I’m running out of characters for my mcr black parade/danger days fic but I need at least one more (a woman if possible). I already have all the guys, fear and regret, the patient, and mother war. helena wouldn’t work in that context and the demolition lovers don’t have names. maybe I’ll make a reference to another band’s music

I’ve just checked your rules and the request post you made with all the quotes so I was wondering if you could write a party poison x reader with the prompts- ‘How long have you been covering this’ and ‘If I survive can I go home’. I was thinking the fic could go like, they find the hurt reader and take them to the diner but they’re stubborn and want to go home and they have an injury that they discover later on and then hopefully the reader stays with them. Or not, you can take it in whichever direction you want, I just thought that’d be a suitable story for it :)

genre: fluff to angst and back to fluff

Pairing: Party Poison x unspecified! reader,

Pov: Party Poison

Title: Define Home

Killjoy Name Used: Sky Hawk (feel free to replace if you want) 

Note: I took the prompts, slightly different story then you asked for.

It happened super quickly. Someone, just outside of the diner, took out nine or ten draculoids on their own. I reached for my gun, but the last draculoid had fallen before I even stepped outside. I wanted to speak, asked who taught them to shoot, but my voice betrayed me. Though the look on my face must have given it away.

“I’m Sky Hawk, from a small group of Killjoys next to the wall,” they pointed in the direction of Battery city, “the Animalistic Killjoys.”

“Party Poison, I’m the leader of the Fabulous Killjoys” I reached to shake their hand, “how’d you end up out here?”

“Was on a part run, my brother’s bike broke and needed a gasket,” they leaned against their own bike, “ran into these guys and got chased all the way out here, which zone is this?”

“Thirteen.”

“Holy shit,” they let out a dry laugh, “oh man, Snakeskin is gonna kill me.”

“Listen, Killjoys are meant to help each other,” I shifted on my feet, “why not stay a while, your bike looks pretty roughed up, my brother could fix it for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” they took a shaky breath in.

“I insist, come in,” I motioned them to come inside, surprised when they did.

A little over a week later and it had already felt like Sky Hawk was one of us. And though I would never say it out loud, I found them attractive. They were tough, resilient, and actually listened to me. The boys got along with them great too, Kobra was happy to have something to work on, Jet was glad they were able to contain their stupid, that they only let out when Ghoul was around.

“Hey! I know you’re in there! I see your bike!” I loud booming voice was followed by pounding on the door.

“That would be my brother, took him long enough to come looking,” they rolled their eyes, “You could also peak in through the window dipshit!”

He threw open the door and grabbed Sky Hawk by the wrist.

“We have been looking for you for 24 hours! You scared us shitless!” My face twisted at his statement.

“Only 24 hours?” I growled lowly, not letting him walk out the door with what I would consider a new member of our team at this point.

“That’s all they’ve been gone,” Hawk’s brother raised an eyebrow.

“They’ve been here for the past week and a half,” My anger grew every second that the man in front of me struggled to find an excuse.

“He’s never paid much attention to me, it’s fine,” Hawk defended him.

“No, the fuck it isn’t,” Jet stood quickly, his height easily freaking the brother out.

“Fine, then what do I tell Snakeskin?” Hawk’s brother raised his voice.

“Tell her I’m not an animalistic anymore, I’m part of the fabulous,” they snapped, “now let me go.”

He left, stomping his feet and slamming the door. I sighed, almost missing the way Sky Hawk clutched their side and limped back to where they were sitting.

“How long have you been covering this?” I wasn’t even aware that I was the one speaking until Hawk froze and everyone else looked at me funny.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” they murmured.

“Lift your shirt then,” they knew they were stuck, lifting their shirt just enough to show a bullet wound, it had scabbed over, but looked severely infected. It was dead silent for a few moments.

“Kobra, Ghoul, leave the room, Jet, I trust you to fix this,” I attempted to keep my face stoic, trying to ignore the drop in my stomach.

Jet nodded as I followed the other two men out of the room.

“It kills you doesn’t it,” my brother whispered, catching ghoul’s attention anyway.

“What do you mean?” I grit my teeth.

“Seeing someone you care for so deeply be hurt so badly and they didn’t tell you,” he elaborated, “you’ve never been good at keeping yourself from falling hard.”

A little while later, Jet came and got me from my room.

“They want to talk to you,” was all he said before walking out. I slowly made my way to the room we had set up for them.

“Hey,” their eyes were red, “’m sorry I didn’t tell ya.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to go home, but,” they let out a sharp breath, “clearly they didn’t care, and then you guys did and-”

“Hey, it’s-” I reached for them, backing out last second, “you’re okay, just, tell me next time you’re hurt.”

I didn’t realise how close I was to them until they reached for my hand.

“Please stay with me,” they weren’t looking at me, but I nodded anyway, sitting next to them on their bed. They leaned into me carefully and squeezed their eyes shut. Not taking long before falling asleep.

poll because i honestly have no fuckin idea what to do:

pros + cons of each option under the cut:

if i keep going the way i planned it:

pros:

-i don't have to re-outline it

-i don't have to scrap part of what i've got already

cons:

-poison is severely mischaracterized, and their personality being that way is part of the plot for this version

if i keep the main idea, but change poison to be closer to their canon self:

pros:

-this is a good thing for me to do because 1. having characters act like they would in canon is good and 2. if ppl use my fic as reference for their own, then they don't in turn also mischaracterize poison

cons:

-it's gonna suck, for reasons i've listed above

if i just scrap this fic entirely:

pros:

-i don't have to re-outline/edit like i would otherwise

-i'd be slightly less swamped with wips that demand my attention

cons:

-you don't just delete a fic (big bad)

-some of the stuff i've got for it is really good, too good to scrap and so i'd have to find somewhere else to put it in a different fic

DISCLAMER:

I might come to a conclusion before the poll ends, so don't get mad if i don't do what the winning option tells me to

Feelings? (Female reader) (pt.2 to New Toy)

KAY/O x Reader fluff

Ok I know what y’all are thinking, another KAY/O post? Welllll the main reason for that is because of these two amazing people who loved the last one. I’m not gonna lie, there isn’t enough KAY/O content on, well, anywhere actually. So we are back! This is actually kinda a part two to the smut fic I did last month, and @darkness4561 gave me an amazing idea to give it a part two.

@pleasefvckmekayo

@vigilanteagent

Words: 1,277

Disclaimer: mentions things that happened in New Toy but no detailed smut today :)

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

KAY/O and you have been doing his ‘classified mission’ for a bit now, and honestly he seems to enjoy it. Some days he just walks right into your room even asking if he could do the mission today or asking if he could come back tomorrow. You’d always be a blushing mess and nod as you clean your cum off of him so he looks just as he did when he came in. Sometimes he’d even hesitate to leave which always makes you curious as to what he is thinking, or what his code is thinking.

You were talking to Killjoy in the kitchen area as you grab a cup of coffee to start off your day while she was making breakfast for the agents that were awake. You two were currently talking about a mission that just happened that you both went on and you were talking about your perspective.

“I really need to take you out sometime KJ as a thank you for saving my ass. I swear I never saw Jett sitting there with an operator.” You shrug as you sip your coffee. KJ chuckles a bit to herself as she serves you a plate of eggs and toast.

“It’s really no problem (Y/N). We are supposed to look out for each other out there.” She proves a point as you give her a smile and start devouring your eggs. Out of the corner of your eye you see KAY/O accidentally run into a wall, shake his head a bit as to get his head on straight, then continue walking towards the shooting range. You look at KJ a little bit confused as she does the same to you.

“Hey does KAY/O seem off to you? You’d know you basically take care of him 24/7.” You mention as you grab another bite of your breakfast. She looks down at her feet a bit puzzled as she tries to come up with words to explain.

“He’s been a bit off lately. He would ask me weird questions that seemed to be off of emotions but it doesn’t make sense. He is a robot and doesn’t have the code to feel.” KJ responds frustrated.

“Like what types of questions?” Your interest was peaked, this was the robot you were essentially using as a vibrator and you really hoped he didn’t tell her anything. But from the puzzled look on her face too, it seemed like you were in the clear. She sighs and puts a hand on her forehead and walks back to the stove to make more servings for the other agents.

“He would just ask what happiness feels like and how to recognize it. He also asked some, very inappropriate questions as well like what does it feel like to be touched and all that sort of stuff. I really hope his code works it out.” She lets out another frustrated sigh as she continues cooking. This was your que to stop asking questions. You clean your plate and thank KJ for breakfast as you go and seek out the robot that has been destroying KJs brain.

You find him where you’d expect him to be, at the range shooting his own kind. You always thought it was weird that he was so willing to shoot other robots. Then again you shoot and kill other people for a living so you weren’t too far out of the scope either. You approach him as he gets perfect head shots on all the bots. You attempt to put a hand on his shoulder but since he is extremely tall, you settle for his forearm instead. When your hand makes contact, it seems like he shuts off for a moment, then comes back. His face was red with killing intent when you walked up but now it is back to his normal cool blue color. He tilts his head to the side almost like a puppy at your concerned expression.

“Hey KAY/O. Everything going ok?” You ask. You know he is a robot and you honestly don’t know what he is going to say. His arms drop from the aiming position as he places his gun on the ground making your hand slip away from his arm. Once he is back up from lowering his gun he grabs your hand and places it back onto his arm. You blush a bit at his actions and continue to look at his screen. You can see him look over you, over every detail that you have. You can hear his internal fans start to whirl as you see him try and come up with words.

“(Y/N), the missions you have been giving me have affected me in a way I cannot describe.” His voice rings out. You look down at your feet blaming yourself for him being confused and not knowing what is going on. You feel hot tears start to well up in your eyes as KAY/O brings his other hand you the side of your face, caressing it and lifting it slowly so you look up at him. Seeing the tears in your eyes illicit another reaction from him. He pulls away his other arm from your grasp to wipe the tears off your face.

“(Y/N) do not cry.” He begs. You close your eyes as more tears pour out.

“I’m sorry KAY/O. I feel responsible for the errors in your code and the confusion you feel right now. Maybe I should stop asking you for favors. I’m sorry.” Your voice breaks at the end of your explanation. KAY/O looks down at his abdomen where you sat so many times. He looks back up at your red crying face and attempts to soothe you more by wiping more tears away.

“(Y/N). I enjoy those moments we have together. Please don’t make me stop.” His voice for once sounds softer than his usual tone. The shock hits you like a train when you realize what is going on. It is a malfunction yes, but he is falling in love. You give him a small smile as you finally figured out what’s been going on with him.

“Do you get antsy to see me? Or want to see me all the time?” You ask hoping his answer will line up with your theory. He nods his head saying ‘yes’. Your smile gets wider as you ready yourself to explain.

“What you’re feeling KAY/O is love, or wanting to be with me. Humans have the same reaction with people they like or live in your case.” You explain as stand on your top toes to bring your forehead to his. You see his screen go pink almost blushing as you hear the fans work harder to cool him off. You let out a small giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a small squeeze. He knows that if he hugs you back he could kill you, so he brings his hands to the small of your back and keeps them there until you pull away. You both stare at each other for a while before he interrupts the sweet silence.

“If this is true then what do I do.” He asks confused. You give him a small smile and break out of the embrace as you walk away from him.

“Do what you want to do. I’ll be here for you and whatever you want.” You smile as you grab the door to leave. He quickly comes to your side and holds your other hand with his. You look up in almost disbelief but give him a sweet smile.

“I want to be with you.”

Hi Leo I’ve just been reading one of your fics about the killjoys and wanted to know your fav hcs about poison and ghoul. thank you.

Oh yay!!!

I have a lot in my mind that I rarely remember to write down and a lot of my headcanons don’t make it into my fics lol… Also I work better with specific questions about the Killjoys because of this haha.

So the big ones for me are that the 3/4 Killjoys are Mexican American and Jet Star is Puerto Rican. I don’t play around with Jet and Kobra as much so that’s kind of it for their headcanons whoops. I like draw Jet as a cowboy though!

Fun Ghoul is a trans guy to me and he uses he/him. He has a big scar on the side of his face that reaches his lips. He’s really tan he looks like this -> 🙋🏽‍♂️ and he wears cargo shorts all the time. He made Poison a lighter that matches their gun. He is the mechanic and has a workshop and likes to take things apart. Since he’s played by Frank Iero I give him tattoos that are similar to Frank’s but Zones-ified. So instead of the doves on search and destroy it’s a cicada and the DD spider. I think he still has the scorpion I can’t remember if I changed that in my brain.

Party Poison is nonbinary and transfeminine and they use they/them. I love to draw them with denim skirts and cowboy boots. I really associate them with like, southern y2k fashion If that makes sense? Like, bedazzled jeans and turquoise jewelry and stuff. Poison is that one eccentric tía you have that lets you play with her jewelry and scarves and stuff. I’m a little biased but I like giving them a subtle southern accent in my mind! I used to draw them with a little thin mustache just because literally every Mexican person I know has a lot of facial hair or body hair (i.e me and my sibling and everyone I’ve ever met). Also Kobra is their brother and together they’re the Venom Siblings and both of them are tattoo artists.

I’m gonna stop here because the bell is about to ring lol but y’all can send me follow up questions if you want :)

Sickly Shenanigans

Pair: Phoenix/GN! Reader

Type: One-Shot - 1,309 words

Genre: Fluff - Sickfic

Summary: Waking up with a horrific headache and a scratchy, sore throat, you realise you're rather ill. Thankfully, your angel of a boyfriend is there to try and make everything better.

TW: None

A/N: I’m so sorry for the silence! I've sadly gotten sickly, so I haven't been able to write anything lately. I've managed to write a small drabble about Phoenix though, because sickfics are great inspiration when you are also sick. Also, I've figured out how people do those fancy things in their fics and I'm very happy. I hope this is good, despite the circumstances!

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

You weren't quite sure when you'd ended up in bed, all tucked in with your boyfriend leaned over in a chair scooted close- but you sure as hell appreciated it. Your clothes no longer felt stuck to your body and your fever seemed to have gone down a bit. Glancing around, you take comfort in the dark room. You weren’t sure your eyes could take it despite feeling a lot better than before. Slowly sitting up and reaching upwards to rub your still sore eyes, you feel a damp towel slowly slide down your face. A fatigued smile lifts your lips as you peel it off and look over to Phoenix practically hunched over your lap.

As you scratch your head, you start to recollect the day before your current situation. You’d been feeling quite woozy since the start of that cursed day, having awoken to find your throat scratchy and raw. Your nose was no better either, that clogging feeling of congestion gripping your head in an almost dizzying hold. However, you were quite the stubborn one. You’d neglected to tell Sage about your developing condition, having decided to tough it out. How bad could it be anyway, it was just the start. A cheeky bit of work and you’ll find rest afterwards. It’ll pass. Besides, today was just some simple training.

Oh how wrong you were.

You’d barely managed to conceal your coughing and hacking throughout your spar with Yoru. It’d only gotten worse with time. When he’d given you a look, you simply waved him off- lying through your teeth about how amazing you felt. You felt like you were practically burning; with your lungs gasping for breath a lot sooner than usual during a hand-to-hand sequence, only to hack and sputter with the intake of air. Yoru, ever observant, simply scoffed and called off training until you “stopped lying to yourself”. You felt mildly relieved, as he stalked away to do gods know what the rift walker did in his spare time, content to just wander back to your room for a much needed, relaxing shower.

Although that wouldn’t be the case it seemed, as you swayed while trudging along past the main commons room. Phoenix was the first to notice you, perking up almost immediately as soon as he saw you. You’d barely even noticed he was there before giving a lop-sided smile and a dazed-sounding, “hey.”

“You doing alright there, love? You don’t seem to be looking too sharp,” he quirked an eyebrow at you, steadying your swaying figure before you even realised you were falling forward. You just laughed, wincing as it tapered off into a coughing fit,

“I’m fine, great actually! Just gonna go shower. I’m just feeling a bit warm after sparring with the rift walker,” you waved the concern off once more, but you were no more convincing than Raze when she stole something from Killjoy or Cypher. He seemed to buy it however, as he just let you go and do your thing- not that you could see his knowing smirk with your fatigue blinded eyes.

Step by step, it felt like your bones were giving out on you- legs slugging along as though you were walking for the first time. Weakness seeped through you, as though it were coursing through your very veins. Your semi-shut eyes are barely focused on the goal at hand, as your head begins to throb a little at the damn blinding lights that cover the path to the dorms. You could vaguely make out some laughter, unsure of where it was even coming from. Hopefully you wouldn't crash into them.

And hey, was the carpet always that close to your face?

As your strength fails you in your sickness-driven delirium, you find yourself enveloped and gently tugged backwards into a pair of arms and a particularly warm figure. Slumping into him, you could only sigh in relief as the kind gesture melts away a bit of the painful migraine that had settled into your stressed, little cranium. It should’ve felt terrible falling into a human radiator with an apparent fever, but the fever chills were getting to you. It was both too cold and a little too hot. You could hear a chuckle above you as a hand combed through your messy, mildly damp hair, applying a little pressure to massage your scalp. It was heavenly to your achy head, and if you had any more strength, you would’ve told him so. He was incredibly good at massages, it was insane,

“So, no more acting like Mr Tough Guy, yeah?” And you could only groan at his self-righteous tone but… he wasn’t wrong in his assumption. He was right, you were wrong. He was right to be cocky, but if he weren’t massaging your head right now you probably would’ve punched him. A weak punch for sure, you were in no condition to be throwing professional moves, but it would’ve gotten the message across. You just settle with a slight nod against his chest, scrunching your features as your face sorta peels from his shirt because of the sweat gluing them together,

“Sorry for ruining your shirt…” you murmured, a little guilty as you realised just how much you were perspiring from your terrible fever.

“Don’t worry about it, love. I can just wash it,” was all he laughed, amused that that was your main concern, before swaddling you up into his arms- which disorientated you a little more than you cared to admit, and carrying you back to your bed. Your already closing eyes missed the way Jamie was smiling to himself amusedly, ‘Of all things to worry about.’

In record time, you were dressed in fresh clothes and tucked away in bed to rest. Jett had delivered a homemade soup, out of guilt for laughing as you almost fell. Despite your denial, Jamie insists on spooning the soup for you- slapping your hand playfully if you try to snatch the bowl. He was truly a ray of sunshine in your gloom. 

As you’d tried to rest, you’d tossed and turned enough for Phoenix to hum softly at you. His hand had moved to pet your head, softly singing a tune he’d gotten stuck in his head lately. His voice soothed the restlessness with ease, like some miracle drug; it always somehow made you feel at peace. A fact he knew from how often you’d gushed about his particular talents.

Blinking at the memories, a small smile growing on your face, you took a deep breath in while your nose was still clear. You felt marginally better than you did last night, your symptoms having died down a little as soon as they had risen. The sun had begun to stream through your curtains during your little reverie, highlighting the coloured tips of hair on your sleeping boyfriend. Your hand rose to pet the top of Phoenix’s head, feeling slightly guilty that you had made him sleep so awkwardly.

He stirred once, twice, then opened his eyes groggily- mildly confused before recounting the memories himself. Your hand slid as he rose slightly, smiling softly at you as your hand landed on his cheek. He covered your hand in his, rubbing the back of your palm with his thumb,

“Are you feeling any better, love?” Your reply is halted by a cough, making your lover frown slightly in concern,

“I’m doing a lot better than before,” you reassured, “Thank you for taking care of me, Jamie,” your adoring gaze is returned just as enthusiastically as he practically beams at you,

“Of course! Anything for you,” and as he says your name so lovingly, you could feel your heart practically melt. He truly would do anything for you, and there was nothing in the world that could stop you from doing the same.

Hi, bored, I'm da— [I get bodyslammed before I can finish the joke]

Anyways! Killjoys questions: Favourite clothing item or item in general of any killjoy(s) of your choice? Who hogs all the blankets in their sleep? Is Tommy Chow Mein a crook or just a really good businessman (and are they not the same thing, really)? The most awkward moment they've had that haunt their bones (mostly because the others won't let it die)?

Favorite clothing:

Jet - loves adding fun belts to his outfits when he goes out and by the same vein his baster holster is his favorite everyday thing to wear he feel much stronger with it on

Ghoul - he has some tank tops that are black with white and neon designs which he really likes because they look awesome to their uv/florescent eyes in the dark

Party - you would think its zir jacket but its actually zir handkerchief. Not the yellow one, a soft well worn black handkerchief, because it was one of the first things ze stole in The City so it's sentimental to zir.

Kobra - boxing gloves he found in the junkyard one time. They're good for protection, for keeping himself safe, and for bad sensory days.

Who hogs all the blankets:

So each of them has a hammock because you're only really gonna find beds at old motels. But on the couch in The Nest this is an issue. Kobra will be very picky about finding *his* blanket vs Jet is definitely the hoarder.

Tommy Chow Mien is strange. Most people assume he's a True Call (the name for anyone in the zones who is old because they were stuck in the zone 3 while it was turned off). He may or may not be a True Call, an alien (see my star wars fic Hearts and Helmets), or just really weird for a different reason. Regardless he is not first and foremost a capitalist as much as he is grumpy. See The City is very pristinely and numbly happy about the way they run their businesses. TCM only knows one thing: carbons. You want something? You give him carbons. What he does with the carbons? You've gotta work as a runner for him if you want to find out. TCM is the only reason carbons are a functioning currency outside of the city. It's good though because newbie zonerats aren't going to have anything else of value of them. So he makes his name known early and kids will keep coming back.

Embarrassing moments

Ghoul - definitely one of the many times they slipped into Spanish not realizing the person they were trying to shit talk also knew Spanish

Jet - that one time he was really confused and asked out Ghoul because that's what he thought was logical. They took him to a restaurant, went back home and Ghoul was like "so? did you want to kiss me or?" "huh no." And then there was a lot of confused explaining and laughing and apologies. That was the night they picked out the nickname being the fae siblings.

Party - the time ze wanted to take on some killjoy twice zir age in a fight at the bar and everyone else had to drag zem away and apologize to the girl even though Poison was kicking and shouting that ze wanted to punch her

Kobra - the gang is usually gentle about things that embarrass Kobra but Jet and Ghoul will always poke fun at the time Kobra was confused and realized that while yes News A Gogo was their cousin neither Jet nor Ghoul was actually related to hir and this was normal

And the Living is Easy (Fred x reader)

Summary: You spend the first night of summer vacation getting into trouble with the Weasleys + Harry and Hermione. Fred x reader. Fluffy mischief mostly, but sex is discussed and implied. 

Warnings/Notes: Light sexual content but not all out smut, alcohol, heights, language. I wrote this to be a stand alone, but I enjoyed it so much that it might become part of a loose series of slice of life-y reader x twins fics set at the burrow over the summer! ps i did not edit this at all after writing it at 2am so. uh

Summer at the Weasley’s is my favorite time of year. After my mother passed, you were tossed around from boarding school to boarding school, relative to relative, never really having a say in where you went, or with whom. But ever since becoming fast friends with Fred and George while repairing brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you’ve pretty much been considered an honorary Weasley.

You stow your suitcases in the overhead and squeeze into a seat next to Fred and George. Across from you, Ron, Lee, and Harry are packed in. 

“Do you reckon you’ll ever make it out to the burrow, Lee?” asks George pointedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Mrs. Weasley’s hotcakes are out of this world.” Harry says.

“And there’s loads of space to play quidditch.” you say.

“And loads of secret spots not even Mum knows about where we can basically do whatever we like.” adds Fred.

“You know my mum will hardly let me out of her sight for a day. Merlin’s sake, she’s practically ass to elbow on me all summer.” Lee says, faking a pout. “Quit ribbing at me, would you? Or I’ll spend the summer in my room coming up with derogatory names to call you on the Quidditch pitch.”

Murmurs of “Come on, we’re only joking.” and “Fine, fine.” fill the packed compartment. You lift your rat Pansy up to the window to show him the scenery.

“Bet you’ve never seen the fine English countryside like this, eh Pansy?” you baby-talk at him, scratching his little noggin.

“You know that thing is never gonna talk back at you, right Y/N?” says Fred, rolling his eyes. 

“You never know. Look what happened to Scabbers.” you say, wiggling you eyebrows. “This rat could also secretly be a creepy little pervert who watches me undress at night.”

“I suppose it isn’t unprecedented in the rat community,” agrees George. Ron scowls in disdain.

“That’s my pet we’re talking about!” he says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, fine pet he was.” says Harry, grinning.

“I will say, Ron-” Fred begins, clearing his throat. “You’ll never find another like him.” He claps his little brother on the back and stands up, peering down the hallway. “Oi, it’s the trolley, look alive Georgie.” George rises and straightens his coat. The boys have been planning for ages to charm the trolley witch into selling their skiving snackboxes. They run off down the car towards her. You tuck Pansy back into his cage and watch the scenery go by yourself. Before you know it, you’re being shaken awake by Fred and George. 

“C’mon, Dad is waiting!” says George. 

“Got you some chocolate frogs, but that means you owe us one.” says Fred, shoving a wriggling paper bag into your hands. Delighted, you expertly open the bag, catch a frog, and slurp it up before it manages to escape. 

“Tank -ou” you mumble, your mouth still full. Lugging your trunks over to meet Mr. Weasley, you smile with excitement. Every summer with the Weasleys is a blast, but you know this one will start off with a bang because last week Fred absconded with a jug of top shelf mead from Filch’s office. You’d all agreed that you needed it more, since you want to have fun and have no money, while Filch obviously dislikes fun and ostensibly has some amount of money squirreled away from all his groundskeeping or lurking or whatever his job is. 

After greeting Molly, you and the twins bound up to their room- and, when you’re here, your room- pushing and shoving your way up the narrow stairwell. You toss your things down and throw yourself onto a bed, spreading your arms as if making a snow angel. 

“Oh, boys, it is good to be home!” you say, laughing. Fred and George always joke that their mother likes you, Harry, and Hermione better than any of her own actual children, and you love teasing them about it. 

“Speak for yourself, she’s already got that sending-us-to-de-gnome-the-

garden-while-hungover gleam in her eyes,” retorts George good-naturedly.

“And get your shoes off my bed! Mum will have all three of us beating out the rugs if she sees that.” says Fred. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, baiting the boys into attempting to push you off the bed. You wind up making such a ruckus roughhousing that Hermione comes in looking concerned, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You all three pause from your compromised position to look at her, you releasing a vise grip on Fred, George dropping your left leg, which he had been twisting violently.

“When did you get here?” you ask, running to hug her. 

“Just apparated over, my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t at least drop by for dinner before practically moving here for the summer!” she replies, turning to greet the twins. 

“Are you going to be participating in our little soiree tonight, ‘Mione?” asks George, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are you three planning?” she asks sternly, stifling an excited smile.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you say. 

“But don’t wear white shoes.” warns Fred. Hermione gives you all a funny look before running off to finish her greetings. 

“Where are we going tonight, Freddie?” you ask, looking up at your tall friend. He gives you a cheeky glance.

“Oh, out by the bog. There’s a huge hill between there and the house, so we can make a fire and nobody will see.”

“And there’s a huge stand of trees and a pond between that spot and the neighbors’,” says George. 

“You two have got it all figured out. And you’ve got the firewhiskey! What a night, what a night it shall be.” you say, your voice singsonging as you dance exaggeratedly. 

“Too bad nobody invited any girls.” says Ron from the doorway. He’s been standing in the hallway looking in the mirror for some time now, fussing with his hair.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Ginny shouts from her open door down the hall.

“YOU don’t count!” Ron replies.

“We know you’ve got someone else in mind, little brother.” George says, flicking Ron in the ear. 

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fred agrees.

“You get all flustered when she corrects your grammar,” you say.

“And you let her braid your hair.” says Fred.

“And you-” begins George, but Ron interrupts, his face beet red.

“Shhhh! Buzz off you two, or I’ll start blabbing on about who you’re interested in as well.”

The twins exchange a somewhat threatened glance, but say nothing.

“That’s right, I’m not as dull as you lot like to think, thank you very much. I notice things. So let me alone or I’ll sing like a canary!” Ron finishes, turning back to the mirror for a final glance at his hair before trotting downstairs. 

“You two have crushes?” you demand, turning to stare down the twins. Fred shrugs with his usual attitude but you notice a light blush spreading across each of their cheeks. You swat him across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? You motherfuckers.” You grab George by the collar. “George, tell me who it is! A crush, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. They’re being super weird, so you decide to drop the subject. “When you snog every girl and half the boys in the school, between the two of you, you practically hold us all down to tell us the details but now you’ve got a crush and suddenly you’re like a couple of mimes.” You look each of them in the eyes, and both avoid your stare. “Fine! Don’t tell me.” You throw your hands up in mock anger and lead the charge downstairs to begin setting the table for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After dinner, you pass the evening playing cards and chatting until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retire for the night. Then, you’re left with all your friends and Percy, who it has been agreed simply cannot know you’re sneaking out to drink in the woods, because he is a killjoy. Using a previously discussed maneuver, Hermione attempts to trick him into believing that she and Ginny are going to bed, hoping that he will get nervous about being bullied if left alone with you and the twins, and elect to follow them to bed soon after. However, Percy is in an unusually jovial mood, and so Ron and Harry are forced to retreat as well. As a last line of defense, you pretend to fall asleep on George’s shoulder, nuzzling into his sweater. When Percy gets up to go to the bathroom, you dash outside into the moonlit yard, covering your mouth so your giggles don’t give you away. You run to crouch behind the garden shed, doubled over with laughter. 

“I thought he would never stop yapping.”

“God, how are you two related to that bore?”

“We can’t help it.” Fred says, bending to gather rocks from the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watch!” he raises his hand to throw a pebble at Ginny’s window, but you grab his wrist.

“Have you lost the plot? Percy will hear! And probably your mum too, with your aim. I’ve got a better idea,” you say, peeking around the garden shed while gesturing for the boys to stay put. You pop out of the shed with a dusty, rickety broom. 

“Does this thing still work?” you ask.

“Well enough,” says Fred, getting a running start and jumping on the broom. Wobbling a bit, he sails up to Ginny’s window and confers with the girls, then moves on to Ron’s window, where he perches on the sill, one foot dangling out the window.

Beside you, you’re aware of George’s presence beside you in the cool, sticky night.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmurs, elbowing you gently. “How’d you even know that thing was in there?”

“Lucky guess. I mean, with a family full of Quidditch players, there’s bound to be a broom lying about someplace.” 

Fred jumps down onto the broom and turns a few experimental loop de loops overhead before nearly falling and coming to a shaky landing near your feet. 

“That one belongs on the rubbish heap, honestly,” he says, laughing as he tosses the old thing aside.

“Oh, sure, blame it on the broom,” you tease.

He’s soon followed by Ginny and Hermione on Ginny’s broom. They glide down and come to a halt next to you, stepping down gracefully.

“How are Harry and Ron going to get out? They’d have to go right by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, unless Harry has his broom up there with him, but I think I saw it in the foyer.” says Hermione, looking at Fred worriedly.

“Well, err, I told them to climb down,” says Fred earnestly.

“What?!” says Hermione. “They’ll be loud as bison, besides probably breaking their necks.”

“It’s not my fault they’re too dumb to pass their apparation O.W.L.S! They’ll be fine.”

As he finishes his sentence, Ron’s window slides open and Harry’s head pops out. He lowers what appears to be a rope made of sheets and blankets tied together. Hermione’s brow furrows as she watches, helpless, while Ron artlessly slips one leg out the window, before even checking to see that the “rope” is nowhere near long enough to reach the ground. Ginny giggles, biting her lip when she sees Hermione’s distress.

“Do something!” Hermione hisses, nudging her. Ginny groans and soars over to boost Ron onto the back of her broom, going back to do the same for Harry.

“Shite! The firewhiskey,” you whisper, smacking your forehead. Everyone lets out a collective groan, but before you can send someone back up to hunt down the alcohol, Ginny opens her backpack, revealing the gleaming jug. Everyone cheers, but then quickly realizes that loudly cheering may have blown your cover. Fred and George scurry off into the brush and you all follow them down a lightly trod path through the countryside, eventually reaching the open bank of a large, murky pond. This is a spot you’ve never been to before, probably because it’s a fair stretch away from the house, and apparently from any civilization at all. 

Hermione quickly conjures a large fire, creating a pocket of warmth in the chilly night air. You lean against a large rock and shiver when the cool stone brushes the back of your neck. Ginny pulls out the firewhiskey and hands it to Fred, who pops the cork, shouting with glee before knocking back a sip and passing it to George, who passes it to you. The familiar sickly sweet liquid burns your throat and warms your stomach, and you feel your (already barely existent) inhibitions begin melting away.

Before long, Ron suggests that you all play a game, and you run through your options: truth or dare, spin the bottle, a wizarding game you’ve never heard of, and hide and go seek. Hermione refutes hide and go seek on the basis of safety, and Fred refutes spin the bottle on the basis of the fact that four out of six of you are siblings. Not everyone brought their wands, so you can’t play the magic game, and you’re left with truth or dare as the apparent winner, which you were rooting for anyway, because you want to see what you can get the twins to do. It almost makes you wish Percy was here so you could put him in a compromising position, but knowing him, he’d find a way to make walking on hot coals boring. 

“I’ll start, I’ll start!” you volunteer, looking around the circle. “My first victim will beeeee…” you look at Hermione, who cringes nervously, then spin around to point at Harry. “Harry Potter. What will it be, Mr. Potter, truth or dare?” you ask.

Harry shrugs. “Hmm.. I’ll do.. Dare, why not?” he replies. 

“Alright Harry, I dare you tooooo.... Oh, easy. I dare you to smack Ron every time he says something you think is stupid tonight. And be honest, or we’ll smack you,” you say. The twins nod in agreement. 

“That’s not fair! That’s barely a real dare!” protests Ron. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, who turns and gives his friend a good wallop. 

“Alright Harry, your turn.” 

You play for nearly an hour, all the while passing the bottle lazily between you, until everyone’s good and tipsy on the strong liquor. Several good dares are exchanged: Fred is dared to give you a lap dance, which he does with gusto and an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You dare Ginny to race you across the pond and back, and you both strip down to your skivvies and plunge into the chilly water. Ginny wins, of course, but you just wanted an excuse for a swim. Fred lends you his cloak, patting it onto your shoulders to dry them before you pull your pants back on. George dares Ron to walk back to the house and get food, which he reluctantly agrees to after everyone bullies him into it. By the time he gets back with a basket of pastries and jam, you’ve transitioned to mainly truths, because the well of dares has run dry. 

When it’s Hermione’s turn to ask Fred, she blushingly asks if he’s lost his virginity. 

“What, do you all think I’ve snogged every girl we know without scaring? Have a little faith, please.”

“Clever, but that’s not an answer!” slurs Hermione, pointing at him and grinning. “Have you actually had sex before, or do you just talk a big game?” 

“Well, have you?” you ask, laughing as he tries to bluster out an answer.

“”Course I have. Ask anybody. Everybody must think George and I are the male sluts of the century, the way you people talk.” 

“Still not an answer!” you say, looking at him mischievously. 

“How’s this for an answer, then?” he retorts, pulling you to his waist and kissing you on the lips melodramatically, throwing you up against the rock, practically fucking but for the clothes. What’s probably thirty seconds of kissing at most feels like an hour. Everyone goes “Oooooh!” and when he finally lets you go you’re flabbergasted, but you recover your senses.

“Point taken, then. Alright Freddie, your turn,” you say, straightening your clothes and trying not to look like you enjoyed that. 

“I dare Hermione to let us play hide and seek, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lazily.

“Ugh! I might be drunk but I’m not letting anyone stumble around alone in the pitch black plastered out of your mind. Ask me a real question!” 

“What if we weren’t alone?” Harry asks, looking around. “I mean, we could go in pairs or little groups. Like team hide and seek, basically.”

“I call Fred and George!” you cry, throwing your arms around their sweaty necks. 

“Fine, but please be careful. And everyone should be on a team with at least one person with a wand,” says Hermione, who teams up with Ron. That leaves Harry and Ginny on the last team.

George produces his wand and casts an illumination spell.

“Not it!” You shout, immediately echoed by Ginny. 

“Alright, we’ll count to 50” says Hermione, but Harry and George protest until they finally agree to 3 minutes.

Fred tears off into the woods and you and George follow, bushes thwacking you in the face, vines snagging at your ankles. You break through the brush into a field, panting, and stop for a break. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking around. “And where are we?” 

“No idea!” Fred says gleefully. 

“What about over there?” George nods towards a patch of grass and trees down in a glenn. You lope down hill through high grass and crash to a halt in the stand of trees, crouching low. Fred huddles next to you and George clambers clumsily into one of the trees, flattening himself into one of its crooks.

You can feel your stomach churning after your run, but you manage to successfully push down the acrid taste rising in your throat. Above you, you hear George belch, and just manage to slip out of the way as he spits a pitiful glob of vomit to the ground.

“Oi, we’re down here, you lout,” hisses Fred, ducking.

“Look at the state of you,” you drawl, bumping into Fred as you readjust around George’s vomit. He groans from his spot up in the tree and lies back down sleepily. To your surprise, you feel the urge to pull Fred closer rather than pushing him away. The earthy smell of the forest floor calms your stomach, and you find your mind wandering to his lips, his hands on your waist and neck. Buzzing with drunken impulsivity, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him to sit beside you. He looks surprised, but readily slouches against the tree trunk next to you. You can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. The air is still and cool in that settled way characteristic of the night.

Overhead, you think you can hear George beginning to snore. 

“Freddie-” you begin, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You push him down and roll over so that you’re straddling him, gripping his jaw in one hand as you kiss him, hard, then gently. His lips are softer and more relaxed than they were when he kissed you earlier, and his body less certain. There’s no false bravado in him now, and you bite his lip gently, your tongues barely batting together. You reach down to unzip his pants but he pulls back.

“Y/N- I- Look, I may have lied earlier,” he says, his face flush with desire and embarrassment. You look at him quizzically, your drunken mind not connecting all the dots. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I haven’t… done this before. I’ve only ever kissed. Although I’ve done quite a lot of that.” he says quietly. You blink.

“Oh. Oh! You total freak. Why go to all that trouble to convince everyone you have?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to kiss you?”

This shuts you up. He pulls you back down to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, on the forehead, the neck. 

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” you say carefully, brushing a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“No… no, I’m ready. I want this now,” he says, tugging at your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it into the grass, the game of hide and seek forgotten. Let the shirt be a warning flag to any nosy passerby. Fred kisses across your chest. 

“Freddie, we’re drunk,” you remind him, your breathing growing heavier as his tongue flicks across your nipple.

“I want you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck in between kisses. “I want you, I want you, I want you,” he says. You kiss him in reply, and move again to unzip his pants. You feel his hard member ready to burst out of his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

You had considered that you might one day wind up with Fred or George, and honestly, you had figured it would be on some less-than-sober whim like this, but you never really pictured it. You certainly never imagined Fred like this, innocent and tame, hoping for someone else to take the lead.

“Will you show me how?”

“Yes,” you breathe your reply into his mouth.

“Will you go slow?” he asks sweetly, his coy submissiveness sending tremors through your body. 

“Yes. Come closer.”

In the morning, you groggily open your eyes at the sound of birds chirping. You sit up, your head throbbing, and look around. Above you and a few feet to your right, George is sleeping soundly on his belly in the flat convergence of an oak tree’s branches. To your left, shirtless and smeared with dirt, is Fred curled on top of his cloak, also fast asleep. 

“Guess they gave up on finding us,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to smooth it into place. You remember what happened last night well enough, although some parts are cloudier than others, and you don’t remember deciding to fall asleep at all. You suppose it just happened at some point. Your heart beats faster, wondering if you and Fred will be an item after this, or if he’ll want to keep it quiet, or if you just won’t talk about it. You’re not sure what you want, yet. It’s still purple pre-dawn in the countryside, the sun not quite peeking over the horizon yet.

You know you enjoyed yourself, and you adore Fred- as a friend, certainly. As something more? Maybe. You brush away your anxieties and trust that you’ll settle things when you’re less groggy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve got to get back to the house before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wake up and notice your absence. You stand up as though the ground caught fire, kicking at Fred and shouting at George to get down.

You fetch your shirt from a nearby bush, and pluck a twig from Fred’s hair as he looks up, dazed.

“God, my head,” he says, squinting up at you. “What the hell time is it?”

“Never mind that, you’ll have worse than a headache if we don’t get back to the house by like, yesterday.”

“Merlin!” George exclaims, perking up and basically falling from his perch to the ground. Recovering he stands up, taking his surroundings in. “Hold on, what the hell happened to you, Fred? Where’s your shirt?”

“No time for all that, go!” you say, shoving George in the direction you suppose the house is in. You muster as fast a pace as you can and follow him, Fred scrambling to gather his cloak and tee shirt before catching up with you. With George’s back to both of you, you exchange a goofy grin and a wave of relief runs through you. He obviously doesn’t consider last night a mistake, either. You slip your hand into his and make your way into the breaking dawn.

Always Were - N. Horan Imagine

NOTE: here is the polled fic some of you may have voted on! if you like the idea of poll fics and would like to see more in the future please let me know. this concept is also lightly based on an episode of how i met your mother.

TAGLIST: @fedorable-killjoys​ @isisferreira27 @niallberry @swiftmendeshoran @theshyspy @niallerbbynialler @camhoran00 @letmecarryu @franchesca-791 @niallers-potato @clarabsevero @nerdypartytrashpsychic @golden-hoax @upallniall @ms-emily119 @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @hoodhoran @wowitsel @candyharries @rhymelynne @pantoneariana2 @umadirectioner @bi-lmg @evanjh @fairyvex777 @rueplumet

SUMMARY: Niall undermines your artistic talent, angst ensues

The vibrations of music spouting from the record player in the corner of the room flowed through you. Each note from the songs which played aided you with each stroke of your angled brush. Upon your decision that your latest piece had endured enough of your artistry, you took a few paces back to admire it from a distance. Letting the wooden utensil fall from your cramping fingers and onto the stained sheet below, you crossed your arms and allowed a grin of high regard to stretch along with the apples of your cheeks. This painting, by far, has been your best work yet. You could not be prouder of your technique, style, or concept when comparing the stained canvas facing you with any previous works. The door to (once guest room, now renovated to act as) your personal art studio creaked open. But you’d be damned to draw your eyes away from the work on the easel for even one second.

“Hey love,” Niall’s groggy voice greeted you before his muscular arms could. The comforting hold around your waist seconds later allowed your stiff muscles to unravel and lean back into his torso. “I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

You glance up to view his ocean eyes, already looking down at you. Humming, you murmur “that depends,” and focus your stare down to his arm’s belting your middle, “are you going to admire this masterpiece with me?” Your arms fall from your torso so you can lock your fingers with his, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. Heat rushes to your cheeks faster than the pulsing of your heart as you feel his supple lips connect with the shell of your ear.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else.” He answers smugly and pulls your body closer to his front. You cannot maintain a casual smile as you feel a newly added pressure on top of your head, which is no doubt his own using yours as a resting place.

“It’s my best one yet, I just know it.” Squeezing his hands, the giddy feeling swirling your insides as a washing machine felt ten-fold now for two different reasons.

“Does this mean…” before he can finish asking, you nod your head at a pace so ferocious Niall begins pondering to himself if it would fall off.

“I’m gonna start selling my art. Online first, though. Just to get a general opinion from people. I don’t want any museums or actual art investors seeing this yet. I don’t think I’m ready to go that far.”

“Whatever you feel confident doing, love. I’ll be right beside you here through it.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, all while you continue admiring what exactly you had made. Not even your bachelor’s degree could compare to the thrill and ambition swarming your stomach. Remembering the man standing behind you, you crane your neck back once more to be met with his eyes, maintaining their stare on you.

“Alright, now what’s the real reason you came in here.” Niall’s eyes dart around momentarily before he sighs in defeat.

“Well, I wanted to tell you dinner’s ready. But, now that you’re in my arms I kinda don’t want to let go.” You spin around in his hold, locking your hands behind his neck and giggling at the abashed expression on his face.

“I’m fine with you not letting me go for a few minutes.” You both basket in the final tracks of the record currently spinning, swaying together in each other’s arms like it was the last time you would ever get the chance.

“Hey, there you are,” weeks have passed since you uploaded what you presumed to be your show-stopping piece to your social media accounts. You gave a reasonable price to match the work and said you were even open to paying the shipping costs. You admit you do hold a smaller social following than Niall--less than a few hundred--but at this point, a part of your heart was cracking like a sidewalk at the fact that you had no takers. Niall found you in the studio as you were pacing a racetrack into the floor with your bare feet, eyeing the painting with a pontificating stare on the hardwood below you. “I was calling your Niall all over the house, didn’t you--” he halts his question upon seeing your frustrated gaze.

The embarrassment of him finding you in such a state was enough to bring tears to balance on your eyelids. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?” His arms swaddle you in a warm embrace, as he patiently waits for any word of explanation through your constant snivels and hiccups.

A barrage of coughs and whimpers leaves you in an endeavor to keep your sobs at bay. “I-I need you to...to be completely honest with me.” You stammer, lip wobbling in the process. Niall furrows his eyebrows and nods immediately.

“Absolutely. What is it?”

“Do you think I have potential? As-as an artist?” You squeak out before a hand comes up to wipe beneath your nose. Niall tilts his head, peering down at you in sympathy. Or pity. You could not find a distinction at this point.

“Y/N, of course, I do. You’re one of the most talented people I know. Why, did somebody say something to you?” He raises his eyebrows in the inquisition, hell flames sparking in his eyes.

“No--” you begin shaking your head.

“Because if they did I’ll give them a piece of my mind. You know I will. You’re so damn talented it’s not even funny.”

“Nobody said anything, Niall! That’s the point.” your voice crackles in shame, as you hang your head low. Maybe asking the love of your life his stance on your artistic ability was not the best plan of action. You were bound to receive a biased answer. Admittedly, you would react the same if he were to ask you your opinion on his career.

“What do you mean, love?” His hand strokes up and down your arm, desperately trying to see through the storm of emotions in your eyes.

“It’s been nearly a month since I put the painting up online and nobody’s given me a chance. I’m starting to think maybe I’m not as great as I thought…” you turn your head down to study the loose skin around your fingers, which you had been picking at for days on end. Your movements are objected by Niall taking his fingers and lifting your chin to meet his eyes, full of sincerity.

“You know that’s not true. I’ll say it a million times and I’ll say it again your work belongs in the damn Louvre. Maybe...maybe not enough people are seeing it.” He shrugs.

“So what? I should go door-to-door like a desperate wannabe and advertise my painting?” You scoff, shoulders slumping in the process.

“No,” he shakes his head. “But, I wouldn’t mind giving you some free advertising.”

“Really? You mean it?” At the sight of something hopeful gleaming in your eyes, Niall doesn’t hesitate to nod and dig out his mobile phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

“I’ll post something on my story right now.” He raises his phone to capture a photo of the canvas before you are leaping in front of it in protest.

“Wait,” he lowers the phone. “Isn’t this...cheating somehow? I mean, shouldn’t I be trying to sell my work on my own.”

“Love,” he grips both of your shoulders and spins you around so you are facing your hard work head-on. “At the end of the day, one hundred percent of that painting came out of you. Wanting more people to see it isn’t cheating. You’re blessing them, really.” You chortle at his statement, before turning around to face him.

“Okay,” you concede, stepping out of the way. “But don’t say anything that makes it seem like we’re...you know…” Though nearly a year had gone by in your relationship, you and Niall were determined to keep it under wraps for as long as possible.

“You got it.” He leans down to peck your lips, before returning to his phone. ”And...posted!” He cheers. “Now while you’re potential buyers are lining up, may I take you out to dinner?” He stretches his hand out towards you. Seconds pass before your warm hand is latching onto his, a giddy smile on both of your faces.

“You may.”

You kept reminding yourself to share Niall’s post on your social media, but throughout the night, you kept becoming distracted by arbitrary things. Like Niall discussing various tales from work or how delicious the restaurant’s chicken parmesan was. The task popped into your mind as Niall held open the door to the house for you, and you chirped in delight once seeing the number of offers you were receiving.

“Fifty-seven messages!” You squeal, raising a hand to muffle the excited screeches leaving you.

“Great job, love!” Niall whoops with you, slinging an arm around you and tugging you close to his side. “I told you, you just need to reach the right people.”

Upon reaching the earliest message concerning your painting, you excused yourself to the studio to answer the potential buyer and properly package the piece. Instagram messages were not the most professional way to do a transaction, but it worked for now.

h.ART.break_weather

Hey! I was interested in purchasing

your painting, it’s beautiful!

After sending back a passionate thank you to the person--who was no doubt a fan of Niall’s, you gave them the userNialls to your virtual wallet apps in hopes to make the transaction there. Before receiving a confirmation that they were sending the money your way, they added to their previous message:

h.ART.break_weather

also, could you make sure Niall

signs it?

It took a few moments to process the pixelated words. Fearing what could only be a reasonable explanation, your mouth went dry as you answered.

what?

h.ART.break_weather

Niall said in their story that if a fan bought the painting and wanted an autograph from him, he would sign the back of it.

As your fingers neared the phone screen to leave the string of messages and verify this person’s statement for yourself, they sent a screenshot of the story for you. And sure enough, Niall promised an autograph nearly word-for-word as the fan had explained it. Another message appeared below the screenshot, which you could barely read with the new-forming tears blurring your vision.

h.ART.break_weather

I don’t mind paying a little extra, just as long as Niall signs it

You conquer each step through the corridors of the house with a stomp, not caring how loud it is to Niall’s ears as you scour the vicinity for him. When you finally approach him, you take no time before chucking the phone at him, making sure the messages were on clear display for his eyes.

“I thought you said you believed in me, Niall. What the hell?!” Your voice croaks.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you going behind my back and deciding to put your name on my work!” His eyebrows shoot up.

“So a fan wanted it?”

“No shit! And why do you sound so surprised?” He stays silent as you collect yourself, holding back the dam of tears in your eyes with all of your might. “I-I told you I didn’t want to cheat. I wanted to sell this painting fair and square.”

“And I was helping you do that--”

“NO! You are advertising your signature. The person buying the painting didn’t give two shits about what was on the canvas as long as your name gets to be on the back of it. And I’m sure every other person who messaged me about the painting is wanting the same thing.” A groan of frustration leaves you as you run your fingers through your hair.

“I was just helping you to sell the painting--”

“And I shouldn’t have asked that of you. Because now all these people are expecting an autograph from big celebrity Niall,” you wave your hands about. “I mean, I don’t understand! Good oil paintings go for thousands of dollars!” You turn to Niall, who stands from his spot on the couch and bellows.

“Maybe because they’re real paintings! From real artists!” In sync, both of your jaws unhinged and your mouths fell open. Stunned was the most appropriate word for how you felt. A book could be written and only filled with praises and compliments that Niall had given you and your work. With exception to the comment that just fell from the man himself.

“Y/N, I--”

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!” For once, you did not allow Niall to console you and tell you everything would be alright. Because for the first time, he was the cause of your distress. Just like you had entered the room, your exit was filled with heavy stomps and a brooding aura, unfixable.

When Niall decided he had given each of you enough time to mull things over--and come to the collective agreement that what he said was idiotic--he marched up into the room he was admiring your painting in hours before. No music filled the room, leaving it stripped of even your quiet hums.

The only sound greeting his ears is the rough bristles of the giant brush--one he only finds you using when you’re priming a canvas for your newest piece. All he sees is a multitude of colors being cloaked in a thick coat of black, and he rushes to halt you before he can even get a good view of the tainted painting.

“Niall, what’re you--”

“I’m so so sorry petal, what I said back there,” he juts his thumb to the door he just entered moments ago, “it isn’t true. You are a real artist, with real talent and your paintings deserve so much more attention. And I’ve led you to cover your best one up yet all because I was an asshole.” He peers back at the canvas, the bright bursts of colors and shapes looking like they are being sucked into a black hole. The mere thought of the emotions you went through to decide that this was the right move has his hands coming up to tug at his locks in frustration.

“Niall--”

“I should have never promised to sign it. I get enough recognition as it is, and you--you deserve so much more.” He blubbers out.

“Ni--”

“And it was such a pretty piece, too! Why’d you cover it?”

“Niall.” You drop the brush to the sheet below, grasping his shoulders in desperation. His lips finally close, allowing you to inform him, “I didn’t cover the painting up.”

“W-what?” Your hands slide down to envelope his, and you slowly guide him over to a table littered with various sketches, bottles of paint, and the painting he exploited earlier that day.

“That was just an old painting I was getting sick of looking at.” You tilt your head towards the canvas. “As annoyed as I was at you, I could never cover up my best work yet. And I know you were only doing what you thought was right. So…” Your hand scavenges the table for a Sharpie and, once finding one, slaps it into Niall’s palm, “do what you have to do.”

His blue eyes glance between you and the marker before he is furiously shaking his head. “No.” He sets the marker back down onto the table. “This is your painting, your work. I’m not gonna slap my name on it like I had anything to do with it.” He fishes his phone from his pocket and opens up Instagram.

“What are you doing?” Your eyes peek over and widen at his thumb hitting the delete option for his story.

“I’m getting your work out there...the right way.” He grins to himself as he snaps a photo of the canvas once more.

His new--and improved--story features your artwork and its well-deserved price with no contingencies. It took a few minutes for you to receive a message from an interested buyer with no interest in Niall’s autograph on your work, but once you finally completed the transaction and alerted the person of the shipping date, a celebratory cry exited your lips.

“Y/N, I really am sorry--” You place a hand over his mouth, silencing any further pardons.

“No more apologies, Ni. I forgive you. Now hurry and help me package this!” You squeal in excitement. “I’m an artist!” You proclaim, raising your hands into the air.

“You always were,” Niall confirms, gazing down at you with adoration in his eyes.

ao3: “paint it red” rating: T warnings: autistic remus, autistic logan, sympathetic deceit, sympathetic remus, anxceitmus genre: fluff description: Virgil paints everyone’s nails. (for anon prompt:  "Imagine your virgil who paints nails fic (I think it was anxceit) but virgil going around painting everyone's nails red to support an autistic side (which is up to you)")

"Remus," Virgil says, half-laughing as he carries his nail polish kit into the kitchen. "You have to sit down if you want me to paint your nails." His boyfriend looks up, red spreading across his cheeks, as he plops obediently into a kitchen chair. Deceit's already pulled up a chair, gloves neatly folded in his lap. His hands are demurely clasped, and Virgil can tell he's nervous about showing the scales dotted across his skin.

"We're gonna paint 'em red, right?" Remus asks, dragging Virgil's attention back to him. "Red like blood splattered on the road after an accident?"

"Yes," Virgil assures him. "No blue, no puzzle pieces, just red and anything else you want to add."

"A knife!" Remus says brightly. Virgil blinks.

"Why a knife?" He asks. Remus grins, his teeth looking pointier than ever.

"Virgil, love, are you sure you want that answer?" Deceit asks. Virgil laughs, his shoulders jerking in a lopsided shrug.

"Does it involve violence against supporters of Autism Speaks?" Virgil asks. Remus nods eagerly. Virgil ponders for a moment. "Eh, sure, I can try to draw a knife on one of your nails," he decides.

"Did someone say nail painting?" Roman's voice drifts into the kitchen, seconds before the rest of him appears.

"I'm painting Remus's and Dee's nails red for autism acceptance," Virgil explains. "You want in?"

"Do I!" Roman exclaims. "I'm sure the others would like it, as well."

"Even Logan?" Virgil asks skeptically. Roman nods.

"Nail polish isn't a bad texture," he says. "And the smell goes away pretty fast. I'll be right back." He clatters up the stairs, leaving the kitchen in relative peace.

"Well, I'll get started with you," Virgil tells Remus. "Let me see your nails, babe." Remus obediently splays both hands on the table. His nails are slightly ragged, but still more than adequate for Virgil's purpose.

"Creme polish or holographic?" He asks, holding up two bottles. Remus chose holographic without hesitation, a decision Virgil thought would be repeated, judging by the appreciative glances Deceit kept flicking his way.

"Try to stay still," he warns Remus. "You can jiggle your legs if you need to, but try to keep your hands still, so I can paint them. Is that okay?"

"Yeah!" Remus says. Virgil can already feel his right leg bouncing but true to his words, his hands remain steady as Virgil begins to apply the first coat. He's finished one hand and is working on the other by the time Roman enters the kitchen again, Patton and Logan in tow. Patton keeps bouncing on his toes, playing with his cardigan.

"Oooh, pretty!" Patton exclaims. "It's all glittery!"

"It's holographic," Virgil says absently. "Do you all want your nails painted red, too? It's for autism acceptance." A chorus of yeses answer him. He smiles as he finishes the last nail, blowing lightly on it.

"Thanks to the mind palace, they're already dry," he says. "So I can draw the knife now."

"Knife?" Patton questions, sounding alarmed. Virgil laughs.

"Chill, Pop Star," he says. "It's just some nail art." He chooses Remus's thumbnail, since it has the greatest surface area, and manages a silver knife, only slightly lopsided. Remus peers down at it and grins, happy flapping his hands in the air.

"I love it!" He squeals. Virgil beams, looking around the slightly crowded kitchen. He also notices that Logan has swapped his usual tie for a red striped one. When Logan notices his gaze upon him, a faint blush climbs up his neck.

"Good," Virgil says. "Now, who's next?"

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @yalltookmyurlideas @ambersky0319 @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @littlestliu

New Royalty

(here's that supernatural cross over fic! i'm still not sure i'm happy with it how it turned out but here it is! 😂)

@indigosaurus @zealoushound @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @hope-to-hell @wendimydarling @infinite-shite @inlovewithhisblueeyes

Being a crossroads demon, life wasn’t easy. Especially so now, when you’re adjusting to becoming the fresh new King Of Hell. I wanted to continue my job as a crossroads demon because truthfully, I loved the work. But, being the King was a daunting task all on its own, so I let my number one Knight Of Hell, my brother (for all intents and purposes) Sy, handle the crossroads deals. And he had been doing an amazing job, snatching up souls left and right. But I could tell by the look on his face as he stormed into the great hall, that something had gone very very wrong.

“August, I can’t handle this chick anymore! She’s driving me fucking nuts! And she must be a lawyer or somethin’ because she knows her contracts man. But she’s driving me up the wall and I’m gonna gank this bitch with the First Blade if you don’t go talk to her.” Sy shouted through the hall as he approached my throne. The anger was rolling off of him in waves, scaring away the low level demons milling about.

“Sy what are you talking about?” I asked, flipping through pages of paperwork. “Listen, there’s this girl who keeps summoning me right? And there’s no offer I make her that will make her take the deal and eventually I get annoyed and I leave. And EVERY night she does this. She summons me EVERY. NIGHT. And this last time I went topside to see what she wanted and SHE ASKED TO SPEAK TO THE FUCKING MANAGER. Can you believe this shit?!” Sy said, finishing with an exasperated sigh.

“What’s her deal? Like what does she want?” I asked, genuinely curious about this strange woman and what she wanted. “Dude she won’t tell me! I told her whatever she wants is gonna cost her, her soul and I’ll come and collect it in 10 years. No dice. I offered 11 years, ya know an extra year to sweeten the pot but still no. She said the only way she’ll stop summoning me is if I give her a good enough deal or if I send my boss. August I can’t keep dealing with her. I have so much shit to do. You ever been zapped away in the middle of a battle with a leviathan? Because I can now say that I have! And it sucked! Please, I know you’re busy too but can you PLEASE deal with her?” Sy pleaded, kneeling at my feet, his hands clasped together.

“Fine. I’ll go up there just this once. But do not make it a constant thing to come in here asking me to do this. The King does not make it a habit to bend the rules for anyone. Not even his own brother.” I said, casting a glance down at him. I stood up from my throne and stretched out my arms and legs before heading to the crossroads.

When I arrived there was a stunning girl leaning against a shitty blue pick up truck, her head hanging low and her boot drawing patterns in the dirt. “Hey! You wanted to see me?” I called out, her head snapping up to look at me. “Yeah. Yeah I did.” She said. As she made her way closer to me I could sense there was something different about her. I don’t know how Sy couldn’t tell what she was but I definitely could.

“Ah ah ah sweetheart. I don’t trust angels. Drop the blade in the back of your truck or I’ll smoke outta here faster than you can blink alright?” I demanded. She was an angel. And not just in the sense that she was beautiful, no. She was a real angel. Hidden wings, angel blade, grace, and all. She was stunningly beautiful but terrifying at the same time. The blood beneath my skin thrummed with anticipation. What could this gorgeous, heavenly creature want from me?

“Oh! Oh right sorry! I forgot to ditch it because I didn’t know if you would actually come talk to me! I’m Y/N.” She replied with nervous laughter, throwing her sword into her truck. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at her. “So, what ever could you want to talk to me about? My brother said you’ve exhausted him. I suggest you don't try that with me, I'm far less forgiving.” I grinned.

“Well you see, the thing is, Sy didn’t understand what I wanted and I think it’s because he couldn’t tell what I was. I’m what's considered an archangel. One of the original angels that God created.” She said. “Oh honey I know exactly what you are. I could see it the minute my feet hit the ground up here. Dont waste my time with things I already know. Spit it out. Now.” I grumbled, growing impatient.

“Okay. So you obviously know my brother Lucifer, he used to be like your leader or whatever. But what no one knows is that I was supposed to fall too. Lucifer took the full blame even though everything that happened was half my fault. I believed in him and his cause but he insisted I stayed upstairs with Dad and the rest. When they found out I had conspired against them they locked me up for thousands of years. Can you believe that?! God forbid I’m a free thinker! Pun intended. I’ve finally gotten free and I needed to get the fuck out. I’m so angry and I just can’t stay there anymore!” Y/N growled. Her eyes were glowing with the force of her anger and it made the surrounding air sizzle.

This woman didn’t know it but she was having quite the effect on me. The cogs in my brain were spinning with all the ideas of what she would say next. “Y/N what do you want from me? There’s a reason you keep contacting my brother and I want to know why.”

“I want to strike a deal.” She said. “No shit sweetheart. That’s what everyone wants. I want to know what the deal is since you refuse to speak to Sy.” I huffed, growing tired of this game. Dancing around the point was never my favorite thing.

The beautiful stranger sauntered closer to me and splayed her hand over my chest before slowly lifting her gaze to meet my eyes. I could feel the warmth radiating from her palm and it made my skin tingle and the blood in my groin pulse. “Every king needs a queen right?” She said, grinning up at me. “You take me as your queen, and we all get what we want. I get to take my place in hell where I should have been a long time ago, and in return you get an extra set of hands and eyes to help you run the joint. I can help you August. Truly I can. And you can help me.” Y/N murmured, delicate fingers tracing over my chest.

I mulled it over for a moment, weighing the options and all that. It would be good to have a loyal partner to help me run my empire and she was beautiful and intriguing so I wouldn’t mind her being my wife. Also she had a great deal of power and with her in my arsenal I would never lose, should the opportunity of war arise. The decision was an easy one.

“Well if you know so much about crossroads deals, you know how we seal this contract don’t you?” I smirked, my eyes flashing to black. “Of course I do. I’ve been waiting for this part for weeks.” She said, her hand snaking around the back of my neck and pulling my face towards her. Our lips met in a heated clash and I could feel electricity pulsing from her body. A loud thunder clap sounded in the distance as her tongue slipped into my mouth. The feeling of kissing her was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. My hands began to roam her body and squeeze her flesh. She was so warm but so strong, like velvet covered steel. I couldn’t get enough of her. My lips moved to her neck and I tugged on her sensitive skin with my teeth. The whimper that fell from her lips sounded like paradise. She was clawing at my back and writhing against me and all I had done was kiss her. Her responses to my touch were amazing and I never wanted this to end. I pulled back for a moment to catch my breath and she whined like I’d stabbed her. I pressed my lips to the shell of her ear before whispering, “Sweetheart, if we keep going at it like this I’m going to have no choice but to fuck you on the very ground you stand on.”

“So do it. I want you to. I’m yours now.” She snarled. Before I could register what was happening, she hooked her right leg behind mine and shoved at my chest, effectively bringing me to the ground. Once we landed, I began kissing her again, my snaking my tongue into her mouth. She audibly moaned when I ground my hard length against her clothed center.

“Baby, I’m all about dry-humping but if you don’t hurry up and get inside me I actually might explode. And the last time an archangel exploded, cities were leveled and people were killed.” She giggled. “Keep sweet talking me honey. Death and destruction are a demons favorite things.” I groaned into her neck, a mischievous smile on my lips, before I sank my teeth into her neck. She laughed aloud, the sound like bells, and I never wanted to hear anything else ever again.

She took my face in her small hands, her beautiful eyes scanning my face before whispering “Take me home August. It’s where we belong.”

THE END

Okay so I was listening to fnaf songs recently and- I heard this song and when it got to the part of the nightguard singing it reminded me of your Mike the ENTIRE time I was listening to it. Song below!

After Hours (ft Zach Boucher) - JT Machinima

Also, the animatronic reminds me of Marion, earlier in the book, and just- this whole song just radiates your fics vibes to me

(OH I KNOW THIS SONG, IT’S AMONG MY FAVORITE FNAF SONGS. YEAH, SPOT ON, THERE’S A FAIR BIT OF THIS IN MIKE I really wanted to write a chapter- or at least a proper one shot around this. Maybe I will one day. And yeah, absolutely Marion loves to play himself up like this and it does line up with his intent of wanting to scare the guards off- or kill them if that fails. But yeah, this is a giant compliment to me, not gonna lie, because this song just has so much PERSONALITY- thank you so much! Have a little drabble (still long for tumblr, warning) around this since I might get to the one shot anytime soon, albeit I’m working on some one-shots right now … now working on this, I might bump it in my priorities though, it’s a lot of fun. I could expand this and put it up in my one shot book? I never was quite able to explore all I WANTED to explore in my fic, expanding after the fact would be nice. Hm. Either way, hope you guys like it!)

Many guards came and went. One way or another. The gang knew the routine and the routine worked. It was what they knew they had to do, it was what they WANTED to do, ensuring no one was able to watch them, trap them, take away their last sliver of freedom. Guards who had no idea what was going on, guards who thought they were above caring about the tragedies, both types were met with equal viciousness. There was no such thing as an innocent guard, anyone wanting to claim that place wouldn’t even be working here long enough to be endangered by them. It was fair. The Marionette told them that it was fair. And Freddy had deemed the Marionette the only one they could trust here. Ramping up the aggressiveness- if they didn’t learn their lesson, if they didn’t realize something was wrong, if they didn’t put in the time to research what cursed place they were working for- Then they deserved it. Right? Well, the routine with all guards was the same. And eventually all of them cracked. One way Or another But there was one guard, who seemed to be an anomaly in this routine, this well-prepared stage play- A man so vile, so harsh, who didn’t even blink while being faced with vivid images flashing in front of his eyes, who glared at the machines not with fear or disgust, but with- Annoyance. It was such an odd way to be looked at. Bonnie had stared back at him completely blank the first time it happened. Suddenly, and just for a second, he was a ten-year-old boy again who had accidentally kicked a ball at the old janitor who took care of the school. “Piss off!” The large rabbit for a moment GENUINELY had considered listening, before remembering he was at least two feet bigger than this man and made out of metal and that he could do whatever he wanted. But too late! The door had already closed. Later after six, he told the others about what he had seen- and Freddy was about to laugh him off, before Chica agreed with the bunny. “There’s something about him!” She laughed. “He reminds me of one of my dad’s co-workers. My dad hated the guy, but he was the only one who paid any attention to me if I managed to get to the station. He even let me look at some cool stuff in exchange for me staying quiet!” “That doesn’t sound responsible.” Freddy grumbled, trying not to show his jealousy. “But it was cool!” Chica giggled. “I wonder how he will react to us telling him creepy things-“ “We will NOT speak!” The leader put his foot down. “Killjoy…” “Remember what the Marionette told us! Talking to them will make us lose the last bits we had of our old lives. Do you guys want to forget more?!” It was quiet. “… that’s what I thought.” The bear sighed. “I’m sure he just tried to be tough as a façade. We won’t see him again. Just stop thinking about it.” That was wrong. The second night he came in, fifteen minutes early, as he tended to, glaring at the stage. “You bitches going to put in more effort tonight or what?” Chica couldn’t help it. Ever so slightly she leaned forward, allowing her maw to open- beneath it she was grinning with terrible delight, a giggle escaping her. Immediately the guard put his fists up. “You wanna throw down?! You wanna fucking GO? I’m fucking READY! Get down here, I’ll beat your ASS!” Nothing moved and after a minute the man put his fists back down again. “That’s what I damn well THOUGHT. Know your place!” He turned to walk to his office- and Bonnie shifted his eyes to look at Freddy. Hoarsely he whispered, “… did he genuinely try to fistfight us?!” “He- just- stop thinking about it. You’ll get him tonight, you’ll see.” “… I don’t want to fistfight!” “We’ll come to help you once you got him! Just scream at him, you’ll see, he’ll lose it.” Freddy shifted a little, uncomfortable. “And- if you don’t, Foxy will. Next night.” It turned out, that also was a false assumption. Foxy had sprinted down the corridor, just to be met with a locked door. In a desperate attempt to get in and get it over regardless- no, he just wanted to get in, he really wanted to get in, not because he smelled the rotten purple, but because whatever was on the other side smelled like them, like metal and a bit like static in the air before a storm, it radiated familiarity that he craved so badly, he missed him, he missed Michael- he began knocking on the door. What responded to him, was throwing him off. “Who’s there?!” Confused Foxy glared at Bonnie who was just down the hall and shook his head at him- but he couldn’t just NOT answer! “D-dumdumduum…” Nervously he sang his usual song. “Dumdumdum who?” The guard didn’t wait for long. “Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb you! Hah! Fuck you. Trying to insult me. Bitchass.” Needless to say, Foxy spent the rest of the night hiding behind the curtains, crying. Chica visited him in the short time they had between six and eight, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure he didn’t MEAN to insult you… he was just trying to make a joke!” “THE NEW GUARD H-HATES ME! EVERYONE HATES ME!” “Please, Foxy…” Freddy stood by the curtains with crossed arms. “If he hates you, we’ll make him pay. You’ll see. I’m not tolerating him talking this way about you guys… this time we’ll get him. I tried to merely scare him tonight, but tomorrow, playtime’s over. I will get him.” Both Chica and Foxy stayed quiet. Surprisingly enough, it worked! On night four, after all they had done, they finally had managed to scare him into using up too much power. A done deal. Chica and Bonnie stepped back when the light turned off, turning away. Foxy closed the curtain to the Pirate Cove. All of them hated it when the lights went out in a way. It was one thing to sneak in and behind a guard when he wasn’t paying attention, when he had been too stupid and careless, when he hadn’t taken care of them, when he had forgotten about them- But simply waltzing in? Nobody wanted to do that. It made them feel too much like a soulless monster. Coming face to face with a helpless guard, crying or panicking, slamming on a button that simply wouldn’t work anymore, staring at them with such helplessness, such familiar desperation- Only Freddy could do that. And he made sure to make a show out of it. Hyping himself up, cowardly, because he couldn’t stand that stare of the guards either, but somebody had to do it and it was making him feel better, pretending was making him feel better, pretending to be a villain in a show, a powerful monster that had their triumphant moment in the spotlight, like this was a story and he was the one to be celebrated- Even with this guard he didn’t make an exception. … or maybe especially with this guard he didn’t make an exception. He WANTED to see him terrified. He WANTED to have an effect on him. He wanted to prove to himself, that this steady guard, this stoic man who had left such a deep impression on everyone… prove that he was just a guard, like any other, a person, who would in the end falter like everyone who came before him. There was no such thing as strength above their own. There was them… and the killer. And everyone else was no help. No solace. A nobody. So, it was easy to explain why, when he was at the door and stared into the bored expression and crossed arms of the guard, he began playing his song- And playing And playing And playing, playing, because that expression didn’t CHANGE, if anything he looked MORE bored and it was driving Freddy NUTS, this wasn’t how it was SUPPOSED TO BE, he was doing everything RIGHT, everything how he was supposed to do it, how the Marionette had instructed him- When the clock chimed, the lights went back up and he froze. Slowly the guard stood up and moved towards him. Face to face. “Nice fucking try. I gotta say, VERY controversial choice to try and fucking BORE me to death, but what can I say?! It almost fucking worked!” Reaching up, Freddy just barely managed to not move, when the man honked his nose- and broke out into laughter. However, the bear managed to shortly look down at the clip-on on the man’s chest. “See you tomorrow, I fucking guess! No freedom from this mortal coil for me!” He was almost halfway down the corridor, when he heard Freddy’s deep voice behind him. “… Mike Schmidt.” Turning, he stared at Freddy. And then he was- Angry? “So you CAN talk! FUCK ME I GUESS! Were trying to make me think I was fucking INSANE, didn’t you?! Well, FUCK YOU! Can’t take that back! You-“ Suddenly he stopped and rose his hands, palms out and waved them in a rejecting matter. “No. No. Fuck you. No. I will not stay here longer than I have to. Fuck you. You’re not making me do free overtime. Talk to you tomorrow, I’ll give you a piece of my MIND, fucking freak.” And so he was gone. Chica and Bonnie joined him, looking towards the door through which the guard had disappeared. “… you didn’t kill him.” Bonnie pointed out. “You spoke to him!” Chica exclaimed. “What’s your plan…?” Quietly it came out from between the curtains of the pirate cove. “Calm down everyone.” Freddy moved towards the stage, a determination burning in him like it hadn’t in- oh so long… he felt almost alive. He scoffed. “I wanted to know his name… before we make him join us.” “We’ll stuff him?!” “Proper!?” “Yes. We have a spare suit, don’t we?” He laughed to himself. “We’ll make him join us. If he’s that good at what he does… he’ll be even better at what we do. And we could use a new pal, eh?” Positioning himself on the stage, he stared at the rows of empty tables and his eyes narrowed. Mike Schmidt. It's time to teach you who was the REAL showrunner.

ok I have my killjoys dating sim mapped out rn. here’s the dateable character options:

tommy chow mein

newsagogo

hot chimp

mad gear

val velocity

volume

vinyl

vaya

vamos

fun ghoul

party poison

jet star

kobra kid

dr death defying

cherri cola

show pony

korse

the director

4 battery city ocs (2 droids, one scarecrow, one office worker)

so basically all the main canon characters + some ocs so the batter city route(s) r more interesting. no option for the girl cause while most killjoys’ ages are ~vague “young adult”~, the girl (in the comics) is canonically as young as 16 depending on what lore you’re choosing to trust, so no. (although the dating sim will be appropriate for all ages, I’m writing it with a young adult audience in mind, like u know, my age range)

the player character is an unnamed killjoy (or ex-killjoy depending on route) who uses they/them pronouns, so u can fully project on them ur own oc or urself however u want. also, the story is gonna be lighthearted in all the routes so there won’t be any triggering content (within reason, there’ll still be mentions of canon-typical death or canon-typical dystopian society).

I have no idea when I’ll have this done by but it probably won’t take me as long as fic of this scale would take (I’m keeping the writing somewhat simplified due to the medium), and once it is done, it’ll be free online and fully interactive “choose your own story” style. I’ll probably include a small handful of pictures too to freshen it up. and I’ll be providing a link to the dating sim both here and on ao3. and uhmmmmmm that’s that on that! just wanted to get my thoughts down as I continue working on this project.

also! i know you’ve mentioned quite a few times before in posts/fics about how party and kobra really only met right before they left the city? and i’m not entirely sure if i’ve just missed it but i would LOVE for elaboration specifically on that. i just!! am super interested to know about them and their lives in the city...and how everything shakes out regarding that 👀

!!!! okay thats def one of the more obscure bits of my canon? bc in universe party and kobra dont rlly like talking about it and on a meta level city life isnt rlly something i wanna devote too much energy to writing but i HAVE thought abt it!

i covered it a little bit in this fic but some details have shifted a bit just irt kobras job/timeline bc its over (i think?) a year old and its short so. not super elaborate

so when i say that they hadnt really met before leaving the city its like. they knew each other and lived with each other but they weren't really themselves. party bc of like. reeducation and kobra bc he was really fucked up with a combination of dysphoria and city drugs both prescribed and not (which i *think* ive mentioned arent a given in the city? most people dont get medicated the same way kobra did and not all the city meds are bad)

i will say that they were pretty close before party got reeducated. as close as u can be when ur thirteen and eight at least. but ofc he got taken and came back Completely different and kobra was a smart kid and kinda realized that directly confronting him abt the change would end really badly for both of them. party was rlly susceptible to the reeducation and its not their fault in any way but they definitely would have reported kobra if he'd tried to make a move.

so then once kobra snapped and cut his hair and party snapped out of the reeducation (combination of time since getting bleached and like. still being a caring and loving person under it all and knowing that he should care abt kobra) they escaped obviously and had to do a little crash course in 'how to be siblings' bc until then they were more just. people that lived in the same house and had nothing in common to talk about so they jsut didnt. i hope that makes sense? they knew each other but they didnt Really Know each other

as for what life in the city looked like for them!

i feel like its kinda important to know that their parents were low-level workers so they grew up in the slums on the edge of the city. not the worst part of the city (the lobby) but not downtown or even a suburban area.

party (post reeducation) became a total model student and ended up in a mid/high-level admin position in hq as soon as he graduated, set to get a promotion when he turned 20 and was in the process of trying to move out to a place of his own actually. kept getting their applications rejected bc they didnt have an "approved reason" to not live w their parents (no long-term partner and not a high enough level to qualify for one of the downtown studios). wasn't necessarily getting frustrated with the company but was getting frustrated with not being able to "start his own life" in his own apartment yknow? also a bit of a superiority complex/classism thing bc of having a higher-level job than their parents, wanting to live in a nicer part of the city like the rest of their colleagues. he had a Few friends, mostly from work, but it was nothing like the crew and friends hed had pre-reeducation bc. you know. obviously. it was just a little group of polite, well trained late-teens bli drones who got up to just the right amounts of bli-approved trouble (android girls and mood synthesizers but only on saturdays type deal). um. probably the least bli-approved thing they did was give spare carbons to broken-down droids in street corners and pretend to listen to the ones preaching the graffiti bible. This is all actually a huge reason Why party is so wanted by bli, like apart from the obvious of being a killjoy and fucking up a lot of shit for the company, he was also So close to being a perfect citizen that rebelling and escaping is a real lemon-juice-in-the-papercut for bli

kobra, on the other hand, was about one and a half Minor infractions away from getting reeducated himself. bli mostly saves reeducation and bleaching for people with confirmed rebellious biases or actions, people they dont think would be trusted enough to take their pills basically. theyd get fed up after enough violations though. kobra was on watch as a nuisance, but not a rebel, so he got away with attempts at medication and therapy that were... kinda effective? but he was Really pushing it especially once he got his job in the lobby and started running with lobby kids. really just imagine an absolute menace shithead of a fourteen year old breaking every law he could get his well-manicured but grubby little hands on. i think at some point ive mentioned that half the reason kobra was so good with tech and wiring was bc he picked it up from fucking with scarecrow cars and reprogramming shit about them? yeah. im not gonna say kobra's friends were like. a bad crowd. they were just chafing against city culture in a very specific way. lots of sex, violence, vandalism, underage mood synthesizer use (and by underage i mean even below the technically-underage-but-bli-looks-the-other-way-bc-they-know-people-need-to-feel-rebellious-sometimes age that like. party and his friends started trying them at). this is when he learned how to knife fight too which definitely saved both his and party's life the first night in the zones. on top of this all is the whole trans thing which isnt something thats necessarily frowned upon in the city, but when kobra finally realized what was up he went about it in a non-city-approved way (hacking his hair off with a set of nail clippers rather than like. submitting a transition application) and that absolutely would have been the last straw for him for the city if party had reported him rather than stuffed him in their car and left.

i dont know how to tldr this one but like. they both led really different lives in the city, kobra being rebellious and breaking laws but not in a killjoy way and party being So close to being a perfect citizen as a result of getting reeducated when he was thirteen, so they weren't honest with each other until party's bleaching broke and they left the city and THATS why i say they hadnt really met until they escaped.

im Demanding cute jet star and party poison hcs (separate or together)

I should say no because of the ghoul fic….(/j)

You get both anyway!

Jet starrrrr:

Ahhh jet star hc: i Love that funky killjoy

Okay, so jet star, knows all the clint eastwood movies by heart. Hyperfixated on them after watching one of his movies when they were a kid at gertie’s annual movie fundraising movienight and now it’s part of their identity basically. Their first “clap” with another zonerat went like this: they stood tall, chin raised high and with the most confidence a 13 year old carrying a stolen gun(with anempty battery might i add) in shaking hands can excude quotes the good the bad and the ugly “You see, in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.” the other, a kid like them, maybe a couple years older, just ran away, fully sprinted. Thinking back at that they laugh. When they tell the story to the girl they exaggerate a little bit and say it was a crow i mean who’s gonna call them out on it?

(also a small jetgear one: *is this a pigeon meme* the guy labled as jet star pointing at a butterfly labled as “clint eastwood quote” “is this a pick up line?” AND IT WORKED! I mean maybe the fact that they were wearing their best outfit helped a little)

Party poison: 

Party poison can juggle. Learned it back in the city actually. How do you keep yourself busy and out of trouble when you have excess energy that you can’t seem to shake no matter how many training programs you’re part of? A hobby, something small, harmless and under the radar, easy to hide and can practice with anything. They carried that with him to the zones, did that a little for carbons to get water, at least that was a way to get carbons that they were proud of for once.

back in the first few months of being in the zones, he went to the market with spare change saved here and there, went to a stall selling hair dye, see this was before they were party poison, asked for the brightest red and ran back to wherever they were holing up him and who would be known as kobra kid. They poorly dyed their hair, more red on his arms and forehead than on their hair but when he first saw himself in the mirror they laughed. Hard and loud and genuine, it was the first time in the zones, hell, first time in his life.

one for both

Jet and party  are competitive as fuck AND they enable each other’s bad ideas, any other combination of the others is bad don’t get me wrong but there’s usually one of them to be the voice of reason. But together? Chaotic is the best way to describe it. It’s either they both get an idea and it’s some amazing art project peace on earth sorta thing or the worst idea you have ever heard of and the thing is? The motherfuckers can pull it off.

Girls in Love, Chapter 1 (Viopearlax) - Grey Darling

A/N: Hello friends! It's been a while lol. Anyway, here's the first chapter of my new Viopearlax fic, in which useless lesbian Pearl must navigate the perilous landscape of polyamorous romance while trying desperately not to lose it altogether. This is mostly just setting the scene - things are gonna get shippy in the next chapter. Special thanks to @dollalpaca for beta-ing this literal centuries ago. Hope you all enjoy!

“I’m getting married.”

Pearl almost choked on her water. “I’m sorry. You’re what?”

When Scarlet had asked Pearl out to dinner that night, Pearl had assumed it was just for a catch up. She hadn’t seen her little sister for ages, so of course she’d jumped at the opportunity when Scarlet had messaged her that morning. All she’d expected was banter, a good laugh at all the stupid shit they used to do when they were kids; the last thing Pearl anticipated was for her baby sister to tell her she was getting married, while Pearl herself was struggling to get someone to go out with her on more than one date. Wasn’t the older sister supposed to find their soulmate first?

But Scarlet was beaming. “I’m getting married!”

“Since when? Jesus, Scarlet, I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

“You so do!” Scarlet retorted, pouting. “You literally met her last year.”

“I did? Who the hell was it?” At this point, Pearl had no idea whether to be angry or just confused. “I mean, seriously, Scarlet, you’re what, twenty? Twenty one? You’ve got shitloads of time before you need to make any big decisions like that. This isn’t the kind of thing you can just decide to do on a whim.”

Scarlet stared down at her half-empty plate, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth. When she spoke, she was quiet. “I thought you’d be happy for me…”

“I am- I mean- I don’t know.” Pearl slumped back in her chair. “I just… I think you’re a little young, that’s all. Give it a bit longer with this guy, maybe a year or two. If you’re still into him by then, then by all means, tie the knot. But-”

“She isn’t a guy, Pearl. She’s a she.” Clearly upset, she stabbed into a piece of pasta with force. “I thought you knew I liked girls?”

“I do.”

“So why’d you assume she was a guy?”

“I don’t know! I’m not exactly in the greatest headspace right now, Scarlet. Fine, you’re engaged to a girl you barely know-”

“I do know her! And I’m in love with her!”

By now, it felt as though the entire restaurant was staring at them. Pearl shot Scarlet a narrow eyed look. “Can you keep it down?”

“No! I thought you’d be happy for me, but I guess that’s just too fucking much for you. I was gonna ask you to be one of my bridesmaids, but if you’re gonna be such a bitch about it I’ll ask someone else!”

Pearl sighed heavily, squeezing her eyes shut. By the time she opened them again, Scarlet was pushing her chair out from the table, the harsh scraping of wood against wood just making everything feel worse. “Wait, Scarlet-”

“I’m done. Good fucking night.”

Pearl just watched as her little sister stormed out of the restaurant, clearly not intending to pay for their meal judging by the way she breezed past the counter without so much as a glance. Well, this wasn’t how she wanted this meal to end.

Pearl knew she was right. She knew that Scarlet was way too young to be getting married, and she highly doubted Scarlet had known this girl long enough to make a serious commitment. If Pearl couldn’t even guess who this fiance was, it was a bad sign—if something important happened to Scarlet, Pearl was always the first to know about it. Surely if she’d met the girl of her dreams, Pearl would’ve received at least five essay length texts about her by now. But she hadn’t, and that made Pearl incredibly suspicious.

At the same time, she absolutely hated the idea of her little sister being mad at her. From the moment Scarlet was born, she and Pearl were as thick as thieves, and any argument they ever had was always resolved ten minutes later, both of them sobbing and apologising profusely to each other. But somehow, Pearl knew she’d overstepped the line this time, and that it would take a lot longer than ten minutes to win Scarlet’s forgiveness. And frankly, that made her feel sick.

Sighing, Pearl hailed the waiter, deciding that a stiff drink was in order.

***

“She still hasn’t texted you back?”

“Nope.”

“Shit. You must have really pissed her off.”

Pearl groaned, turning around to softly bang her head against the metal surface of Katya’s all American Russian food truck. It was a place Pearl would often go to for wise counsel and sage advice, although often the hardest part was figuring out where Katya had parked the damn thing. Katya herself, who’d been one of Pearl’s best friends since she moved to the city, reached through the window of her truck to pat Pearl on the head.

“There, there.”

Pearl glanced up at her with a glare, not in the mood for half-assed comfort. Katya raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry! What do you want me to say?”

Letting out yet another groan, Pearl turned back around to lean with her back against the truck. “I don’t know. Can you tell me I’m not a massive bitch?”

“Ok. You’re not a massive bitch.”

Somehow, it didn’t sound as comforting as Pearl thought it would. But then again, she’d imagined it coming out of Scarlet’s mouth, not Katya’s. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re just a bit of a sour puss today, aren’t you?” Katya started rearranging the various condiments she had adorning the window of the truck, not having much else to do since the lunch rush had come and gone. “Or are you just having an existential crisis?”

“Probably the last one. I just feel conflicted, Kat.”

“Right.”

“I want to feel happy for her, but I’m also worried about her. Does that make sense?”

“Yep.”

“Good. So I’m not going crazy.”

Katya thought for a moment before responding. “I don’t think anyone would think you’re going crazy. You’re worried about your sister getting married when she’s like, still at college. Why wouldn’t you be?”

“But you should’ve seen her last night. She looked like I murdered her puppy or something.”

“I mean, by the sounds of it you did stomp all over her romantic dreams.”

“Oh, fuck off, I did not.”

Katya chuckled, bringing out that bright, toothy grin of hers. It was usually infectious, but not today. Pearl was inoculated with guilt. “Well, would it make you feel better if you met the person she’s getting hitched to?”

“I mean, I’m trying to convince her to meet up with me again, and I’ve told her she can bring her girlfriend - uh, fiance. But she isn’t replying. I’m literally blowing up her phone and getting fuck all in return.”

“Hmm. It’s a tricky one. Maybe she just needs time to cool off?”

“Maybe. I just don’t want to wait - I want to be friends with her again.”

Katya pursed her lips before reaching her hand out. “Gimme your phone, I wanna see what you said.”

“Katya, I’m not giving you my phone.”

“Come on! I wanna see if you’re being apologetic enough.” When it was clear Pearl wasn’t going to relent, Katya pushed harder. “Trix says I’m really great at being a warm and friendly person, y’know. Maybe I could write you a really good apology.”

Pearl shook her head. “That’s not happening.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Because I’ve fucked up enough as it is. I’m not going to be that disingenuous to let someone else apologise for me. If Scarlet finds out about that, it’ll just make things worse.”

“You’ve got a point. Well, I guess you’re just doomed to wait it out.”

“Fuck…”

Just as the curse left her mouth, Pearl’s phone pinged. Katya’s eyes widened as Pearl scrambled to grab her phone out from the pocket of her jeans. It had to be a reply from Scarlet, it couldn’t be anything else. Somehow, she must have subconsciously known how much Pearl was beating herself up over their disastrous dinner the night before and felt the need to text her and reconcile. That was how the universe worked, right?

Pearl grabbed her phone, Katya leaning out of the window so she could see the screen. Almost nervous, Pearl tapped on the home button, lighting up the screen and revealing the text she was so desperate to see.

SHEA: Can you fill in for my shift tonight? Not feeling too hot. Thanks!!

*** Being the good friend that she was, Pearl did fill in for Shea’s shift that night. No, spending an extra seven hours at the dodgy bar she worked at wasn’t exactly what Pearl wanted to be doing, but at the very least it would take her mind off of Scarlet.

Or at least, she thought it would.

No matter how many cluttered trays of drinks she was made to serve, she kept on replaying her and Scarlet’s argument in her head again and again, the sense of guilt almost too much for her. Every single female customer she served had her wondering - is that the girl my sister’s getting married to? She knew it was a ridiculous thought. Scarlet would rather die than spend a second with the lowlifes that frequented the bar, but that didn’t stop Pearl from worrying about it.

Maybe she should’ve just been a good sister and supported Scarlet’s idea to get married. It wouldn’t have been that hard, right? She didn’t have to go all responsible, killjoy big sister on her and crush her romantic dreams. Scarlet was old enough to make her own mistakes, right? And who even knew whether or not this marriage would be a mistake? Maybe Pearl was just being paranoid?

These were the kind of thoughts that plagued her the entire night. She’d arrived at work at 8pm, all decked out in her skanky waitress uniform, hoping that work would take her mind off of her current crisis. But there she was, three hours later, hiding out in the break room because she just couldn’t calm down about it. Did that make her a bad worker? Yes - her break wasn’t for another hour. But she’d be no good to anyone if she spilled a tray of drinks all over a customer because she was too distracted by the image of Scarlet crying her eyes out to look where she was going.

Scrolling through all the text messages she’d sent to Scarlet, Pearl began to second guess what she thought had been perfectly acceptable apologies.

PEARL: I’m sorry about last night. Can we meet up and talk about it?

PEARL: I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just worried. Sorry again - let me know if you’re free to meet up?

PEARL: I’m sorry, Scarlet. Please text back.

PEARL: I could shout dinner? We could get Indian takeout and talk this over. Like adults.

PEARL: You could bring your girlfriend? I want to meet her.

PEARL: Sorry. I was a bitch last night. Please text me back?

And still no reply. Maybe Pearl would be able to get by on the theory that Scarlet had lost her phone, or was out of credit or something. But she didn’t believe any of that for a second - she knew perfectly well Scarlet was pissed at her and not answering her texts for that very reason. It was silly to try and assume otherwise.

“Pearl? Pearl, where the- Oh my god, could you please go back upstairs?” Pearl looked up as one of the other waitresses poked her head into the break room, her full lips shaped into a defined frown. “We’re dying out there, there’s so many people.”

“Sorry, Aja, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, and I’m probably gonna get my assed handed to me by dozens of impatient customers. Get your ass up here already!” With that, Aja was gone, her summons impossible to ignore.

Sighing, Pearl quickly checked her makeup in the mirror, straightened her dress, and stepped back out into the bar.

***

It should be illegal to make people work past two am. Pearl trudged into her tiny, cupboard sized apartment, head pounding from an unpleasant mix of not enough water and not enough sleep. At the very least, her daydreams (nightdreams?) about her bed and a nice, cool glass of water had distracted her from the Scarlet issue. So that was a small blessing.

Pearl flicked the light on as she arrived, wincing as the brightness made her headache even worse. She didn’t hate her apartment - it was tiny and under heated, sure, but there was space for a bed, a little kitchenette, a small bathroom off to the side, and her favourite bean bag chair. Plus, it had an amazing view of the city, something Pearl wasn’t planning on complaining about. Her artistic sensibilities had told her that if she didn’t get that view, she’d never forgive herself. She had to constantly remind herself about how great the view was when she was freezing her ass off in winter and would kill for a well heated apartment.

Making a beeline for the kitchenette, Pearl turned on the tap and poured herself a glass of water. It felt like magic as the water passed through her lips; the sticky, dry feeling in her throat vanishing in an instant. It even made her head feel a little better, although the brightness of the light cancelled out any progress on remedying it completely. You win some, you lose some, Pearl supposed.

After a second glass of water, Pearl didn’t even bother getting out of her uniform before collapsing into bed, dragging the duvet covers up to her chin and snuggling down into comfort. She was more than ready to drift off when she realised that she still needed to plug her phone in to charge. So, without making any effort to get out of bed, Pearl reached for her bag and pulled it towards her, digging her phone out from amongst the other items that cluttered it - wallet, pack of tissues, a worrying amount of receipts from Katya’s food truck. It was as she stuck the charger into her phone that the screen lit up, revealing a notification that made Pearl’s heart skip a beat.

It was a text from Scarlet.

Thoroughly jolted awake, Pearl scrambled to sit up and open the text, her thumbs impatiently tapping the screen as she waited for it to open. She bit her lip once it did, her wide eyes reading the text with more concentration than she’d ever read anything before.

SCARLET: Starbucks at 12. I’m bringing Yvie.