around museums today, writing and writing. Not once has she said that art inspires her to make more art.

There is nothing much happening when it comes to people from uni, so Luna just opens her recently used apps, because why not really? She finds that she used contacts today, which is unusual; they don’t really call or text each other since she mostly uses whatsapp or messenger, or anything that requires only internet.

In her contacts she finds some new one, added today, and in a moment she remembers it’s the number from her uni toilet, which sounds all kinds of ridiculous, but also very appealing to her drunk, wasted and tired brain.

She clicks on it, her phone asks her if she wants to call or text, and first thing she does is pouring some more whine to her glass. It’s gonna be very interesting here and Luna giggles at herself, as she presses the call square on her screen. When she hears like fifth signal, she remembers what the fuck time it is, and calling anyone at this hour is super, super rude, but in the same moment she takes her phone away from her face to hang up, someone picks up.

“Hello?” some male, deep and raspy voice asks, and Luna’s first thought is oh fuck and second is oh fuck I woke this guy up. Before she manages to say anything, he adds impatient. “Is anyone there? If it’s nothing important, I’m ending this call, because I would really love to sleep-”

“Hi,” Luna jumps and he shuts up for a few super short seconds. “Um, I’m sorry, it’s a mistake.”

“A mistake?” he asks, “I don’t think calling anyone at this ungodly hour can be described as a mistake, little lady.”

She takes a deep breath and a sip of wine from her glass. “I, um, shouldn’t have called, but I am drunk and I was bored, and it just kinda happened. I’m sorry.”

The guy on the other side of the phone sighs heavily, even this sound is somehow hot, and at this point Luna can’t really care if he can be some disgusting creep, she will just block this number tomorrow plus she won’t really tell him any details. Bless her drunk brain always keeping her safe no matter what.

“Okay, tell me, should I have your number saved? Where did you even get mine?” he asks, his voice changes and maybe he is more awake now, which is bad and bad at the same time.

“No, no, I’m, it’s gonna be dumb as hell, but I found your number written on wall in the toilet in my faculty.”

The guy laughs quietly and sighs again. “Dear stars, why have I done this to myself? So you are a student?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I’m telling you. I don’t know who you are and I won’t tell you anything.”

Luna hears him humming longly. “You don’t know who I am then?”

“I just told you that!” She rolls her eyes and he laughs again, and she is kinda annoyed at this point. The guy seems amused, but then he clears his throat. He speaks, and his voice sounds kinda different. She is focusing on his voice too much. “I have few questions for you, actually, but they aren’t about any private shit, you don’t have to worry I will try to stalk you anywhere.” He stops for a moment and continues, Luna completely focused drinks her wine slowly, just to find her glass is empty and it’s a moment to fill it again, because she is oh so curious. “I’m just lowkey lost, it’s been years since I got this kinda call.”

“I get it, you know you can just hang up, though?” she asks, playing with a strand of her hair and makes herself more comfy on the couch. It’s dark, and quiet, and Luna wants him to talk to her endlessly.

“Nah, it’s okay, I wasn’t really sleeping anyway, so tell me, little lady I don’t know name of, why are you awake at this hour?”

Luna shrugs to herself, remembering just after a moment that he can’t see her. “I guess I’m not sleepy yet. Plus I still have wine to drink.”

She can’t see him either, but she is sure that he is smiling right now. And it feels weirdly good. “Perfect, I’m going to help you with falling asleep today, because I think it’s unfair to leave you alone, not being able to sleep, even if, as you said, you called by mistake.”

This is getting weirder, and weirder, and Luna Valente doesn’t mind at all. “How would you help me from there, wherever you are?”

“Oh don’t worry about that. Will you do what I tell you, though?”

She bites on her lower lip, thinking, and wine answers for her. “Sure.”

🌙

Damn, damn, damn. Damn everything, because here she is, late again, and it’s probably Pedro ringing her door bell. It’s a disaster, she went to sleep definitely too late for it to be any accepted and her friend is gonna kick her ass in a minute. Wanting or not, Luna needs to open him, he looks at her super angry, but as soon as he sees her, he laughs so loudly.

She pouts, but honestly she can’t be stressed at all after last night’s letting all tension out. She isn’t even feeling any disgust with herself as she is planning to block the number to this guy, in case he calls her or something. Pedro seems to be very smug, but she ignores that.

“How late are we?” The brunette asks, running around as he just goes to the kitchen and makes himself a coffee.

“We are on perfect time to manage. I decided to scare you a little so you hurry up your little butt faster around.”

As soon as she sees that, she growls and huffs and goes to her bedroom to get dressed, and bless this bastard for driving her today, because she isn’t in a mood for subway today. She will be paranoid and think that every hot guy is the guy. His voice and his ideas were hot as fuck, so it’s obvious her brain will just go towards the attractive men.

“What is wrong with you, little one? You seem absent today. Tell me, what time did you go to sleep?”

She just rolls her eyes and pushes him out of her apartment, despite the fact that he is still holding one of her cat mugs.

Pedro is driving very weirdly, or at least Luna thinks that. He is a mess, but she feels with him always safe, right now safe enough to focus on her thoughts as she is wondering what the fuck is wrong with her that she called this guy last night. What the fuck is wrong with her at all? She has no idea, but this was so weird and so hot, and the wine didn’t help her to chill. Her eyes are set on the road in front of them, and before she can wake up, they are on uni’s parking lot and Pedro is poking her on the cheek to leave the car.

“Okay, I know,” he says and Luna throws him a weird look. “You know what?”

“Drugs. I’m sure it’s this, because you haven’t trashed me one single time during the way here, and usually you keep telling me how to drive, even if you don’t own a car.”

She rolls her eyes. “I have just other stuff on my head. I will tell you later, but now I gotta go to bathroom, because you idiot didn’t let me brush my hair.”

“You look pretty, maybe Balsano will think your bed head is hot.” Pedro hums, but she just shakes her head and walks quickly to the closest bathroom, since she hates being late.

Her eyes are focused on the phone as she is checking the hour, until she bumps into someone violently; the other person steadies her with their hands on her shoulders. The brunette looks up and blinks surprised, seeing no one else, but her physics ta, leaving toilet for women, which is weird, but his eyes sparkling with amusement, and this smirk don’t really let her think longer about how unusual this is.

“Watch out, Luna, please. We don’t want you to end up on the floor, do we?” he asks with small smirk and she needs to calm her hormones, and this is going to be a problem, since all tension that left her last night is all back, twice as strong, because so close to Matteo she has never been.

The brunette manages to speak, though. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry about that. I hope nothing happened to you.”

He sends her a smile. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”

With this, he caresses her shoulders last time, and leaves, probably to his small office and then to class, which means she doesn’t have much time. She still needs to brush her hair, even if he already seen her. Pedro is gonna pay for saying it and messing with her (bad) luck.

She enters the bathroom and without anything just searches for her brush in the back. Her eyes automatically swim towards the bolded number on the wall.

It’s not there anymore.

🌙

Sitting on her seat in physics class, next to her best friend who knows fucking nothing, is the most difficult thing. She has no idea what people around her are speaking, but now her mind is busy with the fact, how something written who knows when, could go off so easily, when just the very day before it was there visible and healthy.

She has really no idea, this is so, so confusing and she can’t tell Pedro, because this asshole is going to make fun of her and say that she seriously needs to drink less and get laid properly, not by herself on the phone, but he is ridiculous jerk with issues, so maybe it won’t be that bad.

For now, Matteo is talking something to them, she doesn’t understand, her mind keeps repeating how he said oh, don’t worry about that and with each and every time she is less calm. He eventually lies his eyes on her, there is something in his look that messes with her every thought.

He winks.

She gasps.

[megansambuca]

A+ Student

I have to thank my beautiful bestie Christy, for giving me her permission to have her briefly in this one shot. Even has a original quote from her beautiful asshole mind. I couldn’t write about high school without throwing my high school bestie in there.

NeganXReader Smut

Walking through my high school hall laughing with my best friend. Teacher’s standing in the hall as usual making sure everyone behaves.

“Oh,” She looked at me a evil look on her face. Looking to what she saw I see him. The hottest teacher I’ve ever seen. He was also super cool insisted we call him Negan and Sir not by his last name.

“Don’t,” I growl nudging her. As we walk by Negan in the hall.

“_____ likes you.” She looks right at him stopping. Catching my bag stopping me from walking.

“Yea, you’re my favorite teacher sir.” Glaring at her, as I blushed.

“Thanks, better hurry along to class. You two,” He accepted my lie. I could see in his eyes he thought what she did was funny.

“Christy!” Trying to sound intimidating, sounding more like a whine. “Way to be obvious you dick.”

“You’re the one who wants the dick.” She elbows me as we walk into our  Foreign Language class. Staring at her my mouth hung open as we sat across from each other. “What you’re eighteen it’s legal.”

“He’s married,” I whisper.

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone before.” She teases, as class starts.

“I can’t believe you.” I roll my eyes knowing shes joking. We finished class going to lunch and after that we would separate until fifth which was Negan’s class. The day went by quickly unfortunately, my fourth period was the art class.  Right across from his and that use to be my favorite thing. Being in there and being able to watch him from behind in the door way doodling. Taking my time leaving art, throwing my bag over my shoulder. Waving to Mr. Funke, as I walked out of the room. Crossing the hall meeting his eyes, I blush looking down thinking to earlier.

“Hello, ____,” He chuckles at me. Sitting at my usual desk two away from the door. His room was set up in a big U of students his desk sitting closer to the door of the side of the U so closer to me. The board next to his desk, and the student desks each about a foot away from each other. I wasn’t a big on history, but he had my full attention. Not only was he in my opinion eye candy. He also had a way of making us laugh making innuendos and jokes. I doodle on my notebook hearing someone sit down next to me. Looking to see Christy a big smirk on her face as looks at me doodling. I had begun drawing Negan, just out of boredom not even thinking about. I flip to the next page.

“I hate you,” Chuckling at her.

“Good, if you didn’t. I’d be disappointed in our friendship.” She laughs as the bell rings. Hearing the door close I turn to Negan.  Looking him over as he began to walk to the board his white button see through. He had a wife beater under it, but I could still see the outline of the muscles throw his shirt. Biting the inside of my lip slightly trying to not change my face.  I look at his sleeves which where rolled up partially seeing his arm hair. Leaning forward resting my elbow on my desk. Placing my hand over my mouth as my eyes looked over his slacks that fitting perfectly. So they weren’t super tight, but they did fit nicely around his bum.  My eyes roaming back up as he turned around he didn’t wear ties leaving the top of his button up undone even if it was just his two buttons. you could see his chest hair slightly. Moving my eyes up more to him as he talked. He had some stubble, around his lips following his nose up to his brown eyes. And then to his slightly greying hair. I sighed, feeling something hit my temple I turn, to Christy then down to the note on the floor. “Accidentally” dropping my pencil I lean down picking up the note.

______ stop drooling, over the teacher jeez.

I look over her glaring,scribbling on the paper.

I’m not dickhead.

Tossing it back, she chuckles writing something. Before handing it to me, I open it.

Uh huh… acting like you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to take “private lesson’s” with him.

Okay you caught me, but I can’t help he is sexy man.

I go to hand her the note not paying attention. Negan grabs it out of my hand. Before putting it on his desk. Hopefully he doesn’t read it. We continue class the bell rings. I stand ready to leave.

“___, Wait we need to see what was so important you couldn’t wait till after class." My eyes widen looking to Christy see shrugs leaving me. I stand in front of his desk as he sits.

“Um… It’s private. Please don’t,” I say reaching for the note.

“If it was that private you wouldn’t of wrote it on a piece of paper.” He says snatch the note, before I can get it. Reading it, “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I state softly.

“Okay,” He nods.” This is a little sexual isn’t it?” He leans forward onto his desk.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Sir,” I begin.

“No,” He interrupts.“Don’t be sorry about what you feel. Can’t help it right? As you put it here, I quote. He is one sexy man.” He lowers his voice.

“I’m still sorry for passing notes, Sir. I shouldn’t have. I should have been of paying attention.“ I look down blushing fidgeting.

“Apology accepted.” He leans back chuckling. “So what have we learned?”

“To pay attention to you- I mean you teaching.” I say quickly, receiving a smirk. “Sir, I’m going to miss my bus.” I say looking to the clock. The buses left in two minutes.

“If you do, I’ll give you a ride.” He states standing up, moving around the desk he hands me the note. He seemed to be enjoying this. Going to leave he stops me.

“See you tomorrow,” He sits back at his desk.

There was no tomorrow they closed the school for a state of emergency. My parents decided to evacuated. For first three years we lived on our own in a small group we found. It all ended when a herd separated us, I manage to climb a tree.The dead surrounded me. I was hoping the would get distracted, anything even if was just long enough for me to run. I already ran out of bullets all I dad was a knife, and there was probably twenty or thirty around the tree. I was up here for three days. When I heard distance voices, I heard people. Looking around not seeing anyone, but if I can hear them they should be able to hear me.

“Help!” Yelling hoping they will hear me. “HELP ME!” I cry out before hearing shooting. The walkers dropped dead one by one under me. Looking down I saw a man balding a mustache on his upper lip.

“You coming down or do you plan on staying up there?” He asked. I nodded turning around climbing down. I heard someone move behind me making sure, I don’t fall as I got closer to the bottom.

“Thank you,” I say turning to him. “I didn’t think I’d ever get down. My name is ____.”

“Simon,” He shook my hand as I reached  it out to him. “Do you have a group?”

“I did, I don’t know if anyone else made it.” Frowning looking back, “A herd came out of no where.”

“Well, why don’t you come with us?” Simon asked,” I’m sure the boss man will like ya.”

“Okay, I mean I don’t have much to lose.” I follow them to trucks hoping into the back of one. Pulling into a large compound they began to unload the trucks. Simon hoped out of his truck talking on the radio.

“Stay right here, the boss is on his way.” Simon says leaving my standing by the truck. Looking at the fence line with walkers on chains.  Hearing feet on gravel, I turn behind me face to face with my old teacher.

“Sir,” My mouth hung open.

“Well, damn. ____” He smirks. Patting me on the back. “Nice to see you kid.”

“You too,” I smile he was still handsome, even more so now. As he stood before me in a leather coat, a bat hung over his shoulder.

“Well, let me give you a tour doll.” He states putting his arm around my shoulder guiding me through the double doors. I instantly blushed all my old lustful feelings returned. “Watch this,” He whispers. Softly walking towards the yellow railing. I follow him seeing everyone kneel when they noticed him. Strangely that made him even more attractive at least to me. He was talking to them, but I was watching his lips move. He turns to me whispering again,” You see that respect. They still on there knees?“ He smirks at me, before his voice rung out through the room again, “As you where.”  I follow him through the facility. He leads me to a very lavish room for this world. Sitting on the couch he pats the seat next to him. Taking the hint I sit next to him. He pours out two glasses of a liquor I’m not sure what kind. Handing me the drink.

“Oh, I don’t-” I start to say.

“Don’t drink? Have you ever even tried?” He looked at me. I shook my head,” Take a taste.” Placing the glass to my lips crinkling my nose at the smell slightly drinking a sip. I swallow it feeling the burn down my throat slightly coughing. He chuckles.

“Why do people like that?” I stick my tongue out.

“It grows on you,” He leans back sipping his. As I set mine on the table.

“This is strange,” Speaking out loud to myself.

“What is?” He ask raising a eyebrow.

“Sitting here with you, My teacher who is giving my booze.” turning my head smirking at him, “Don’t you agree?”

“When you put it like that, maybe.” He leaned forward setting his drink down. “But I think it’s enjoyable ____. I also think you enjoy it too.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I blush as he leaned closer to me. He pushes hair out of my face with his gloved hand. My stomach was doing flips I bit my lip. This can’t be happening.

“What’s that face?” He asked leaning in more. His voice softened the closer he got.

“I-” Unsure what to say,

“Lost for words?” He leaned in more grabbing my chin making me look at him. I was so close to him. His breath warming my face. My mouth opened slightly as I looked at him. I wanted to kiss him this was like a dream. I didn’t ever think I would ever be this close to him. Staring at his eyes hoping he would press his lips to mine, but he abruptly pulled away. Smiling at the disappointment on my face. “Well, ___. Here is how shit goes down here. You have a few choices, One work for points and pay your way, wish your were dead. Two work for me and live on the top of the world, and my personal favorite three be my wife live in luxury.”

“Your wife?” I stammer out.

“Yes, now you will not be the only one of course. I have others,” He leans on the back of his couch. I bite my lip.

“I don’t know.” Furrowing my brow. “I mean, you are a attractive man, but I want to contribute.”

“Contribute you will be to me,” He places his hand on his dick. My eye’s drifted down looking at his hand.

“To the whole compound I mean.” I say,”I will be a savoir.”

“Okay then,” He stands walking towards the door.”Let me show your room.”

“Wait,” I stand looking at him. He turns looking slightly to me.

“Well?” He asked clearly waiting for me to say something.

“I can still contribute to you.” I blurt out desperately. He turned fully to face a crooked smile came on his face.

“Then show me,” he grabs his dick again. Quickly closing the gap between us I kiss him roughly. He wrapped one arm around my back the other grabbed my ass. He pushed me slightly to the bed, following his lead until my legs hit the bed. He pushes me back onto it a smile on his face. “Lets see you darling.” He pulls my shirt off before unclasping my bra. He leaned down kissing my neck. His right hand massaging my breast his left ran over me through my jeans causing me to push into his hand. He trails kisses down my stomach. I feel him undo my jeans pulling the down with my underwear. “Damn your soaked.” I blush attempting to close my legs a little. “No, none of that.“ He pushed my legs apart slightly. He slid his finger over me rubbing my bundle of nerves, before sliding his finger in me. I yelp slightly, “Damn your tight.” I look at him he looks at his finger. “Hold on darling,” He looks up to me. Pulling his finger up showing me the blood on his finger. “Are you a virgin?” I nod not sure what to say. “Well, hot damn. Now I am even more turned on baby. I can’t wait to put my dick in there. Show what it feels like to be fucked.”  He said sliding his finger back in me. Soon his mouth was on me too. I moaned arching my back slightly.

“Oh fuck,” I tried to squirm but he wrapped both arms around my hips hold me closer to his face.  He pulled away leaning up to my face.

“Want a taste?” Before I can answer his mouth was on mine. I push his jacket off as he kissing me. Before I start on his belt, I could feel him rubbing himself on me. When finally he pulled away removing his shirt. I stared running  my hands up his body. It was better then I’ve ever dreamed. He pushes his pants off. Looking down to his length I licked my lips. He pulled me up off the bed pushing me to my knees. Taking the hint I take him into my mouth, not sure what to do I just did what I’ve seen on porn. He did not seem to mind as he grab the back of my head groaning. I look up to him slightly to see him staring at me.

“Fuck, Get up.” He says doing so not sure if I did something wrong. He pushes me back onto the bed. “I need you right now,” Negan grunts as he rubs himself into between my legs. He gently pushes into me and it hurts. I yelp softly, he pushes hair out of my face. “Relax baby, I’m trying to be gentle. You’re so tight and you feel so good.” After a few soft gentle thrusts I let out a soft moan and as if on cue he began going faster. “That’s it,” he groans as I begin to follow his pace with my hips. Soon he starts going harder as deep as he can go. Skin slapping echoed through the room followed by a scream from me.

“Negan!” he leans down kissing me. “Oh fuck Negan,” Into the kiss.

“That’s right,” He whispers into my ear.” Yell louder let the whole world know. I’m fucking your brains out.”

“Yes!” I groan as he hits the right spot everytime my body begin to get tense.

“What’s my name doll?” Still whispering in my ear.

“Negan,”I groan.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked.

“You, Negan oh fuck you.” Digging my hands into his back. He stops pulling away.

“You want me to make you cum?” He pulls out and thrusts back in with a thud pushing my whole body up on the bed.

“Yes,” I pant.

“Yes?” He ask repeating his thrust.

“Yes, Sir. Please Negan make me cum.” I beg, He starts again going agonizingly slow.

“All you have to do ask doll,” He rubs my cheek please with the agonized look on my face.

“Fuck me as hard and as fast as you, Please” I groan out. He slams into me so hard it hurt a little. He continued this until I felt myself surge with pleasure. “Negan!” He smirk still riding me through my orgasm. He continues  until he begins making grunts his face contoured into pleasure.

“I want to cum in you so bad,” He growls in my ear. “Just fill you up.”

“Negan,” I groan as he bite my neck.”Please don’t not inside of me.”

“Get on your knees.” He growls at me pulling out. I listen sliding off the bed. “Open that pretty little mouth of yours.” I obliged he grabs my hair and begins to fuck my mouth soon warm  salty liquid leaks from his member telling me he was about to burst. He pulls out of my mouth holding it open with his thumb.”Stay just like that,” He says rubbing himself until he cums it mostly landing in my mouth some onto my chest. “Damn ain’t that beautiful.” He looks at me a huge toothy smile plastered on his face. As I swallow licking my lips. “I’d say your a A plus student.”

“Well, That all has to do with the teacher.” I say taking my finger wiping cum off my chest and sucking on it.

“You keep that up will be on round two.” His mouth hung open watching me.

“I’d be down for that.” I giggle,” I think I’m hooked now. No getting rid of me.”

“Oh darling I won’t be getting rid of you anytime soon.” He helps me up pulling me into him kissing me softly.

“I even might have to take you up on that wife offer,” I tease pulling away putting me clothes back on.

“The door is open,” He pulls his pants on.

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 15 - Personal Space

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she's certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit…. 

Chapter 15 - Personal space

Blake had slept badly, tossing and turning all night…..unable to get David's words out of her head.

The names he had called her….there was obviously a reason for these. Maybe she was as useless as he suggested. And maybe she did look as shit as he accused her of looking.

Blake was blonde and tall, and as far as the male of the species went, she had never had any trouble finding guys. She had long legs and round hips and her breasts were average size.

She had of course, back in the 'real' world, always supplemented these things with tight jeans, high heels, push up bras.

She had loved make-up and was never seen out without at least two coats of mascara and some lip-gloss…but those days were now gone…

Perhaps she had let herself go slightly…perhaps she wasn't as pretty as she once was…perhaps David was right….the way Negan's wives went around with perfectly polished red-painted fingernails, short black dresses and high heels….they were of course more attractive than her…

But she had never realised just how bad she must look….if that was the kind of things what her own fiancé labelled her as being….

Blake had woken fairly early…just as the sun was coming up…

And being unable to drift off again she had dragged herself up and headed into the shower…spending about thirty minutes bathing under the cool water…cleaning every inch of her….cleansing herself of David's horrible words.

But every time she realised how much he hurt her…Blake felt guilty…so ashamed of herself for thinking these things.

He only criticised her because he loved her. Because he was trying to keep her safe.

That was the only reason…right?

Blake had hurried back to her room and gotten dressed in a fresh pair of indigo jeans, her brown boots and a pale blue blouse, which she tucked neatly into her pants.

She missed carrying a gun or knife and found, that as she slipped a large brown belt around her waist, it felt empty without the addition of a weapon.

She again pondered on Negan's wives….on whether any of them had needed to carry a gun….if all they did was lounge around painting their toenails and reading old magazines?

But she cursed herself.

These women were probably hurting as much as she was…as scared as she was…and whether they had ever carried a gun wasn't important…it was whether they now felt safe, that was.

It hadn't been long after that, that Blake, bored of her room had wandered the corridors, heading down towards the main dining area….hoping to once again catch a glimpse of David….try to reason with him….to apologise…

She had seen a couple of faces she recognised along the way down the winding hallways.…a couple of them men who usually surrounded Negan, carrying guns…before she found herself once again in the large communal dining room.

Blake stared up at the far end of the room, expecting to see the usual large pots full of food…but today it was just a single female Saviour stood behind a table, dishing out small bags of crackers and pieces of watermelon to the small line of people.

Blake not really being fussed with eating…her stomach still doing backflips at the thought of her run in with David….instead turned, making to head back out into the small courtyard she had ventured into yesterday.

But before she could do so, she heard a sharp whistle from across the far side of the room…drawing her attention immediately.

She turned her heard towards the sound….her eyes falling on the tall and imposing figure of Negan…just standing there…Dwight at his side…staring over at her…his face fixed and unreadable.

Blake gave a sudden gulp, her breath catching slightly and her heart dropping.

Fuck.

Did he know?

Had Eugene told him?

Her heart pounded, going a hundred miles an hour.

But the feeling only lasted for a brief moment, as a smile suddenly crept across Negan's long features as he began to stroll towards her, swinging his barbed-wire covered baseball bat from his hand as he went.

"Well hey there, hot stuff," growled Negan, his tongue poking out from between his line of straight white teeth. "Don' you look just finger-lickin' fuckin' good this mornin'?"

Blake pursed her lips, catching her breath slightly, and approached him too, crossing the room towards him , folding her arms across herself a little defensively.

Negan looked her up and down, sucking on his lip and arching his back, taking her in.

"That supposed to be some sort of compliment?" she swiped, shooting him a bemused frown and coming to stop just a foot or two away from the tall, dark-haired Saviour.

But that space between them was obviously far too much for Negan, who took an extra step towards her, until he was a mere breath away from Blake, gazing down into her eyes.

At his closeness, Blake felt her breath momentarily catch in her throat…but this was for a completely different reason than before.

From here, she could see every laughter line that littered his face….smell his musky scent…that seemed to make her heart race just that little bit faster…

But she tutted, shifting her gaze from his.

"You mind invading my personal space just a little bit more?" she muttered in a sarcastic tone, pressing her hand to his leather-clad chest suddenly and giving him a gentle shove away from her.

But that only seemed to excite Negan more.

The tall, intimidating man bounced on the balls of his feet, giving a happy chuckle, staring down at her through dark eyelashes.

"Well, my oh my, aren't you a snappy lil' thing today," he commented flashing her his set of white teeth. "Not a mornin' person, huh?"

Blake pursed her lips, shooting him a look, but didn't answer…even when Negan leaned into her once again.

"Don' worry, 'cause neither am I," he muttered in a husky tone. "Maybe someday we can do each other a favour and keep each other up all night, and then sleep all day instead….get over all this pent up crankiness we've obviously both been feelin'."

Blake narrowed her eyes at him, gazing up into his long face as he continued.

"Although I am not adverse to a bit of mornin' fun-time, if you catch my drift…"

He waggled his eyebrows at her, which only caused Blake to give him another sighing shove away from her.

"What do you want, Negan?" she murmured in a unimpressed voice, removing her hand from his taut chest.

But the tall dark-haired Saviour just chuckled once again, staring down at her.

Right now Blake felt like he was seeing right through to her soul. His dark, chocolate eyes full of something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Negan shrugged his curved shoulders easily.

"I just wondered if you wanted to take a walk with me, Doll-face," he said eyeing her. "Unless you have anything better you think we could be doing?"

Yet again, he stared at her goadingly, leaning in towards her once more, but this time, he reached his hand up….brushing a loose strand of caramel hair back over Blake's shoulder neatly.

At this, Blake didn't flinch…but she did instead shoot the Saviour a dark scowl….which he, of course, instantly caught.

He backed up suddenly, grinning and raising his hands in defeat.

"Alright, alright, I get it, Peaches," he murmured, laughing. "Personal space, an' all that jazz."

Blake shook her head.

"We walking then or what?" she said, just a little snappily. Unamused by his irritating manner this morning, and giving him a gesturing nod.

Negan's lips curved up into another sudden grin.

"Well yes, Ma'am," he said with an admiring smirk before falling into step with her, leading her across the large room…Dwight following behind them meekly.

It was odd that in Negan's presence this morning, Blake found herself slightly relived to be with him. Despite how dangerous he was deemed to be, he had a way of making her feel oddly at ease….more than David did lately anyway.

A moment or two passed of comfortable silence, before Negan spoke again, leading her through a wide door and outside into a large, grey lot Blake hadn't been out in before.

The sky this morning was drizzly and grey, and Blake looked up, grimacing, as raindrop's fell down the back of her collar uncomfortably.

Out here were two or three trucks, currently being loaded up by several burly Saviours, barely any of whom did Blake recognise, bar Dwight, and the tall moustachioed man Simon.

"So a little birdy tells me you're good with a knife," said Negan after a second, suddenly stopping and turning to face Blake, lifting Lucille up and onto his shoulder casually.

Blake looked up at him, coming to a halt herself, and gazing around the lot.

"I'm here aren't I?" she said shaking her head and pursing her lips.

Blake would never consider herself 'good' with a knife, but she could handle herself as well as she needed to out there. And that was always important.

Negan ran his tongue over his white teeth for a moment before dragging his free hand down his long, bearded chin and letting out a faux-sigh.

"Well if I was to give you 'said'-knife," he muttered, his eyes lingering on her. "You gonna promise me you're not gonna slice me in two? Coz I don' think Lucille would appreciate that very much."

He readjusted his grip on his large and imposing baseball bat across his shoulder, raising his eyebrows intimidatingly.

But this only caused Blake to tilt her head, shooting him a frown. "Why would you give me a knife?" she said in a bemused tone, wrinkling her nose.

But Negan just smiled at her.

"Well how the fuck else are you gonna kill those dead fucks out on our run?" he said arching his back as he spoke, before shouting for Dwight, who immediately came running.

Blake stared up at this man….

He was so confusing to her….

"Run?" she said frowning.

Was he seriously letting her leave this place?

Negan held out his hand in Dwight's direction, and Blake could only watch, as the blonde man passed his leader a large knife in a brown-leather pouch.

"So, Doll-face" said Negan, turning back to her once again, his face looking slightly unreadable, his chocolate eyes locking with hers. "You think I can trust you?"

And with that, he held the knife out towards her.

Blake gave a sudden gulp, her gaze fixed on his.

Would she kill him?

Could she kill him?

She wasn't sure anymore…

Almost every instinct she had, told her to run…to get out of there….kill and Negan and get as far away as she could…

But there was one tiny part of her that didn't want to leave his side…not ever.

But Blake shook herself.

Could she kill him if the opportunity reared its head? She could try…for Rick…for Spencer….for Olivia, for Glen, and for Abraham…she would try….she had to try.

Blake slowly nodded, taking the blade from Negan's grasp.

Perhaps with Negan gone…all this would get easier….

Maybe she and David could leave…be together properly again….maybe they could go back to how it was long ago….before the hurtful comments and the bruises.

But she was torn as she stared up at the brown-eyed Saviour.

Did she actually want to kill him?

Negan finally pulled his dark-eyes away from hers and moved over to a nearby truck, just as two of his men (Dwight included) piled into the open back.

Negan pulled open the door to the cab and held it open.

"You're car-poolin' with me, Buttercup," he said lifting his chin and gesturing up towards the passenger's seat.

But Blake gave a bemused smirk, taking a step towards him.

Of course she would be riding shotgun to Negan. Why should have even doubted that for second? Even now with her ability to stab him at any second, the leader of the Saviours still had no fear…

And that, to her, was what made him what he was…..this indescribable, powerful man who had led his people so far to undeniable heights.

Blake chewed on her lip for the slightest of seconds before eyeing him carefully.

But Negan just gazed back at her lazily.

"You gonna make me wait all day, Doll?" he asked her cocking his head back in her direction smirking. "Don't make me ask twice..."

The smirk was a gesture which Blake soon returned, rolling her eyes, before hopping straight up into the cab, placing one foot on the high pedestal leading up there.

She almost for a second expected him to grab her ass as she slid by him, but he obviously refrained. Which she was, of course, grateful for.

But that didn't stop her from shooting him a look as she took a seat and he shut the door on her gently, giving her a chuckle in return and dragging his hand down over his long face, sighing to himself.

Balke placed her knife carefully down beside her and gazed about.

Inside the truck, the cab itself was old and shabby and smelled of stale cigarette smoke….but Blake had smelled worse in this brave, new world….and this only served as a reminder as the truck her uncle used to drive when Blake was just a kid…all tan interior with ripped leather seats. It almost made her smile.

It was no more than a minute later, that Negan joined her, hoping up into the driver's seat of the truck with long legged strides.

He flashed her another grin as Blake leant against the passenger window with her elbow, running her fingers through her caramel blonde hair looking back at him.

He was just so strange to her…so, so different from David….and yet why did Blake's stomach seem to do an automatic backflip every time he looked at her…..or made a smart comment….or in fact did anything in her vicinity.

But Blake chocked this down to nerves. Or course she was nervous of this guy who spent his entire life intimidating others by carrying around a baseball bat he used to bludgeon innocent people to death with.

"So where are we going?" she said, as Negan switched on the engine.

The truck manged to tick over twice before finally bursting into life.

The dark-haired Saviour patted the wheel and tossed Lucille down onto the seat in between them.

"A couple of my men found a store about thirty miles north of here, with what they think could contain a nice little haul. So I just thought we could go out and take a look," Negan uttered as he stepped on the gas slowly and drove the truck from the lot and over towards the now-open gate at the far end of the fence. "Stretch our legs a bit."

Blake worried at her lips with her teeth, looking over at him.

"So why invite me?" she said tilting her head slightly. "You wouldn't let me come with you yesterday."

But Negan just smiled. "Well today is a brand new day, Doll-face," he uttered in a husky tone

But that didn't reveal Negan's MO to Blake.

Why exactly had he changed his mind? She didn't doubt he had something up his sleeve.

She narrowed her eyes in his direction, thinking for a moment.

"So do you invite your wives on runs too?" she asked a little scathingly as they exited the looming back gates of The Sanctuary. "Or am I supposed to feel special?"

But Negan didn't looked back at her, he merely gave a hearty laugh, his eyes on the road ahead.

"You gettin' jealous, Peaches?" he said in a bemused tone. "Because like I said, there is always an open spot for you, if you've changed you mind."

But Blake scoffed, staring out of the window beside her, feeling her face suddenly reddening- for no apparent reason.

"Well, I have David…so…." she murmured in a forced tone, trailing off and giving another pained gulp.

And she was right. She did have David. He was everything to her.

But even so….after last night, it pained her to even utter his name.

"Oh that's right," Negan scoffed. "David, David, David..."

Blake paled suddenly, for Negan's tone had become almost cold at the mention of her fiancé.

She prayed that Eugene had kept his word.

"Well ol' Davey-boy might be your knight in shinin' fuckin' armour, Doll," he remarked, his long fingers sliding their way down the steering wheel as he turned the corner. "But don' think I haven't noticed you ain't wearing a pretty little engagement ring on your finger, as a fuckin' queen like you should be."

At this, Blake almost instantly gulped, her eyes moving down to her own hands suddenly.

It had been four long years since David had proposed to Blake.

He had gone to Blake's Mom to ask permission…and her Mom, unbeknownst to Balke had given him Blake's Grandma's ring to use, passed down from her ownMom long ago. And when he had got down on one knee at dinner in the nice part of town one raining night in April, Blake had been over the moon the moment she had clapped eyes on it. Recognising it instantly.

It had fitted her perfectly and Blake had never felt so utterly loved.

But times had been hard for David…and one day, not long after they had gotten engaged, David had offered to get the ring cleaned for Blake while she was at work…but when she had come home later that night, he had told her he had instead pawned the ring to get some cash for a bachelor party he needed to go to in Cancun…..

But of course, he had insisted he would get it back for her, he had promised….as soon as the cheque from his new sculptural piece came through he would buy it back from the pawn shop…no harm done.….

….but that day….that day never seemed to come…..with excuse after excuse later….

And by the time the world had gone to hell…Blake knew that the ring was probably long gone…

She gulped as she thought about it…her other hand reaching for her ring finger gently.

"I uh…I lost it," she lied…feeling hurt and defensive about the subject.

It was not something Blake liked to dwell over…and even now, she felt herself getting irritable at Negan's incessant nosiness.

"What about your wives, huh?" she said in a hurt tone. "You give all of them diamonds?"

But Negan didn't reply.

In fact, he didn't say another word for a good ten minutes, as the rain began to beat down onto the windscreen...heavy and unrelenting…

The sky had darkened and even through the rain, Blake could see black storm clouds forming overhead.

But after years out there…out in the open with little to no shelter…Blake didn't mind a bit of rain.

She remembered back to the times when she would complain to Laura, her colleague, about having to walk from the bus stop to

the office-building in the rain, in case her high heels got ruined.

Right now she would long for far-off worries such as that…and how silly and trivial they all now seemed.

Life was just not the same any more. She wasn't the same person.

None of them were.

"You enjoy your pizza last night?" asked Negan suddenly after ten long minutes had passed, breaking Blake from her thoughts.

Blake looked over at him, shaking herself, before staring down into her lap.

"Yeah…" she lied, brushing imaginary fluff from her pants. "…it was great."

She had, in fact, only managed a bite or two before David's outburst had sent the whole thing flying across the room and onto the wall and floor.

Blake had been forced to bin most of it, crying on the floor in heap, cleaning the wall as best as she could through her tears.

But Negan seemed satisfied enough with this answer.

But she had in fact never known him to be so quiet.

The silence however, was not an uncomfortable one….which relieved Blake immensely.

Although the silence did give her more time to dwell on David and what had happened…the painful thought alone, making her nervous.

"Well like I said," muttered Negan glancing her way for a slight second. "Whatever you want…you can have, buttercup. You're a queen. And royalty like you deserves whatever she wants…whenever she fuckin' wants it."

This monologue of Negan's, only served to make Blake gulp….and looked over at Negan sadly. Wishing she could tell him exactly what happened. Just wanting someone to talk to.

But Blake didn't get a chance, for with that, Negan leant across and pushed a small cassette into a black tape player in the centre of the truck's console, before Blake could utter a reply.

Suddenly an upbeat song started playing over the stereo. A happy tune that Blake had never heard before. With lyrics talking about an 'easy street'.

Negan turned up the volume, looking over at her and revealing his line of straight, white teeth in a smile.

"My favourite song," he commented with a wide grin, before turning back to the road.

Blake stared at him for a long moment…long after he had looked away, frowning…

….before finally, before she could stop herself letting out a small laugh….and shaking her head…..before finally turning back to the rainy track ahead of them…

…her fingers drumming along the beat of the song, against the leather-clad knife at her side...

........................................

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[godpool]

Rainfall and Sparks

A story following two partners on the last few legs of their mission.

“Laet, I’m going to the gas station,” Evan said as she walked out of the bathroom.

The room was brightly illuminated by the lamps sitting on both sides of the bedside table. Their soft yellow glow casting warmth into the drab grey interior of the hotel room, forming shadows on her companion’s face.

“It’s going to rain soon. Here,” Laet procured a small black umbrella from her travel bag, “take this.”

Evan accepted the umbrella with a small kiss, her long pale body hidden within her oversized sweatpants and jumper. She stood in the centre of the room, overlooking Laet. Her keys and trinkets jingling as she fiddled around in her pocket. “I’ll be on the intercom,” she said as she moved her reddy-brown hair out of her eyes, exposing her thick unkempt eyebrows.

Laet rolled her eyes as she continued to ruffle through her bag. “Could you stop using my underwear? You have your own,” she complained.

“Buy your own,” she shouted as Evan stepped out into the hallway, the sound of her footsteps lessening as the door clicked behind her. The corners of Laet’s mouth twitched upwards.

The room was quiet for only a second before it was awash with the rampant sounds of the daily life of eastern Verde. The sounds of cars aching on past through the peak hour traffic, the abrupt beeping of impatient drivers in the distance and the chirping and cawing of birds milling about in the trees brushing against the open windows.

Laet inhaled deeply as the fresh, earthy air outside seeped into the room. The breeze was cool and kind against her flushed skin. Twisting her mouth, Laet picked up the intercom lying beside her thigh and played with the buttons until came forth the familiar mix of different ringing tones meshed together.

Biiiiiiip… Briiiiiiing…

“Routing your call,” a mechanical voice intoned. Then silence.

“Uhhh, Agent Jugshit in the clear, over,” somebody staggered out. It was an impressive imitation of their coworker back home, Agent Dennis.

A husky voice could be heard on the other side of the intercom, his voice accompanied by the repeated clicking of a keyboard. “Oh shut up, Evan. You couldn’t be me even if you wanted,” Dennis snarked.

A different man snorted and soon, conversation was booming as her coworkers mercilessly teased each other. The two men on the line, Agents Dennis and Isaiah, were monitoring their target’s location all the way back from their home base in Lokaus.

The bickering of her companions faded into background noise as Laet continued to organise her garb for the night ahead. For when they would be called to approach and subdue Simon Kousch, a government operative that went rogue. Paid the Lokaus government's benevolence back with theft.

Laet spent hours on her flight over to Verde imagining what the Golden Eagle could be, and why its retrieval was so vital. Potentially a hard drive containing undisclosed files and unsanctioned cases, Laet mused. Cases like this one, perhaps?

She stood up and sat on the bed, bringing a small audio recorder onto her lap as she untangled its wires. Then again, does it even matter? “Evan, are you there y-?” She was interrupted by the ringing of a store entrance.

“Yeah, I’ve just entered the servo now, actually,” Evan replied distractedly.

There was a lull in the conversation. Laet itched the base of her scalp as she picked up a minuscule brown brick lying beside her clothes. It felt solid and heavy in her grasp, the ridges on its side helping her grip the device with ease. Laet lifted it higher and looked at its curved tip, the rounded glossy edge reflecting her brown face.

She methodically tightened her fingers around the device. A strong buzzing sound erupted from it, causing sparks of brown light to come from within its glossy black tip. Her hand shook from the vibration. She put it down, satisfied. “Just testing the brick,” Laet murmured.

Isaiah hummed in response.

Soon, the crinkling of plastic rang through the intercom. Dennis and Isaiah collectively sighed.

Evan clicked her tongue. “Listen, you signed up for this,” she said. The crinkling intensified. “You knew that working at The Warehouse meant that you could no longer have deliciously sour and savoury junk,” she drawled out, her grin practically transparent through the call.

“Sucks,” Laet said. “How about you get me some sour cream and chives and,” she said dragging the last word, “some Starbursts.”

“The big packet?” said Evan.

Laet scoffed. “When is it not?”

Dennis sighed once more. “Must be nice,” he said glumly.

Laet smiled, able to perfectly envision the sad, gloomy look in Dennis’ eyes as he said that. His elbow resting on the black bench with his palm smooshed into his cheek, his youthful brown skin making the sight all the more pitiful. They could hear Isaiah patting Dennis on the back and Laet rolled her eyes.

The clicking of a mouse rang through as Isaiah spoke up. “We have new intel for you.”

“Our overlords bless us,” Laet deadpanned.

Isaiah continued, “Simon’s at —and make sure you write this down—”

“Give me a second,” Evan muttered. “Alright, shoot.”

“The Hilltop Marquee up in Lower East, room 22 on the fourth floor. You got that down?”

Evan hummed.

Laet frowned. “Marquee?”

“It's a historical thing, I guess,” Dennis said.

“Why now?” Evan’s voice was faint, overshadowed by the tittering and chatter of women near her. They waited as Evan exchanged a few words with somebody before continuing on her way, the ringing of the store door behind her as she stepped back onto the roadside pavement towards their hotel.

“He's in contact with another high-level target,” Isaiah said.

“And that's a bad thing,” Dennis interjected. “You need to subdue Simon this nightfall, as planned.”

Laet picked up a light brown knife and rested it on her forearm, the blade tip near the crook of her elbow. The knife blended in well with her caramel skin, with only the serrated edge glinting.

“I'll send you the digitised perimeter of the area,” Isaiah said.

Laet removed the knife from her arm and leant over the bed, her fingers searching for a thin laptop just underneath. She grasped it and positioned herself back on the bed, the laptop already logged in.

The cursor began to move across the screen without her control and opened an application. It was an animated live feed of outside of the Hotel Marquee. The graphics were limited, comprising primarily of black line drawings and small red circles indicating civilians and hotel staff.

Laet zoomed into the hotel and clicked onto the entrance door of the hotel. The application adjusted itself so that the entirety of the first floor was in frame on the screen. Laet leaned towards the monitor as she scanned the screen. “Would I be foolish to assume that Simon’s indicator is distinct from the non-targets?”

“Yes,” Isaiah affirmed. “His is a yellow star one-point-seven times larger than the other indicators.”

“He's not currently there, but we have eyes on him,” Dennis said. “We expect him to be back later this evening.”

Laet clicked the toolbar up top of the application and the live feed changed to focus onto that of the second floor. Her mouth was pursed as she watched two small red circles walking down a hallway and into what she assumed to be a closet, their indicators coming so close together they almost appeared to merge into one. “He's in for a world of hurt tonight,” Laet muttered.

“That he definitely is,” Evan said softly.

Silence fell once more on the intercom.

The rain was not ideal. The sun had long gone past the horizon, leaving only dark blue skies blanketing above them. Harsh winds pelted raindrops against the sides of their face, the seeping chill of the rain distracting the women. But this was what they’d been working towards for months. They were tougher than smack of the raindrops, or the biting sting of the wind against their fingers and eyes.

The gravel below them gleamed with water and mud, their footsteps creating small splashes as Evan and Laet slunk towards the rear of the Hilltop Marquee. They inched towards the back, warily eyeing the small cliff adjacent to the hotel that leads down to a murky abyss.

This side of the hotel was empty. There were a few lights embedded in the wall barely illuminating the small stone steps underneath various grey doors. There were dozens of small balconies peering towards the sea overhead. Their intricate spiral design almost lost in the darkness.

Laet adjusted the cuffs on her glove before walking towards the building, raising her head as she regarded the balcony above her. They were fairly high above ground, almost double the height of Evan. “Anybody in there?” Laet asked. “We’re looking at the second floor, room 4.”

There was a brief pause of static on the intercom before Isaiah responded. His voice was clipped. “All clear.”

Evan cracked and released the pressure in her knuckles before bending her knees, jumping high into the air before grabbing the railing. Her arms were pressed flush against her body as she held herself up with only her hands, her feet finding anchorage on the balcony floor before throwing a leg and manoeuvring herself over it onto both feet.

Laet followed suit and jumped after her, her right hand slipping on the slick metal railing. She immediately grabbed at the horizontal bar underneath the top railing, gritting her teeth as her hand began slipping once more. Her left hand tightened in place as she swung her feet beneath her, using the momentum to heave her feet right at the edge of the balcony. Tightening her grip once more, Laet hauled herself upright until both hands were clutching the rail and threw herself over.

Evan simply tilted her head as Laet faced, causing Laet to flush. Those farting gloves.

Laet opened her mouth to speak before coming to a halt as Evan pulled down the lip of her scarf and wiped away at the trickle of snot slinking down and pooling into her philtrum. “You’re disgusting,” Laet grimaced before looking inside the room through the glass balcony door.

As she moved away from the direct wind and rainfall, Laet noticed the slight static in the intercom. “Isaiah? Can you still hear me?”

The time it took until Isaiah next spoke was uncomfortably long. “Yeah, I can. The system is getting a bit garbled, so bear with me.”

“Is the third floor clear, either room 10 or 11?” Evan asked as she played with the straps of her backpack crisscrossing over her stomach.

The static continued as Isaiah’s voice peeked through, unusually small. “All clear.”

The two followed each other upwards, angling their body over the edge of the hotel as they stood atop the balcony. They climbed onto the third floor, using the horizontal rails to inch upwards, their feet dangling freely in the air.

The two were grinning as they twisted themselves over the railing and onto solid ground. “That was some straight up spy shit,” Evan laughed.

Laet playfully nudged at her before resting her backside on the railing, asking once more: “Fourth floor, room 25?”

“Negative. Go to room 24,” Isaiah replied, his voice warbling in and out.

The static then went out, along with sound completely on the intercom. Evan and Laet looked at each other, their eyes wide at the silence in their ear. Laet lifted up the edge of her beanie and tapped at the intercom, half expecting it to turn back on.

Evan knelt down and unclasped the buckles of her backpack and placed it on a section of dry pavement. She opened the smallest zipper in the front and withdrew a small mobile-like device, then stuck her intercom into a small output parallel to the screen. The screen came alit, displaying various numbers and symbols.

“What’s wrong with it?” Laet asked as she peered towards the ground, keeping guard. She whipped her head as light shone through the curtains of the room to their left, room 26.

Evan’s fingers continued sliding on the screen, her gaze briefly flickering to the room now alive with people. “I don’t know,” Evan said slowly.

The hair on Laet’s arms stood up at that. Technology was not an area she excelled at or had any desire to, preferring to leave that to the others while she focused on the more physical nature of her job. But it was during times like this that Laet wished she’d bit the bullet and learnt all she could about the equipment she would be using. This time I swear I’ll actually do it, Laet promised.

Evan soon retracted the intercom from the device and placed it snugly back into her ear. She returned the device and took out a small tablet in its place, quickly readjusting the backpack around her body. “It’s out for good,” Evan said. “I can’t connect back to the base.”

“We don’t even know what we’re looking for!” Laet said in a hushed whisper. “Shit!” She pictured herself kicking her foot in frustration, imagining the painful vibration reverberating up her leg and into her hip, hearing the sole of her boot grating against pavement. She kept still.

“We’re going to have to go on without them.” Evan fiddled around with the tablet until the live feed of the hotel was on the display. “Gotta jump the next two balconies to get to Simon.” Evan strode to the end of the balcony and gestured forward. “We’ll capture him and transport him to a safe location until we can contact  The Warehouse.”

Laet wrapped a hand above Evan’s elbow as she started making her way over the railing. “This is not a good idea, we can’t just go off script-” Laet hesitated as Evan gave her a look, her hand slowly sliding off, “-not to this degree. The extraneous variables are off the charts.”

Evan lowered her scarf and sighed, a small cloud of warm air rising between them. She stepped closer, her eyes beseeching for Laet to reason. “We’ve had to abort missions so many times, Laet, this will get us fucking nixed. We can’t let him escape again, they’ll ruin us.”

“So what are we going to do once we’ve gotten him? What then?”

“We’ll improvise, just like we’ve been taught to.”

Laet remained silent, her eyes trained heavily on the other woman’s. She could hear the sound of an emergency vehicle wailing past the hotel and down the street, along with the crashing of the waves nearby. She pressed her lips together, rolling it before stepping back. “Okay,” she murmured.

Nodding, Evan lowered her scarf further and placed the tablet between her lips, stepping over the fence and onto to the edge of the balcony. The balcony of room 24 was about five meters away, not absurdly far at all, giving Evan all the more assurance to leap over with Laet following behind. The rushing of the wind masked their presence.

The doors of this balcony were closed yet the transparent curtains revealed the happenings inside. Laet spared them a glance, finding an older man and woman dancing together at the foot of their bed, the soft hum of instrumentals wafting out from the room. Evan and Laet didn’t bother crouching as they passed the wide doors, knowing that the intensity of the light inside the room would conceal them against the darkness of the night.

They were soon huddled at the balcony door of room 22, the gritty wall flush against their backs. Evan held the tablet as she glanced at the screen once more, her brows coming together at the star indicator’s sporadic movement on the live feed.

The blinds were closed, but again this meant little as the light from Simon’s quarters spilt out across the balcony, leaving two triangular slivers of darkness. Evan peeked into the room and saw a man, Simon, hunched over at the side of his bed. “He’s got his back turned,” she whispered. Evan gestured her head towards the other side of the door and waited as Laet got into position.

She looked once more inside to make sure Simon was not facing them, and when clear, stood up from her crouch to reach for the handle, opening the door just a fraction. The two women stared inside as he got up off the floor and shoved a vintage mobile phone into the backpack he was clutching. This continued for many minutes, with Evan and Laet readying to enter the room only for Simon to face the balcony.

Finally, as Simon’s bag was filling up and the room became emptier, Simon ducked down underneath the computer desk and started meticulously rooting around in the rubbish can.

Evan swung the door open, the hinges of the door easing along, allowing Laet slip in unnoticed. Evan kept silent as the static on the intercom suddenly returned, albeit almost mute, watching as Laet stalked up to Simon. She closed the door behind herself, the soft thudding of the door causing him to turn and fall onto his backside in alarm.

Laet kicked the underside of his jaw before he could register, sending him to the floor clutching his face. “Argh!” he groaned, before twisting left of Laet’s lunge, quickly getting onto his feet.

A smiling Evan greeted him with a sweep of the legs, causing him to stumble back onto the bed. As Evan approached him, he kicked out his legs and slammed into her torso before rolling over to the other side of the bed, only to find himself flanked. Laet was scowling as she faced him, her fingers twitching on the grip of her small brown brick.

Simon felt Laet kick his groin, leaving him to clutch at the metal cup between his thighs for only a second. So much for being prepared, he berated himself. He could see her eyebrows raising in surprise before she smacked the side of his head, leaving him disoriented.

Fingers gripped at his loose turquoise t-shirt from behind, digging painfully into the soft flesh of his neck as he was pushed back on the bed. Laet quickly straddles his thighs, restraining his movement, a stony expression on her face.

Simon gazed wretchedly into her eyes as Laet forcefully pressed the brick into his chest and squeezed the grip, watching detachedly as the glossy tip came to life, sending powerful sparks into his body. His body twitched violently underneath her but Laet kept the sparks going, stopping only when Simon fell unconscious.

Laet retracted her grip and glanced up at Evan. “Live feed?” As she was sliding off his limp body, the intercom in both their ears ringing static at a lower pitch.

They both whipped their gazes to each other as the volume of the static descended and eventually Isaiah’s voice penetrated through. “-....Agents, come in. Can you hear me?”

“Yes! Yes, we can hear you,” Evan responded immediately, relief plastered over her face.

Laet pulled off her scarf and parka, the heat of the room slowly suffocating her. “We’ve subdued Simon, and we’re in the clear,” she said. “We need to know what we’re looking for, buddy.”

Isaiah was furiously clicking away on his keyboard, “you’re looking for three small gold balls.”

“Real small,” a foreign voice piped in.

Laet and Evan exchanged a confused look.

“They’re identical, golden balls that have irregular spiralled edges,” Isaiah said.

Evan began digging through his backpack, gingerly taking out Simon’s clothing and inspecting it. Laet focused her attention on Simon, patting him down before removing his clothing.

“Who would’ve guessed,” Laet said softly.

Evan’s eyes flickered to Laet, keeping silent.

The two continued on for a while, with Evan filling in Isaiah and the foreign voice, a lady called Maria, on the happenings during their disconnect, watching as Laet grew frustrated as she finished her search on Simon. Laet eventually moved onto checking the bathroom for the Golde- balls, when Evan looked over Simon’s body once more. His t-shirt was bunched into a ball nesting in the crook of his neck along with his mismatching socks, his belt buckle not yet re-clasped.

The pads of Evan’s fingers ghosted across Simon’s torso, searching for any irregular protrusions. Her fingers inched up his pectoral muscle, her index finger ghosting over the indent of his armpit. A slight bump.

Evan kept her finger still as she marked the area with a waterproof marker from her backpack. She could hear the hollow thud of the toilet seat falling down and its following clink as Laet repositioned it back up. Didn’t think it’d play out like this, she thought grimly as she bent over and unsheathed a syringe on her calf.

She breathed in deeply, drowning her thoughts out with white noise as she turned around and stalked towards Laet.

It was early morning by the time Laet came to, judging by the pale blue sunlight streaming into the room. She tried to turn around but was stopped by a sharp, stinging pain on the side of her neck. Laet lifted her head and tentatively touched the source of the pain, surprised when her fingers come back free of blood.

Every muscle in her body was cramping as Laet blearily threw her legs over the side of the bed, and groggily took in the cold tray of food before her. Beside her feet lay her weapons and a busted recorder rested upon her parka and scarf. That’s when it all came rushing back to her.  

Simon. The Golden Eagle. Evan.

Evan.

Laet jumped up and grabbed her serrated knife, cautiously surveying the hotel room. Empty. Just… cold empty rooms. The tiles were cold underfoot as Laet stepped into the bathroom, noticing the lack of toiletries or mess near the sink. All the cupboards were empty. The floor was clean and nothing was left underneath the bed.

She swallowed painfully as her fingertips eased around the sliding door of the wardrobe. Her heart was in her throat for a single second at the brief glimpse of something in the wardrobe. Yet that something turned out to simply be coat racks and their corresponding plastic jackets.

It was then that it really sunk in. Laet kicked the door in frustration, refusing to acknowledge the hurt encompassing her.

She could feel her skin itching underneath her sweaty clothes, eager to tear apart her own skin. Despairing thoughts desperately trying to squeeze out of her tear ducts and onto the mess she was stuck in. Instead, Laet untied the messy bun holding her permed hair, ignoring her sick desire to pull at the strands until they fall loose, and pulled it into a taut ponytail. Don’t lose it.

Laet turned around to eye the meal on the table. The adrenaline she initially felt was waning so all she could do was stare at the tray of food before her. It was was a small dish of fūl - Evan’s favourite food. Said it reminded her of home, of better days- paired with Lebanese bread and small saucers of dips, one of which she knew was hummus.

What stole her attention, however, was a small piece of paper isolated on the far side of the tray. She would recognise that scrawny writing even on her deathbed. That brought her pause.

Laetti,

I’m sorry. 

446 350 846 090

Growling, Laet scrunched up the paper and rocketed it towards the bin. Her lip curled as the sheet twirled around above the bin before gliding to the floor, meters away from the bin.

She fell onto the bed, her hands covering her face. Betrayal radiated from her chest and coursed through her body, turning hurt into anger, anger back into hurt, and hurt into numbness.

She lay like that for some time. The light outside intensifying and casting a golden glow into the room, memories of the last few months playing unbidden in her mind. Looking for signs that she missed.

Laet eventually roused from her detached state with an old familiarity, halfheartedly grasping at her bundle of stuff on the floor. After righting the equipment and concealing it underneath her clothes, Laet placed the intercom into her ear and dialled for The Warehouse.

Briiiiiiing…

Weird not hearing two dial tones.

“Routing your-,”

The Warehouse immediately connected to the call, cutting off the automated robot. “Agent Laet, please update us on the current events,” Dennis demanded.

Laet steeled her back but could not control the wavering of her brows, desperate to furrow. “Agent Evan is a threat. She incapacitated me last night as we were searching Simon’s hotel quarters. Both Simon and Agent Evan are unaccounted for, along with all his belongings and the Golden Eagle.”

She could hear Dennis, along with other members of their team cursing in the background.

“I’ll need an extraction team. I don’t know what she’s playing at, or if she’s working for somebody, what they’re working at. I’ll discuss things further when I get back. Just make sure I can see The Doctors as soon as possible,” Laet finished. She rubbed a hand over her face, the crusts in her eyes scraping at her skin and causing her to wince.

“Done,” Dennis said. His voice took on an odd lilt, laced heavily with concern, “what damage did you sustain?”

“She injected me with something that induced sleep extremely quickly. My neck is absolutely sore and I feel like I’ve fallen off a cliff onto a very unreceptive rock,” Laet said tiredly.

“Just get back to the airport, we’ll deal with everything else,” an unfamiliar young voice said. He sounded young, his both friendly and confident.

Laet frowned at the young man, unable to shake the feeling that nothing good awaited her back home at Lokaus. “Okay,” she said keeping her voice steady. “I’ll see you guys later.” Click.

With nothing left to do, Laet simply stared at the front door before moving to the side. She grabbed the scrunched up piece of paper lying on the floor and hid it inside the pocket of her parka, refusing to acknowledge the implications of what she was doing.

She quickly descended to the first floor, hiding her face from the lobby cameras as she left the hotel. The sun was high in the air and there was laughter and chattering amongst the small crowd. Laet prayed her heart would turn to stone as she walked alongside families, grieving a life she had lost before she could even experience it.

[from-red-string]

Not all wanders are lost

Day 2 - Lutteo ficweek

For you who read first day, no angst. Sorry. Not everyday can be an angst.

I hope you to enjoy it.

That fic will have continuation after the fic week, so I really hope you enjoy it haha

Ps: Thank you Ale @silveranchor for proofreading. You did an amazing work. Also, thanks to M @lunambar, you know why.

Prompt:  You are just sneaking into my house definitely too late for you to be here and my parents have no idea, what were you thinking?

Luna is doing her homework, or trying to, since math is not really Luna’s thing. She truly hates it and wishes she didn’t have to take this class. Why does she need to know “(log47 + log183) sen 75”? She can't even understand the reason someone felt the urge to create “log”.

Also, there’s physics. She can understand the reason behind someone's need to know the minimum gape to make a shot from an airplane to reach the enemy. But why does she need to know how to calculate it? They are teaching her how to compute it as if she even knew how to pilot an airplane already or as if she had any intention of actually being an army pilot.

Breathe deep, Luna. You still have two years left before you go to college and study what makes sense to you.

So her best friend is coming to help her out. It's already late, but Simón couldn't do it earlier. Simón is Luna's best friend since Mexico, so she would trust him with pretty much anything, although she doesn't want to know what had kept him occupied until midnight. Simón’s shift at the restaurant ended at 7 pm, the last 5 hours are a secret that Luna isn't willing to uncover.

Some noises coming from the window draw Luna's attention, Simón has probably arrived. So she gets up and opens the window without bothering to look at her friend coming in, sitting back on her bed. When she looks to the person standing in her room, she discovers she’s made a mistake.

“You are not Simon. What the hell?” Luna shouts standing up and grabbing the first thing she can reach: her lampshade. “Who are you? Why are you in here?” She tries to pull the lampshade forward but its wire is plugged on the wall, so Luna simply pretends she is capable of throwing it at the guy if he makes any sudden move.

“I'm Simón’s friend?” The guy says hesitantly, as if he believes that if she was awaiting this ‘Simón’, being somehow connected to him would ease her. Instead of what he expected, Luna’s reaction is raising her eyebrows and shaking the lampshade as a reminder of what could be thrown in his direction anytime soon. He protects his face with his arms. “Okay. I'm Matteo.” Luna doesn't move at his words, still holding the object, watching her target. “Matteo Balsano. Now you know my full name to tell the cops if you want to,” He clarifies, Luna puts her arms down, letting the lampshade on the table. Matteo smirks. “Or if you need to stalk me online.”

The next second, Matteo sees a colorful bracelet flying in his direction, well not exactly in his direction since Luna misses his person and the bracelet ends hitting the wall. He wouldn't have been afraid if he knew she had that bad of an aim, he thinks, looking at the bracelet on the ground. When he turns back to look at Luna, he isn't able to even see what is flying his way, just feel when it hits his forehead. This time Luna didn't miss at all, perhaps it was too fast, but she doesn't care, she is happy to prove herself.

“Matteo Balsano.” Luna tests how it sounds. She doesn't regret throwing the little wooden box. Maybe she regretted it when it hit Matteo’s forehead, but just a bit. She can't feel bad for hitting the unknown guy who sneaked into her room. “Matteo, now answer the other question.”

“What?” Matteo asks both confused and scared. She threw a box at him and doesn't seem to even slightly regret this! And it's hurting a lot! That crazy chick. He knew he wouldn't be exactly welcome breaking into a place, but if he knew he would’ve been received with a flying box, he would’ve kept running.

“Why are you in my room, Matteo?” She repeats the question, and his name. Luna likes how his name sounds. Matteo likes hearing his name in her voice.

“I was running and your window was the fastest way I could get in.” Matteo answers, taking his hand to his the forehead. No blood, good thing.

“Running? You were doing a night jog and decided today was as good as any to sneak into some random window?” Luna exclaims confused. She sees pain on his face and starts feeling bad.

“Not that kind of running.” He tells her in low voice. It takes less than a second for her previous feelings of guiltiness to vanish and realize what Matteo means.

“Out!” Luna shouts, reaching out her hand to pick the lampshade again. “Get out!” Her eyes focus on Matteo.

“Girl, chill,” Matteo says trying to calm her down, she seems to be freaking out.

“Chill?” Luna’s eyes widen. “You were running away. Running from the police. And I need to chill?”

“I never said it was from the police.” He only says it in defense. Matteo isn't sure if it's possible, but Luna's eyes widen more. He gets pretty worried about the girl’s condition, she wasn't acting quite normal before that answer, her next reaction might be more dangerous.

“No cops?” She asks, not waiting for an answer before babbling, “So the bad guys are after.”

Matteo doesn't even have enough time to analyze how cute the crazy girl is, calling the guys that were after him bad guys like they were in some kind of movie.

“Luna! Open the door.” Her dad comes through the door. “Is everything okay?” Luna paces towards the door, then back to where Matteo stands.

“Stay quiet!” She whispers, pushing him to the wall behind the door, setting a finger on her lips, ordering silence. Luna opens the door. “Dad, hi! It's all okay. See?” Luna tells her dad quickly.

“Your mom heard you speaking. Luna, who were you talking to?” Miguel says, stepping into the room. Luna panics.

“Simón. On the phone,” Luna exclaims, getting in her dad’s way. “Dad, he’s waiting.” She smiles to him.

“Okay. But finish it soon. It's already late, you have to go to bed.” Miguel steps back. “Or don't shout anymore so your mom doesn't send me here again.” Luna giggles at Miguel’s words, plus his failed attempt of winking with only one eye. Her dad leans and kisses her forehead. “ Goodnight, little moon. Tell Simón I said hi.” Luna nods, and he is already gone, she closes the door, freeing Matteo.

Matteo thinks her dad is pretty cool, his dad would never show up just to say goodnight. Matteo also notices that name showed up again, Simón. This boy must really important in her life if her dad knows him or doesn't care that they were talking this late. Maybe he’s her boyfriend. That thought isn't very pleasant for Matteo, jealousy rushes through his body.

He shakes his head. He is jealous of this girl he just met, he doesn't even know her name. Oh, wait, he knows. He heard her dad calling her by a name: Luna.

“Little moon?” From all the things running inside his mind, that is what slips through his lips. “Luna.” He tells himself. Luna stares in shock, noticing he knows her name, then remembers her dad had used it. She eyes his face and sees that the spot where the box struck has swollen up.

“Your forehead. What did I do? I surely shouldn't care, but I do,” Luna says, trying to analyze his freshly formed bruise. She is too short for it so she needs to stand on her tiptoes to see it better. “Even though you definitely deserved it.” She sets her hands on his shoulders to gain balance.

Her eyes fall on his, and she feels like she can’t look away. Matteo panics so bad, he doesn't know what to do; it's like he has never been this close to any girl before. The worst is he can't do what he wants to do with her, she has a boyfriend.

“My eyes have this amazing ability, they change color depending on my coolness levels.” Matteo says descending his eyes to her lips. Luna frowns. “See that exact brown on my eyes right now? This is the shade at a maximum level.” He was already staring at her eyes. “I've never seen them change.”

Luna wishes she was capable of keeping a straight face, but she fails so bad, bursting into laughter. She believes now that Matteo is a regular guy or else he wouldn't be nervous at the point of saying something so nonsensical. All her fear and rage have passed, and she can clearly observe how cute he is. Meaning she can admit it to herself. When she first saw him standing there, his looks were already appreciated and rated as ‘pretty damn ass too cute for this world’, but this she can't admit.

A random guy breaks into your room at midnight and your first thought is he is so hot in that plain white t-shirt. Nope, Luna would never say that happened.

When Matteo sees Luna laughing, getting back on her bare feet, her nails carefully painted in red, shoulders shaking and her big green eyes closed, he thinks maybe the universe put some weird kind of luck in this night, between all the chaotic mess that was tonight, somehow it brought him to Luna, and he is hugely glad for the coincidence.

He just wishes a plain white t-shirt, black ripped jeans and combat boots wasn't his outfit for that night. It lacks style, certainly not his perfect choice for a first meeting. It's not fair that he looks so careless when Luna, wearing some unicorn pjs with the phrase ‘When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a unicorn. A badass unicorn’ written on it looks preciously awes-inspiring.

Although the plan had asked for this outfit. Well it was Ámbar, not the plan, but anyway, the important thing is he choose to obey it.

“Okay, Matteo,” Luna says smiling. Her mind order her lips to restrain themselves and stop smiling, but something stronger doesn't allow it. “Do you care to explain why you needed to run?” She asks, turning her back to Matteo, pacing toward the bed. Perhaps without him on her sight it will be easier to follow her mind’s orders.

He got in front of her. Matteo, boy, you are not making it any easier for Luna.

“Yes, I care.” Matteo fakes a serious tone. “Anything that I say can put you in more danger,” He mocks setting a hand on her cheek. “You are already in enough danger because I'm in here with you.”

Luna gasps. Matteo tries to keep his face straight but starts laughing.

“Jerk!” Luna yells slapping Matteo's chest.

“Your parents!” Matteo whispers loudly, somehow.

“I don't care!” She nearly yells as loud as before. “I hope…” Luna’s words are hushed by Matteo's lips. In a sudden move, their lips are connected, his arms embracing her waist. A warm touch they didn't know they wished for, but when it happens they realize they actually needed it.

As most things in life, the unexpected factor that surrounds the kiss makes it better, more remarkable, and they are already sure they will have trouble forgetting the kiss. But that's tomorrow's problem.

Something about it makes Luna's stomach tickle, she feels like smiling for no reason. On the back of her mind, a thought appears: they were an item about to happen, although it’d had no warning, it was simply just growing to be whatever it would be, it being something or nothing. They are here for now.

Surprisingly to Matteo, Luna gives into the kiss, putting her hands on his hair, entangling her fingers in his short curls. Matteo takes that as encouragement to take the next step. He bites her bottom lip, slipping his tongue, asking before deepening the kiss, she doesn’t stop him. Then their tongues starts exchanges caresses.

Luna feels Matteo smiling during the kiss, the urge of smiling coming to her too, and also the question ‘What the hell am I doing?’

Her eyes open she hadn’t even realized when she closed them, and she pushes him away, setting a hand on her lips, already missing the contact with his soft lips. Matteo is in shock, struggling with the absence of the contact between them, feeling lost. Soon, he comes into his mind, understanding what happened. He starts wondering why this reaction, since she seemed to be enjoying it as much as he was. But he has to do the first logical thing for when a girl is mad with you.

“I’m sorry,” Matteo apologizes, even if he doesn't know exactly why. When his eyes find Luna's, he finds the answer he was searching for. “Simón? Your boyfriend. I'm sorry…” He sets his hands on top of his eyes. For a moment he forgot what was the barrier, why he couldn't kiss her.

“ Yeah, Simón…” Luna pales, exclaiming it and her eyes widening. She completely forgot her best friend is coming. Actually he should be here already. She looks for her phone on the bed, picking it up. “Shit!”

12:47 am

No new notifications. 0 new messages. No missed calls. Nothing about Simón.

“Look, I know you have a boyfriend and you feel guilty. You didn't want to cheat on him,” Matteo explains, shaking his hand as if this would make Luna understand better what he is saying, but for Luna he just seems extremely nervous, and she is definitely not wrong. He opens his mouth a few times, not sure what to say next. “What I meant is…” He takes a deep breath, Luna stares at him, blinking eventually. “It's my fault, not yours. I kissed you.” Matteo looks away, not being able to handle how awkward he is in this situation.

“Boyfriend?” That was the only question that Luna could ask after his blabbing.

“Simón?” Matteo replies. He is hyperventilating here, he believes he never felt something like it, he seems to not be able to reach the air he needs, and at the same he seems to have too much oxygen.

“My best friend,” She answers confused and tilts her head to the left. Matteo is still unsure.

“Who has a free pass to your room? Even late at night?”

“To help me with math, yes.” Luna points to her books on the bed. Matteo rolls his eyes at himself: he noticed the color of her toes’ fingernails, but didn't notice the textbooks on her bed? What's wrong with him?

“If you don't have a boyfriend, why did you push me away?” Matteo asks, clueless about what could be on Luna's mind. He is absolutely sure he will never be able to completely get this, but he is willing to try.

“Because you are so flawless that for someone to simply reject you, the person must be insane. Right, Mister Ego?” Luna states without thinking twice, she sees Matteo's eyebrows raise in way that they almost join his hair, then a smirk appears on his face. Luna is sure she doesn't want to hear what he is about to say. So when he opens his mouth, Luna interrupts, “ You are just the random guy who sneaked into my room…”

“Matteo.” He needs her to have his name engraved on her memory, he can't be the only one who will not forget the other’s name, the exact shade of green of her eyes, her small size, her. He needs her to remember him.

“Matteo, just the random guy who sneaked into my room in the middle of the night,” Luna repeats.

“The guy who is leaving,” Matteo replies, eyeing his phone and walking to the window.

“What? Matteo!” Luna follows him, thinking Matteo is mad at her, she didn't want to upset him even though she’d told him the truth. Her hand takes his to stop him.

“I need to leave now, my lady,” He jokes, kissing her hand; she pulls it back. He laughs. “Ámbar Just texted it’s all clear right now. So I really have to go.”

“Ámbar?” Luna whispered.

“Ámbar Smith.” Matteo answers before even thinking, then he figures he shouldn't have told the name to Luna; he ignores the sense of wrongness. He already has a leg out of the window.

“Wait, can you at least tell me what you did before you go?” She asks, truly curious about what drove Matteo there that night. Secretly, Luna wanted to know the reason that lead him to her.

“Justice,” It's the last thing Matteo says before disappearing outside. Luna gasps. This can't be the last she will ever hear of his voice. Maybe she could ask his number? No, that would be weird. But she needs something, she can't lose track of Matteo like they never met. Matteo Balsano is something to her, she doesn't know fully what yet, but she can't… She knows his name, that's a start, she can google it.

Damn, she will be doing exactly what he told her, stalking him online.

“Will we see each other again?” She wasn't able to retain herself from running to her window to ask. Her heart beating fast seeing Matteo already on the ground, ready to leave. Matteo turns, smirking at her from the ground. That smirk will surely settle in her dreams for a while.

“Maybe.” Matteo takes a few steps back so he can see Luna better, standing on her window. He wants to record this scene and freeze it on his mind: Luna on her window, her big green eyes locked on his, her brown messy hair falling around her face, her teeth holding her pink bottom lip, an act she probably doesn’t even realize she is doing and, of course, the unicorn pajama she's wearing. That was an awe striking image for Matteo and Luna doesn't even imagine she’s the focus of so much admiration. “Although, I know where you live,” He exclaims and then runs, leaving a motionless Luna behind. He doesn’t leave her with any other option than to stalk him.

Luna shakes her head, slowly closing the window, and after shutting the curtains too, Luna almost runs to her phone. 2 messages from Simón.

Simón: Sorry, Luna. Something held me up when I was on my way to your house.

Simón: A blonde girl stopped me all of the sudden on the street. It got me distracted.

She is about to answer him when she sees he’s still typing.when the text arrives, her eyes widen in shock.

Simón: Ámbar Smith. Do you know her??

[looneylooomis]

Maneater (Simon) Smut One Shot

Love me some Hall & Oates and love me a lot of Negans right-hand man! 💦 So I thought I’d delve deep into my ever present ocean of thirst and dish out some Simon smutty goodness! Listening to “Maneater” by the aforementioned Hall & Oates on repeat really helped set the tone. Enjoy and let me know what y'all think! 😉

“She’ll only come out at night The lean and hungry type”

There she was again.

Lean body wrapped up tight in a sinful crimson dress, leaving her long legs exposed except for black studded ankle boots. Wavy chestnut locks stopping just above the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Where just enough of her ample cleavage teased invitingly as she sipped on her rum & coke. Seemingly ignoring all the other men around her, those big brown eyes set on him.

“Nothing is new, I’ve seen her here before Watching and waiting”

Her name was Fiona. He remembered his buddy Negan telling him while they cleaning up after hours one night.

“That’s Fiona Haven. She’ll eat you up and spit you the fuck out.” Negan chuckled, clapping his friend on the back “Best be to tread the fuck lightly with that one, Si. She’s a troublemaker.”

"She’s sitting with you but her eyes are on the door So many have paid to see What you think you’re getting for free The woman is wild, a she-cat tamed by the purr of a Jaguar”

He wasn’t intent on building up a relationship anyway, so what could it hurt. He liked to play with fire. Sometimes getting burned was worth it.

“Money’s the matter If you’re in it for love you ain’t gonna get too far”

Finishing up drying a glass behind the bar, he put down the dishrag and walked over to her. Leaning on his elbows against the bar’s surface, he addressed her. “Hey Sweetheart, can I get you anything else?”

“It depends really.” She drawled, a lovely rasp in her voice. “What are you offering-”

“-Simon. The owner of this fine establishment.” He finished for her.

“Fiona. Thirsty patron.” She smiled in a way that made him weak in the knees.

“Oh here she comes Watch out boy she’ll chew you up”

“Well it’s just about closing time, my last employee just cleared out the rest of the stragglers and clocked out. How about you and I down a couple of shots and go from there?” Simon suggested, his eyes trailing up and down from what he could see of her body from over the counter.

“Oh here she comes She’s a maneater”

“Sounds enticing, but shots of what exactly?” She feigned a pondering look, a dainty finger pressed against her lips.

“Well, I’ve always been more of a tequila man.”

“Oh here she comes Watch out boy she’ll chew you up”

They were drunk off each other.

Completely consumed.

“Oh here she comes”

She roughly pushed him up against the back of the wall of his office. Fiona unfastened his belt buckle and yanked his pants down. She looked back up at Simon, a crazed almost desperate look in her lust blown eyes. Grabbing hold of his throbbing shaft, she kept her gaze strictly on his. Biting down on her lip, she let out a moan at the sight of pleasure coloring his rugged yet handsome features.

Fuck, she wanted him.

Fiona bite down hard piercing her bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood. She was going to swallow this man w h o l e.

Grabbing his chin, she pulled him in, locking lips in a steamy kiss. His mustache, rough against her face.

Pulling back slightly, she breathed into his mouth “You’re gonna fuck this mouth with that beautifully thick cock of yours. And then shove it right into my tight wet cunt as I ride the shit out of you. I’m gonna make you scream, Tiger.”

“She’s a maneater”

With a quick lick of his face, not giving him a chance to respond as she was already down on her knees. Mouth fully encasing his cock, eliciting a hiss from Simon. His hips bucking towards her face.

She managed a fierce grip of his ass with both hands to keep her steady while simultaneously coping a fantastic feel of his merchandise. She moaned around his cock, the vibrations making his eyes roll back.

Fiona continued covering every inch of his member in her mouth, exhilarated in the fact that his hips excitedly met her face close up with each of his thrusts.

“Oh..shit Fi…I ain’t gonna last if you keep this up.” Simon groaned as she continued her delicious assault on him.

Suddenly, he gripped the back of her hair and pushed her into him. Shoving every inch of him down her throat making her gag.

She fucking loved it.

Letting go of her, his cock popped out from her mouth smacking against his stomach. Simon pulled her to her feet and pushed her into the wall. Her hands bracing herself against the cool surface.

“I wouldn’t if I were you”

Simon grabbed her hips grinding his against hers roughly. The feeling of his throbbing dick against the curve of her ass was enough to make her whimper.

Hearing the sounds coming out of that sinful mouth, he pulled the zipper to her dress down harshly, almost ripping it off her. Growled at the sight of no panties, rubbing his length in between the folds of her drenched sex.

“I want a taste of you, Sugar.” He rasped hoisting her up and onto his desk, the contents shoved out of sight. “Let me see if you taste as sinful as you look right now.”

Getting on his knees, her legs already spread, putting her on full display to him. He nearly came at the sight. He licked up thighs reaching her drenched opening with utter delight. He lightly teased along her lips, before fucking her core with his tongue.

Desperate for a deeper penetration, she mirrored his earlier actions. She snatched the back of his head, and grinder her aching core along that mouth of his. His mustache adding a whole new toe-curling kind of friction while his tongue plunged deeper as she ground shamelessly into his face.

Reluctantly pulling back, Simon stood up. Stroking himself, he leaned in hard against her. Kissing along the curves of her breasts, sucking and biting them needily.

Leaving a mixture of her juices & his saliva trailing up her neck, before fixating on licking along the shell of her ear.

“Shit…Fi, you’re absolutely drenched. You want me to shove my big cock in this pussy of yours?” He growled in her ear, tapping his member against her opening making her moan loudly.

“I know what she can do”

As much as she wanted to scream “yes take me now!!!”, Fiona was dead set on being the one in charge.

With a growl of her own and a surprised grunt from Simon, she pushed him back. Forcing him down in his office chair, she kicked off her ankle boots. Thus leaving her completely bare.

She held on to his shoulders, legs straddling him. His cock pulsating against her wet folds.

“I think you asked that question backwards, big man. Pretty sure you meant to ask if I could slam this pussy down on that fat cock of yours.” She said huskily, grinding against throbbing member. Her juices mixing with his pre-cum.

“Jesus H. Christ, Fiona. Just ride the fuck outta me.” Simon said impatiently, his cock desperate for release. “..Please babe.”

“That’s a good good boy.” With a wink, she pushed down taking in all of him. Both of them letting out pleasured moans as he stretched her walls.

Growing accustomed to the intrusion, Fiona started to up her pace.

Hips snapping back and forth to the point she was bouncing on his length. Their moans filling the room.

“You like that baby? You love it when I squeeze the fuck outta this dick with my pussy?” She moaned out with a snap of her hips. “You gonna cum hard in my mouth, Si? I wanna swallow you whole.”

“She’s deadly man, and she could really rip your world apart”

“Ah fuck, Fiona…fucking know I love it. Gonna fill that dirty mouth with my fucking cum.” Simon grunted out as Fiona nibbled on his ear.

Deep hot heat pooling in her lower abdomen was signaling the beginnings of her orgasm. Thus making her ride all the more frantic.

Then it hit her like a freight train.

The hot heat shooting throughout her body, making her scream,“Holy shit, Simon! I’m cumming…oh fuck fuck yessss, fuckkking hell!” Her walls clenched tightly around him, riding out her release with abandon.

“Shit, Fiona.” Simon yelled as he let her hop off him. She knelt on the floor, open-mouthed as he wrenched his cock earnestly. “Fuckingggg helll.” He moaned coming undone, ribbons of white hot cum filling her waiting mouth and throat.

The sight of her swallowing his load with such vigor, just about made him cum all over again.

Sitting back in his chair, he pulled her onto his lap wallowing in the afterglow.

“That…was fucking something.” Simon said letting out a deep breath, stroking her silky soft hair.

“Mind over matter The beauty is there but a beast is in the heart”

Looking at him, her fingers trailing up and down his toned arms. She couldn’t keep her hands off him. “Yea it was.” Letting her bask in the comfortable silence for just a moment.

Having enough of the intimacy, for now, she lazily got off his lap to find her dress. Finding it thrown across the room, she pulled the soft stretchy fabric over her deliciously relaxed body.

“Oh here she comes”

“Hey, Simon? Think ya can help a gal out?” She inquired, hips swaying over to him motioning to the zipper on her back.

At his nod, she bent down slightly, back facing him as he leaned over and zipped her up.

The feel of his fingers trailing up her back still gave her chills, even after it was all said and done but she’d deal with this new information later as she finished pulling on her ankle boots.

“Thanks, handsome. We should do this again sometime.” Fiona stated, bending down to his level and leaving him with one last sensual kiss.

“Watch out boy she’ll chew you up”

Strutting towards the door, she stopped midway and bent down. Smiling to herself as she felt his eyes ogling her ass. She picked up his discarded jeans. Looking back, giving the still naked man a wink as she threw them at him.

A devilish smirk graced her beautiful face as she sashayed out of the office.

“Oh here she comes”

Before she was completely out of sight she yelled over her shoulder

“That was one hell of a time, Si.”

“She’s a maneater”

If anyone wants on or off my tag list for any of my future stories/one shots just let me know!

Tags:

@zoesmama2024  @wickednerdery  @theonethatgotaway213 @negans-dirty-girl @backseat-negan @lotusprincessdi @miiraal @magikat409 @strangersangel9 @simons-thirst-squad  @kellyn1604 @anniebf @valkyrianne @retrostarfreak @ladylorelitany @may85

[kohaive]

bad hat

It was hate at first sight.

Ten-year-old Madeline first met him just after he'd moved. The little girl had decided to buy some flowers on her way home to surprise Miss Clavel, so she headed down the street towards her favorite flower seller. It was a lovely summer day, and Madeline was looking forward to afternoon tea, which she had promised to spend with Danielle and Yvette.

The girl crossed the bridge, turned the corner, and stopped dead. Standing over the flower seller was a taller boy with dark brown hair and sloping grey eyes. He didn't look like anyone she'd seen in the city before, and the lilt in his voice didn't sound French either. And Charlotte, the poor girl, was cowering and protecting her precious stand the best she could.

The boy was speaking a language Madeline recognized as Spanish. "¿Me vendes un flor, señorita?" he asked. "¿Puedes entenderme?"

The boy's superior tone sent a stab of irritation through Madeline, but she kept her composure and hurried forward. "Charlotte, Charlotte, it's alright," she soothed.

"Madeline, make him go away," Charlotte whimpered.

"I will," Madeline promised. Then she turned to the boy. "Mi amigo no se español, señor. ¿Hablas francés?"

"Ah," the boy responded in French. "You grace me in my own language." He looked to Charlotte, who was fiercely protecting her stand from this stranger. "I would like to buy a flower from you, señorita." He produced a handful of coins, none of which looked like euros.

"I-I can't accept these," Charlotte stammered, clutching at the cloth of her skirt. "I-I'm very sorry, monsieur, b-but-!"

"Charlotte can only take euro," Madeline said firmly. (Charlotte nodded behind her.)

The boy inspected the coins in his hand and then pocketed them. "Aaaah, estoy muy estupido. I have not converted my allowance from the Polish złoty to the euro. Lo siento, señorita. I will return with the proper currency tomorrow." He spun and started walking down the street.

Madeline spied something poking out of his jacket pocket. "Sorry, Charlotte, I'll come back later," she told the flower seller, and then chased after the boy. "Excuse me--excuse me!" He didn't turn around, and Madeline's anger bubbled over. "HEY!" she snarled. The boy stopped dead and turned around, looking shocked. Madeline composed herself. "I am very sorry for shouting, monsieur, but I think it is very rude when you ignore someone!" She gestured to his pocket. "It is ruder still when you lie to shopkeepers, no?"

The boy cocked his head. "Eh? No comprendo, niñita. What is this thing you claim I am lying about?" He wore a cocky smile that infuriated Madeline to no end, but she looked calm as she marched over and swiped a twenty-euro out of his pocket. "Hey-!"

"I am speaking about this, garçonnet," she replied, waving the bill in his face before setting it back in his hand. "You claim you have nothing but the złoty, yet you carry enough euros to buy a bouquet. Why would you lie?" The boy's grin widened. "I meant no harm, niñita. Just a good bit of fun to mess with the shopkeepers, no?"

What a horrible boy, Madeline thought. I want nothing to do with him. However, if she didn't get going she would be late for tea, and she had no more time to spend on this garçonnet. "Please do not tease Charlotte, she is very shy," she told him, shifting her bag. "Enjoy your stay in Paris, monsieur." With that, she returned down the street.

Paris was a large city, she knew, so it was very unlikely she would run into that boy with that stupid hat again.

When Madeline finally reached her home (a large, old building covered in ivy), she was surprised to see several trucks stationed outside the mansion next door. She had been quite grateful when Lord Covington had moved (he may have been on the school board but it was more fun when he didn't live so close), but who was their new neighbor?

Aaaaah, I will find out later. Madeline went inside. She didn't have flowers for Miss Clavel, but she quickly spotted Yvette and Nicole drawing at the table in the sitting room. She skipped over happily. "Yvette, Danielle, I'm here!"

The two girls looked up and smiled. "Madeline!" Yvette chirped. "What took you so long? I thought you were only going to the bookstore."

"I had a little trouble on the way home. I'm very sorry!" Madeline slid into an empty seat and set the books out onto the table. "But I did get the books, you see?"

"You're so reliable, Madeline," Danielle cooed, picking up one of the books. "At last, I'll know what happens to the prince. Thank you!"

"Oh, it is no problem," Madeline said, waving a hand. "I like going out on walks, so the bookstore was not too out of my way."

"Girls," Miss Clavel said, knocking on the door. "Could you gather, please?"

Miss Clavel's Boarding School for Girls was very small--only twelve girls attended. Chloe, Nicole, Danielle, Nona, Lulu, Anne, Ellie, Monique, Janine, Simone, Yvette, and Madeline herself made their way to the main room. To Madeline's surprise, there were two people dressed in expensive clothing already there--a man and a woman. They stood with a sort of stiff superiority that made it clear they were not on the same level as brats in a boarding school. Their cold gazes actually made Madeline stop in the doorway, but she swallowed and sat next to Nicole.

Miss Clavel tottered up to the front of the room and gestured to the couple. "These are the Asturias. Monsieur Asturias is an ambassador from Spain who has recently come to France. Beginning today, Monsieur and Mademoiselle Asturias will be living in the mansion next to us, along with their son..."

A boy stepped out from behind the Asturias, and Madeline's heart seized. He was dressed in clothes befitting his status, now, and he had gotten rid of that hat, but he still looked like an insufferable idiot.

"...Pepito. Please treat them kindly."

Pepito gave the girls a cocky grin and lifted a hand in greetings. "Hola, niñitas. Please be kind to me from today on, oui?" He glanced at Madeline, and then produced a bouquet of twelve roses. "Please accept these from a local flower seller as a gift, sí?"

Madeline received the rose with the most thorns.

"A guide?"

Miss Clavel nodded. "Yes. You have lived here the longest, Madeline, and you know Paris very well. I thought it would be suitable if you showed him around."

"But Miss Clavel, my studies!"

"You are doing well in all of your classes, and I will excuse your time off."

"But--can't someone else do it?"

"Of course." Miss Clavel smiled. "But I think you are the best choice. I have already told his parents regardless."

"But Miss Clavel, he's--"

"That's enough, Madeline," Miss Clavel interrupted, holding up a hand. "It has already been decided. Do not fight me on this, please."

Madeline knew there was no point in arguing further. "Yes, Miss Clavel."

"Thank you." She gestured to the door. "He is waiting outside. I have spoken with him personally; he is sure to be a delightful companion that should cause you very little trouble."

"Hey, niñita, are you bad at putting on makeup or do you look that way normally?"

Madeline walked briskly down the street, but Pepito had no trouble keeping stride. "That is the nearest coffee shop," she said as if she hadn't heard him, waving a hand. "That is a clothing store. That is a bookstore. That is a thrift shop."

"Is that where your sorry excuse of una escuela gets its uniforms? I've seen potato sacks of better quality."

Madeline struggled not to hit him. "That is quite unkind of you to say, don't you think, monsieur?"

"Is it?" Pepito's voice had an amused lilt, as if everything he said were a private joke. (If the joke was himself, then Madeline could understand why it was funny.)

Madeline would not rise to the bait so easily, and continued the tour as if nothing had happened. To Pepito's credit, he asked questions at the right time about the right things, and eventually settled into a routine of asking questions interspersed with insults.

At last, a question Madeline couldn't answer came up: "What's back there?"

Madeline peered in the direction Pepito was pointing. It was a small side street, tucked behind a few buildings, and it wasn't as clean as the main streets. The taller buildings threw shadow across the path, but Madeline could see the telltale glass window of a store further down the street. "I don't know," she admitted. "It is not a place I frequent, monsieur. It looks quite dangerous, no?"

"It looks interesting," Pepito remarked. Madeline thought he was going to stray from the road and head down the seedy-looking side street, but he stopped at the soft mew of a cat winding around his feet. The Spaniard looked down in surprise.

(Madeline was surprised too. She didn't think cats associated with piles of trash.)

Madeline half-expected Pepito to kick the poor feline out of his way. Instead, he knelt and scooped up the ball of fur, holding it with a surprising gentleness. "Hola, gatito," he murmured, scratching the animal behind the ears. The cat rewarded him with a purr, like the soft thrumming of distant passing train.

"You like cats?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

Pepito looked up at her and smiled. Something about it was off, disturbingly off, and she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"Something like that," Pepito replied.

She shouldn't have followed him.

Madeline frequently volunteered to do the daily errands, because she liked to be up and active. Paris was a wonderful city just to walk in, and sometimes the big house they all lived in felt cramped and musty. The air in the city, while not the cleanest, was certainly an improvement. And, of course, there was a lot to do. There were flowers to buy, books to read, freshly-baked bread to smell, and people to greet. Madeline was well-known enough that she was stopped by several people as she kept walking.

In fact, if she hadn't stopped to chat with Charlotte, she never would have seen Pepito.

The Spanish boy blended in remarkably well for a foreigner. Madeline supposed one of the first stops he had made after arriving in the city was the thrift store he had derided on their tour. Pepito was dressed in ratty clothes that didn't suit someone of his social class, and he was carrying a bag that kept trying to attack him. He kept glancing over his shoulders as if expecting to be followed and wore shades to cover his eyes, but Madeline was convinced it was him. Only one person wore a hat that looked that dumb. Madeline said her goodbyes to Charlotte and hurried off in Pepito's direction.

The boy had slipped into one of the back alleys Madeline wasn't allowed to go down. Madeline lingered in the mouth of the alley for a moment, hesitant. This was forbidden territory, a place she wasn't supposed to enter. But she was sure that if she wasn't permitted to go into grungy places like this, Pepito wasn't either. Perhaps she could use this against him and get out of being his guide. Madeline disliked having the ambassador's son follow her around; it was like an annoying cat weaving at your heels.

Madeline gathered her courage, checked to make sure no one was around, and then entered the alley and went down. She didn't see Pepito, and she already didn't like it here. The walls were peppered with distasteful graffiti and trash littered the ground. There were dozens of cigarettes that still gave off the acrid smell of smoke, and Madeline spotted at least three discarded syringes.

Madeline shuddered; she didn't like this place. But her curiosity won over, so Madeline kept going. If Pepito wasn't here, then he had to be at the other end of the alley, where Madeline could see a sort of open space and a few shadows. She reached the end of the alley, curled her fingers around the broken brick and peered around the corner.

Madeline saw Pepito, standing atop a low wall, holding a thrashing sack. Below him clamored a pack of stray dogs, growling and barking and snapping at the sack. Madeline was very confused about what exactly he was up to...

...and then the sack mewed.

Madeline stilled in horror as Pepito dragged out a small kitten by the scruff of its neck. The sadistic grin curling his mouth told her all she needed to know about what was about to happen, and without thinking she rushed forward to prevent the worst of it.

"PEPITO ASTURIAS!" Madeline yelled, kicking up gravel and scuffing her mary janes. Pepito looked up, surprise lifting his eyebrows, and before he could react she had waded fearlessly through the dogs and joined him up on the wall. "What do you think you are doing?" she snarled, with enough force to make Pepito take a small step back.

His intimidation didn't last very long, though, and Pepito's brow furrowed in annoyance. "What are you doing here, niñita?" he growled back.

"Saving this poor kitten, it appears," Madeline retorted. "You are not going to mangle a poor animal for your twisted games!" She held out her hands. "Give me the cat."

"You cannot tell me what to do." Pepito leaned away from Madeline, taking the kitten with him. "Can't you just leave me alone already, niñita? It's bad enough you shadow me everywhere else. Just let me have a bit of harmless fun."

"Harmless!?" Madeline exploded, hands balling into fists and shoulders rising. "You think--you think your little games are harmless? You think I like following you around, you insufferable brat!?" She took a step forward, a little cautious; the wall wasn't that wide. "I will not turn a blind eye to this, garçonnet. Give me the kitten."

Pepito narrowed his eyes. "Why can't you just leave me alone like everyone else!?"

Madeline blinked, but before she could register what Pepito had said properly, he took a step backwards and his foot punched through empty air. The anger in Pepito's eyes melted to fright as he swayed dangerously over the Seine. Madeline reached forward to pull him up, but he reached past her arm and to her shoulder, pressing on it frantically to push himself back up.

As Pepito straightened, Madeline's foot slipped on the already-precarious top of the wall, but she had nothing to hold on to. His eyes widened in shock as Madeline tipped over the far edge.

"Ah--NIÑITA--!"

Madeline saw Pepito's outstretched, useless hand, shrinking in her vision. Some small part of her reached out to grab at it, and then she hit the river and was immediately enveloped by cold, compressing darkness and the intense need to breathe.

Unable to tell which way was up, Madeline blindly flailed her limbs. One hand broke through the water, and Madeline's head was quick to follow, breaking the surface with a gasp. Hair and river water obscured her vision, and she flapped her limbs uselessly, unable to swim. She registered dim yelling (Pepito, shouting for help) and barking (the pack of stray dogs were getting excited) and blurred colors that were somehow supposed to be the world. The Seine's freezing temperature leeched the strength from Madeline's limbs, and her arms and legs slowed in their desperate attempts to keep her afloat.

Unable to tread for much longer, Madeline gave in to the powerful tug of the river, slipping beneath the surface once again.

Before the black shut down her mind, something wet and furry brushed along her leg.

Madeline woke up to a rabbit on the ceiling.

That was the first thing she registered. The second was a small golden pile of fur at the foot of her bed, something she didn't actually think was allowed in Miss Clavel's school. As she watched, the fur slowly rose and fall. Whatever animal it was, it was asleep. But why was it there in the first place?

A sudden chorus of "She's awake!" and "Miss Clavel! Miss Clavel!" startled Madeline as eleven younger girls all crowded her bedside at once. The pile of fur unfolded itself to reveal that it was, in fact, a small puppy, which immediately trotted up to Madeline and curled up on her as if trying to escape the noise.

"How are you feeling?" Chloe asked.

"You've been out for hours," Anne said, worry knitting her brows together.

"Did you die and come back from the dead?" Nicole asked eagerly. (This earned a light punch in the arm from Chloe.)

"Madeline," Miss Clavel murmured, coming up to Madeline's bedside. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Madeline replied, staring at the puppy that was sitting on her lap. "What happened?"

"Pepito found me and told me you had fallen into the Seine," Miss Clavel explained. "But when we arrived to help, you had already been pulled ashore by... well..." She gestured to the golden puppy, and suddenly Madeline recalled something furry brushing against her leg. This tiny puppy had saved her?

"You're really lucky, Madeline," Danielle added. "If you were a little bigger I don't think she would have been able to get you to shore."

"Of course, now she won't leave your side," Yvette sighed. "Every time we tried to get her away from you she kept running back in."

"I can call the pound to pick her up," Miss Clavel said.

"No!" Madeline quickly interjected. "No. Um... Miss Clavel, is it alright if we keep her? She seems very attached to me after all, and I think she might be a stray. She needs a good home."

Miss Clavel pursed her lips, the way she did when she was thinking about something. Madeline held her breath until her teacher nodded. "You will be responsible for her care. And, of course, Madeline, you'll need to give her a name."

Madeline looked down at the puppy, who looked back up at her with soft brown eyes. "Genevieve," she decided after a moment. "I'll call her Genevieve."

Asturias Manor was far too posh for Madeline's liking. It felt stuffy to be there, and she stuck out like a sore thumb in her school uniform. But she had to thank Pepito for helping her, so Miss Clavel said, so here she was.

Gen was there too, of course. The puppy wouldn't leave Madeline's side--she followed her in the streets, slept at the end of her bed, and curled up next to her during classes. And all without the need of a leash! Madeline liked to imagine that Gen was her guardian angel in disguise.

The sitting room chairs were, fortunately, comfortable, so Madeline settled and waited. It didn't take long for Pepito to appear, dressed in a stylish waistcoat and lacking that stupid hat that looked so awful. He actually seemed a little sheepish. Madeline squinted at him suspiciously. What was he planning?

"Hi," Pepito finally said, breaking the awkward silence. "You look, um, better."

Madeline folded her arms. "Yes, it is amazing considering I was pushed into a river only a week ago."

Pepito winced a little. "Look, I'm really sorry about that--"

"Save it," Madeline snapped. "I am here to thank you for lying to Miss Clavel to save your rich behind and nothing more. So thank you." She stood up, and Genevieve stood to attention as well. "May I leave now?"

Pepito frowned. "If... you want to. I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to stay."

"Good," Madeline said briskly, and headed for the doorway. Just before she stepped outside the room, though, a familiar mew reached her ears.

Disbelieving, Madeline turned around to see the kitten that Pepito had nearly thrown to the pack of dogs jump up on the seat she had just vacated. As she watched, it turned around a few times and then settled into a small ball. She looked at Pepito critically. "Your own pet? You are a sickening boy."

"Niñita--"

"Goodbye, Pepito." Madeline turned on her heel. "I hope I do not ever see you again."

Despite her resolve, Madeline still checked on the alley every day she went out. It remained mercifully empty, with no trace of the horror that had almost happened there. She didn't see Pepito either, much to her relief, yet something uncertain gnawed at her gut. After spending so much time showing him around the city, it felt odd not having him shooting off annoying remarks at her side.

For two weeks, Madeline lived in uneasy peace, never seeing Pepito or hearing about him. Life returned to normal, with the wonderful addition of Genevieve, who Madeline was allowed to keep so long as she walked and fed her.

Life was normal, and that was what bothered her.

Early one morning, Madeline was up cooking breakfast (it was her turn to do so) when someone knocked on the door. After ensuring she wouldn't burn two dozen eggs, Madeline wiped her hands on her apron and went to answer it.

She was not expecting to see Mrs. Asturias standing in the doorway, clutching a tear-soaked handkerchief and lower lip trembling. "He ran away," she sobbed. "Pepito ran away."

A hot ball of guilt rolled into Madeline's stomach, and her knuckles turned white against the door. It was incredibly annoying. She didn't want to feel guilty because she didn't accept his stupid apology. She didn't want to feel responsible for Pepito running away and not looking back. She didn't want to be worried about his stupid hair and his stupid grin and his stupid cruel grey eyes.

"Where did he go?" she asked.

"He said he was going to visit some friends in London in a note," Mrs. Asturias managed to explain. "But he didn't say how he would be getting there or when he would be back...!"

Idiot, Madeline thought. "I will try to help him. Would you like to come in for tea?"

Mrs. Asturias nodded and Madeline led her inside, knocking on Ms. Clavel's door to alert her to the guest.

London, she thought tiredly. I suppose this means I should go to London.

London happened.

Madeline returned in sticky August heat, bundled up in a thick golden sweater she'd found in a pawn shop. Pepito trailed after her sheepishly, watching the back of her head with furrowed brows.

"Aren't you too hot?" he asked.

"No," Madeline replied shortly.

"Shouldn't you--"

"No."

"But you were--"

"And you are not going to say anything about it. Is that clear?"

"...yes."

Madeline stopped in front of the Asturias' manor and turned to Pepito. "Go inside and console your mother. She was a mess the morning she found you were gone. I am going home. Goodbye, Pepito."

"Goodbye, Madeline," Pepito called after her, but Madeline walked faster and pretended that she hadn't heard.

He's nothing but trouble, she thought, nothing but trouble wrapped up in a nasty coat and a bad hat.

[poklina]

I guess this is sorta a continuation of eposide 2x10(but pretending simon clary relationship doesn't exist cause im in denial) but do you think you could write something where simon and jace talk a little more about the fact that jace basically risked his life saving simon and jace admits his feelings for simon

hey Friendo hows ur night? mines pretty good i hope you enjoy this mass of disgusting fluff pal

daylight--1.2k

The Institute smelled of burnt charcoal and ozone, like the way the air smells right before a thunderstorm, all metallic and harsh. People spoke in hushed voices as they milled around, checking off a list of the Downworlders laying on the floor, going to the infirmary to get their various wounds checked out, kneeling down and closing the eyes of the fallen Shadowhunters that dotted the Institute. It had been a couple hours since Valentine had been apprehended, but the sword was missing, and everyone that was available had already been dispatched out into the streets of New York to try and find it.

Simon sat on the steps outside, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows as his eyes closed and his head tilted up towards the sun, letting the light was over him like it hadn't been able to for the past couple months. Simon had forgotten how nice it was to just be in the sun, as it glowed over his skin and sunk in to bones that had been too cold for too long. His mind was whirring with all of the possibilities this new ability lent him; he could go back to school, he could see his mom, he could be a regular person again.

Clary had gone back inside a couple minutes ago. Simon told her that he just wanted to "process" out here for a moment, and while that was mostly true, he also didn't want to go inside and face all of the dead laying on the marble floor quite yet.

"Simon, what are you doing!"

His eyes snapped open as his head whipped around toward the voice.  A flurry of legs, arms, and blonde hair were all he could see as whoever they were yanked him up and started dragging him towards the open doors. When he finally got his bearings and planted his feet on the ground, Simon saw that it was Jace, arm still bloodied from the last night.

"Jace, Jace, don't worry, I'm fine, I can be in the sun now!"

Jace's hands dropped from their place on Simon's shoulder, and he turned to look at him amazed.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm not burning! I only just found out and it's awesome because now I can stop living in the boathouse and hey, maybe I can help you guys with missions too, I know Clary would love that-"

"Oh. Okay. Well, sorry about that"

Jace breaks Simons rambling train of thought and starts to walk back inside. Simon feels like he should let him go, but there's something that he hasn't done yet.

"Wait, Jace!" He takes a step forward and grabs his bicep, and Jace immediately shakes him off.

"What?"

"It's just, ah. I never thanked you for risking your life for me."

"Yes, you did. We've been over this. Can I go now?" Jace is fidgeting like a kid, eyes darting up, down, and sideways but never meeting Simon's.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, I guess I did. Well, uh. Thank you. Again. For that. And for this too, I guess."

Jace cocks his head, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I drink your blood and now I can't get burned? Seems pretty convenient to me."

"Oh. Sure. You're welcome." He makes another attempt to escape, but there's one last question that's been nagging at Simon ever since Clary's face melted away and turned into his.

"Hey, Jace? I know this is kind of a weird thing to ask, and I really don't know if I even should ask it because it's like, really awkward but-"

"For the love of the angel Simon, spit it out." Jace has finally stopped looking everywhere but at him and now all Simon can see is the bright blue-brown of his eyes, and the dark circles underneath, and the red rims; so now Simon knows that this is a really bad idea but he's never been god with that whole "filter" thing and-

"Why you?"

Silence.

Jace doesn't break eye contact, but Simon can see how badly he wants to, in the way his fingers start to rapidly drum against his thigh.

"You know, it's just that Izzy could've done it instead-"

"Izzy wasn't there. I was the only one who could do it."

Simon is surprised by how shaky and uncertain Jace's voice is, but surprised even more by how strong it sounds at the same time. This is the tone of voice you use when you want someone to drop the subject.

But then again, Simon's never been very good at picking up social cues.

"Oh, okay. Well, you did a really great job acting like Clary. I mean, I thought you really actually cared about me, which I know is absolutely-"

"I do."

"-insane...wait, what?"

Jace looks like someone has just lifted a 20 pound weight off of his shoulders, and once he starts talking, it's like he can't stop.

"I do, Simon. I really, really do. I have for a long time, and I really didn't know what to feel so I just pushed you away because I was scared but then you helped Clary and I find Madzie and you sacrificed yourself for us so when Clary told Luke and I that you were hurt I knew, I just knew that it was my turn to save you so I made Clary draw the rune and when I saw you I couldn't think of anything and Simon please don't ever do that to me-us again because I meant it Simon. I meant it." He'd been running his hand through his hair incessantly and was back to doing that thing where he didn't look Simon in the eye and it looked like he was backing up, trying to escape this confession that he'd never meant to make.

For the first time in his life, Simon is truly speechless.

"And I know that you probably don't feel the same and this was a really bad idea to tell you but I had to and now I don't know what to do Simon please say something."

Simon feels like a fish out of water. How do you respond to someone that just confessed their feelings for you? Especially when you just got hit by a train that made you realize that you feel the same?

"Simon, please."

Jace is looking at him again, and those bright blue-brown eyes are filled with longing and pleading and desperation and Simon? Simon just does whatever he thinks he should.

Which is apparently lunging forward and pulling Jace's stupidly tall head towards his own and kissing him like he's never kissed before.

He feels Jace flail around him before he relaxes into in, sliding his hands against Simons shoulder blades and pressing against him.

They stand like this on the steps to the Institute until someone breaks for air, and even then they still cling to each other, muscles straining as they try to pull together a past that should've started much sooner.

"So uh. Thanks," Simon croaks out against Jace's throat, "for everything."

And so they stand there. Bodies pulled in tightly together, and as they start to kiss again because Jace's mouth is like crack because it's that addicting, Simon feels the warmth of the sun on his back and the solid heat of the body in front of him and he thinks that he hasn't felt this warm in so long.

Yea. He could get used to this.

[readbookywooks]

Her hands tingled. In the shadow-world, ideas are real. The thought seemed to travel up her arms. It was a buoyant sort of thought, a thought full of fizz. She laughed, and moved her hands apart, and the staff sparkled in her hands like solid electricity. The Things started to chitter nervously and one or two at the back started to lurch away. Simon fell forward as his captors hastily let go, and he landed on his hands and knees in the sand. “Use it!” he shouted. “That's it! They're frightened!” Esk gave him a smile, and continued to examine the staff. For the first time she could see what the carvings actually were. Simon snatched up the pyramid of the world and ran towards her. “Come on!” he said. “They hate it!” “Pardon?” said Esk. “Use the staff,” said Simon urgently, and reached out for it. “Hey! It bit me!” “Sorry,” said Esk. “What were we talking about?” She looked up and regarded the keening Things as it were for the first time. “Oh, those. They only exist inside our heads. If we didn't believe in them, they wouldn't exist at all.” Simon looked around at them. “I can't honestly say I believe you,” he said. “I think we should go home now,” said Esk. “People will be worrying. ” She moved her hands together and the staff vanished, although for a moment her hands glowed as though they were cupped around a candle. The Things howled. A few of them fell over. “The important thing about magic is how you don't use it,” said Esk, taking Simon's arm. He stared at the crumbling figures around him, and grinned foolishly. “You don't use it?” he queried. “Oh, yes,” said Esk, as they walked towards the Things. “Try it yourself.” She extended her hands, brought the staff out of the air, and offered it to him. He went to take it, then drew back his hand. “Uh, no,” he said, “I don't think it likes me much.” “I think it's all right if I give it to you. It can't really argue with that,” said Esk. “Where does it go?” “It just becomes an idea of itself, I think.” He reached out his hand again and closed his fingers around the shining wood. “Right,” he said, and raised it in the classical revengeful wizard's pose. “I'll show them!” “No, wrong.” “What do you mean, wrong? I've got the power!” “They're sort of-reflections of us,” said Esk. “You can't beat your reflections, they'll always be as strong as you are. That's why they draw nearer to you when you start using magic. And they don't get tired. They feed off magic, so you can't beat them with magic. No, the thing is . . . well, not using magic because you can't, that's no use at all. But not using magic because you can, that really upsets them. They hate the idea. If people stopped using magic they'd die.” The Things ahead of them fell over each other in their haste to back away. Simon looked at the staff, then at Esk, then at the Things, then back at the staff. “This needs a lot of thinking about,” he said uncertainly. “I'd really like to work this out.” “I expect you'll do it very well.” “Because you're saying that the real power is when you go right through magic and out the other side.” “It works, though, doesn't it?” They were alone on the cold plain now. The Things were distant stick-figures. “I wonder if this is what they mean by sourcery?” said Simon. I don't know. It might be." “I'd really like to work this out,” said Simon again, turning the staff over and over in his hands. “We could set up some experiments, you know, into deliberately not using magic. We could carefully not draw an octogram on the floor, and we could deliberately not call up all sorts of things, and - it makes me sweat just to think about it!” “I'd like to think about how to get home,” said Esk, looking down at the pyramid. “Well, that is supposed to be my idea of the world. I should be able to find a way. How do you do this thing with the hands?” He moved his hands together. The staff slid between them, the light glowing through his fingers for a moment, and then vanished. He grinned. “Right. Now all we have to do is look for the University . . . .” Cutangle lit his third rollup from the stub of the second. This last cigarette owed a lot to the creative powers of nervous energy, and looked like a camel with the legs cut off. He had already watched the staff lift itself gently from Esk and land on Simon. Now it had floated up into the air again. Other wizards had crowded into the room. The librarian was sitting under the table. “If only we had some idea what is going on,” said Cutangle. “It's the suspense I can't stand.” “Think positively, man,” snapped Granny. “And put out that bloody cigarette, I can't imagine anyone wanting to come back to a room that smells like a fireplace.” As one man the assembled college of wizards turned their faces towards Cutangle, expectantly. He took the smouldering mess out of his mouth and, with a glare that none of the assembled wizards cared to meet, trod it underfoot. “Probably time I gave it up anyway,” he said. “That goes for the rest of you, too. Worse than an ashpit in this place, sometimes.” Then he saw the staff. It was The only way Cutangle could describe the effect was that it seemed to be going very fast while staying in exactly the same place. Streamers of gas flared away from it and vanished, if they were gas. It blazed like a comet designed by an inept special effects man. Coloured sparks leapt out and disappeared somewhere. It was also changing colour, starting with a dull red and then climbing through the spectrum until it was a painful violet. Snakes of white fire coruscated along its length. There should be a word for words that sound like things would sound like if they made a noise, he thought. The word “glisten” does indeed gleam oily, and if there was ever a word that sounded exactly the way sparks look as they creep across burned paper, or the way the lights of cities would creep across the world if the whole of human civilisation was crammed into one night, then you couldn't do better than “coruscate”. He knew what would happen next. “Look out,” he whispered. “It's going to go -” In total silence, in the kind of silence in fact that sucks in sounds and stifles them, the staff flashed into pure octarine along the whole of its length. The eighth colour, produced by light falling through a strong magical field, blazed out through bodies and bookshelves and walls. Other colours blurred and ran together, as though the light was a glass of gin poured over the watercolour painting of the world. The clouds over the University glowed, twisted into fascinating and unexpected shapes, and streamed upwards. An observer above the Disc would have seen a little patch of land near the Circle Sea sparkle like a jewel for several seconds, then wink out. The silence of the room was broken by a wooden clatter as the staff dropped out of the air and bounced on the table. Someone said “Ook”, very faintly. Cutangle eventually remembered how to use his hands and raised them to where he hoped his eyes would be. Everything had gone black. “Is - anyone else there?” he said. “Gods, you don't know how glad I am to hear you say that,” said another voice. The silence was suddenly full of babble. “Are we still where we were?” “I don't know. Where were we?” “Here, I think.” “Can you reach out?” “Not unless I am quite certain about what I'm going to touch, my good man,” said the unmistakable voice of Granny Weatherwax. “Everyone try and reach out,” said Cutangle, and choked down a scream as a hand like a warm leather glove closed around his ankle. There was a satisfied little “ook”, which managed to convey relief, comfort and the sheer joy of touching a fellow human being or, in this case, anthropoid. There was a scratch and then a blessed flare of red light as a wizard on the far side of the room lit a cigarette. “Who did that?” “Sorry, Archchancellor, force of habit.” “Smoke all you like, that man.” “Thank you, Archchancellor.” “I think I can see the outline of the door now,” said another voice. “Granny?” “Yes, I can definitely see -” “Esk?” “I'm here, Granny.” “Can I smoke too, sir?” “Is the boy with you?” “Yes.” “Ook.” “I'm here.” “What's happening?” “Everyone stop talking!” Ordinary light, slow and easy on the eye, sidled back into the Library. Esk sat up, dislodging the staff. It rolled under the table. She felt something slip over her eyes, and reached up for it. “Just a moment,” said Granny, darting forward. She gripped the girl's shoulders and peered into her eyes. “Welcome back,” she said, and kissed her. Esk reached up and patted something hard on her head. She lifted it down to examine it. It was a pointed hat, slightly smaller than Granny's, but bright blue with a couple of silver stars painted on it. “A wizard hat?” she said. Cutangle stepped forward. “Ah, yes,”he said, and cleared his throat: “You see, we thought - it seemed - anyway, when we considered it -” “You're a wizard,” said Granny, simply. “The Archchancellor changed the lore. Quite a simple ceremony, really.” “There's the staff somewhere about here,” said Cutangle. “I saw it fall down - oh.” He stood up with the staff in his hand, and showed it to Granny. “I thought it had carvings on,” he said. “This looks just like a stick.” And that was a fact. The staff looked as menacing and potent as a piece of kindling. Esk turned the hat around in her hands, in the manner of one who, opening the proverbial brightly-wrapped package, finds bath salts. “It's very nice,” she said uncertainly. “Is that all you can say?” said Granny. “It's pointed, too.” Somehow being a wizard didn't feel any different from not being a wizard. Simon leaned over. “Remember,” he said, “you've got to have been a wizard. Then you can start looking on the other side. Like you said.” Their eyes met, and they grinned. Granny stared at Cutangle. He shrugged. “Search me,” he said. “What's happened to your stutter, boy?” “Seems to have gone, sir,” said Simon brightly. “Must have left it behind, somewhere.” The river was still brown and swollen but at least it resembled a river again. It was unnaturally hot for late autumn, and across the whole of the lower part of Ankh-Morpork the steam rose from thousands of carpets and blankets put out to dry. The streets were filled with silt, which on the whole was an improvement - AnkhMorpork's impressive civic collection of dead dogs had been washed out to sea.