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#Black Friday is evil let’s leave that as a given
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Loving reminder to everyone to buy micro-spikes, hiking poles, down jackets, snow boots, and anything else you need to survive snow if you live somewhere that lacks the infrastructure to cope with it.
Every sidewalk and street in my neighbourhood was an inclined sheet of ice last winter because the city seems to have one (1) snowplough and also no one owns snow shovels because no one ever needed to before.
I was comfy and prepared because I am a skier and a hiker, so I just have snow gear kicking around my closet. But you, too, should feel safe and comfortable this winter 💙
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two-red-lungs · 2 years
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Sneaking Eddie over and making him stay quiet because your family is downstairs 😩
Ooh, and loudly playing Black Sabbath so your family thinks you're just listening to music but you're actually going down on the one guy they told you to stay away from
The hold this guy has on me is ASTRONOMICAL 😭
NO I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS you rule bestie thank you for this
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel" (Eddie x Fem!Reader)
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"Oh, you can absolutely have boys over." Your father had said cheerfully. Your eyebrows went up. He fluffed his newspaper. "...When you have a place of your own."
So going forward that was the rule. Stay straight-laced, even after you graduated: no boys, no booze, no drugs, no sneaking out. It was overbearing. You weren't blind. You had just kind of given in and accepted your life was really only going to get interesting when you moved out.
That was, until you met Munson.
You shut your bedroom door, locking it, and crank the speakers up until Ozzy is scream-singing about Lady Evil loud enough to drown out the television downstairs and your mother's phone call two doors down.
Outside your window, in the twilight semidarkness, a tall figure scrambles over your yard fence, falling into a rosebush. You snicker: it rights itself, skirting the kitchen window light with all the grace and tact of a rock-and-roll peacock.
Eddie presses his mouth to your windowpane, puffing his cheeks like a pufferfish, shit-eating giddy grin on his face when you pull an exasperated expression and haul the latch open.
He tumbles onto your bed with a grunt and you shush him, smacking his shoulder a few times.
Eddie just catches your wrist, grip going to your forearm, and drags you on top of him. The electric guitar picks up its wild, note-bending solo and you sink into his heat, broad chest and sturdy hips under you, mouth hot and wet. He tastes like skunky weed and gas station Lil Debbie's cakes.
He is your Dionysus, and he revels in the fact. It tickles him pink. He tries to give you everything in the world.
Even now, he's pulling a pocket-sized bottle of Hendrick's gin out of his coat pocket and pressing it into your palm, pecking you in the cheek with a smile, and rolling off the bed to tuck your desk chair against your door handle. Bobbing his head a few times to your choice of music, watching your take an uncut gulp.
"I thought your folks wouldn't let you play this stuff." He says softly, barely audible over the next track of thrashing drums and low bass.
The burn of booze is good: it feels real, more real than the stuffy Sunday family dinners and framed holiday photos. "They didn't, at first. But I guess the whole 'giving me no adult freedoms' really guilted them into letting me have this one thing."
He put a hand to his chest, moseying over and dropping down onto your mattress hard enough to nearly send you flying. "They'd flip if they learned who gave you the mixtape. Like, can you imagine your mom going all-" He pulls a monstrous face, making a loud gagging, aghast noise. It threatens to cut over the guitar.
You gasp-laugh and clap hands over his mouth, dragging him close to you. "Shut up!" You hiss, emphasis ruined by a smile.
His dark brown eyes glitter. "Make me, princess." He says, muffled through your fingers.
Then you're on him, like every Friday night. Sitting on his lap and lazily making out with him, his back against your wall still painted the same baby periwinkle from youth. In between long, slow, heated kisses you exchange drags on the blunt under the window. The smoke disappears up into the starry sky. Ozzy continues to rage.
He looks good like this, you decide. Red-cheeked under your weight, hands settled comfortably on your thighs, lips shiny and swollen from kissing. Just looking completely blissed out and fucking enchanted to even be here.
The tips of your fingers graze over the sparse start of his happy trail, visible over his heavy belt and top of his jeans. He sucks in a soft breath.
"Killing me over here, babe." He mutters, lips on yours, leaving wet spots down your chin, your neck. Not greedy, or aggressive. More his way of begging, than anything.
"Have you been naughty or nice this week, Munson?" You tease.
A slow, stupid smile. "Oh, so nice. The nicest. Helping old ladies, picking up litter and shit."
"Mm. You know what they say. Good boys get treats."
When you nose at his cock, half-hard and out of his jeans, his head hits the wall with a clunk. Your lips, your tongue, never fail to render him nonfunctional. He's murmuring words of praise and going completely stupid, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
And when he cums it's almost tender, how much he thanks you for it. How he buckles over on himself, all lithe limbs and long hair and a low, guttural moan punched from his chest.
A loud, insistent knock on the door. "Hon? You doin' alright in there? You sick?" Your dad's voice says through the wood. The knob rattles.
You freeze on the bed between Eddie's knees, smelling like sweat and weed and booze. "...Yeah. Uh, cramps! Bad period cramps, so bad." It drives him away insanely fast. When you look back, Eddie is wetting his lips with his tongue and silently laughing, shoulders shaking.
"What is so funny?" You hiss admonishingly. His silent laughs have devolved into cackles he smothers in a fist.
"Oh my god," Eddie chuckles, "He would have died on the spot if he came in here. Like, 'Excuse me, daughter, can you finish smoking weed and blowing the freak so you can put the dishes away'?"
"You are incorrigible." You scold him, going in for another kiss. He leans into it, deep and warm and salty.
Suddenly your world tilts and your head hits the mess of pillows. Eddie's already sneaking fingertips under your hemline. "Haven't you heard the neighbors?" He says sagely. "I'm a public menace."
With that he's pulling your bottoms off and rubbing hands up up, up, up your bare thighs until they meet-
"Oh. Oh, Eddie."
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peonierose · 3 months
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Thank you @aallotarenunelma for tagging me in WIP Friday. I have so many WIPs I could probably fill out 365 days well 366 days this year 🥰 So I’ll share some of my current WIPs with you.
Peppermint Kisses
Book: Crimes of Passion
Pairing: Rose De Luca x Trystan Thorne
“Cheer up Rosa. We’re trying to have fun. You do remember what fun is, right?“ Trystan grins and I give him an evil glare. Mafalda, Luke, Ruby and uncle Tommy snicker from the side.
“She actually doesn’t know what that word means. It’s not in her vocabulary.“ Luke teases. I take a marshmallow out of my mug and throw it at him. It hits him square in the face.
“Ugh. Gross.“ He rubs his cheek and we all laugh.
“There’s more where that came from.“ I taunt him and his dark brown eyes widen behind his black rimmed glasses.
Dear John - Part 1
Book: Open Heart
Pairing: Keiki Lahela x Koa Haulani
“What are these? They must be really old. And look, they're dated back from the 1940s. That’s during Pearl Harbor.“ She shudders. I pull her closer until she almost sits in my lap. She instantly relaxes.
“Where did you say you found these letters?“ I ask her and she picks another letter out of the pile.
“I found the letters down at Waikiki beach. They were hidden in the sand.“
“Damn Keiki, that's really cool. These letters date back a long time ago. Does it say anywhere who wrote the letters?“ I ask her and she opens up a letter and turns it over.
“Someone named Joy. No last name. She wrote it to the guy she loved. His name is John.“ She turns the letter over again.
We read the letter together, though it almost feels wrong to read lines in a love letter that wasn’t really meant for our eyes.
You make me see in colors
Book: Open Heart
Pairing: Luna Auclair x Bryce Lahela
”With the power vested in me I now pronounce you as husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride. But please don’t turn it into a make out session. That would make for a very awkward scene. Just saying.“
Lunes and I grin.
I take Lunes' face into my hands and kiss her. It feels as if we’re kissing for the first time. Her lips faintly taste like grapefruit.
I smile against her lips. Not wanting the kiss to end.
Sky turns towards everyone.
”I represent to you Mr. and Mrs. Lahela.“
Las hijas de Luna
Book: Open Heart
Pairing: Luna Auclair x Bryce Lahela
”Okay that’s good Lu. That’s good. Just keep pushing.“ Meilani says in a soothing voice.
I get to Luna’s side.
Luna shoots me an angry look.
”Where the fuck were you B?“
I wince and then I smile at her for using a curse word.
”Let’s leave story time for after you’ve given birth. What’s important is that I’m here.“
”I’m going to kick your ass for this later.“
I grin and kiss her forehead.
”I wouldn’t have it any other way.“
Meilani grins and her head nurse Valerie standing next to Meilani, keeping track of the heart monitor.
Meilanis voice gets me out of my trance.
”Dad? Wanna do the honors?“
I squeeze Luna‘s hand and stand in the front to catch the first baby.
As I do, a loud cry fills the room and I suddenly hold one of my girls in my arms.
Valerie smiles next to me.
I look at my little girl, and a whole new love enters my heart. I wasn’t prepared for this feeling.
It’s as if my heart is going to burst from all this love. Making space for new people entering my life. I still can’t believe Luna and I created these beautiful babies.
I take my daughter's little hand in mine and kiss it.
”Hi there, beautiful. Look at you being all pretty huh?“
Valerie keeps sniffing.
”A new member in your Ohana.“
I nod and keep rocking the baby and when she opens her eyes she looks at me and stops crying.
”It’s your awesome dad. So cool right? Look at your mom. Super strong and going at it.“
I’d love to see what you are working on if you’d like to share (no pressure):
And anyone else is welcome to join and share 🩷🩷🩷🩷
@inlocusmads @jerzwriter @the-pale-goddess @trappedinfanfiction @storyofmychoices @noesapphic @cariantha @cadybear420 @rosepetals1 @lilyoffandoms @aria-ashryver @zealouscanonindeer @kristinamae093 @amortentiaopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @surrrenderronniebabe1 @a-cloud-for-dreams
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autolovecraft · 1 year
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Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape.
At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.
Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar.
I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought! God, what a rage! The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. I still think he was not an evil man.
He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. Davis, an old-time village practitioner, had of course seen both at the respective funerals, as indeed he had attended both Fenner and Sawyer in their last illnesses. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might.
The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch.
The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb.
But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him.
The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might.
He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications.
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absolutebl · 3 years
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This Week in BL
April 2021 Part 3
Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. 
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Ongoing Series - Thai
Second Chance Ep 3 - this is proper YA, they are dealing with actual high school issues, picking uni, first crushes, online dating, etc... We even got a senior prom trope which almost never happens in Thai stuff (just the freshman uni competition variant). Standard plot pacing means PaperFah’s kiss was too early, might indicate we’re moving to uni in the second half of the series? Tropes included: let me feed you, hand hold, black & white striped shirt, floppy drunk & first kiss. 
Y-Destiny Ep 3 - the first MaxNat ep. Such fun to see them playing different characters. This one is enemies to lovers, tutor/student, but it’s using the “poor little rich kid loose cannon” archetype. Nat is doing his best, but it’s leaving me cold. Lots of tropes tho: boyfriend’s closet, floppy drunk, pillow clutch, the loom & water bottle. 
Lovely Writer Ep 8 - solid installment, good use of many tropes. I really like the leads and I’m glad there isn’t much side dish action, SibGene gave us: punish, touch your face, boyfriend claiming, kissing, sleep cuddling, symmetry, rooftop, cheek kiss, hand hold, and pillow clutch. 
Call It What You Want Ep 3-4 - couldn’t find the subs, don’t really care, will watch if it crosses my radar, otherwise I’m just not into it.  
Brothers Ep 11 - the “everyone wants Chol” show continues (but WHY?), he and Tri are cute together, and now I kinda just want Prab to end up with the twins. I’m confused by the teachers, but Boston showed up (from UWMA), and my boys KhunKaow got together (YES!), so I’m ultimately delighted with the episode. 
Fish Upon The Sky Ep 2 - the makeover happened, and we go from cute with glasses and braces to cute without them. (I’m reminded of those 90′s Pygmalion teen movies where the girl has glasses + ponytail and then *GASP* does not and *GASP* she’s HOT. This was the BL version.) Meanwhile, writers better be careful with Pi, he’s getting too tsundere to like. Did you see they gave AJ a 2gether music intro & pick up line? Well, it’s actually his brother JJ who plays Ohm in 2g. I cackled. GMMTV - you so cheeky. 
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Ongoing Series - Not Thai 
HIStory 4: Close To You (Taiwan) Ep 5 - half way point. My poor confused babies. It was a really sweet episode... if what happened before hadn’t happened in the way that it had. Also, these boys have a GREAT friendship but are probably the worst advice givers ever. 
Most Peaceful Place (Vietnam) Ep 3 fin - so cute! Our boys confessed and got together. There was an adorable mutual kiss (I love me a mutual, like Ingredients). Afterwards, they actually seemed to communicate with each other about both sex and their relationship. OMG. How original for BL! This was the last episode, so the series is short, but I still enjoyed it very much. RECOMMENDED. 
My Lascivious Boss (Vietnam) Ep 1-2 - oh boy this one is rough, we started out with homophobia child abuse and moved on to family drama + drunken dub-con one night stand. But production values and subs are better than normal for Vietnam (You Are My Boy levels) + our queer babies are out & proud + it’s higher heat + I’m weak. So I’m watching. 
Word of Honor (China) Ep 25-27 - honestly not much happened, lots of back story. Things are looking dire for the ghosts unless they can turn the Scorpion (I LOVE HIM, he’s my precious deadly baby). Don’t know how they managed to make loosing a battle with an immortal sword god ex-friend cute... but they did. Did some calculations and at 36 eps, mathematically speaking, ep 30 will be the equivalent of a standard BL ep 11. Should I be scared for next week? 
Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (Korea) Ep 1-2 - it’s so effing adorbs, soft bois do old fashioned tropes like arranged marriage + evil stepsisters meets the more modern fake relationship + secret identity in a surprisingly comfortable mix. It launched with baby is a floppy drunk, forced proximity, performative I saw you feed him, and some fun gay panic. It’s a lot lighter and faster paced than I was expecting, but this is Korea so I don’t know why I’m surprised. 
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Stand Alones 
K-pop band OnlyOneOf dropped a new MV that is basically BL bait, using many of the tropes we know and love. I promise I’m not trying to lure anyone into K-pop I just thought it was interesting how consciously they’re yaoi dipping. 
Spin-off We Best Love Fighting Mr. 2nd, Shou Zhen | the Only Love Letter Once Written (SERIOUSLY WITH THE TITLES TAIWAN?) anyway there’s a something or other 25 minutes featuring Pei Shou Yi and his boy that aired Friday. It’s about 10 minutes of reboot footage with 15 min of new content, mostly set in the past. It entirely rests on Chih Tian Shih’s acting, fortunately for us he’s great. However, it doesn’t substantially change or add to these characters’ arcs from the finale of WBL season 2. I don’t know if there will be more or if this was just an extra footage fan service. 
COLOR RUSH GOT ITS MOVIE!!! Okay this is almost the tipping point for me to get Viki Standard. It’s listed at 1:56 minutes long but the original series had only c.120 running time - that is a lot of new content. Although i was disappointed by To My Star’s movie I loved Wish You’s, so I am hoping Color Rush got Wish You level treatment. That said, I feel Color Rush the series is damn near perfect already, hard to improve on perfection. 
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Breaking News
Close Friend the series got an updated trailer featuring MaxNat (no subs) so if you like them in Y-Destiny or in Why R U get ready for them to play different characters again, this time for a sports romance segment. Like Y-Destiny, Close Friend looks to be another series of vignettes (Original trailer) coming April 22. 
2gether the movie (Thai trailer) was intended release April 22 but is now postponed due to a surge in C19 cases in Thailand.
Tell the World I Love You, a Thai BL movie that was supposed to release last week, is similarly delayed.  
My Ride has been postponed indefinitely with no airing date. 
The Miracle of Teddy Bear got a teaser vid, no eng subs. 
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Gossip
Thai BL actors Nanon (Bad Buddy), Yoon (YYY), and Mark Siwat (LBC, Bite Me) have tested positive for C19. Press releases stated they’re fine, tho filming has paused fore their various projects, obvs. (No word on whether Nanon’s current project was Bad Buddy or not, although it seems likely given his recent Arm Share episode.) 
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Next Week Looks Like This:
Some shows may be listed later than actual air date for International accessibility reasons.
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Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.
Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.
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Ooo hi I saw you take requests? I have a writing request if you want to :))
So here is my idea:
Remus has a notebook given to him by the other sides to write his thoughts down in. See, Remus has clear impulse control problems so this notebook of for him to write his thoughts down instead of just doing and saying whatever comes to mind. It gives him a chance to think about it. Sometimes, maybe like once a week give or take a few days one of the other sides will sit down with him and read his thoughts with him just to make him feel validated and heard. Well this particular time one of the sides (of your choice) sat down with the notebook and found some rather interesting things.
Now, you can take this one of two ways (it’s really all up to you!)- You can make this something angsty (hurt comfort), or you can make it something shippy! It can be any Remus ship you want but I personally am more partial to intrulogical hehe 💙💚
Take your time and have fun with it!! Have a good day :)
Ah! Ty for the request! I started writing it on the day you submitted it, but Tumblr deleted it after a while of not saving :') so now my motivation to do this is deterred
Anyway, this'll be my first time not writing something Roman centric =w=""
Remus held the book in his hands. He remembered the day Roman gave it to him, when he risked traveling into the dark scape because he knew his brother needed this. Because he did, too.
An outlet.
A place for his monstrosities to be, other than inside his head, allowed to torture him to their best abilities. The illusions his mind creates are no longer just in his eyes. It's no longer insanity- it's creativity. The journal isn't the first one. But he and Roman make sure to keep eachother stocked up; they get filled rather quickly. The Imagination holds an entire library dedicated to their filled journals from over the years.
The journals have also become sort of diaries to them. So, imagine what were to happen if one of them got lost? The possibility of their secrets being seen by unbidden eyes.
Remus burst into Roman's room, "Ro!"
Roman jumped from his spot at his desk, "Jeez- ! What is it?"
Oddly, for Remus, he seemed almost anxious, "Have you seen my latest journal?"
Ah, that explains it. Roman understands the severity of losing something that holds your private thoughts. He stood up from his desk chair, turning to face Remus better, "No, I haven't. Is it missing?"
Remus nodded, unable to speak through the panic coursing through his veins, the hormone mixing with the feeling of the plasma we call blood rushing through veins and arteries, rest in his heart, which is thumping with vigor, the- Remus shook himself. The imagery coming on its own with nothing to do with it, "Thoughts, thoughts thoughts, thoughts, blood, where? Everywhere? It is me, I am thoughts and blood and gore and death and slime, and..."
Roman pulled his brother in, the physical touch of his second half grounding him, finally balanced out with his brother there to help him.
"Breathe, Ree...I get it...I'll help you look for it, okay? Do you have any spare journals?"
Remus shook his head. He had just started this one, he was too busy brainstorming on the pages to remember to restock.
"Okay, do you have the focus to conjur any, right now?"
Remus shook his head again. No no, of course not! He's too focused on the one that's missing!
"Alright, that's okay, Ree. I get it. Here, use this for now," As Roman spoke, he pressed a plain black book in the unstable man's hands, "Get some thoughts out on that, then we can start looking, okay?"
Instead of answering, he made the rest of the way into the prince's room and started letting the thoughts out.
.
.
.
"Feel better?"
Remus let out a breath and nodded, "A lot, thanks. Can we go look, now?"
"Of course, let's go."
It took hours. The sun was gone in Thomas' living room and they were still tearing the place apart, searching absolutely everywhere. Remus was tempted to just dismantle the mind palace and look through the stuff that gets left behind. The fear was boiling in his gut in the ocean of acid.
"What if we don't find it? My blood, sweat, and tears went into that book! Pieces of my heart are in there, I can't lose it, what if someone else finds it and reads it?"
Roman shuddered, because he didn't believe that Remus was being metaphorical, "I understand the severity of the situation, Ree. We should go look in the Lightside, now..."
Remus shrugged as much as his slumped posture will allow, "Sure..."
"We'll find it, Ree..."
"That's not what I'm worried about. If I lose it? Fine, I have others, I can start a new one. I'm scared of someone else finding it and reading it... there's things in there I don't want others seeing..."
"I get it, you know I do. We'll get it back before anyone else can even know it exists, alright?"
Remus just shrugged off his comforting hand, "Stupid prince, always making promises you don't even know if you can keep. Don't do that to yourself and don't do it to me. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that shit."
Roman recoiled, almost physically, "Sometime, people just need reassurance."
"And then, when you're wrong? I know you don't like breaking promises, Princey."
"...Then hopefully we'll figure it out."
"You're such a fucking optimist, it's gross."
Roman rolled his eyes, "I'm helping you look, be nice, you doofus."
"Oh wow, "doofus", I'm so offended," Remus said without much effort.
Roman ignored him.
.
.
.
"It's not HERE!" Remus screamed, a pot crashing through the wall.
Roman manged to muffle the noise and quickly put it back together, "We will, this was only the first room in the Lightside. You need to calm down."
"I can't! What if someone else already found it and read it? What if they hate me? What if they never wanna talk to me again because nothing in there makes sense, what-"
Roman caught his hands, "Woah! Woah...Remus, when did you start caring so much about what the others think of you?"
"I don't!"
"But...-"
"I don't care about what Logan and the other think of me."
"Of what...Logan and the...? Remus...is this about Logan?"
Remus hesitated just long enough.
"Oh great Aphrodite, it is..."
"Aphro-? NO! No, I don't!"
"Remus, is there something about Logan on that book?"
Remus said fuck it in his mind and sighed, "Yes... I...some fantasies...that he might not approve of..."
"Oh, Remus..."
"What if he finds out, and he...? He just doesn't...?"
Roman hit his brother on the head, "This is why you're a doofus. It doesn't matter if he finds it, you have nothing to worry about."
Remus rolled his eyes. Literally. He rolled them like dice and Roman had to look away, but got the message.
"How would you know?"
It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes (PROPERLY).
"I'm leaving you to figure that out. But, I do."
"Sure. Whatever. Asshole."
Roman moved on to look in the next room.
.
.
.
A flash of green leaped onto him and he was tumbling over, the item in his hands flying out.
"Remus!"
The man scrambled over and snatched the book up, "Did you read it?"
"I- no, Remus what is it?"
"It's mine. Roman, I found it!"
Roman? Since when do those two talk? But, as Remus said, Roman walked in.
"Oh, thank Hades."
"Logan had it."
Roman sucked in a breath, "Did he read it?"
Remus shook his head, relief is a weird expression on the man's face.
Logan wouldn't mind seeing it more.
"What is this about?"
Roman took the liberty of answering, "The book is Remus' and it's private. Reading it would be invasive."
"Oh, my apologies, then. But, I had just picked it up, it was left over from Remus' running through the room and into the Imagination, along with some other debris I cleaned up."
"It's alright, nerd."
Logan's gaze lingered on Remus a bit, before he bid his farewells, reminded Roman of some work he needs to do by Friday, then left.
"Y'know," Roman said as they turned to walk back, "You could tell him how you feel."
Remus scoffed, "I'm not self destructive, like you, RoRo."
Ignoring Remus' jabs is difficult for the prince, nevertheless, "And do, pray tell, how it's self destructive?"
"Because he'll say no and that will hurt. I don't like when things actually hurt. I'm not risking him hating me even more."
"Woah, woah, he doesn't hate you."
"Doesn't he? I'm chaotic, irrational, vile, ik everything he fights to keep under control."
Roman digested this and thought hard on how best to explain this, "But that's exactly why you two are perfect for each other. You help him let loose when he's being a stick in the mud and he helps you keep in control of yourself and stay organized.
"You're delusional. He doesn't like me, he can't Ro. It goes against our very beings! Go ahead and fool yourself, but you can't do that to me. That's just cruel." Remus disappeared and Roman sighed as he tried to brush off his brother's words.
As the embodiment of romance, he thinks he'd know when a couple will work out or not. How will he convince his brother and Logan of that? He supposes he can't blame them for that, who would listen to the love advice of someone who loves someone that loves someone else? Kinda hypocritical.
.
.
.
"Just leave me alone!"
"Remus! Would calm down? Just listen to me!"
"No! You're a liar and I hate you! Do you want me to get hurt? You're an asshole you good for nothing prince!" He screamed. Why won't his brother let this go? Doesn't he see that everyone is better this way?
"Fine! You're right! Is that what you want to hear? Call me an asshole, call me stupid, call me evil or whatever! But I'm not wrong! Why don't you believe me? Ha! Why am I trying to reason with the self proclaimed unreasonable?"
Remus looked down from his perch on the guillotine, "Wait, RoRo-!" But he was gone.
"Fuck."
He rushed out, hoping to Loki that he didn't do too much damage.
"Roman!"
But he found who he wants looking for.
"Why are you screaming in the middle of the common room?" Came that cool and sexy voice.
"Looking for my brother, duh."
"Funny, I just spoke to him."
"Where'd he go?"
"Not sure, but he told me to stop being a robotic fake and confess to you."
"He- ? ROMAN!" Remus summoned a hammer and maybe there's a new hole in the wall.
"He was right, surprisingly."
Remus was not expecting that, "Come again?"
"I have noticed, over the course of our interactions, that I have developed feelings that I didn't recognized until Roman brought them to my attention. Remus...I have romantic feelings for you."
And it was the last casual and calculated confession Remus ever heard. He imagined something with ropes. But it was the best thing he ever heard. He didn't expect to be crying.
"Remus?"
"I like you, too..."
Logan brightened and stood up, his heart beating unnaturally, yet pleasently, as he moved closer, "Then... perhaps we...?"
But before he could finish, Remus pulled him in and there was no need for words.
Part 2 with what happened with Roman afterwards?
Ty so much for the request and I apologies for the long wait.
@fireflyjunkie
77 notes · View notes
killing-all-joy · 3 years
Text
Sometimes Having Terrible Aim Is Worth It
Pairing: Analogince Word count: 4,492 Logan uses he/they pronouns cw: swearing, snowball fights, mentions of murder, implied bad parents, i might have made lore for this at 1am while bored whoops
Overall, Roman and Logan were happy with their neighborhood. The location was convenient for both of their works (the theatre and the high school) and the environment was very lax. It was a low-crime, middle-class neighborhood with people who seemed very nice.
Roman, the sociable one, had made friends with many of the people on their block, only leaving a couple of houses alone. He had told Logan that all the people he had talked with were amiable people worthy of their friendship. So, Logan had accompanied his boyfriend during conversations with their neighbors on occasion, despite being an introvert with a general disappointment in the human race.
It wasn’t with ease that Roman was able to leave the house on their right alone. He had been warned not to bother the man who lived there as soon as he had moved in and started to make friends with his new neighbors. A blonde woman who Roman guessed to be about twenty years older than him had knocked on the door the evening after the two had moved in and given them the gist of the neighborhood. Her name was Janet, and she had told them about which houses had kids (as well as which kids were the best or quietest), how many people lived at each house, what each resident was like, and finally, about the man who lived next door.
Apparently, he was introverted and creepy, didn’t have friends, had the scariest Halloween decorations, worked at an age-old psychiatric hospital, and was rude and disagreeable. Janet had sufficiently discouraged Roman and Logan from interacting with him, but even if she hadn’t, the reports from their other neighbors would have done the job.
One kid said she had knocked on his door on Halloween, and he had opened the door and snarled at her with a realistic vampire outfit on, laughing evilly as she ran away. One mother said she had gone to his house to ask for a cup of sugar, and he had given her a cup of salt instead. Three kids all said they had seen him near the haunted house on Fridays. There was a rumor going around that he had killed the previous owners of the house Roman and Logan now resided in because their cat had made a small scratch on his car (Logan and Roman were less inclined to believe that last rumor; it was evidence-less, unlike the others).
But, other than the next-door neighbor they were both terrified of, Roman and Logan liked their living situation very much.
It was January, right in the middle of winter. The weather refused to let their area forget this fact; the week had started out with a snowstorm and after one day of pause, it had snowed every day for the next four days. It was now Friday, the fourth consecutive day of having snow, and the neighborhood kids had calmed about the state of the weather. Earlier in the week, Roman and Logan would often look out their window to find kids playing in the snow. Now, the excitement had dialed down and the kids were exhausted. The couple figured that sometime in the middle of the next week, the kids would be back to causing snowy chaos, but there was still almost a week until that hypothesis would be put to the test. At the current time, the block was quiet.
Roman appeared next to Logan, who was reading. He perched himself on the armrest of Logan's armchair and put an arm around his boyfriend.
"Hey, Logan?" Roman asked, taking a lock of Logan's hair and twirling it between his fingers.
"What is it you want, darling?" Logan replied, not looking up from his book.
Roman frowned. "I never said I wanted something."
"You called me Logan," he explained like it were obvious, "so, you want something."
Roman rolled his eyes, wishing his boyfriend wasn't so observant. "I want to have a snowball fight outside."
Logan raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes on the novel in his hands. "I assume that you want me to join?"
Roman nodded. "Who else would I fight?"
"I also imagine you will annoy me about this subject until I acquiesce, or the snow melts?"
Roman nodded again.
"What's in it for me?"
Roman furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Well...maybe, after the fight, we can curl up next to each other on the couch in our blankets, hot chocolate in hand, and we can watch Doctor Who or whatever while we snuggle."
Logan bit his lip.
"You know you want to."
Logan rolled their eyes. "I most certainly do not."
Roman grinned at him cheekily. "Bullshit," he said sweetly, "now come with me."
He took the book from Logan's hands and set it on the table. He grabbed a receipt from nearby and put it on the open pages, before slamming the novel shut and pulling his boyfriend to his feet.
Logan made a noise of surprise as he was dragged to the door by his boyfriend.
"Roman, wait!" Logan exclaimed, putting a hand on Roman's arm. "Let me get my gloves and hat on first."
Logan, who was already in a blue patterned sweater and dark purple scarf, dashed to his and Roman's room. He opened his closet and picked out his navy blue beanie and red gloves. He put them on quickly, not wanting to have to deal with Roman's manhandling once again.
He raced back to Roman who was waiting for him at the door impatiently. When he saw Logan, his expression brightened to one of adoration.
"Oh my gosh, mi querido, you look adorable!"
Logan huffed. "I am not adorable."
Roman laughed. "Yes, you are."
Logan knew that arguing was hopeless.
They took the accusation to heart for a moment. "What if the neighbors see our fight and it ruins my reputation and they never take me seriously again?"
"One, they will be too far away from us to recognize you. Two, they won't care. Three, I'm going to be annoying you for the next two months about a snowball fight so if you refuse, they'll judge you for choosing someone as loud and annoying as myself as your boyfriend."
Logan nodded. "Fair enough."
The two exited their house. Logan put his arms around his torso and shivered, the sudden change in temperature shocking his body, but Roman ran ahead. He immediately crouched down to the ground and formed a snowball, aiming directly for Logan’s stomach, and missing by a couple of feet. Logan gave him a disappointed look.
Roman huffed and returned to building a snowball. Logan shivered again, watching the small flecks of white flutter down from the clouds above and land on their suburban neighborhood. Logan was removed from their thoughts when a snowball collided with his stomach.
He stumbled back half a step, but steadied his stance and glared at his boyfriend. Another snowball was thrown his way, but Logan dodged and watched it disperse against the door.
“You might want to join me in the yard, Specs, if you don’t want me to break a window.”
Logan followed his suggestion, running to the front yard and immediately forming a snowball. They threw it at their unsuspecting boyfriend who was in the process of making another snowball. It hit him square in the chest, making him fall backwards.
“Oh, you’re in for it, mi luz.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “You’ve hit me twice, I’ve hit you once. I’m hardly the-”
A snowball to the lungs effectively shut them up.
---
Roman and Logan were hiding behind their respective walls of snow. Throughout the fight, they had been creating their own walls to hide behind to avoid getting hit. The fight would continue until either surrender or unconsciousness occurred, and both knew the former would be the hardest to achieve.
Since the two were both overachievers and never half-assed anything, their respective snow walls were two and a half feet high, roughly four inches in thickness, and approximately two feet wide. Roman had drawn an ‘R’ into his for dramatic effect, and Logan had hit the ‘R’ purposely with a snowball twice.
Neither knew how much time had passed, nor could they sense just how cold they were. All they could think about was demolishing their beloved in a violent war of snow, where only one could be crowned victor.
They were so unfocused that they didn’t notice a door opening and closing. Their eyes were so zeroed in on each other that Logan couldn’t see anything but his weapon and his target.
Logan knew the second the snowball left his hands that he would not land the shot. They were off by at least a couple of feet. They paid it no mind, however, and focused on evading Roman’s next attack.
The snowball landed with an audible smack.
That was unusual; dodged snowballs normally landed soundlessly on the ground.
What was also unusual was the yelp accompanying the sound.
Two shocked heads turned and watched as an unfamiliar man was thrown off his balance from Logan’s ruthlessly packed snowball. He didn’t fall to the ground, no, he was too scary and intimidating for that kind of humiliation to ever befall him. But, he was inconvenienced just enough so that Roman and Logan were terrified for their lives.
Logan hadn’t hit any old neighbor that lived on their block. He had hit the man who lived to their right.
The man who was evil, scary, probably a serial killer; the person that even the adults were scared of. He overdid Halloween, had no friends, and worked at a psychiatric hospital. He could probably kill them if he wanted to. According to the rumors, he had killed for lesser motives.
His eyes locked with both of the men at once, and Logan and Roman had never been more scared in their time together. He was terrifying.
With a black shirt, black jeans, black and purple hair, and a black hoodie, the man next door with tattoos creeping up his neck and black eyeshadow under his eyes looked very much the part the rest of the street had cast him as.
Logan and Roman were truly and undeniably fucked.
When the neighbor stopped glaring at them and walked to his car, Logan and Roman simultaneously craned their necks back to face each other, a terrified look in both of their eyes. Suddenly, all their competitive fire was extinguished and they looked at the snow on the ground with fear and regret instead of devious fun.
Their neighbor got something from his car and returned inside, casting sideways glances at Roman and Logan as he passed them. He slammed his door shut, causing both men to flinch.
From day one, the couple had been warned by kindergarteners and middle-aged women alike that they were unfortunate to be neighbors with the man next door. It was today that this was proven. All they could do was wait for their demise.
Roman threw a snowball at Logan’s face in anger at his actions and bad aim. For the first time in this fight, he wished he had been hit by that snowball.
There was a four minute period where the two were internally debating their options of either going back inside or apologizing to their fearsome neighbor. Occasionally, they would make eye contact with each other, but no words were actually spoken. Roman, the extrovert, considered knocking on his door to make a quick and hasty apology while Logan, the introvert, thought about writing an apology letter and sliding it under his door.
Neither of their ideas needed to be put to action, however, since the neighbor exited his house once again.
The two resisted the overwhelming urge to cower in fear. They had never seen him before, and now they had seen him twice in less than ten minutes? Clearly, they had ticked him off.
In an effort to not make it look as though they were staring, Logan and Roman stuck their gazes on each other. Each could tell that their partner was resisting their instincts telling them to run as far away as they could as fast as possible. But they couldn’t be rude—not when that man lived right next to them and could approach their house at any time. The serial killer rumors suddenly seemed more plausible.
What greeted them (or rather, Logan) instead, was a snowball to the back.
Logan, who was tenser than a taut rope, stumbled from the harsh impact. When he was able to regain his stance, his head whipped around to look at his attacker.
The neighbor had on, of all things, a smile.
He had discarded his hoodie for a fluffy black sweater with purple bats on it. He was now in a black beanie and had on midnight blue gloves. While his winter attire was surprising considering he already had a hoodie and didn’t seem to leave his house much, the mischievous smile was the most perplexing of all new things about their neighbor. Neither Logan nor Roman could make sense of it, except that it let them see the infamously creepy stranger in a new light.
Logan huffed out a bemused laugh, staring at the neighbor (who looked to be similar in age to them) like he was a gripping plot twist in a novel that unexpectedly ended happily. He shook his head a bit, but crouched down and formed another snowball. He made sure not to throw it as hard as the first one he had thrown at the stranger.
The man dodged it with ease, running closer to the snow-covered couple’s house. He swiped some snow off the porch rail and quickly packed it before throwing it at Roman, who was too busy being bewildered to do anything to dodge. He gasped in offense and coughed when the snowball collided with his sternum, and directed a playful glare at his attacker. He threw a snowball at him in return.
The neighbor easily dodged that one, but wasn’t able to dodge the snowball Logan had thrown his way. His attention switched over to the bespectacled assailant, looking at them just in time to see him throw another snowball at his boyfriend.
“How the hell did you make a snowball that quickly, cariño?”
“I have a snow wall, Ro. What do you think I put behind it? Action figures?” Logan retorted sarcastically.
Roman rolled his eyes and formed another snowball, sending it through the air and smack into Logan’s wall. “Every man for himself!”
The neighbor laughed at that, and the snowball fight continued.
---
As it turned out, Logan and Roman were at a disadvantage from already being out in the snow before their neighbor joined in. He was able to make them both surrender eventually, but not before Roman had aimed a snowball at a precise place on the back of his neck where the snow fell down the back of his shirt.
Logan was the wiser out of the couple and had surrendered first (not without a fight, though). He figured he deserved it; he had been the one to disturb the stranger, after all. This made him able to watch as both Roman and the stranger started to shiver more and more as the fight had continued.
When Roman finally did surrender, Logan laughed in his face and then put an arm around him. Logan took one hand in his and was able to tell his fingers were numb.
“You just never know when to quit, do you?” they sighed fondly.
“I did eventually!” protested Roman indignantly.
The stranger chuckled from beside him. “Would’ve been easier for your poor body if you’d surrendered when you knew you were gonna lose.”
It was the first time they’d heard him speak; snowball fights weren’t exactly the best place to start a conversation. His voice was low, about as deep as expected from a scary man in all black. However, it didn’t hold any fearful qualities or scratchiness like the kids had described. The couple thought it sounded like coffee on a cool winter’s morning (which didn’t make sense since coffee wasn’t a sound, but it was all that they could use to describe it, nonetheless).
“And when would that have been?”
“The second I joined in.”
Logan hid a laugh behind their hand. Roman glared at him for encouraging their neighbor.
“No idiot surrenders the second another person joins,” Roman muttered.
“Exactly,” the man said with a wink. Logan was able to spot him curling his arms around himself, probably from being cold.
Roman gasped loudly when he finally realized what the stranger was saying. “How dare you!”
He stumbled out of Logan’s arms and collected more snow off the porch railing, making it into a large, messy ball and chucking it at the stranger.
It hit his face. Not hard in any shape or form; no harm would be done, but it was still a bunch of cold water shoved in his face and falling into the front of his sweater.
The stranger furiously batted at the snow on his face.
“Serves you right,” Roman mumbled.
Logan rolled his eyes. “Sorry, that must’ve been freezing.”
The man nodded.
“Come on in,” Logan invited, opening the door. “We can make you some hot chocolate.”
Roman rushed inside, running to the storage closet that had extra blankets.
“A-are you s-su-re?” the stranger said, syllables separate and repetitive from his shivering. The snow in his face caused his teeth to chatter.
“Of course,” Logan said, “it’s our—well, mostly my fault, that you got cold anyway. I’m Logan. He/they pronouns.”
Virgil chuckled. “L-log-an, h-uh? Was st-st-starting to thi-nk y-you were j-just gi-v-ven a b-bunch of p-pet names at b-birth.”
Logan blushed furiously, but laughed. Roman referred to him with Spanish terms of endearment more than he did his legal name.
“At this point, I might as well have been. I tend to respond to any unfamiliar word that vaguely sounds like Spanish now.”
They ushered the freezing stranger inside. Roman had returned from the storage closet with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and another under his arm. Logan took the blanket that wasn’t shrouding his shivering boyfriend and wrapped it around the stranger’s shoulders, who tugged it tighter around himself eagerly.
Logan went to the kitchen, putting three mugs of milk into the microwave and setting it for two minutes. They then returned to Roman and their neighbor who were shivering in silence.
“Thanks for joining us,” Roman said, “that was fun.”
“It was,” he agreed, shivering starting to calm down. “T-thank you for letting me p-participate.” Not fully, however.
“Of course,” said Logan, putting an arm on Roman’s shoulders. “I totally meant that snowball as an invitation. Fully intentional.”
The other two laughed, knowing that was a lie. The microwave beeped, and Logan left them to take the mugs from the microwave. He put the hot cocoa powder in and stirred the mugs, before picking them up.
He entered the living room to see that Roman had sat on the left of the couch and the stranger in the middle. Logan put their mugs in front of them and put down a mug for themself. He sat down next to the stranger.
“Might I ask your name, oh Master of the Snowball?” Roman asked.
The stranger snorted. “That’s much better than my name. My name’s Virgil. He/him.”
Logan smiled to himself. “Not at all, that’s a very nice name.”
Virgil choked on the hot chocolate he was sipping. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Fits your aesthetic,” Roman remarked.
Virgil opened his mouth, looking offended. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
It was obviously a joke, but Logan and Roman knew they had to tell Virgil of the rumors and his reputation. Especially now that they saw him as a good guy.
“Halloween,” Roman started to list, “everyday-is-spooky-season aesthetic, seems like the type of guy to work at a haunted house.”
Virgil scoffed. “Those places are stupid; not scary at all. If you want to go to a haunted house, make your house the haunted house.”
Well, now they had the Virgil-goes-to-a-haunted-house-weekly theory debunked.
“You do have ghosts on your sweater,” Logan supplied, taking a sip of the hot chocolate.
“They’re cute ghosts, though,” Roman said as soon as Virgil opened his mouth to argue. He pointed at one on his sweater. “See? Look at the lil’ faces.”
“My sister got it for me for Christmas.”
“If I knew your sister, that would probably explain the cute faces.”
“Oh, believe me, it would.”
Logan chuckled as he watched the two exchange conversation. He took another sip of his hot chocolate.
“So, um, I heard moving trucks outside your house about a month ago. Was that y’all? You new here?” asked Virgil.
“Affirmative,” Logan confirmed.
“Yeah, it’s our very first house together!” Roman said happily.
Virgil smiled. “That’s sickeningly adorable.”
“I am sickeningly adorable,” Roman said like it was a badge of honor.
“I agree,” Logan said.
A comfortable silence befell the group.
Virgil fidgeted, looking at Roman nervously. “Bit awkward question this far into the conversation, but I never caught your name-”
“Roman~” sang the man in question. He would have held the note out for an impressively long time if he didn’t take a sip of hot cocoa.
“Cool,” said Virgil awkwardly. “And I suppose, Roman and Logan, oh wow y’all’s names rhyme that is so romantic, anyway-”
Roman gasped, covering his mouth. His eyes lit up. “They do!”
“Are you just noticing this, Roman?” asked Logan.
“Of course!” Roman exclaimed in reply. “If I knew our names rhymed, I would have already written many a rhyming poem about our love.”
“That’s very nice, Love.”
“Don’t be snippy, mi cielo, you know you’d love it,” Roman huffed. “Virgil, don’t you think he’d love it?”
Virgil just rolled his eyes fondly, not wanting to get caught up in the middle of a lover’s spat.
“Don’t bring Virgil into this, Roman. You should put the subject aside, considering he was in the middle of saying something before you interrupted.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did our neighbors happen to...um...tell you what they thought of me? Ruin first impressions? It would explain your terrified expressions when we first saw each other.”
Roman and Logan looked at each other worriedly.
“...Maybe?” Roman asked quietly.
“There’s a small possibility...” Logan whispered.
“Y’all, I’m not mad if it happened, I just wanna know.”
Logan sighed. “Yes, yes they did.”
“What’d they say?”
“Multiple people said different things,” Logan began. “Janet talked to us first. She’s the blonde, short-haired, blue-eyed-”
“-Used to be a soccer mom, baby blue house?” Virgil asked. Logan nodded. “Met her when I first moved in, and once after that.”
“Her, yes. She told us, quite frankly, to not come near you.”
Virgil started to close in on himself. “Like how?”
“Said you were creepy, rude, introverted, no friends, freaky-as-all-hell Halloween decorations, apparently knew where you worked,” Roman told him, then noticed Virgil’s shrinking and stopped with the accusations. “I doubt almost all of that now, since you’re obviously not creepy and definitely have friends with that personality, but she may have been accurate with Halloween decor.”
“She was,” Virgil confirmed. “Go big or go home.”
“I believe you are normally home during Halloween, are you not?” asked Logan, confused.
Roman laughed. “Of course, mi amor.”
“Where do I work, in Janet terms?” asked Virgil, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Some old psychiatric hospital out of town.”
Virgil doubled over in laughter. He put his mug on the coffee table so it wouldn’t spill and held his head in his hands.
When he regained himself, still giggling, he replied.
“That’s inaccurate,” Virgil said plainly. “I don’t have a degree for that. See, there’s an old abandoned psychiatric hospital two miles away from the airport that is on the same road as the airport. It’s out of use, so that’s a stupid assumption to make. I guess I could maybe see why she made it though; I work at the airport.”
“Oh?” asked Logan, intrigued.
“Yeah, I’m an air traffic controller,” said Virgil with a shrug. “It ain’t that interesting. I recently got fully certified, though, which is cool. It pays well, I’m good at paying constant attention to things that could potentially end badly, and the high-stress comes from having to give my unwavering and full attention, which is something I can do well.”
“Less stressful than home and college, I guess, huh?” Roman guessed.
“Exactly, it's a spa compared to my parents,” Virgil said with a laugh. “But yeah, that’s hysterical. I definitely do not work at a psychiatric hospital.”
“I suppose what the kids said is untrue if what the adults said is false,” Logan mused.
“Oh dear lord, what did they say,” Virgil groaned.
“One girl told us about the rumor that you killed the people who used to live here,” Roman said, and Virgil immediately laughed. “Her mother said she asked for a cup of sugar and you gave her a cup of salt instead.”
“I hadn’t slept in five days and realized my mistake two hours later,” Virgil explained immediately. “I remember that one.”
Logan snorted. “One boy said you go to the haunted house on Fridays, which is obviously untrue.”
“Yeah. One, they’re stupid, two, that one’s only open in October and November, three, that one ain’t even scary. It has a good and free parking lot, though, and I volunteer at an at-risk youth center every Friday a couple blocks down that has really shitty parking.”
Roman shook his head. “Wow, we really got you wrong.”
“You were misled,” Virgil corrected. “It’s not your fault.”
“You know what, you’re right!” Roman agreed. “We were robbed.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”
“Of friendship,” Logan said, taking a sip from his drink. “Roman would have been banging on your door two days after moving, wanting to get to know you. But, after a momentous amount of ‘rude’ and ‘disagreeable’—” Virgil frowned, “—he was persuaded not to. Our loss, especially considering you are neither of those two adjectives.”
Virgil smiled. “Thank you.”
Logan looked into Virgil’s chestnut brown eyes, and was able to spot the specks of gray in them. They gave Virgil a warm smile. “For what? It is our pleasure to be given the chance to know you.”
Roman groaned. “I try 24/7 to be dramatic and you do it without trying.”
Virgil, blushing, giggled. “You’re both good at it.”
Roman beamed at him. “I’m thrilled you think so, Nico di Angel-o.”
“Nico’s surname can be interpreted to mean ‘of the angels’ already, Roman, I don’t think you need to emphas-”
“Shhhh, Specs, let me shower our guest with compliments.”
Virgil’s face was on fire. “Do y’all have any movies?”
~
Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @fander-fic-recs @neo-neo-neo
~
I wrote most of that when I went into a blur for three hours and looked at the time after I finished the draft to see that I had wasted all the time I had to do homework. It was worth it. I don’t know why but I’m really attached to this AU? If you want to see more of it please tell me. I hope you liked it!
227 notes · View notes
tl-notes · 3 years
Text
Kobayashi’s Maid Dragon S2 Episode 9 Notes
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...設立から大分地盤が固まってきており、少しずつだが、業態は改善されている。
One thing to note here is that Kobayashi(‘s narration) isn’t saying the company has already made solid improvements, it’s that the company has finally established itself somewhat (as it was only founded relatively recently, and typically new companies are especially busy while trying to get off the ground) and now is starting to make improvements.
Similarly in the second sentence, it’s not “was” slow going, it’s “is still” slow going, and the working conditions “are” improving, not “have improved.”
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This is がんば ganba, short of course for がんばって ganbatte, which I’m sure most of you are familiar with: the (in)famous “do your best.”
I only mention it because I like this shortened version of it. Ganba!
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This is a fun little idiom(?)/saying: 鼻で笑う hana de warau (conjugated as hana de warawareta), lit. to laugh using the nose. It’s used to describe laughing at someone you’re looking down on for whatever reason (not necessarily in a super serious way, could just be a friend being dumb etc.; in this case it’s Elma’s being naive).
Typically it refers to like a “heh-but-through-the-nose” kind of “laugh,” but as you can see in this scene (where clearly Kobayashi is laughing with the mouth, even starting with “pff” lips) it works idiomatically even if the laughing isn’t only through the nose.
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You may have heard that Japan is/was a “lifetime employment” country, where typically people would get hired right out of school and stay at that company until retirement. While that’s much less true today than it was even a couple of decades ago (and has become kind of controversial in ways), it’s still much more common of a practice than in say the US.
One result of this is that there’s a much bigger distinction placed between hiring people in spring as part of the annual graduation rush (the Japanese school year ends in March), and mid-career hiring. Typically you can’t participate in the fresh grad hiring if you aren’t one, even if you’re new to the field in question. 
For larger employers (i.e. 5k+ employees), roughly two-thirds of all hirings come from fresh grads, and only small employers (<300 employees) hire more mid-careerists than people directly out of school.
Of course, this split tends to apply mostly to “standard” full time jobs, not so much part time, and is not necessarily a thing in every industry/at every company.
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Just as a minor point of clarity, this “organized text” in Elma’s document refers to the phrase まとめられた文章 matomerareta bunshou. In a literal sense, matomerareta can mean organized/consolidated etc., and bunshou text/passages, but meaning-wise it’s more like “writing that gets its point across clearly/cleanly.” 
This is a pretty big compliment and a very useful skill to have in organizations like this, as writing such that people can quickly and easily understand exactly what you’re trying to say often saves a ton of time and frustration.
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我々はエルマの気迫に押されるがままにその書類を読み始めた。
Another minor point, but where the English could imply that they were overwhelmed by Elma’s intensity through the act of reading her report, the Japanese implies more that they started reading it because of how intense Elma was being. 
It doesn’t really make much of a difference either way, but it stuck out a little for me. 
To justify mentioning it, I guess I’ll explain the grammar point Kobayashi uses: されるがままに sareru ga mama ni. Sareru is a generic verb/verb conjugation for having something done to you (technically here it’s 押される, to be “pushed/pressed/pressured”), and mama refers to a state, condition, or “way” (like “do it this way”).
Put together, the whole phrase is used to indicate “you” do/did something that someone else wants you to, without (meaningful) opposition. (Something similar in raw meaning but with a very different connotation would be “going with the flow.”)
If a friend says “hey let’s go do something,” and next thing you know you’re out bowling despite preferring to stay at home, this is you.
You can stick the mama ni to various other things as well to come up with a similar idea, but without the sareru the nuance may end up different. 
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The word for clairvoyance here is 千里眼 senrigan, lit. “eye(s) [that can see] a thousand li”, li being a Chinese unit of measurement for length (shorter than a mile, but for general purposes “eyes that see a thousand miles” is basically the gist).
Despite the perhaps physical-sounding nature of the term, it does actually describe the same power as “clairvoyance” in English: being able to perceive things outside your actual range of vision, including potentially into people’s hearts and minds etc.
Hence why it’s a thousand screen display, when she updates it with tech knowledge:
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“Tainted by work” here is 職業病 shokugyou-byou, lit. an occupational disease. The “proper” definition is a disease one gets from working in a particular job, such as black lung for coal miners or even posture-related health issues for desk workers. 
Additionally, it’s used colloquially to refer to noticeable habits or quirks that people in a certain profession pick up, like a baker always waking up super early or a programmer using programming lingo out of context in normal conversation. The latter being especially noticeable in Japanese, as a lot of such terms are English in origin.
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“Shocking” here is a fun word: ドン引き don-biki. “Don” here is added just for emphasis; the main meaning revolves around 引き hiki/biki, from the verb 引く hiku, meaning to pull. 
The idea is that someone does/says something that you recoil from. Maybe it’s gross (“I only shower once a week”), maybe it’s mean (“They didn’t smile enough so I didn’t leave a tip.”), maybe it’s creepy (“I sent like 30 texts yesterday but still no reply.”), just anything that has you feeling like you might want to create some distance because... phew. 
It’s kind of similar to the current use of “cringe” as an adjective/noun, though with less of an internet-slang feel* to it, and generally used more as something the speaker is doing rather than describing whatever/whoever is being cringe. 
(*I think it started being used popularly in this way in the early-to-mid 90s, with the “don”biki variant specifically popping up around 2005.)
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A “Premium Friday” is the last Friday of the month, where you get to leave work at 3 pm. It is largely theoretical. 
The idea was created by the Japanese government as a way to reduce working hours and encourage domestic spending (boost demand), but it has not been implemented by all that many employers, and especially not many smaller employers. There isn’t, after all, any mandate or government-provided incentive for doing so.
Evidence from the places that did implement it suggests it is actually good for the economy, but good luck convincing bosses to give extra paid time off.
“Last Friday of the month” was chosen because most people get paid on the 25th each month (Japan tends to pay monthly instead of every two weeks), so it would usually be right after payday, when people are more willing to get spendy.
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Kobayashi saying eight hours here reminded me of a “fun” fact: the typical Japanese work day is eight hours plus a one hour break. Plus a one hour break, not with. So a typical work day is actually nine hours. Most commonly 8 to 5 or 9 to 6. Not many “nine-to-fives” here.
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The characters for Joui are 上井, which usually read as Kamii or Uwai. It’s “Joui” because that means, when written as 上位, “superior.” As in “a superior life-form.” Like a dragon, say.
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でも、ゆっくりやる事業改善案を見せてもらえたじゃない?
This one is actually kind of a critical mistake. In the English it sounds like she’s talking about the improvement proposal that Elma made and that the boss looked at. In the Japanese though, she’s talking about a different plan, one the boss showed them*, that is similar in idea but is going to take longer to be fully implemented**. So we’re being told that while Elma didn’t get what she wanted as fast as she wanted it, it is still basically going through at a slower pace.
*In ”見せてもらえた misete moraeta,” the misete vs mite means they were the ones who got shown something, rather than the ones who got someone to look at their stuff. 
**Which you can tell from the ゆっくりやる yukkuri yaru, where yaru is basically “do” and yukkuri means (in this case) at an unhurried pace.
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(Re previous note: Hence why she says “immediately” here.)
“Black (ブラック)” and “white (ホワイト)” in the context of Japanese employers refers to how well employees are treated: a company with good benefits/pay, reasonable levels of overtime, and feels safe to work at is “white,” while a company that has excessive overtime, often pays poorly, breaks labor laws, and allows harassment to fester is “black.” 
While “white company” was created simply in contrast to the term “black company,” the latter finds its origins in front businesses for organized crime, which were called “black” in the sense of “illegal” (similar to “black market” or something being in a “grey area”). Given the international reputation of Japanese work life, you can imagine that “black company” as a term sees much more use.
There’s been some discussion about maybe replacing it due to the racial implications (especially since it uses the English word “black”), but while typically English translations drop the color for that reason (e.g. ブラック企業大賞, an “award” given to Japan’s worst employer each year, is officially “Most Evil Corporation of the Year Award” in English), it hasn’t really penetrated to the mainstream at this point.
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The rice there is in a 飯盒 hangou, a metal container that looks… like that, and is the stereotypical item of choice for cooking rice while camping. It has its origins in the mess kits used by the military, but these days they’re primarily marketed as portable rice cookers for camping use. 
You can get round ones too, but the bean shape is very popular.
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“Settings” here is 設定 settei, lit. exactly that, “setting(s).” E.g. if you open a computer program and look at the settings menu, it’ll be settei in the Japanese language settings (settei). 
I bring it up here because there’s a bit of a difference in how it gets used colloquially like this. In English, the “setting” for a story typically refers to where and when it’s set. In Japanese, “setting” in that sense is usually 舞台 butai. But settei is still used when talking about fiction, just in a different, more expansive way.
Often in these cases settei is used to refer to the various conceits that provide the context in which the story takes place. In this show, for example, one such “setting” is that dragons are real: another is that magic exists. It comes up especially often in fantasy/sci-fi type stuff where there are major distinctions between that universe and the real world—not that stories in a real-world setting don’t have settei of their own, but they often are lumped into descriptions of the plot in that case (”a dragon comes to live with an office worker in her apartment”).
It also refers to the “settings” of characters, like name or age, and things like “they run a bakery that’s going out of business and are trying to save it.” Basically all the details you’d have in a character profile.
It also gets used in conversation to refer to pretend things or (basically) lies: like here, where Saikawa thinks Shouta is playing pretend with his ley-lines talk, or e.g. if someone is trying to tell you some outlandish story (“my uncle works at Nintendo…” or someone asking for love life advice for “their friend”) and you’re just like “Okay so that’s the settei here, I see.”
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Not really a big deal, but Elma’s line here in Japanese implies she won’t let Tohru call her that anymore (see her もう mou). Tohru’s response is also more of a “I haven’t been?”, since of course she wasn’t aware of Elma’s-mental-image-Tohru tormenting Elma in the previous scene:
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The word for “full of” in the title here is ざんまい zanmai (a suffix form of 三昧 sanmai), usually meaning that there’s a whole lot of [whatever] to immerse oneself in. I mostly bring it up because there’s a famous restaurant chain called Sushi Zanmai that specializes in, obviously, sushi.
And you know, Elma is a water dragon that looks kinda like an eel… I’m just sayin’…
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Not really a translation note, but wild that Elma didn’t even touch her parfait. (Not so wild that Fafnir finished his so quickly.) Serious business ahead...
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“Genuinely” here is 素直に sunao ni, where the “ni” is used like “-ly” to make sunao work as an adverb. Sunao itself is an interesting word that falls into that category of “simple concept that is often hellish to translate.”
For some context, the first character, 素, is also used in the word 素顔 sugao, which is a face without makeup and 素材 sozai, basically raw ingredients/materials. The second, 直, is used in words like 直線 chokusen, a straight line, or 正直 shoujiki, honest.
Put them together, and you’ve got a word with connotations of directness and being unadorned. The original definition of the word tends toward “simple, natural” in the sense of e.g. life growing up on a rural farm. 
The more common use for it these days is to describe people and their actions. Positively, it can mean something similar to a person being happy to help, or kind of like the opposite of conniving; open, frank, genuine. Less positively, it can mean someone is too trusting and easy to trick into doing things OR someone who is “too honest” and says hurtful things. 
(If it helps: tsundere characters are often described as explicitly not sunao.)
In this case, the idea is that Tohru accepted the invitation easily as-is, without putting any conditions on it, or doing any “ugh, what a pain, do I have to, jeez” rigamarole—she just accepted. Another way you could put it in this case might be “It’s even more unusual for Tohru to accept an invitation like this without a fuss.”
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Just to point out the hand on head thing again.
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Also just to point out that this is another example of otsukare, as a reminder of how ubiquitous that word is.
And it makes a good place to end on: thanks for reading!
44 notes · View notes
edie-baby · 3 years
Text
Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 2 | Pierre Gasly
Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.
Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.
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Sava woke up on Friday with no intention of getting out of bed before noon. And then realised that she wasn’t in her bed, it was a hotel room. The memories and realities of her current situation made her head spin, and with a shit eating grin on her face, she jumped out of bed and into the shower. Feeling as though she should stay on brand, Sava pulled on a white pleated skirt and tucked the oversized Carlin shirt into the waistband. She braided her hair while it was still a little wet, knowing it would be easier than the kerfuffle she had yesterday trying to walk, carry a helmet, and braid at the same time. Combat boots, a phone, and paddock pass later and Sava was leaving the hotel room to meet Amelia in the cafeteria-like space on the ground floor to have breakfast and chat about the agenda for the day before they headed to the track.
Unbeknownst to Sava, a number of the F1 drivers were staying at the same hotel, and when she stepped into the room, eyes focused on finding other Carlin shirts, many heads turned her way. Obviously, news about a girl in a Carlin race suit with pink hair had spread into the formula one paddock quite quickly. Sava gave up on trying to find her assistant when she had no luck, preferring to make her way to the coffee bench to make herself a very sweet black coffee over ice. While the coffee began brewing, she turned her back to the bench, taking another look out over the crowds of people at tables to try and find her friends again, only to see that 75% of the room was already looking at her, and those that weren’t were whispering to the people that were. The poor girl looked like a deer in the headlights, and apparently one man couldn’t see her like that, as he stood from his table and walked toward her. He was still metres away and Sava was already having to strain her neck to look up at him.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bombard you like this while you’re already quite overwhelmed. But I can tell you’re a bit lost. Would you like to come and sit with me until you find your team?” The man asked, his accent was distinctly French, and Sava kicked herself for not instantly recognising the man as Esteban Ocon.
“Oh my, yes please! This is my first time outside of karting, let alone in the actual F2 paddock, so I’m so lost and don’t know anyone.” Sava giggled, finishing up making her super sweet coffee and following Esteban’s stride toward a table of black and yellow clad people, along with the unmistakable grin of Daniel Ricciardo.
“I’m Esteban, by the way. I think I heard your name was Dvarokova?” The Frenchman questioned after a few beats of silence, realising that the 5’1 woman couldn’t walk as quickly as he.
“Ah, Dvorakova. Don’t worry about messing up the pronunciation, I misspell it sometimes. My name is Sava, but pretty much everyone calls me Bunny.” Sava replied with a giggle at the butchering of her surname. She couldn’t blame anyone, it was a hard enough name to most Eastern Europeans, she couldn’t even imagine how some of the nationalities in the paddock would pronounce it.
“Bunny. That’s quite cute.” Esteban mused, and they finally reached the rowdy table of Renault employees.
“Guys, this is Bunny. She’s going to sit with us cause she’s new and can’t find anyone from Carlin.” Esteban introduced, and a round of wolf whistles sounded as she threw up a peace sign, then took the seat next to Esteban, across from Daniel.
“Hi, I’m Danny. You’re such a little cutie.” Daniel introduced, leaning his arm over to poke at Sava’s cheeks that immediately heated up in a flaming blush. Another round of oohs and ahs went through the table and Sava giggled again.
“Pipe down, I’m only 17.” In immediate reaction to her statement, Daniel threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes connecting with a few guys nearby who all laughed at his expression.
“Way to make a man feel like a pedo.” Daniel mumbled, and more chuckles reverberated around the group who heard. The team all spoke to Sava with interest and respect, something she didn’t expect she would be getting before she had even gotten into a car. After about fifteen minutes, she spotted Yuki walking through the door with Amelia, and excused herself quickly, exchanging fist bumps with everyone she passed along the Renault table. When she got to the end, she met Yuki and Amelia with surprised looks on their faces before the three found a small table by the window to finally sit down and eat.
“How ready are you Bunny?” Yuki asked later on that morning while the two pulled their race suits up and made final preparations. Sava looked over at him nervously as she tucked her pink braids into the suit.
“Considering I’ve only ever driven a go-kart or a Hyundai I-20, I’m shitting myself. But I’m confident enough in my karting ability to do well-enough here. How about you? Amelia told me you have a seat at Alpha Tauri next season, are you still nervous about these races or are you a cool guy about it?” Sava hit back, smiling at her first friend in serious motorsport, who she could tell she would miss if she made it into F2 next year like Dr Marko had suggested.
“I still want to do well so that they don’t think they’ve made a mistake. But I’m not as nervous as I was when I didn’t know if I’d have a seat.” The Japanese man replied, and pulled on his balaclava, Sava following shortly after. They made eye contact, their mouths obscured by the fabric, and burst out laughing. Amelia guided Sava away so that she could get her helmet on and have one final chat with the engineer she would be hearing in her ears for the weekend. Yuki ran over just before Sava jumped in the car and slapped the top of her helmet, just like her uncle Sebastian had done before every race and she smiled the biggest she probably ever has. With a quick hug to Yuki and another scolding glance from Amelia, Sava climbed into her car for her first ever free practice in a single seater.
“Radio check.” Sava spoke, her voice wobbling slightly as she felt the rumble of the car beneath her.
“Confirm, Bunny. Hop to it.” Her engineer, Marcus, stated with amusement in his voice. Sava audibly laughed as she stepped on the accelerator, rolling out of the garage when she got the signal. Driving through the pitlane was surreal, and Sava knew she’d be feeling that a lot throughout the weekend. She ran two warm-up laps, getting acquainted with the car and testing the responsiveness of the brakes and the throttle. Once her tyres were at the right temperature, she got a radio message to give it hell, and so she did.
It was complete radio silence in the Carlin garage as everyone, including Yuki, sat and watched the rookie on her first hot-lap. She got a purple first sector, green second sector, and purple third sector, putting herself at the very top of the timing tower. While the practice session had only been active for around eight minutes, she had already beat two other drivers who had put in preliminary hot laps. Marcus relayed the time to Sava, and when she asked for the fastest time out of a qualifying session from the year prior, she groaned in frustration.
“Can I run a few more out laps and get comfortable with the responsiveness? I know I can do better.” Sava pleaded, and Marcus quickly agreed. If she thought she could get a better time than the one she had already given them, then hell they’d let her run all day. After four out-laps, she was brought in for a quick refuel and to look over the data of her hot-lap in comparison to Yuki’s. He was braking later, but Sava was getting better acceleration out of the corners. She knew now just how good the brakes were and considering she was known throughout the European karting scene for braking extremely late, she knew she could get better times, and maybe knock a few tenths off her entire lap. By the time she was finished looking at the data, everyone on the grid had put in multiple flying laps, and she was confident that whatever she pulled out now would be a decent comparison of her speed to the rest of the grid. With two more out-laps to get her tyres and brakes at the perfect temperature, she was off again.
Purple first sector, purple second sector, purple third sector.
As her name flew up the timing table, the Carlin garage waited with baited breath, to finally see Sava Dvorakova land at P1, four tenths quicker than the next fastest, Juri Vips.
“No fucking way.” Amelia mumbled, her eyes trained on the initials of the girl she had been following around for the past two days. Similar reactions were happening over in the Renault garage, many of the team who spoke with the girl earlier that morning tuned in to catch the first performance.
Qualifying later that day followed a very similar pattern. Finishing P2 behind Juri Vips, their times separated by one one-thousandth of a second. The real test was to see if the Czech could keep up the pace in their sprint and feature races over the next two days.
Those boys had hell to pay, and sure as shit, Sava was gonna come collect.
77 notes · View notes
honeyatsu · 3 years
Text
Ambiguous [Dabi x F!Reader]
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Warnings: Quirkless reader. Physical pain. Graphic parts. Violence. Abuse of power. Spoilers!
summary: In the eyes of the law you were a villain, a traitor, someone who was sick in the head. In reality? You were as average as they come. Quirkless, no combat skills, just you and your degree. You weren’t a villain at all, you were just their therapist. You took your job seriously and refused to break patient confidentiality, under any circumstances.
prompt idea from: @/writing.prompt.s on insta
Now, it wasn’t your intention to be a villain’s therapist.
As soon as you got your degree and license in therapy you were quickly hired at one of the best companies due to all the recommendations. All the studying, volunteer work, networking, it all paid off. It was a good run at first, until you noticed how unappreciated you were at work. They didn’t take you seriously, calling you in more for coffee runs rather than giving you patients. They noted you were quirkless, making you an easy target for bullying at the office. You were a tough girl, giving them a piece of your mind and leaving the same day it became too much for you.
The day after, you went out to search for your own personal office. You were efficient, looking to rent the most realistic options you had. You found one the same day you began searching.
You didn’t have a quirk; you could never be a hero. But everyone needed somebody to listen, everyone needed help even if it wasn’t in the flashiest way.
It wasn’t the best part of town but it was the most affordable and most importantly, it was your own.
It started with parents bringing in their troubled kids, not surprising considering where your office was located. Word about you got around quickly, especially since you offered price cuts to those who couldn’t afford it. You couldn’t help it, as much as you tried to be strict with your professionalism, you couldn’t not offer help just because someone couldn’t afford you.
Sometimes you offered an ear after hours for free.
Villains weren’t your target demographic; you never even suspected a villain to consider therapy.
The feeling of uncertainty washed over you when your first villain client, Twice walked in. He was very open and honest about who he was. You were a bit uneasy on what to do. Now, you weren’t too big on the whole hero versus villain dynamic going on the world. Why was it always good versus evil? Your studies taught you the world wasn’t black and white, people weren’t black and white, people were much more complex than that.
Everyone has trauma and everyone needs help, and this is the profession you worked so hard to obtain.
Who said villains didn’t need a therapist?  
You couldn’t see his face, his latex suit covering him completely. He mentioned it kept him sane. This was your introduction to the mind of a villain.
Word about you went around the villain community, quickly. Your villain clientele grew as your civilian one got smaller.
They never spoke of their crimes, you never asked.
It was their past, what made them who they are today, their nightmares, their ideologies.
You didn’t mind, this was fascinating.
You were compassionate, it was only natural for you to want to help people. But you were also a scholar, and what an amazing opportunity this was for you. Hearing their past, hearing what made them who they are, it was an eye-opener. You wanted to write about this, you wanted the world to know these villains, these people labeled as monsters and inhumane, are just like us. People with problems. People with trauma. People who are broken.
The psychology of villains, to show the world they need saving too.
Of course, you weren’t going to name who is who and you didn’t plan on doing it without their consent. By now you had gotten an idea of your client’s personalities and who wouldn’t be okay with their trauma being exposed nor their brain being picked apart by you.
But it’s okay, because you had a specific client in mind.
He called himself Dabi.
He came in one day, while you were getting ready to end your day on the job. He just barged in, muttering how his partner told him to come see you. Now, you were no push over. Villain or not, you had your boundaries and it wouldn’t be fair to see him with no knowledge of who he was, no appointment, just showing up unannounced comfortably. But seeing the scars scattered around his body and the staples seeming to keep him together, his hypnotizing eyes, you were rather intrigued on who he was and what was his story.
Three hours.
Three hours of him speaking to you about his past, what broke him, and how he believes the world needs to be cleansed of these “false hero’s” as he likes to call it. He was fascinating.
“You’re probably not going to like this idea” you started off, “But I want to write about you.”
He snickered as he got up from the seat across from you. You had an agenda. What else did he expect? “and they said you were genuine.”
You cleared your throat as his hand touched the door handle, “I want the world to know. One of my rules is not to tell the crimes you commit, otherwise I’d have to report everyone to the authorities. I don’t care to write about your crimes, nor do I care to write about you as just a criminal. The mind is fascinating and so are you. You want the world to know about false hero’s? I may not be flashy or aggressive like you, but I can make a point across my own way. But I also like to help. I didn’t choose this career for no reason. I don’t keep myself vulnerable to villains for no reason. Let me help you.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“I’m quirkless.” You said quickly. You never told any of your clients that since you started your own office. You didn’t keep any defense weapons on you and you were no fool. Announcing you were quirkless would be dangerous in any environment, you’re too vulnerable. “You don’t even have to agree right away. You can come in for free and if you still feel like I’m a part of the society you hate so much, you can leave and never come back. Free of charge.”
Dabi let out a hum as he studied your face, looking for any sign of you being dishonest. Your face was serious and stern. He just nodded his head and walked out.
He came back the next night.
After three months, he agreed to help you with your book.
Slowly but surely, you were slipping away from the patient therapist relationship. You tried not to; you really did. But it started with him offering to walk you home, making sure you got there safe. What a danger to society. Your conversations went from professional to rather casual. He would try to see you in more casual settings but you always declined.
You had work to do.
You got popular in the town you were in. You made a lot of friends, completely different from your old coworkers or classmates from the prestigious university you went to. These friends were more genuine.
You got so popular, your old office even heard about you. About how amazing you were, how smart you were, how you were the most genuine and compassionate than most in the profession. They heard about you so much they wondered what made you so different. So young, so inexperienced, so new to have the praise you have now.
Then they found out exactly who you were helping.
And whether it was envy or civilian morale, the authorities got word of you quickly.
And as soon as they figured out who you were, as soon as they did all the research they could on you it was decided: you were just as evil as the monsters you “helped”.
You weren’t even aware you were being watched nor were you aware of how popular you became to the authorities.
Not until now, not until it was finally Friday night; you just had a long day at your office. Only a few more piles of paperwork and you’d be done for the night and be able to enjoy your weekend. If it wasn’t for how loud or aggressive the authorities were while breaking your office door, you wouldn’t even have noticed anyone to barge into your building.
Without chance to even react, you were dragged by these large men, blind folded and hand cuffed before you could even comprehend what was happening. You didn’t fight them off, you didn’t scream, you were frozen in shock and fear. The only thing going through your mind at the moment: I do not get paid enough for this.
Before you knew it, you were sitting on the cold, moldy, ground, back against the uncomfortable wall. The least these people could have done was given you a stall with a bed- or at least take the god damn blindfold off of you before throwing you into the cell.
A traitor to society.
A threat.
A villain.
These were the words spat at you during your arrest. What a joke. This whole thing was a joke. You grew up poor, quirkless, you probably couldn’t even throw a proper punch if you tried. But you were smart, you were kind, you were compassionate, you were the hardest worker anyone knew, and now you were a criminal for wanting to help people.
They threatened you with prison time, they pleaded, and begged. They wanted you to talk, leak information on every villain you knew, their crimes, why they all went to you.
You stayed silent the entire time.
-
Dabi came around your office at the same time every night, he was a little late today since he just got back from a mission but knew you stayed extra hours on a Friday because of all the paper work you had to do.
You could only imagine his surprise and rage as he watched what happened from a distance. For the first time he stood frozen in place, horrified at the scene taking place in front of him. His heart racing in his chest, unable to move, feeling unable to breathe for the first time in a very long time.
You were genuine. You were a real hero. You didn’t need a costume, you didn’t need a quirk, you didn’t need some silly name, nor the fame. You were placed on this horrible Earth to help people. You did help people. Even people like him, who were beyond saving. You gave them something society has taken away from people like him: a sense of humanity. Compassion.
You were the real good in this world.
And that’s why he felt the closest thing he could feel to love when it came to you.
He knew they were going to try to make you talk and he just knew somewhere where his heart was supposed to be, that you wouldn’t.
Your professionalism, your love for your job, your love for your clients, the way you saw them as human, the way you wanted to genuinely save them from themselves, you wouldn’t just give that up.
He knew you.
And that’s why as soon as he saw them take you away, he snapped back to himself. Rage taking over his body, he sped his way to the League of Villains, calling up every client you had telling them what took place.
He was going to save you.
-
Three weeks have gone by.
Your cell was as moldy, cold, and gross as it was the first time you arrived. You had a pillow and thin blanket on one corner of the cell. They fed you once a day, sometimes they would ‘forget’. They beat you, threatened you, tortured you physically and mentally. None of it was enough to break you.
“We need you to help us. Let us help you.”
You let out a poor attempt of a laugh and then winced in pain right after, you were pretty sure you had broken ribs at this point. Although, you wouldn’t even be able to tell, you never even been hit until you ended up in jail. “A promise of help from the same people who hurt me?”
“Bitch.” The cop said before slapping you across the face.
Was this even legal?
You coughed up blood, surprised you even had enough to cough up at this point. You had a question for your clients if you ever got back to work, you might even ask the heros that come in and try to pursue you to speak: was the physical pain really worth the sides they play in the world? Being a regular citizen seemed so much more appealing after this experience.
“You know…I’m a therapist. It sure seems like you need one. Free of charge, I got you.” You made a failed attempt of a sassy remark, quickly earning you another hit in the face. “You know I don’t have a quirk, right? Of course, you do. You guys know everything about me. And I know you see I’m weak, I was weak before you guys even started abusing me.”
“You’re evil, just like them.”
“And what? You’re good?”
Before he had a chance to hit you once again for talking back, he was interrupted.
A hero barged through the door.
None other than the number one hero himself, Endeavor.
If his look could kill, you would have been dead the moment he laid eyes on you.
“Ah, my morally ambiguous hero to save the day.” You let out a small painful smile at him. You were barely conscious at this point, your body slowly giving out. “Here to save me?”
He ignored your remark, as he usually did whenever you tried to talk about anything but your clients.
“We’re under attack.”
There was screaming.
There was fire.
Boom.
Your vision was getting blurry, unable to make out the scene going on in the very building you were in.
“Looks like we’re the ones helping you now, doctor.” You heard a voice say as it got near you, lifting your limp body up. You recognized that voice.
Dabi.
You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t smile, you couldn’t even hold on to him.
My heros. You thought to yourself ironically, before passing out in his arms.
As he escaped the scene, he looked at your bloodied, beaten up body. It enraged him how the very people sworn to protect society and help the community could do this to someone as physically fragile as you.
You had no quirk, no combat skills, you were literally defenseless.
He and the rest of his comrades allowed you into their space. They worked together to bandage you up and make your unconscious body as comfortable as possible. You couldn’t go home, you couldn’t go back to the life that was once yours. Technically, you were an escaped criminal. You had nowhere to go. And for what you’ve done for them, for how much you impacted all of them, they decided they were going to invite you in with open arms.
-
Dabi was constantly checking in on you, more than anyone else. Sometimes he would refuse people coming in to see you, saying how you need as much peace as possible. Realistically, he was selfish and wanted to be alone with you always.
It had been three days, you were still breathing but no sign of waking up.
At least, until now.
First, he noticed your fingers starting to move, then your eyes slowly fluttering, trying to get your blurry vision back in focus.
You didn’t recognize where you were.
Rough skin grazed upon your hand. You slowly turned your head, ignoring the pain it caused you. A small smile formed on your face when you made eye contact with those familiar hypnotizing eyes.
“I told you not having anything to defend yourself was dumb.”
Ah, that he did. You remembered him scolding you for not even having a knife to defend yourself with if anything happened. You reminded him it’s not like you would know how to use it anyways.
“Where do I go from here?” you croaked, your voice as weak as ever.
He lightly placed his finger on your cheek, looking into your eyes. Savoring this moment alone with you. Appreciating the opportunity the world surprisingly blessed him with at this moment. “Stay with me.” He muttered.
“Dabi-”
“Touya.” He interrupted. “Call me Touya.”
You hummed in response.
“I never felt love, for anything. Not even myself. But I’m sure I love you.”
Your head was aching. Your heart was pounding.
“I know. I love you too.” You let out a weak laugh, “Looks like the whole client patient boundary out of the window, huh? Not like I have a job to go back to anyways..” You didn’t even realize you were crying. “Everything I worked for, gone just like that.”
You’ve never been heartbroken before, but you sure this was it. Your life’s work, your pride and joy, your way of proving yourself to the world that you were worthy of this life, gone by the hands of people sworn to protect you.
You were just trying to do your job.
Too deep in thought, you didn’t even realize Touya coming closer to you, cupping your face with his rough precious hands. You didn’t realize how close he was until you felt his hot breath on you.
He kissed your tears away. Placing small kisses throughout your face, trying his hardest not to hurt any part of you that was bruised up badly. He was forced to be soft with you in this moment, something he has never had to be before. His mouth slowly made his way on top of yours and to his surprise, you were the one who leaned in. The kiss was sloppy, it was kind of painful, but it felt right. 
“You are what I’ve been searching for in this world all along. You are the real good. You are precious. You are mine. And I will never let them hurt you again.”
You took in everything he was saying. 
You believe him.
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stillebesat · 4 years
Text
Be My Dad
Sanders Sides: Janus, Logan  A Vague AU Writing Prompt: @wildhorsewolf​ asked: Guess I'm a parent now with Janus being the dad and Logan being the kid Blurb: Janus has no interest in being a parental figure to a kid, but trying to convince the universe of that is another thing entirely.  Fic Type: Familial Soulmate!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Mentions of Scars  Taglist in Reblog.
To most souls, a food court was a necessary evil. Loud. Lots of people. But plenty of food options all together in one place. Perfect for those who liked a variety of choices or those who had picky eaters in tow.
It was a place to meet up with friends, family, or business associates. A place where one could sit back and observe society at work. To see people at their best...and most definitely at their worst. 
There was something soothing about the chaos that Janus enjoyed...as a spectator. He could never imagine being right in the middle of it.
Not unless he was doing what he was doing right now. Trying to hide in plain sight in the middle of a crowd.
After all. He was thirty now. Single. Childless.
Obviously a menace to society in a universe that seemed obsessed with everyone being part of a ‘family.’ 
A Universe that had decreed that all adults who remained childless by the age of thirty, would then be subjected to being bombarded with children in need of a proper parent figure to bond with in their lives.
He exhaled, absently brushing against the raised scar on his cheek, barely looking up as a child burst out wailing nearby.
He’d checked earlier. That particular wailer hadn’t had the golden sparks. It meant he was safe. 
For now.
He ran a hand through his hair, flipping another page in his notebook before he continued scrawling on the page. Maybe Virgil had actually been onto something when he said he was vanishing into the wilderness of Europe for the rest of his life. 
Sure, Janus had laughed six months ago when his best friend had turned thirty and begun complaining about all the kids coming out of the woodwork to ask him to be their Dad.
It’d seemed impossible at the time. To have children want to come up to Mr. Shadows Incarnate and expect Virgil to put them to bed and tell a bedtime story.
Now though, he understood why Vee had become more reluctant to leave his house as the year had worn on. Because the mini spawns really had come out of nowhere once his own thirtieth birthday hit. 
And it was awful. 
Wherever he went, it was inevitable that some child would approach him, shimmering golden sparks floating around them indicating that they were looking for a Parent Bond. 
It was also as inevitable that he would scare them away just as quickly. 
After all, his halfmoon scar and creepy yellow eyes had caused plenty of kids to scream and run with a single look years before his thirtieth birthday. 
No, at least Virgil had a bit of that shy emo charm that made him more approachable, even if the merest appearance of anyone under four feet had his best friend going pale as a corpse and ducking out before the kid could take more than two steps towards him.
Privately he was certain Virgil would find a kid perfect for him before the year was out, despite his best friend’s attempt to avoid the inevitable.
He knew Virge would make a good dad. Compassionate. Protective. His best friend had a dozen other traits that would benefit him when the right child flared with him. 
Unlike Janus.
Who could make a grown man cry with less than four words and a glower.  
No. He couldn’t imagine having any child coming to him in the middle of the night expecting comfort. 
He knew he was intimidating.
He knew he could be scary.
It wouldn’t be fair to subject a child to that on a daily basis.
Honestly, it felt like a slap to the face that no matter how much he achieved, how many degrees he got, or businesses he owned, or careers he pursued, or money he made…
The universe felt that one couldn’t be complete unless said person also had a screaming, slobbering, dirty child in tow.
Janus ran a hand through his hair, again brushing the crescent scar on his cheek as he looked up long enough to watch a cluster of mothers with their dozen and a half children in strollers rush by, seeking salvation at the nearest set of golden arches with at least four of the kids already screaming for their happy meal toy. 
Even if he did make a connection with any kid brave enough to approach him...Janus could never imagine trying to coerce a screaming brat into eating their chicken nuggets all by himself. Could never stand to walk around with food, slobber or worse, vomit stains on his best suits like a badge of honor. Could never be patient enough to listen to the long and rambling and pointless stories he’d heard multiple parents suffer through while observing them here in the food court.
No. There was no way Janus would allow the universe a say in how he ran these next five years of his life.
He had goals.
Life plans.
And he didn’t need some interfering Being with an obviously unhealthy parent complex ruining that.
The scrapping of a chair being pulled back broke through the gentle hum the noise the chaos of the food court had receded to, causing Janus to look up from his paper in time to see a boy, wearing a faded black long sleeved shirt with matching glasses and thankfully older than the screaming toddler throwing french fries six tables over, plop down in the seat across from him.
A child. With golden sparks shimmering in the air around him. 
Oh goodie.
Janus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. And here he’d thought that the fact that he’d caused a pair of twin girls, a baby, three boys, six preteens, and four other children under the age of five to scream in terror and/or burst into tears before the lunch rush had even started would have been enough for the universe to call it quits for the day on attempting a Parent Bond.
“I have a prospersition for you.” The boy said, making eye contact. Janus blinked, pen pausing mid stroke as he raised an eyebrow to the child. Prosper...prosper? Oh. “A prop-osition?” He asked, careful to pronounce the word correctly. 
The boy nodded once, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Prop-osition” he repeated, saying it properly this time. “Will you listen to it? Please?” 
Oh, now there was a please? The kid hadn’t even said hello. Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering the raised scar on his cheek, eyes darting about without much hope for any sign of a frantic adult looking for their wayward offspring as he sat back, tapping his pen on the table. “I’m busy.”  
The boy’s eyes flashed. “No you’re not.”
Janus scoffed, gesturing to his papers. “I assure you that I a--”
“Are doing what you do every Friday. You’re not busy. You just sit here. All day. Reading. Writing.”  
Observant. Janus frowned, again glancing around for a guardian figure. He didn’t think children thought much beyond eating, sleeping, and playing with their peers. “That is considered being busy by most people, I don’t have time to tal--”  
The boy shifted to his knees, the golden sparks dancing around him as he carefully placed eight quarters on the table before pushing the pile over to him. “For your time.” He said, looking up to meet Jansus’s eyes once more.
Clever. Not quite the amount he usually took for a consultation, but he doubted a child could come up with that much cash. Still. It was the first time one of these golden sparked spawns of the devil decided to pay him instead of screaming bloody murder. 
Janus exhaled, laying down his pen, sitting up as he clasped his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “I’m listening.” Though he doubted anything good would come from this proposition. He could already predict the direction this would go.
The boy relaxed, though he stayed half kneeling on his chair. “I need you,” his mouth twisted slightly, grey eyes glittering. “to pretend to be my Father.” 
Father? Ha. Called it. “No.”
Golden sparks flared as the boy lifted his chin. “You didn’t even ask ‘Why.’”
He smirked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he pushed the coins back. “I don’t need to.” It was obvious why the kid wanted to play pretend. After all, the sparks surrounding him were only visible to those like Janus. Single. Between the age of thirty and thirty-five. Childless. If the kid needed a fake dad...well this wasn’t his first rodeo with the concept. “You either need protection from some bullies, which--” He gestured to himself. “You think I look scary enough to intimidate them.” Though not scary enough to keep the kid from bugging him in the first place. “Or else you have lied to your friends about who your Dad is or what he does and so--”
“You’re wrong.”   
Janus cut off, tilting his head. “Am I?” He was certain he wasn’t. 
“You are.” The boy kept eye contact, grey blue eyes hard as stone. 
It would be an intimidating gaze once he grew older, Janus was sure. “Enlighten me.”
The boy pushed the coins back across the table. “The Aquarium is having a Father/Son day today. I want to go.” 
Not what he meant by enlighten, but he’d humor the kid. “So?”
The boy rolled his eyes, shifting to his knees so he could better rest his arms on the table. “I can’t exactly partisiis--partissee--par--” 
“Participate?”
He nodded. “I can’t exactly participate if I go by myself, dummy.”
Dummy? Who just helped the kid pronounce ‘participate?’ 
Janus shoved the quarters back to the boy before picking up his pen, tapping it against the table. He could see the kid’s problem though. It made sense why the aquarium wouldn’t want to let hordes of little demon spawn run around tapping on the glass, licking the floors, and breaking things unsupervised. “I’m not spending fifty dollars to play your Dad, kid, just so you can look at some fish.” 
A pet store would work just as well and wouldn’t cost a dime. If he was willing to go along with this.
Which he wasn’t.
He didn’t even like fish. Not since that stupid childhood fishing accident that had given him the lovely scar on his face in the first place.
No way would he willingly go along with some brat to a place filled to the brim with the creatures.
Despite how brilliant of a scheme it was. One Janus would have used himself though under different circumstances. 
Though he supposed, if he felt like admitting it, which he didn’t, but he still---it….hurt in a way, that the kid, even having the sparks, just wanted to use him to get in to see some boring fish instead of trying out a real Trial with him to see if they had any sort of parental bond. 
It was a stupid feeling. 
He should be used to being used. 
The boy adjusted his frames, barely blinking as he shoved the quarters back across the table, staring Janus down. “Adults get in for only ten dollars today. Kids get in free. If.” He emphasized the word. “Their Father brings them.” He shifted in his seat, pulling out a twenty and slid it across the table. “For your ticket.” He said simply, eyes flashing. “I’m only asking for your time. I don’t want to go on a Trial with you. I don’t need or want a Dad. I just need an adult with the time on his hands to pretend to be one and let me esplore the place for two measlely hours.”
Double ouch. At least some kids attempted to do an actual Trial Run with him to see if their sparks would Flare before being so blunt in telling him he wouldn’t be their Dad. 
Janus frowned, already shaking his head. “Kid, I don’t--” 
The boy pulled out another twenty, placing it on the table. “Two hours.” He said simply.  
“You don’t even know me--” Sure, he knew the boy knew he was in the Trial stage of life since the stupid floating sparks thing, even if he couldn’t see his own, went both ways. But that didn’t mean that he should just shove--
The boy placed a third twenty on the table. 
Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering his scar as he glared at the child. “You’re seriously bribing me? Where did you even get that much cash?” Hopefully it wasn’t stolen, but he’d applaud the boy for being so prolific in his thievery. 
“Not important.” The boy stated, pulling out a fourth twenty without breaking eye contact. 
Why was he being so persistent?! Any other child would have run away by now. 
“Why me?” He demanded, leaning forward, sneering in a way he knew made his eyes look even more creepy. “Why not bribe some other--”
The boy hesitated, a fifth twenty already in his fingers as his steely gazed wavered. “If I tell you why, will you go with me to the Aquarium?” 
That was hardly a fair exchange. The answer could be super simple and he’d be stuck with the kid for two hours. “I’m going to stick with my ‘I’m scary theory,’” Janus said instead, gesturing to his face. That was the usual reason kids gave in most circumstances. 
The boy frowned, lifting his chin. “I can be scary enough on my own without your help.” He said shoving the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing an angry red corded scar that wrapped around his arm from wrist to shoulder. “We match, kinda. Your scar looks similar. Makes it easier to pretend that you’re my Dad. That we were in the same accident.” He pushed the pile of money towards him. “And if anyone suspects you aren’t my birth father, then the sparks will show them that we’re on a Trial and that our scars mean we’re meant to be.” 
Meant to be. 
It took a lot of effort to not touch the crescent mark on his cheek. To ignore the fluttering in his chest at those words.
They’re just pretty little lies. 
Sure, there were ongoing theories that families all shared a similar trait that marked them. Whether that was having a mole on the same part of their stomach, sharing a taste in mustard, having an allergy to hay, hair having the same cowlick, or having similar looking scars--Janus kept his hands firmly on the table as he pulled his eyes back up to meet the kids. 
It was hearsay though. Nothing had ever been proven. Not when the sparks flaring between parent and child was a far more accurate indicator that they were meant to be a family. 
No, he highly doubted anyone would Flare with him during this five year tortrue period. Not even this kid despite the sparks dancing between them. 
Janus took a steadying breath. It was fine. He didn’t need a family. Not even a pretend one for two hours. He was better off alone now that Virgil had harred off to who knew where. “How long do I have to wait before you run out of twenties and give up?” He said, keeping his voice cool. “Because I’m not taking your bribe, kid, regardless of the amount. You’d be better off hiring a nanny or something.” 
Though he was curious just how much the boy thought it would take to convince him to go along with this farce. 
The kid made a face. “I don’t want to be coddled the entire time.” He snapped, the fifth twenty vanishing as he shoved his sleeve down. “All anyone ever does is treat me like I’m breakable since--” he gestured to his arm, the scars once more hidden. “And I’m sick of it. You look like you’d happily let me fall off a bridge if I wasn’t careful and I just...I just--” He shook his head. “I need to not be cared about for a bit.” 
Let him fall off a bridge? Ouch. Janus focused on relaxing his clenched hands, one finger at a time. “So you have a death wish? I’m not gonna be complacent to--”
The boy growled, slamming his hands on the table, steel grey eyes hardening even as they shimmered with unshed tears. “No. I just want to look at the fish.” He hissed. “I want to esplore. Learn. SEE. Without having a grown-up hovering over me like I’m freaking china. All you would have to do is stay near enough to keep any other metaling adults away. That’s all I want. For two hours. To be treated like a normal kid.” His hand clenched as he took a breath, bottom lip trembling. “I thought you of all people would understand that.” He whispered, eyes flickering to the scar and back.
It took a lot of effort to not touch his face. To maintain eye contact. 
Sure.
He understood. 
Janus had wasted years chasing that particular dream throughout high school and well into his first couple of years at college. 
It had all been for nothing. 
People judged the book by the cover. Few ever took the time to look deeper. 
And it sucked that Janus was being forced to reckon with the fact that if he didn’t go with this kid and pretend to be his Dad, he’d be like every other adult unwilling to give the boy a chance to be ‘normal.’  
…Great. Just. Great.  
He’d just been guilted into spending two hours looking at the fish. 
Janus broke eye contact, cursing under his breath as he shoved his papers into his book bag and stood, grabbing his jacket and hat off the chair. 
Maybe he should follow Virgil’s lead and disappear into the wilderness for the next four and a half years if the kids were going to start pulling this type of act on him. 
“You got a name, kid?” He asked, fishing out a single twenty from the stack before shoving the pile back at the boy. Enough for the ticket. That’s it. 
The boy caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You mean--”
How could eyes hard as steel one second go so soft like freshly fallen ash the next?
You know what. He didn’t want to know. If the kid knew how to do puppy dog eyes, then he knew how. That was that, but after today Janus would not be falling for them again.
“Name.” He repeated, impatiently gesturing for the boy to follow him as he tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Else I’ll make one up and I guarantee you will not like it.” 
The boy was by his side in a flash, golden sparks swirling. “Logan.” He said, adjusting his glasses with a small smile. “My name is Logan.”
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misslilli · 2 years
Text
Hope you guys are not too busy with Fictober 😄 thank you, as always, for your amazing feedback!
Felix Felicis
MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3
Chapter 26 - A Pivotal Peppermint Mocha
[ DS ]
He respects my wishes, of course he does, and I don’t see him before or after Thanksgiving break, except for a few glimpses from afar, across the school yard or at the farmer’s market. As time passes, each time I see him, it gets less and less painful and my funk begins to lift. My kids at school breathe a sigh of relief and my friends stop tiptoeing around me. The nights get easier, too, and I manage at least a few hours of shut-eye.
I just got home from school, a little earlier than usual and I can hear the girls chatting and laughing in the kitchen.
“…and then Squirrel rolled her eyes and said: ‘But Felix, that’s impossible, no-one can stuff 100 marshmallows into their mouth, not even your dad!’ I get such a kick out of this kid, he insisted over and over again that Moose could do it and he’ll prove it to her. You should’ve seen the exasperated look on Squirrel’s face!”
What the hell? That conversation is eerily familiar because I’ve just had it this morning at recess. Why the fuck are they referring to us as Moose and Squirrel?
They jump about a mile as I step into the kitchen, guilty looks plastered all over their faces. Sarah, who just told the story, starts to speak first. “Uuuh.. hey D, you’re home early…” My hands on my hips, I give them each a long, hard stare.
“Who. The Fuck. Are Moose and Squirrel?” They share a look I can’t decipher and Holly pulls out a chair.
“You better sit down for this, D.” I do as I’m told and glance around the table, waiting for someone to start explaining what’s going on.
Sarah and Holly both make it clear by silently staring at Alex, the calm one of our group, the one they trust can explain in a way I won’t kick their asses afterwards.
Alex folds her hands in front of her and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’d like to preface this with stating that everything we did was done with love and because we care about you and your happiness.” ‘Oh goody, I can’t wait to see where this is going…’
“We’ve been talking about Moo- Mulder a lot at our Friday night dinners and we could tell that you liked him. When nothing happened and no-one made the first move, we thought we’d give fate little pushes in the right direction.” I stare at her, starting to panic.
“Oh God, what did you do? Is anyone else in on this thing? Is he in on this whole thing?”
“No, no, no-one knows except for us. And Miss Hannigan, but only because we needed her help with the costumes and we swore her to secrecy.” I snort, you can’t swear the town gossip to secrecy.
“So the Halloween costume was your doing? That we went to the town fair in a couple’s costume?” Alex nods. “What else?”
“Just little things, I swear. Remember when we were at the Farmer’s Market and we all had various errands to run? We saw Felix and Mulder were heading over, so we scattered to give you some alone time.” Which led to our first quasi-semi-let’s not call it a date-date, yes I remember.
“So what’s the Moose and Squirrel business then?”
“Well, since it was all a secret operation, we needed codenames. Sarah came up with a play on the first letters of your last names and we thought it was cute, especially since there’s such a big height difference between these characters too. This was how Operation: Bullwinkle was born. Of course, after the basketball fiasco, we called it off… are you mad, D?” I sit in silence for a while, taking in the things my friends came up with to set Mulder and I up.
They eye me anxiously, trying to gauge my reaction and if they should run for cover right about now.
“No, I’m not mad. It was actually a really clever secret operation and I’m kind of sad it didn’t work out the way we all wanted.” Holly lifts her shoulders, relieved that I understood that they didn’t mean to cause any harm.
“Never say never, D.”
—————
[ FM ]
My mom has taken Felix with her while she’s out grocery shopping, which gives me a good part of the afternoon to leave the house and roam the streets. A good way to clear my head. It’s the first week of December, but New England hasn’t been graced with snow yet, just a misty cold that seeps into your coat and straight through to your bones.
My hands are freezing because I forgot to take my gloves, so when the green logo of the local Starbucks catches my eye, I go in to warm up and get a cup of coffee.
Usually, I avoid this place like the plague, I don’t possess the fast decision making skills required to choose from the 999 combinations, just to have a cup of freakishly overpriced coffee.
I can barely get through the door, the place is jam packed and soon, I can smell why. Peppermint Mocha season starts today. The prospect of standing in line for hours almost makes me turn back, but something stops me from leaving.
Most of the people are holding a cup in their hands gleefully already, so I push my way through the crowd to where the line starts. When I reach it, I find myself dumbly staring at the back of a fiery head of hair, a shade I’d recognize anywhere in the world and in the most crowded places.
Shi-hit, does this break the ‘giving space’ rule? No, I’m just getting a cup of coffee on a cold winter day, no big deal. I don’t even have to talk to her. Yeah right, who am I kidding?
—————
[ DS ]
I’m way too excited about the start of Peppermint Mocha season, so here I am, in a place packed with people, patiently waiting in line to finally get my hands on that glorious to-go cup of Christmas Spirit.
I’m next in line when the person in front of me turns a little too quickly, making me take a step backwards to let them pass, bumping into the person standing behind. I mumble a “I’m sorry!” over my shoulder and freeze when I hear a familiar voice respond with an “Don’t worry about it.”
Counting to ten in my head before I turn my head, I come to face with a grinning Fox Mulder, who adds “Fancy bumping into you here!” His silly pun elicits the first genuine smile I’ve given in weeks.
“Technically, you didn’t bump into me, I bumped into you.”
He grins even wider and nudges my shoulder with his index finger. “There. So, I’m new in town, what’s good here?”
I order my Peppermint Mocha with sweet cream foam and an extra espresso shot while he pretends to gag, he orders his black coffee to my snort and the barista’s comment on what kind of first name ‘Mulder’ is. We move to stand at the end of the counter to wait for our coffees.
“Sometimes, I just want to tell them my name is Bob, just so I don’t have to explain Mulder or Fox to another barista.”
“Don’t ask me how many time’s I’ve been Donna, Danny or Dinara and one time, Daniel. I think they do it on purpose. At least yours is easy to spell, Eff - Oh - Ex.”
“Oh I bet you were a regular hit at the spelling bee, with those mad skills of yours!”
“I’m a woman of many talents, Bob.”
The barista calls out our names, ‘Peppermint Mocha for Daisy, black coffee for Mouldy’ and we reach out to accept our respective cups. Pushing out way to the crowd, we continue our conversation.
“Daisy? That's not even remotely close to my real name… but Mouldy is freaking priceless!” Her giggle at their slip up almost makes it worth it to have a shitty first name.
“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the guy with the funny name. I kind of like Daisy, though, it’s a pretty name!”
I’m so happy to see that we turn to head in the same direction, strolling along the crowded sidewalk, sipping our coffee. I have to walk pretty fast to keep up with his long strides.
“It is, yeah! So tell me, Eff- Oh- Ex, how much flak did you have to take way back in the day, when “What does the Fox say?” came out?” I shudder at the memory.
“They didn’t tease me with it. Much. Just a lot of ring-ding-dingalinging. It became a thing in my friend group, whenever they asked me something, they’d add ‘So what does the Fox say?’. It went on a long time and they still do it sometimes, when we get together, just to drive me nuts!”
“I hope for your sake that Felix never discovers that song, he’d have a field day!” Oh God, she’s right. Must keep him away from it at all costs. At my panic face, she laughs an evil laugh. “We do listen to a lot of music at recess…”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t!” I point an icy finger at her. “Promise me you wouldn’t!”
“Well, it does have a lot of educational material in it, with all the animal sounds…”
“I’ll have you know that you hold my sanity in your hands, handle with care!”
“I hear they have a lot of fun pills at the asylum, maybe I’ll come visit so you can sneak me some!”
We come to stand at the junction where we have to part ways and she raises her cup.
“Have a good day, Mouldy!”
“You too, Daisy!”
—————
[ DS ]
I think about the strange but fun encounter all the way home, the world didn’t end like I thought it would when we met again and it was a rather pleasant conversation. Like a conversation between long-time friends, even though friendship is not exactly what I’m looking for here. But it’ll have to do, for now. It’s just nice to talk to him again.
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snelbz · 4 years
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What Happens In Vegas... {4}
An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.
Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.
@snelbz​ / @tacmc​ collab
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My neck had seized up. Pain shot through me as I slowly straightened and blinked the sleep from my eyes. I rubbed at the offending muscles, trying to get them to unlock. “Ow.”
Rhysand took one hand off the steering wheel and reached out, rubbing the back of my neck with strong fingers. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I must have slept funny.” I shuffled up in the seat, taking in our surroundings, trying not to enjoy the neck rub too much. Because of course he was crazy good with his hands. Mr. Magic Fingers coerced my muscles back into some semblance of order with seemingly little effort. I couldn’t be expected to resist. Impossible. So instead I moaned loudly and let him have his way with me
Being barely awake was my only excuse.
The sun was just rising. Tall, shadowy trees rushed by outside. Trying to get out of LA, we’d gotten caught in a traffic jam the likes of which this small town girl had never seen.
For all my good intentions, we hadn’t really talked. We’d stopped and gotten food and gas. The rest of the time, Johnny Cash had played on the stereo and I’d practiced speeches in my head. None of the words made it out of my mouth.
For some reason, I was reluctant to call a halt to our adventure and go off on my own. It had nothing to do with pulling up my big-girl panties and everything to do with how comfortable I’d begun to feel with him. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was peaceful. Refreshing, even, given the last day’s worth of drama. Being with him on the open road … there was something freeing about it. At around two in the morning, I’d fallen asleep.
“Rhys, where are we?” He gave me a sidelong look, his hand still massaging my muscles. A sign flew past outside. “We’re going to Velaris?”
“That’s where my place is,” he said. “Stop tensing up.”
“Velaris?”
“Yeah. What’ve you got against Velaris?”
“Nothing.” I backpedaled fast, not wanting to appear ungrateful. “It’s just a surprise. I didn’t realize we were leaving town. Velaris. Okay.”
Rhys sighed and pulled off the road. Dust flew and stones pinged off the truck. Cass wouldn’t be pleased. He turned to face me, resting an elbow on the top of the passenger seat, boxing me in.
“Talk to me, friend,” he said.
I opened my mouth and let it all tumble out. “I have a plan. I have some money put away. I was going to go someplace quiet for a couple of weeks until this blew over. You didn’t have to put yourself out like this. I just need to get my stuff from back at the mansion and I can be out of your hair.”
“All right.” He nodded. “Well, we’re here now and I’d like to go check out my place for a couple of days. So why don’t you come with me? Just as friends. No big deal. It’s Friday now, the lawyers said they’d have the new papers sent to us Monday. We’ll sign them. I’ve got a show early next week back in LA. If you want, you can lie low at the house for a few weeks till things calm down. Sound like a plan? We spend the weekend together, then go our separate ways. All sorted.”
It did sound like a solid idea. But still, I deliberated for a second. Apparently, it was a second too long.
“You worried about spending the weekend with me or something? Am I that scary?” His gaze held mine, our faces a bare hand’s breadth apart. Dark hair fell around his perfect face. For a moment I almost forgot to breathe. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Outside a motorcycle roared past then all fell quiet again.
Was he scary? The man had no idea.
“No,” I lied, throwing in some scoff for good measure.
I don’t think he believed me. “Listen, I’m sorry about acting like an asshole back in LA.”
“It’s okay, really, Rhys. This situation would do anyone’s head in.”
“Tell me something,” he said in a low voice. “You remembered getting the tattoo. Has anything else come back to you?”
Reliving my drunken rampage wasn’t somewhere I wanted to go. Not with him. Not with anyone. I was paying the consequences by having my life upended and splashed about on the Internet. “Does this even matter? I mean, isn’t it a bit late to be having this conversation?”
“Guess so.” He shifted back in his seat and put a hand on the wheel. “You need to stretch your legs or anything?”
“A restroom would be great.”
He nodded. “No worries.”
We pulled back out onto the road, and silence ensued for several minutes. He’d turned off the stereo sometime while I slept. The quiet was awkward now and it was all my doing. Guilt sucked first thing in the morning. It probably didn’t improve later in the day, but first up, without even a drop of caffeine to fortify me, it was horrible. He’d been nice to me, trying to talk, and I’d shut him down.
“Most of that night is still a blur,” I said, trying to gently reopen the conversation.
He hummed quietly. Such was the sum total of his response.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself to go further. “I remember doing shots at midnight. After that, it’s hazy. I remember the sound of the needle at the tattoo parlor, us laughing, but that’s about it. I’ve never blacked out in my life. It’s scary.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
It was a little late to ask this, but I needed to know. “How did we meet?”
He exhaled hard. “Me and a group of people were leaving to go to another club. One of the girls wasn’t looking where she was going, bumped into a cocktail waitress. Apparently the waitress was new or something and she dropped her tray. Luckily, it was only a couple of empty beer bottles.”
“How did I get involved?”
He darted me a glance, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. “Some of them started giving the poor waitress shit, telling her they were going to get her fired. You just swooped in and handed them their asses.”
My eyes went wide. “I did?”
“Oh, yeah.” He licked his lips, the corner of his mouth curling. “Told them they were evil, pretentious, overpriced assholes who should watch where they were walking. You helped the girl pick up the beer bottles and then you insulted my friends some more. It was pretty fucking classic, actually. I can’t remember everything you said. You got pretty creative with the insults by the end.”
I was stunned. “Huh. And you liked me for that?”
He shut his mouth and said nothing. A whole wide world of nothing. Nothing could actually cover a lot of ground when you put that much effort into it.
“What happened next?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Security came over to throw you out. Not like they were gonna argue with the rich kids.”
“No. I guess not.”
Glancing over at me, he added, “You looked panicky, so I got you out of there.”
“You left your friends for me?” I watched him in amazement.
He did a one-shoulder shrug. As if it meant nothing.
“What then?” I asked.
“We took off and had a drink in another bar.”
“I’m surprised you stuck with me.” Stunned was closer.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “You treated me like a normal person. We just talked about everyday stuff. You weren’t angling to get anything out of me. You didn’t act like I was a different fucking species. When you looked at me it felt…”
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I dunno. Doesn’t matter.”
He was lying. “Yes, you do. And it does.”
He groaned.
I pushed. “Please?”
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shifting around in the driver’s seat all uncomfortable-like. “It felt real, okay? It felt right. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
I sat in stunned silence for a moment. “That’s a good way to explain it.”
Suddenly, he got decidedly smirky. “Plus, I’d never been propositioned quite like that.”
“Yeah. Okay, stop now.” I covered my face with my hands, and he laughed.
“Relax,” he said. “You were very sweet.”
“Sweet?”
“Sweet is not a bad thing,” he replied.
He pulled the truck into a gas station, stopping in front of a pump. “Look at me.”
I lowered my fingers. Rhys stared back at me, beautiful face grinning. “You said that you thought I was a really nice guy. And that it would be great if we could go up to your room and have sex and just hang out for a while, if maybe that was something I’d be interested in doing.”
“I have all the moves,” I groaned. There might have been more embarrassing conversations in my life. Doubtful, though. Oh, good God, the thought of me trying out my smooth seduction routine on Rhys. He who had groupies and glamour models throwing themselves at him on a daily basis. If there’d been enough room under the car seat, I’d have hid down there. “What did you say?”
“What do you think I said?” Without taking his gaze off me, he popped the glove box and pulled out a baseball cap.
“This is so mortifying,” I sighed, letting my head fall back against the headset. “Why couldn’t you have forgotten too?”
He just looked at me. The smirk was long gone. For a long moment he held my gaze captive, unsmiling. The air in the car seemed to drop by about fifty degrees.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, fingers fumbling with the seat belt.
His voice was hard again. “Sure.”
I finally managed to unbuckle the stupid thing, heart galloping inside my chest. The conversation had gotten crazy heavy toward the end. It had caught me off guard. Knowing he’d stood up for me in Las Vegas, that he’d chosen me over his friends… It changed things. And it made me wonder what else I needed to know about that night.
“Wait.” He rifled among the collection of sunglasses, pulled out a pair of designer aviator shades, and handed them to me. “You’re famous now too, remember?”
“My butt is.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
He fit the baseball cap to his head and rested an arm on the steering wheel. The tattoo of my name was right there, in all its glory. It was pink around the edges and some of the letters had small scabs on them. I wasn’t the only one permanently marked by that night.
With a sigh, I hurried inside of the gas station, into the restroom. I locked myself inside of the stall and took a deep breath. 
A weekend with Rhysand. It wouldn’t be too bad...at least, that’s what I kept telling myself, and every time I did, I debated myself against it. I was nervous and, yes, a little bit scared. Ultimately, I will still uncomfortable with the fact that I was married to a stranger. I was learning more about him every day, but I still didn’t know him, and I’m not sure I would get the chance to when all was said and done. 
I mean, did it even matter?
After I saw to the necessities, I was washing my hands, scrubbing at them just to give myself a few minutes more of silence. When I opened the door to the restroom again, though, I was only halfway down the drinks aisle before I had been spotted. A pair of girls, maybe a few years younger than myself, were standing there, their eyes wide.
The sunglasses Rhys had given me were pushed on the top of my head.
Good going, Feyre.
I gave them each an awkward smile and tried to step past them. I was almost to the door, to freedom, when one of them muttered to her, “Do you think that’s her?”
I didn’t turn to let them know I’d heard them, just kept hurrying for the exit.
“I don’t think so. The girl in the pictures was much prettier.”
Ouch.
When I got back, Rhysand was standing by the truck, signing an autograph for a couple of guys, one of whom was busy doing an overly-enthusiastic air guitar performance. Rhys laughed and clapped him on the back and they talked for a couple of minutes more. He was kind, gracious. He stood smiling, chatting with them, until he noticed me hovering nearby. “Thanks, guys. If you could keep this quiet for a couple of days I’d appreciate it, yeah? We could do with a break from the insanity.”
“No worries.” One of the guys turned and grinned at me. “Congratulations. You’re way prettier in person than in your pictures.”
“Thanks.” I awkwardly smiled, not quite knowing what else to do. I preferred these guys to the girls who’d seen me in the gas station.
Rhys winked at me and opened the passenger door for me to hop in. The other man pulled out a cell phone and started snapping pictures. Rhys ignored him and hurried around to the other side of the vehicle. He didn’t speak till we were back out on the road.
“It’s not far now,” he said. “We still going to Velaris?”
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Cool.”
Hearing Rhys talk about our first meeting had put a new spin on things. That conversation had piqued my curiosity. That he’d chosen me to some degree that night… I don’t think the possibility had occurred to me before. I’d figured we’d both let tequila do the thinking and somehow fallen into this mess together.
I was wrong. There was more to the story. Much more. Rhysand’s reluctance to answer certain questions made me wonder.
I wanted answers. But I needed to tread carefully.
“Is it always like that for you?” I asked. “Being recognized? Having people approach you all the time?” I was hesitant to tell him about the girls I saw in the gas station. I didn’t know how he’d feel about that, or if he’d reprimand me for not utilizing the sunglasses like he’d told me.
“They were fine. The crazies are a worry, but you handle it. It’s part of my job. People like the music, so…”
A bad feeling crept through me. “You did tell me who you were that night, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I did.” He gave me a snarky look, his brows bunched up.
My bad feeling crept away, only to be replaced by shame. “Sorry.”
“Feyre, I wanted you to know what the fuck you were getting into. You said you really liked me, but you weren’t that keen on my band.” He fiddled with the stereo, another half smile on his face. Soon some rock song I didn’t know played quietly over the speakers. “You felt pretty bad about it, actually. You kept apologizing over and over. Insisted on buying me a pizza to make up for it.”
“I just prefer country or pop. Or, really, anything that’s not hard rock.”
“Believe me, I know. And stop apologizing. You’re allowed to like whatever the hell you want.”
I nodded and we fell into an awkward silence. Finally, I asked, “Was it a good pizza?”
He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “It was fine.”
I looked over at him, but his eyes were firmly on the road in front of us. “I wish I remembered.”
He snorted. “There’s a first.”
I don’t know what exactly came over me. Maybe I just wanted to see if I could make him smile. With a knee beneath me I pulled out a length of seat belt, raised myself up, and kissed him quick on the cheek. A surprise attack. His skin was warm and smooth against my lips. The man smelled so much better than he had a right to.
“What was that for?” he asked, shooting me a look out of the corner of his eye.
“For getting me out of my parent’s house and then out of LA. For talking to me about that night.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “For lots of things.”
A little line appeared above the bridge of his nose. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “Right. Yeah. No problem.”
His mouth stayed shut and his hand went to his cheek, touching where my lips had been. The looks out of the corner of his eye continued for quite some time. Each one made me wonder a bit more if Rhysand Lunasa was just as scared of me as I was of him. This reaction was even better than a smile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Velaris was beautiful, that much was certain, and if I thought the mansion in LA was over the top, Rhysand’s house was just as magnificent, but in a more logical sense. It wasn’t as big, but it was very modern, very sleek. 
Rhysand climbed out of the cab and walked up to the house, fiddling with a set of keys from his pocket. He opened the front door, then stopped to punch numbers into a security system.
“You coming?” he yelled.
I lingered beside the car, looking up at the magnificent house. Him and me alone. Inside there. Hmm. Waves crashed on the rocks nearby. I swore I could hear the swell of an orchestral accompaniment not too far off in the distance. The place was decidedly atmospheric. And that atmosphere was pure romance.
“What’s the problem?” Rhys came back down the stone path toward me.
“Nothing … I was just-.”
“Good.” He didn’t stop. I didn’t know what was going on until I found myself hanging upside down over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.
“Shit. Rhys!”
“Relax,” he crooned. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the smirk on his lips.
“You’re going to drop me!” I cried.
“I’m not going to drop you. Stop squirming,” he said, his arm pressing against the back of my legs. “Show some trust.”
“What are you doing?” I battered my hands against the ass of his jeans.
“It’s traditional to carry the bride across the threshold.”
“Not like this,” I laughed.
He patted my butt cheek, the one with his name on it. “Why would we wanna start being conventional now, huh?”
“I thought we were just being friends.”
“This is friendly. You should probably stop grabbing my ass, though, or I’m gonna get the wrong idea about us. Especially after that kiss in the car.”
“I’m not feeling your ass,” I grumbled, and stopped using his butt cheeks for a handhold. Like it was my fault the position left me no alternative but to hold on to his firm butt.
He snorted. “Please, you’re all over me. It’s disgusting.”
I laughed despite myself. “You put me over your shoulder, you idiot. Of course I’m all over you.”
Up the steps we went, then onto the wide wooden patio and into the house. Hardwood floors in a rich brown and moving boxes, lots and lots of moving boxes. I couldn’t see much else.
“This could be a problem,” he said.
“What could be?” I asked, still upside down, my hair obscuring my view.
“Hang on.” Carefully, he righted me, setting my feet on the floor. All the blood rushed from my head and I staggered. He grabbed my elbows, holding me upright.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. What’s the problem?”
I followed his gaze, looking around at the sparse furnishings. “I thought you said you lived here,” I said, as I stepped inside of the foyer and looked around.
Rhysand shut the front door behind me. As I was looking out of the floor-length front windows at the beach beyond, he said, “I haven’t been here in a while. Not much time to come home, you know?”
I nodded, as if I agreed, but I really had no idea. I had no idea what it was like to constantly be on the road, in different cities, in different countries. 
To be away from home for months, for years, and having to cope with homesickness.
“I thought there’d be more furniture,” he said. 
I turned to look at him. “You’ve never been here before?”
“I’ve been busy.”
Apart from boxes there were more boxes. They were everywhere. We stood in a large central room with a huge stone fireplace set in the far wall. You could roast a whole cow in the thing if you were so inclined. Stairs led to a second floor above and another level below this one. A dining room and open-plan kitchen came next. The place was a combination of floor-to-ceiling glass, neat lines of logs, and gray stonework. The perfect mix of old and new design techniques. It was stunning. But then all the places he lived in seemed to be.
I wondered what he’d make of my and Joey’s tiny bedraggled apartment. A silly thought. As if he’d ever see it.
“At least they got a fridge.” He pulled one of the large stainless steel doors open. Every inch of space inside had been packed with food and beverages. “Excellent.”
“Who are ‘they’?” I asked, following behind him.
“The people that look after the place for me. Friends of mine. I called them, asked them to sort some stuff out for us.” He pulled out a beer and popped the lid. “Cheers.”
I smiled, amused. “For breakfast?”
“I’ve been awake for two days. I want a beer, then I want a bed. Man, I hope they thought to get a bed.” Beer in hand, he ambled back through the kitchen and entryway and up the stairs. I followed, curious.
He pushed open one bedroom door after another. There were four in total and each had its own bathroom because cool, rich people clearly couldn’t share. At the final door at the end of the hall he stopped and sagged with relief. “Thank fuck for that.”
A kingdom of a bed made up with clean, white sheets waited within. And a couple more boxes.
“What’s with all the boxes?” I asked. “Did they only get one bed?”
“Sometimes I buy stuff on my travels. Sometimes people give me stuff. I’ve just been sending it all here for the last few years. Take a look if you want. And yes, there’s only one bed.” He took another swig of beer. “You think I’m made of money?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Says the guy who got Cartier to open so I could pick out a ring.”
“You remember that?” He smiled around the bottle.
“No, I just assumed given what time of night it must have been.” I wandered over to the wall of windows. Such an amazing view.
“You tried to pick some shitty little thing. I couldn’t believe it.” He stared at me, but his gaze was distant.
I winced. “I threw the ring at the lawyers.”
He flinched and studied his shoes. “Yeah, I know.”
“I’m sorry. They just made me so mad.”
“Lawyers do that.” He took another swig of the beer. “Cass said you took a swing at him.”
“I missed.”
“Probably for the best. He’s an idiot but he means well.”
“Yeah, he was really nice to me.” Crossing my arms, I checked out the rest of his big bedroom, wandering into the bathroom. The Jacuzzi would have made Cassian’s curl up in shame. The place was sumptuous. Yet again the feeling of not belonging, of not fitting in with the décor, hit me hard.
“That’s some heavy frown, friend,” he said.
I attempted a smile. “I’m just still trying to figure things out. I mean, is that why you took the plunge in Vegas? Because you’re unhappy? And apart from Cassian, you’re surrounded by jerks?”
“Fuck.” His let his head fall back. “Do we have to keep talking about that night?”
I was getting just as frustrated as he was. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t that, okay?”
“Then what?” I pressed.
“We were in Vegas, Feyre. Shit happens.”
I shut my mouth. Ouch.
“I don’t mean…” He wiped a hand across his face. “Fuck. Look, don’t think it was just all drinking and partying and that’s the only reason anything happened. Why we happened. I wouldn’t want you to think that.”
I threw my arms out. It seemed the only proper response. “But that’s what I do think. That’s exactly what I think. That’s the only way this fits together in my head. When a girl like me wakes up married to a guy like you, what else can she possibly think? God, Rhys, look at you. You’re beautiful, rich, and successful. Tamlin was right, this makes no sense.”
He turned on me, face tight. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk yourself down like that.”
I just sighed, shaking my head.
He went on. “I’m serious. Don’t you ever give what that asshole said another thought, understood?”
“Then give me something. Tell me what it was like between us that night.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. “Nah. I don’t want to dredge it all up, you know? Water under the bridge or whatever. I just don’t want you thinking that the whole night was some alcohol-fueled frenzy or something, that’s all. Honestly, you didn’t even seem that drunk most of it.”
“Rhys, you’re hedging. Come on. It’s not fair that you remember and I don’t.”
“No,” he said, his voice hard, cold, in a way I hadn’t heard it. He loomed over me, jaw set. “It’s not fair that I remember and you don’t, Feyre.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m going out.” True to his word, he stormed out the door. Heavy footsteps thumped along the hallway and back down the stairs. I stood staring after him.
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SHADY OAKS THEORY!
This is a theory that Kindness (The netherite sword James found) is an evil artefact that is trying to take over the server! CWs for Roleplay and Mind Control, full theory under the cut!
Alrighty, let’s go! So, to recap what I said before, but in a bit more detail. Basically, the netherite sword (Kindness) is actually a cursed entity, trying to take over the server. The way it does this is by controlling their mind and causing them to cause anarchy. This is what I established before. Let’s look at this in more detail.
So, how exactly does the sword get control of it’s owners? Magic, obviously. The sword is cursed, and has the ability to just…control the mind, I guess? It can only control those who wield it, obviously. This means Squid is already controlled. (And possibly James, but I’ll get into that later.) Now we could always go for straight up control but I don’t think that’s the case. Rather, I think it’s making it’s ‘minions’ per se think that this is what they want to do. You want to cause anarchy, you want to attack your friends, etc. All under the guise of kindness and fun and games, of course! And, the sword wants to spread it’s abilities, so you’ll want to give the sword to even more people, so that they will be infected too! What fun. Oh, and design wise, the non-infected would be able to tell who’s infected by purple eyes, and later netherite growths.
So, who’s infected? Squid is an obvious one. He’s managed to cause anarchy already with four players, betraying both Dan and Justin. He is also planning on auctioning off the sword (Source: Shady Oaks Updates, thank you to whoever’s running that, you’re a godsend!), hence spreading the infection further. He’s definitely the catalyst to all of this. James really shouldn’t have given him the sword.
Speaking of James...is HE infected? It’s debatable, and this depends on how quickly the sword works. If he was infected, then the sword, rather than going straight to arson, has decided to pretend to be him, thereby passing the sword off unsuspiciously (see: James giving the sword to Squid). I doubt this is the case, because James really didn’t hold the sword long. Instead, I think he felt the sword was off so he went ‘hey, I should give this to the head admin!’. Woo baby, he screwed up. But the sword was possibly there, still affecting his thoughts...I’ll expand on that eventually.
Who else may get infected? This all depends on the future of the story, but honestly, so early, anyone’s game. I’ll explain how each person (Dan, Justin and the New Member:tm:) could possibly get infected in a second.
So, what’s for the future with the sword? The auction, obviously. With the sword trying to get Squid (the OWNER by the way, Kindness already has a one up on everyone else) to get it off, anyone’s game. Who’s most likely? Well, there’s no guesses, but I’ll go and theorise. First, Thinknoodles. I can’t see the sword doing much with him other than using his vengeance during the trial he was not told about. 
The New Member. Their confusion would be easy for the sword to take hold of, and then the sword can work it’s way up the ranks and down the ranks (in the sense of, Owner, Admin, Player). 
James. If the sword didn’t get a hold on James, it would want to finish off what it started, right? Plus, with James’s...chaos, it could be incredibly useful and feasible to the others. If James was infected, this wouldn’t be the case.
Finally, Dan. Dan is the one hosting the auction, and it’s known he wants to become a Keralis kinnie and scam people. What if he rigs the auction so he gets the sword? That would be falling right into it’s trap. And not only that, Dan is smart, the sword would use that to it’s knowledge. If James is infected, one of the other 2 admins will become the ‘protagonist’ of the series (Likely Justin). If James is not infected, he likely will be the protagonist instead.
Let’s finally talk about the far far future. Squid has confirmed that more lore-esque artefacts will pop up. There’s a few ways this could be brought into fruition, I’ll mention 3. Firstly, what I like to call The Hatchetfield Gang. This is a reference to the dolls from Black Friday and Nightmare Time, a musical and a web series made by Team Starkid. Basically, each artefact wants to take over the server, but they’ll do it in a different way. Kindness, a netherite sword is working via mindcontrol and subtle anarchy, and likely poses the biggest threat. What if there was a diamond sword which pushes it’s holders to kill each other? A golden sword which pushes it’s holders to steal from each other? The possibilities are endless. 
There’s also the second possibility, what I like to call The Elements Of Disharmony. That’s an MLP reference. This is saying that there will be multiple netherite swords each named after a different quality, but they have the same aim, which is to use mind control to take over the server. This would lead to multiple swords being passed around, causing the hive mind to spread further.
And thirdly, the final possibility I’ll put out, The Destructors. Don’t be fooled by the name, this one’s actually kinda boring. Basically, Kindness is an evil overlord and the other artefacts are what’s needed to stop it. For the likelihood, the  third one is more likely because Shady Oaks will be less dark than other ones, though I could see the first happening too.
Of course, this is all a theory! A MINECRAFT THEORY!
Leave your theories in the tags, reblogs or send me asks >:))) I crave interaction 
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iwantutobehapppier · 4 years
Text
Rough Ridin’
Pairing: Bucky Rogers
Summary: Being away from Bucky was never easy for you, and it wasn’t easy for Bucky either. Idle thoughts and such.
Warnings: Smut! SMUT SMUT! 18+ Only! Male oral, some toys can’t say without spoiling, light choking, daddy kink. If any of these situations bother you please read no further.
Word Count: 3,083
A/N: This is for my beautiful Tumblr wife @sagechanoafterdark​ it is her Birthday today! AAAHH!! Go wish her a happy birthday. I offer to you my goddess wife Bucky Smuts.
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Pulling the covers over your head you attempt to block out the rising sun. It was the eighth day you woke up alone in your bed, spreading your fingers over the cold sheet to your side you mourn the missing body.
Bucky had been away on a mission for far too long and while you were updated on his safety, you two had not spoken or texted each other in over a week now. The feelings of detachment were setting in, you weren’t sure how much longer you’d make it. You and Bucky were anchors for each other, both so torn in unique and often tragic ways.
Determined to spend the rest of the day in bed, because what was the point in leaving, you bundled up under a ridiculous amount of layers you had to use without your Super-Soldier. Just as your lids felt heavy with sleep Friday’s voice pulls you from your descent into slumber.
“There’s a package at the front awaiting a signature from Bucky Ma’am.” You flipped the covers from your head looking up perplexed. “Could you please sign for it?”
“Uh, sure?” You rush to get dressed in something other than underwear and Bucky’s shirt, but you leave said shirt on the bed knowing you’ll put it back on once you return.
Huffing and puffing you carry the cumbersome box into your shared living quarters with Bucky. After setting it down your return to your room to change when your phone goes off from the bedside table. Pulling your shirt and yoga pants off to slip Bucky’s shirt back on, you unlock your phone and squeal at the sight of Bucky’s name.
Don’t open the package. I’ll be home tonight. 😘
You chew on your bottom lip a little upset at the sudden communication after radio silence to be instructions for you like you’re a child but he was coming home. Tonight. Deciding to push the insecurities about the abrupt tone you felt from the text to focus on the positive you look in the mirror.
Oh, you were not looking at your best. Between, pizza binging, podcasts, reading and occasional adventure to talk with a fellow Avenger you hadn’t really been doing much upkeep. Looking at the clock you nod your head, plenty of time to shapen up for your boy.
~~*~~
A hot shower, face mask, shaving, epilator, blow dryer and some good skincare routine you feel not only human but sexy. You could feel your pent up sexual needs blooming at the prospect of Bucky being home soon. The way he knew how to take care of you made your blood boil just at the thought.  Pulling a worn but clean Henley from Bucky’s drawer you drag it over your head to pair with your black bikini strap panties. Pulling up your phone your lips spread into a wide smile at missed texts from Bucky.
I can’t wait to see you. 😍 Been thinking about you every day. Thinking about how sexy you look spread out for me. I know you’ve been so patient and good 😉 Can’t wait to hold you in my arms Then hold you down. 😈 See you soon babe.
You felt warmth bloom over your face at how quickly he flipped from your sweet boyfriend to sexy daddy. Your thighs clenched together as your fingers typed an equally sexy and sweet reply. The thoughts spinning through your head at what could unravel tonight would not be good for the countdown of his return. You need a distraction.
You skip your way into the living room, posting up on the couch and pulling your latest book into your lap hoping it’ll help you pass the time. You last awhile, well at least three hours, before needing something to drink and a snack. Leaning against the kitchen island you pop your snack into your mouth, whatever Bucky’s latest snack craving was. It varied from a new health food he wanted to try out all the way to him coming home with boxes and boxes of Oreos.
Speaking of boxes.
Your eyes caught the sight of that heavy box you brought in sitting by the door. Bucky had been so specific in telling you not to open it. Clearly, he was waiting for the notification of it being delivered as the time between your digital signature to his text was brief. What was in there that you couldn’t see? Or maybe he wanted to be the first one to open it?
Your phone goes off again and you rush to the couch anticipating some more sexting from Bucky but frown at the message being from a friend. Reading and replying you set your phone back down to return to your snack, downtrodden at the dashed possibility of more sexts from your boyfriend.
You pause next to the box, your finger in your mouth in contemplation you chew on your cuticle. A habit that could only happen if Bucky wasn’t around, else he’d whisper “You better stop or I’m going to put something much bigger between those lips.” Only to walk off as if nothing was lewd about his suggestion.
Walking up to the box you pay attention to the shipping label this time. You frown at the PO BOX, of course, though you’re perplexed at the lack of company name with returning shipping address. Oh, you were curious, a box you couldn’t open with no clear indication as to why?
What if you peeked into the box? Maybe some tape comes up and you just get a lookie? Flipping your nails over the edges where the cardboard was worn from travel, you contemplate the best way to get a peek of what’s inside.
Shaking your head you pulled yourself out of a ridiculous rabbit trail. He’d be home soon, then he’d open it and the mystery would be over. Though in your personal experience boxes without any company indication or label branding were illicit fun types of packages. You needed to know what was in there.
“Friday?”
“Yes, ma’am?” The delightful Irish AI pleasant to your ears now that you were fully awake.
“Can you scan the package for me?”
“It was scanned before entering the building ma’am for safety protocol.” An evil grin fell over your face, safety protocols being in your favor today.
“Show me the scan.” Without missing a beat the digital display in the living room lights up with a view of the contents inside the box. Moving towards the couch for a better look at the image you tilt your head to the side.
It wasn’t… It couldn’t be what you think it is. Fishing for your phone blindly on the couch as you continue to stare at the box’s contents until your phone is in front of your face. Taking a picture you attach it with a text to Bucky. “Is that what I think it is?”
I told you not to look inside.
Your phone starts ringing in your hands after you read the text from Bucky, without a second thought you answer.
“Hey doll,” the warm richness of his voice hits your ears, you can feel your entire body relax from head to toe.
“Hey,” Bucky gives a sigh of content, your voice doing the same for him.
“You know that’s a technicality right?” The warmth in his voice laced with authority. Oh, you were toeing a line.
“Your text said do not open it,” you justify once more. “I simply used technology to my advantage.”
“Open it.” You blinked at his command, and it was indeed a command.
“Open it, and you better be on it until I get home.” You look at the box then away. You weren’t sure you could do that, but if Bucky told you to do it then you would try.
“Okay,” he grunts displeased with your response.
“Yes, daddy.” You can hear him stifle a groan. It suddenly occurs to you that Steve could be by him, or even Sam. “I miss you, daddy,” you lay it on thick.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” his breaths quicken. “You better stop it.”
“Make me,” you hang up the phone well aware you had pushed your boyfriend but giddy at the outcome. Looking at the now looming box you square your shoulders determined to do what was asked of you. Your phone goes off for a text.
You’ve got two hours.
You shoulder sag, this would be torture, another text came through.
Do NOT cum. 😈😘
Opening the box you pull out the large bulky object covered in plastic wrap. Taking a deep breath you lifted the object up and brought it into the bedroom. Muttering under your breath about lack of super-soldier strength. Pulling it out of the wrapping you unveiled the solid black saddle mount with lifted rectangle on top with a small raised area.
He had bought a fucking Sybian.
After you’ve cleaned it off with the provided cleansing wipes you plug it in, taking the black setting box with you as you straddle the Sybian. Keeping your underwear on for now you were going to start at the lowest setting and see how it goes. Turning the vibrations on you release a soft gasp at the sensation against your clit.
Feeling rather adventurous given the whole debacle leading up to this you turn the vibrations up two more notches.
Dropping the control, you place your hands on the front of the saddle and begin to rock against the vibrations slowly. Throwing your head back and arching your back at the sensations you bit your lower lip, your body tingling all over with need.
You’re not sure how long you were rotating your hips against the vibrations, but as you feel your body start to key up your hands blindly search for the discarded controls. Turning it off you slump down, holding yourself up on your elbows on the edge of the black cushioning. It was comfortable and very effective.
Taking a few minutes you catch your breath and let the fire you had started fizzle out before turning it back on with the lowest vibrations. Your hips rock back and forth without you realizing it. Hands slipping under the henley you pinch your nipples, whimpering out into the empty bedroom.
It’s slower this time, the pleasure rolling through you with gentleness but still raising the hair along your body. The curl in your toes as it slowly climbs.  You start to feel yourself key up, eyes closed as the blood pumps through your veins so loud it deafens the sound of the vibrating motor.  Without opening your eyes you reach for the control, a small frown marring your face as you open your eyes to look for it where you set it last.
Boots are the first thing you see. Whipping your head up you see Bucky cupping his growing erection while his metal hand holds the controller.
“Bucky,” You whine reaching for the controls. He steps forward, his crotch right at your eye level. He turns the device off and you sigh in remorse, you were hoping since he was there he would let you finish.
His flesh hand caresses your face, trailing down to cup your chin. Leaning down to slants his lips against yours a sigh of relief washes over him, how he had missed your lips, your face, your eyes, your everything. But he’d take stock of that later. Standing up he feels himself falter when you mewl from the loss of his kiss.
“I love you,” are the first words he says to you before he cranks the vibration control to the max. You cry out turning your head down as your thighs clenched around the saddle quivering against the plastic nylon. Bucky unzips his pants, removing his hardening cock from its confines.
When you lift your head up to moan, his right-hand grips the back of your head pushing his cock into your open mouth. Your moan vibrates along his shaft as he pushes himself down your throat.
He turns the vibrations to half power, pulling your head back and forth down his shaft. A moan falls from his lips as your soft tongue rolls around his pulsing cock. Your eyes water as he holds himself down your throat, your nose pressing into pubes.
“Been thinking about this every day.” His words garbled in your ears at the rushing blood but you can make out just enough of his words.
“Eight fucking days just doing recon,” he pulls your head back and you gasp out loud, his metal hand cranks the vibrations back up to max and you cry out. Your hips jerking back and forth on the machine, your voice raspy as you try to mutter out his name but can’t get past the B.
“Then I found this toy on Amazon and had the same-day delivery,” a cruel smile forms on his lips, watching you pant, drool trailing down your chin and dripping onto his henley. Letting go of your head he rips the henley up and off of you. The cool air making your nipples pucker, he trails his tongue over his lips at the sight.
Wrapping his hand in your hair forming a make-shift ponytail you look up at him, those soft blues all you can see as your orgasm starts to climb.
“That’s my girl. Cum for me,” He drops the controller, his metal hand gripping the base of his cock to tap the head against your outstretched tongue. Your soft whines and moans heat his entire body with need. Your eyes scrunch shut, lips encasing the head of his cock, your body rocking against the saddle as a sweeping sensation of pleasure overtakes you. The elusive orgasm finally taking over your body, if it hadn’t been for Bucky holding your hair you were certain you’d fall forward.
As you bask in the euphoria Bucky lifts you up by your armpits. His pliant blissed-out doll, he kisses your sweaty forehead before placing you on the bed face down. Turning around he turns the Sybian off then faces your twitching body. He slips your panties down your body, discarding his clothes as well.
By the time you are coming around you feel him lift your hips up in the air, a soft coo falls from your lips when you feel him nudge your folds with his cock.
“Daddy,” You whimper. That’s all Bucky can take, his pushing through your wetness and bottoming out, his hips flushed to your ass.
“Fuck,” He chants trying to regain his composure, but the way your walls flutter around him leaves him breathless. He cants his hips back slamming back in, your moans muffled into the bed.
Bucky knows he won’t last long, not with how good you feel. He lets go of your hips with one hand, curling in front to rub your clit in tight quick circles to match his thrusts. The clapping of your skin meeting with each thrust echoes off the walls. The force he uses makes your back dip down further until you're almost flat with the bed save where he holds your hips up.
You rub your face into the comforter, your body never fully coming down from ecstasy. You feel yourself begin to build up to the precipice but it feels overwhelming, so quick. His cock dragging along your walls, a particularly rough angled thrust pushes against your g-spot. Crying out you lift your head up.
“Too much!” He growls, only to rebound his efforts.
“No,” his hand on your clit snakes up your body between the valley of your breast to wrap around your neck, pulling your upper half up by his grip. Your walls tighten around him and flutter. Salacious sound of wet flesh hitting, your gushing juices running down your thighs as they tremble, your voice cracking with a moan. It jarring how quickly you cum again.
Bucky can’t hold off, the way you squeeze him, your noises, the shine of sweat down your back. He grunts his hips stuttering in their pace, he lets your upper body down gently as he can manage whilst his orgasm overtakes him. The hot spurts rushing into you pushes a soft mewl from your chapped lips.
He leans over your body, panting hot breath against your shoulder, followed by a kiss to sweat-slick flesh. Then another, between his heavy breaths he kisses along your shoulder blade, down your spine, a soft bite to your plump behind you swat at him and he chuckles at your hand missing him.
Slowly turning you over he crawls up the bed laying next to you. Pulling you to him, his arms wrap around you, soft gentle words pour from his mouth.
“You’re such a good girl,” he kisses your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” than the other cheek. “I’m so happy you are mine,” he kisses your nose.
“I love you,” his lips press gently to yours, arms keeping you tight against him. When he pulls his lips from yours he notches your head below his, chin resting on the crown of your head.
“I love you too,” exhaustion evident in your soft tones.
“And I’m so lucky that you do.” He gently rocks you against him, relishing having his girl with him again. Sorely tempted to tell Steve to suck it next time he asked him to do a long recon.
You pull away from him after a little bit, finally coming down you need a bit of breathing room. Feeling safe enough to leave your side Bucky hops out of bed to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth, set on cleaning you up.
As he walks back into the bedroom with a washcloth with a blissful smile.
“Hey,” you call out Bucky hm’s as he gets between your legs cleaning you up.
“That was less than two hours.” You state a matter of fact.
“I kicked Sam out of the pilot seat and got us home faster.” You cover your mouth suffocating the laugh that bubbles up from his response.
“So impatient,” you tease.
“Eight fucking days doll.” He tosses the washcloth near or in the clothing bin he can’t be sure and crawls up your body, holding himself above you.
“Oh, I know.”
“Good, let me help you forget.” He leans down to capture your lips once more, intent on using that new toy a few more times tonight.
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Text
New Amsterdam Chapter 48
Peter supposed he should be panicking; after all he’d been kidnapped by the infamous Deadpool, was in an apartment that might as well be Rapunzel’s tower, and someone wanted him dead. But—but he was Spiderman, and it seemed like someone new wanted him dead every Tuesday. Granted, it was more than a little concerning that someone wanted Peter Parker dead instead of Spiderman, but still an everyday occurrence.
A quick look around after Wade left showed that while he might have tried to lock Peter in a tower, his boyfriend had no idea that he was also Spiderman. Which was good—and meant that Peter could, in reality, leave at any time. He just had to climb down the wall outside the building to the street, and he could. Easy. Easier than actually climbing down a ladder.
Even back when Wade had been exclusively Deadpool, he hadn’t been in the business of hurting people he’d thought were innocent. The two of them had met because Deadpool had wanted to save children. Granted, he hadn’t been sure if the children were real—but that hadn’t stopped him from trying. Given that Wade wanted to protect Peter, well, Peter knew he was safe.
It was kind of nice, being the one protected for a change. He was usually the one protecting other people; as many as he could from Norman, people from muggers as Spiderman, the street children as Peter…anyone he could protect (or at least try to protect), he did. So being protected—was new. Nice.
Besides; it wasn’t the first time that Deadpool had kidnapped him.
***
Peter had been swinging around New Amsterdam as Spiderman—when he’d blacked out. Still not entirely certain what had happened, he’d woken up on a couch with a game controller on his lap, and the mask still on. It was the first thing he’d checked for.
“I wouldn't de-mask you Spidey,” a voice said cheerfully. “That’s against the super-bro code!”
Peter blinked and looked up to see—Deadpool messing with a TV? “What are you doing?” he asked before looking back down at the controller in his lap.
“Well, we can’t play video games if the thing isn’t hooked up. Man, I remember when these fuckers only had three cords; one for the TV and two for the controllers.”
What? Peter felt like he was missing part of the conversation. How had he gone from swinging between buildings, waiting for crime to interfere with, to sitting on a couch as Deadpool hooked up a gaming console? “Red cord to red outlet,” he said vaguely as he tried to figure out what happened.
A pause as the mercenary completely froze. “You sure?” he asked.
Peter rubbed the back of his stinging skull. “Yeah; that’s why they’re color coded. Make them easier to hook up.” He leaned forwards and stared blankly at the controller (not yet plugged in) in his lap. No matter how he tried to piece his fractured memory together, he still couldn't figure out how he went from web-slinging to waiting to play video games. Not on a Friday night, when crime was usually high.
“Oh, fuck yeah!” said Deadpool excitedly. “That makes everything easier!” He stepped away from the console and turned to Peter with a grin. Peter wasn’t certain how he could see a grin through the mask, but he could see a grin. “Ready?” he asked before plugging in the controllers. “I’ve got Mario Cart, Resident Evil, some weird shit with Barbie on it.” Wade stared at the pink case for a moment. “Actually, Barbie kind of looks fun. What do you want to play?”
And suddenly the dots connected. “Deadpool, how did I get here?” Just in case he was wrong. Just in case he had a concussion had missed a huge chunk of time (it had happened before).
“I kidnapped you,” admitted Deadpool casually.
Peter closed his eyes. He really, really hoped he wasn’t going to have to fight the unkillable merc. “Why?” asked Peter.
“So we could play video games, duh,” said Deadpool cheerfully.
Wait. What? Deadpool kidnapped him—to play video games? Peter rubbed his face through the mask. “Why didn’t you just ask?” he asked, confused.
“Because you would have said no,” said Deadpool casually as he loaded a game disk into the console.
Peter frowned. “Why,” he asked slowly as some kind of pop music began to play, “do you think that?”
“Everyone says no,” Deadpool admitted as he slammed down on the couch next to Peter with a bounce. “Oh! Two character story mode! I didn’t know they did that!” He selected what looked like a blond Barbie, leaving character two with the options of brunette Barbie, raven Barbie, or redhead Barbie. Aside from the hair color, they all looked the same.
“Why do people say no?” he asked, not choosing a character.
“Everyone hates me,” said Deadpool cheerfully.
Peter swung his head to look at the mercenary. He seemed so happy, so casual—it was hard to believe. “Why do—Deadpool, do you think I hate you?” he asked.
Deadpool shrugged. “Of course. Everyone does.”
Deadpool was so convinced that people hated him, that he’d kidnapped someone just to play video games. Peter sighed, stood up, and turned off the console before turning around to face Deadpool. “I do not hate you,” he said firmly.
Somehow, the man looked confused through the fabric of his mask. “What? Of course you do.”
“No. Now,” Peter continued, “we’re going to set up a few ground rules. No kidnapping.”
“But—no one will play with me!” protested Deadpool, waving the controller so wildly the cord tugged the console off the shelf. Peter automatically caught it and carefully disconnected the wire so the console wasn’t in danger of being damaged.
“Kidnapping,” Peter continued, “is not the way to start a relationship.” He crossed his arms. “Especially,” he added, “if you want to play again.” Deadpool looked down at the floor, body language dejected as Peter continued. “Now, if you can keep from killing people,” he hadn’t been able to when rescuing the children, but Peter really couldn’t blame him there, “you can come along with me on patrol. And if it’s a quiet night and there’s not much crime, we can come back here to play video games.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Anything but Barbie,” he added. He walked towards the window. Paused.
Deadpool was still on the couch. He hadn’t so much as twitched as Peter walked back up to him. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“If I don’t move, don’t speak, you won’t hate me,” Deadpool said.
An uncomfortable feeling twisted in Peter’s chest. “Hey,” he said resting a gentle hand on Deadpool’s shoulder, “I’m not going to hate you because you move. And you’ve spoken to me before,” he pointed out. “You talking didn’t make me hate you.”
Deadpool looked up and somehow, even through the mask, Peter could see that he looked hopeful. “Really?” he asked. “You don’t hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” Peter confirmed firmly. “And you can’t patrol with me if you’re curled up on your couch. Come on,” he said offering a hand. Deadpool looked at the hand for a long, silent moment moment before he tentatively took it.
A few incidents later Peter took the masked mercenary aside. “All right, good job not killing people,” he said, because he believed in positive reinforcement. “Now, let’s take a moment and talk about the maiming…”
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