#got some Bad news today so I’m like. sits here whittling away at a set of emojis for several hours so I don’t rabbit hole abt it

[trollbreak]

just dropping by to say all of the emoji adopts you're doing are SO cool lookin like you are on a roll

Thank you! I’m enjoying designing them, and it’s made for a nice thing to focus on when I’ve got the spoons today

#got some Bad news today so I’m like. sits here whittling away at a set of emojis for several hours so I don’t rabbit hole abt it #um. don’t plan to make any of em harder to get than trading art or writing or smth for em in the near future but that’s like. I’m doin not #the most hot and a lot of my coworkers are doing not the most hot so I’m like. by all means get u a lil treat and save those funds for the #big scary stuffs. Yk? #anyhow. gestures vaguely #fun fact recently someone that’s never interacted with me commented on a post ‘hey op why is most of this post in the tags’ and it’s like #howdy stranger this is just how I talk lol. I go fucking ham in the tags and can and will reach tag limit abt the most random shit. like #this comment was on the post where I was first talkin bout Nya. back when he happened bc I was trying to make a Pinterest board to find #Isohel’s vibe. so like. quite a number of months old. no clue how they found it but I’m just Thinkin bout that comment lol #I mean hey. im just a guy with shit to say. and most of it isn’t entirely relevant so it comes down here

[sp00kyjellybeans]

Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: part two because i think the last one deserves a follow up :> For this one, I decided to play with the fact that Mickey is a film student, so I kind of figured he would use it to his advantage. btw tho this feels super choppy and cheesy in the bad way so idk how to feel ab it:’) pls lmk what you guys think bc i might rewrite it and cut half of this out

Word Count: 3,425

Warnings: None, this is like... super fluffy

---

It had been two weeks since the party and it was driving Mickey insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that life carried on as usual or the fact that you were completely unfazed. He would have preferred if you were all over him or, hell, if you were avoiding him.

Because then he would know how you feel.

But he didn’t. The poor guy hadn’t the slightest clue. Life went on nonetheless. Some days he was able to sit next to you in Psychology (if Halley didn’t try kicking him out of her seat) and the two of you were normal during friend settings. But you never showed up to another party.

Mickey gnawed at his pencil. It was whittled down to practically nothing. He was supposed to be focused on a project that he and Randy were assigned in Film Theory but instead... You were on his mind.

“Can you stop eating that pencil and quit thinking about (Y/n)!” Randy threw a small notebook at Mickey’s head. Mickey snapped out of his daze and easily dodged it. “We need to work on this shit together. I don’t need (Y/n) clouding my camera man’s mind.”

“I’m not even-”

“Save it. You’ve been making the same face for two weeks straight now. It’s the (Y/n)-face. Sid and I coined it.”

Mickey muttered a curse word under his breath and reached for the notebook that was thrown at him. It was Randy’s film book. He flipped through some pages. It was filled with notes for class and film-analysis. Half of the analyses weren’t even assigned for class.

“What are we doing for this again?” Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the notebook onto a table. He propped up his feet and leaned back in his chair. 

The two boys were in a conference room of the film school. A chalkboard had been dirtied with Randy’s ideas for their film project while Mickey was mentally vacant for the time being. The project was to make a movie, each group was assigned a different genre. They were content with being partners, seeing as Randy had the ideas and Mickey had a knack for cinematography. 

“We were assigned to do a documentary.”

“Fucking lame... Everyone else got cool shit. I heard Terry Pusher was assigned fantasy... Fucking fantasy.”

“I know, hell I’d take a love story over this shit,” Randy threw the piece of chalk at the board. 

Mickey paused and sat up. His expression was twisted as if he were onto something. 

“Wait... say that again...”

“I’d take a love story over this shit?” Randy tilted his head.

Mickey stood to his feet and pointed at his geeky friend, an excited expression was evident.

“Exactly.”

The sea of students stormed past you. Your final class of the day ended early so you were more than eager to get back to your dorm. Your roommate was gone for the weekend so hopefully some quiet would get your mind off of Mickey.

The events of the party had been bouncing around the walls of your mind ever since it happened. A part of you thanked Halley for stepping in when she did and a part of you cursed her for it.

You couldn’t fathom dating Mickey. It was unheard of. New. Exhilarating. He was probably one of the hottest guys on campus and he had his hands on your waist.

Sure, he was a total nerd when it came to movies, especially for Tarantino films, and you could listen to his rants for hours, but the thought of him wanting you made your heart skip a beat. If he reciprocated any sort of feelings you’d be sent into cardiac arrest. Did he like you? Was that even possible?

He could have anyone at this school. He knew it, too. But it was possible he could choose you.

Before you were able to expand on that thought, a camera was shoved into your face. 

“And here we have the wonderful, the amazing, the magnificently stunning (Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice imitated a sports announcer. 

His sudden appearance was enough to make your cheeks go ablaze. 

“What are you doing?” You winced and shielded your face.

Randy appeared behind Mickey, “Film project, you’re a part of it!”

“Puh-lease, if anything, they are the star of the film, Meeks!”

You continued to walk to your dorm in hopes of avoiding the nerds but in all honesty, you were smiling like an idiot. 

“What’s it about?” You asked.

Mickey put the camera down for a second and eyed Randy. Luckily, he knew exactly what to say, or rather, what not to say.

“We’re making a documentary. We’re following around a few students, and you’re one of them. Will you watch it when it comes out?”

“Of course,” You grinned. “Just... don’t follow me everywhere with that thing.”

And follow you, they did. 

The very next morning you opened your door to Mickey holding up the blocky piece of tech. He was grinning behind the lens, which forced you to do the same. But you made it a point to shove the camera away. 

This went on for weeks. Mickey would ambush you with his camera everywhere. Meaning that you two were spending more time together. It didn’t matter if you were in the cafeteria or spending the night with your friends. He always managed to film little tidbits of you. 

At first, you would push the camera away or hide your face behind a nearby pillow. 

Then you and Mickey started to hang alone together more often. You found yourself seeking out time with him. Mickey walked you to classes (still filming you with the camera but you didn’t push it away anymore; you just ignored it), he visited you at work and stopped by your dorm frequently. 

Eventually, he had the courage to trap you into a date. 

“Why are you covering my face, Mickey? I know where the cafeteria is...” You groaned, aimlessly walking forward.

“That’s not where we’re eating today.”

“You had no reason to make that sound threatening, Micks... You suck at surprises.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can open your eyes now.”

You opened your eyes to a sprawled out assortment of food on a picnic blanket. 

It was a typical picnic blanket sat under one of the largest trees on campus. It was wide and comfortable. Mickey thought to bring plenty of drinks too. The look on your face filled him with glee as you studied the setting in front of you.

Just last week both of you were talking about your favorite underrated scenes in a romance movie. His answer was the kissing scene in Titanic, but you argued that wasn’t underrated. Your answer was the picnic scene in Armageddon.

Mickey managed to make it come true. If it were sunset, it would have hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my...”

“Do you like it?” Mickey jumped into your line of vision, he looked hopeful. “You said you’ve never been to a picnic before when you mentioned Armageddon and... well that’s just a part of the American dream so I figured- ‘Hey, they shouldn’t miss out on something so fun and peaceful’ so... I made it happen.”

Mickey’s rambling had you smiling wide. Underneath that smooth exterior, he was a nervous wreck around you. 

“Thanks, Micks...”

The food was delicious. You guys talked amongst the meal and the conversation never stopped. Hours passed but you guys continued to laugh and talk. You were having the time of your life. Mickey brought your favorite fruits and snacks, but best of all, animal crackers. You held up the bag excitedly.

“Like from the movie!” You cheered. 

Mickey leaned forward to grab a cracker but you leaned back, smiling mischievously. You loved teasing him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and went to grab again but you leaned back even further. Mickey paused, chuckling, and you thought you won. You reached your hand in to grab a cracker yourself and instead, you felt his body collide into yours. 

You yelped in surprise and fell on your back. The Animal Crackers flew across the blanket and Mickey groaned in defeat. 

“Now look at what you did...” You laughed.

You guys were side-by-side laying on your backs, staring at each other. The blanket was soft. If you weren’t so giddy, you could have fallen asleep right there. Mickey’s body heat enhanced your comfort, the need to lean into him was excessive. 

You giggled at the man, biting the nail on your index finger. Mickey stared back at you, he looked pleased.

“What?”

He shrugged and continued to stare. You faced your head forward to look up at the branches of a tree above you. 

The shade kept you both cool from the sun. Rays of sunshine illuminated your skin, the eccentric shadow of leaves were printed on your face. A breeze flew by, causing your baby hairs to wave in the wind. Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Baby-” You said, snapping him out of his trance- “Do you think it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?”

You slowly turned your eyes back to Mickey, hoping he’d catch on. His toothy grin spread across his cheeks. He thought back to the movie line, hoping to get it right.

“I hope so...” He mumbled but you heard it perfectly. “Otherwise... What the hell are we trying to save?”

His face was an inch away from yours. You could feel his breath hitting your face. It was sweet. It smelled of the strawberries you shared moments before. 

A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, separate from the rest of his slicked-back locks. His large brown eyes were looking at you sincerely. They were inviting you in. Mickey’s lips twitched upward as if he were tempted to make a move. 

But he didn’t.

You wanted to reach toward his face and pull him closer. You wanted to feel his lips meld into yours, allow the moment to overtake you. You wanted to feel his unshaven face press against yours and tickle your cheeks. You wanted to feel his hand wrap around your own. You wanted to feel him, to touch him.

But you didn’t.

Two weeks later Randy and Mickey announced their documentary was done. The finished product was ready to be viewed. You were invited to come to see it.

During those two weeks, you spent time wondering how you could finally make a move. You were sick of this. You wanted this to end and to have a new beginning. You were sure that Mickey had feelings for you. It had to be true. You needed a leap of faith. 

On the other hand, Mickey spent the same amount of time wondering where he was going wrong. Why couldn’t he pluck up the courage to kiss you? Making the first move always worked well for him. Why couldn’t he do it now? More than anything, he hoped that perhaps this documentary will give you an idea of his feelings. It had to. 

So here you were, nervously fiddling with a blocky device in your jacket pocket, avoiding the eyes of Mickey, who sat on a stool in front of Sidney’s TV. She opted that they show their documentary in her and Halley’s room of their sorority house. Surprisingly, they were the only ones with a good enough TV.

Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes off of you. It became a nervous habit. He wanted to know what you were thinking almost 24/7, he was beyond pissed that he wasn’t a telepath.

“Alright alright alright...” Randy strolled up to the screen. “Is everyone here? Does everyone have their snacks and their drinks? You all need to enjoy this to the fullest extent so snacks are a must.”

Everyone glanced at one another, drink and popcorn in hand. You glanced back to see Sidney all over her boyfriend Derek on the couch. You gave a half-grin, wishing that could be you and Mickey. Halley sat on the opposite end of the couch, happily munching on popcorn. 

“Well... without further ado-” Mickey began.

“Wait isn’t this a documentary? This better not be boring as hell...” Halley lifted her hand and we all nodded in agreement.

“Trust me, guys, this is good stuff. Probably our best yet,” Randy reassured us. “I’m going to play it now...”

We fell silent as Randy placed a tape inside of the VHS. He then turned out the lights as the intro began. Randy’s voice came through the TV.

“Love...” Tidbits of students on campus flashed across the screen. “What is love? ...And no, I don’t mean The Haddaway song.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. Mickey held his glance on you still. 

“Falling in love is one of the most complex things a human can do... The psychology is even more complex. Certain chemicals are released that explain those butterflies in your stomach or why you get sweaty palms around your crush. Well, many scientists believe that humans are wired to fall in love...” Randy’s voice faded along with the screen. 

The sound of talking college students came through and the camera was poised onto Derek in the cafeteria. 

“What do you love about Sid, Derek?” Mickey said through the TV. 

The camera was far too close to Derek’s face, who looked insanely annoyed. 

“Bug off-”

“Just answer the question.”

Derek thought for a moment, then smiled, “Her smile and eyes. I can’t choose one. They just... go hand in hand. They’re gentle, kind, sweet... Like her.”

A chorus of ooh’s and aw’s rang throughout the room and we threw popcorn kernels at Derek. Both he and Sidney were blushing profusely.

The next clip was of Halley walking on the sidewalk. You could hear Mickey again. 

“Ms. Halley, please explain to us what you are doing right now.”

“I am going on a date, which I do not need you two dorks coming with me-” Halley shoved the camera away and the camera didn’t see her again. 

There were a few more scenes like this, the guys asking random couples on campus what they love about one another. 

You were never asked anything while you were filmed, so you were confused, to say that the least. What was your role during this? 

At times, you would lock eyes with Mickey. He looked frazzled but stared at you all the same. 

Randy posed another question to each of the couples, “How long does it take for someone to fall in love?” The screen was black as you heard the answers,

“Weeks-”

“Months, maybe six?”

“Years,” Someone said. 

And you appeared on the TV. 

It was when Mickey first filmed you. There was more than one clip of you, too, each a few seconds long. The first five contained you shying away from the camera but after that, you could see yourself growing more comfortable around him. You were never looking at the lens but always at the cameraman. 

The screen went black once more and another question was asked, “What’s your ideal love story?”

“Something like a Nicholas Sparks book. Tragic... yet romantic.”

“If we hated each other at first, but then we learned to love. The buildup is fantastic.”

“Childhood friends turned to lovers. Something about that constant pining has me reeling...”

You snapped your eyes towards Mickey. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You looked back at the screen to see yourself once more.

“Micks... come on and watch this movie-” You were sat on a couch with a bowl of popcorn. You shoved a handful into your mouth when suddenly you noticed the camera sitting in front of you, “You left your camera in here! ...Hey- are you filming me?” You lifted the device to your face and stuck out your tongue. 

You could hear Mickey chuckle in the background. 

Another clip played of Mickey and you sitting on the floor. It was a different day, you guys were laughing hysterically over something. You’ve never seen Mickey so happy.

More and more clips of questions and answers paired with you played. It was matched together perfectly. Realization dawned on you. Was this a confession from Mickey? 

Mickey’s sweet voice played once more. But this wasn’t for any of the couples. He was sat on the couch, asking you.

“Think about a cheesy but underrated romance, okay? What is your favorite romantic scene from that movie?” 

You were only a few inches away from him, head rested on your hand on the backboard of his bed. 

“I’ll go first, I think the kiss during Titanic is spectacular.”

“It’s good but it’s not underrated Micks.”

“Alright, then what’s your choice?”

“...Armageddon. The picnic scene. I’ve never been on a picnic so something like that just seems so... tranquil.”

“You’ve never been to a picnic?”

“Yep... is that weird?”

“Completely and utterly, (Y/n).”

You laughed loudly in the documentary. The next scene was of Mickey setting the camera up someplace. He looked nervous. When he stepped away from the camera, it was a perfect angle to film the picnic he set up for you. 

You knew the rest. The next couple of minutes showed your guys’ picnic together. Including the movie quote. 

The end of the film was nearing, and Mickey’s anxiety was through the roof. It was far from romantic but once his project stopped playing he was going to confess to you. He was going to confess in front of all of his friends, for you. Just a few minutes left and he was going to do it. 

And then you left. 

Mickey finished the quote from the movie and you left instantly. Mickey’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friends. They looked equally confused. 

“Go after them, dude!” Randy yelled. 

It took a while but eventually, Mickey found you. You were on the porch of the sorority house, leaning against the railing and staring at the sunset. There was a cool breeze and parts of your hair waved in the wind. You had your arms wrapped around your body, pulling your jacket close. Mickey could see the orange glow illuminating your face when he joined your side. 

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t look at him. His heart dropped. He messed up.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-” 

You shushed him. He fell silent.

“Come here... close your eyes... Step up... No peeking”

“I’m not...”

You pulled on his arm and forced him to stand behind you. You guided him to stand on the lower bar of the railing with you, his body nearly wrapped around yours. He stumbled a bit but he followed your movement blindly. The lack of distance between you two had him trembling. 

“Just a sec...” You whispered and pulled a walkman out of your pocket. “I wanted to get this right...” You said and pressed play.

The instrumental of My Heart Will Go On began to play and Mickey barked out a laugh. 

“What in the world-”

“Put your hands on my waist, Micks,”  You grabbed his hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Just like the movie, Mickey thought. 

“I realize we can just see more of the campus... not the ocean,” Your words were gentle. They came out like honey. “But I wanted you to see... how you make me feel like I can fly.”

Mickey stared at your adoringly. Your scent filled his nostrils and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. His hands ventured from your waist to lift them, like in the movie. Mickey leaned forward and whispered, “Come Josephine my flying machine going up she goes...” His hot breath tickled your ear and you could feel as he intertwined his hand with yours. “Going up...”

You turned to stare at him just as the music of your cassette player swelled. You hesitantly reached his face, and Mickey leaned in instinctively. Your hand comfortably rested on the back of his neck as his lips gently pressed against yours. 

They were hesitant, hot, gentle, almost hungry. His skin was a burning touch. Your hand melded against his skin, touching the curve of his jaw. Mickey’s fingers danced around your body, wanting to explore every crevice for the first time. Mickey had been unknowingly craving the touch of your skin and lips for so long, it felt like euphoria took control of his body.

He poured himself into you. You were willing to drown in his touch.

#mickey altieri #mickey altieri x reader #scream #slashers #ghostface #ghostface x reader #mickey altieri oneshot #scream 2 #randy meeks

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x sigyn #funny little ups and downs #cozy writes

[master-sass-blast]

Winter Stay-cation.

*insert pithy quip here*

Summary: A massive squall hits New York City. The snow, combined with a deep freeze, brings the city that never sleeps to a standstill once the police issue travel bans. Fortunately, you and Piotr know how to keep yourselves entertained during your impromptu stay-cation.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Ellie Phimister x Yukio.

Rating: G for fluff.

Word Count: 3.4k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

A/N: The movie quote from Day Five is from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

“—continuing into the middle of next week, if not longer. Expect heavy snowfall and temperatures below freezing, with windchill taking things below zero over the weekend.”

“Good grief.” You shake your head as you watch the weather report on the morning news. “It doesn’t get that cold when I fly full speed.”

Piotr, your husband, hands you a cup of coffee and shrugs. “January is ugly month.”

You smirk into your mug. “Bet this doesn’t compare to Siberian winters.”

“Not really,” he admits with a chuckle.

“The Chief of New York City’s Fire Department has issued a statement reminding residents to be careful when using their fireplaces and to monitor children and pets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you quip, “Don’t use fireworks as kindling, we got it.”

Piotr snorts.

“In addition, the Police Department has issued a travel advisory in light of the predicted precipitation and sub-zero temperatures. All none-essential travel is restricted until the cold snap passes.”

“Groovy. Tell that to half the city.”

Piotr grins, shakes his head again, then turns the TV off. “Looks like we will have to keep ourselves occupied here this week.”

You cast a disparaging glance outside –where the snow is already up to Piotr’s knees—then say, “Like we were going anywhere else.”

 ***

 Day One

 There’s an upside to when the “deep freeze” hits. It’s already winter break, meaning there’s no coordinating classes, figuring out how to pick up students that don’t live at the mansion, or having to get up at the balls-ugly hours of the early morning in the stupid, frigid cold.

The two of you wake up at your leisure, around nine o’clock. You laze around in bed for a bit, snuggling and chatting and smooching, then head downstairs for breakfast. You wind up setting up shop at the dining room table, catching up on grading and filling out end of the semester report cards.

“Can you check these for me?” Piotr asks, handing you a stack of essays from his art classes. “I already made content-based marks; I am just not sure about English grammar.”

“Fun fact: most native English speakers aren’t sure about their grammar, either,” you joke with a smirk.

Piotr snorts, then checks his computer clock before standing. “Is about lunchtime. I was thinking soup and sandwiches?”

You nod. “Sounds tasty.”

“Would you like anything in particular?”

“Surprise me.” You make a contented hum when Piotr leans over the table to kiss you, then smile as you watch him head to the kitchen.

You really are the world’s luckiest woman (a sentiment you feel even more keenly when he comes back with a fresh cup of hot cider for you).

 ***

 Day Two

 “We should clean.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch. Your laptops sit on the coffee table, displaying the completed efforts of uploading grades to the online gradebook that the school uses. Two mugs that once contained coffee sit next to either laptop.

You look up at Piotr. You’re tucked against his side, head leaning on his shoulder while his fingers trace designs on the sleeve of your sweater (which is technically his sweater, but that’s neither here nor there). “Huh?”

“We should clean,” he repeats as he scrubs at his face with his free hand. “House could use it.”

You crane your neck to look over his shoulder. “We don’t really have that many dirty dishes.”

Piotr snorts, then raises an eyebrow at you. “When was last time we vacuumed? Or deep cleaned bathrooms? Or washed windows?”

“We can see out the windows just fine!”

Piotr grins and shakes his head. He stands, holding his hand out to you. “Come on, myshka. Clean home, clean mind.”

“I’ll have you know that my mind is nothing but dirty, and I’m offended that you would dare insinuate otherwise.”

Piotr laughs and helps you up. “We can start upstairs and work our way down.”

 ***

 Cleaning with Piotr isn’t so bad. He carries his fair share of the workload, does things to their proper doneness, and is a firm supporter of blasting tunes while cleaning.

“Take! Me! On!” You bounce up and down in time with the beat while you clean the sliding glass doors in your bedroom that lead out to the balcony. “I’ll… be… gone! In a day or two!”

Behind you, Piotr laughs. He’s hauling out a trashbag from the bathroom –no doubt filled with the sheer amount of crumpled paper towels it takes to get the place sanitary again. “I see you are enjoying yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I’m suffering endlessly. I’m going to die any minute now.” And then, to prove you point, you flop to the floor dramatically (taking care to use your powers to cushion your landing).

Piotr lets out a choked gasp, then clutches at his chest. “You keep scared me!”

You look up at him and laugh. “You know I can catch myself! You’ve seen me do that before!”

“Changes nothing!” He lets out a ragged breath, hand still pressed over his heart. “I could have heart attack.”

You giggle, then lift yourself off the floor with a swirl of wind. You land nimbly on your toes before him and wrap your arms around his waist. “Aw, now who’s being dramatic?”

“I fail to see how concern for your well-being is dramatic!”

You suppress a grin, opting to pop up on the balls of your feet and kiss him instead. “I’m very sorry I scared you, baby.”

“Is okay.” He kisses you gently, then gazes down at you with a rueful smile on his lips. “What am I going to do with you, myshka?”

“Dance with me?” You flash him an impish smile, then start bouncing in time to the music again.

Piotr chuckles, then takes your hands in his and bops along with you.

The two of you dance around the room –well, as much as what you’re doing can be called dancing. You sing the lyrics of the song to each other, not sticking to any particular key or tempo.

You laugh when Piotr lifts you into his arms, bridal style, then squeal in delight when he spins the two of you around.

It’s perfect.

 ***

 Day Three

 You wake up to the sound of Piotr’s phone chirping –because, even on vacation, he still keeps a daily morning alarm.

He groans as he comes to, then laughs when you roll over him and shut off his alarm for him. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

You set his phone back on his nightstand, then straddle his hips and plant your hands against his brawny chest. “You’re not making me clean today.”

Piotr smirks up at you, bushy eyebrow raising in challenge. “Oh?”

“We’re spending today in this bed,” you continue. “Just you” –you tap his chest—“and me, and as few clothes as possible. Sound good?”

He pretends to mull it over, even has he takes off the shirt he’d been sleeping in. “Are we allowed bathroom and meal breaks?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Ah, very generous. Thank you, benevolent myshka.”

“You’re very welcome.” You giggle when he grins –then let out a delighted yelp when he rolls suddenly, pinning you between him and the bed. You sigh as he kisses you, eyes fluttering shut. You arms wind around his neck, holding him against you while his hands smooth down your body.

 ***

 Day Four

 Cabin fever starts setting in between the third and fourth day. There’s only so many chores you can do, only so many papers you can grade (and you’re out of papers to grade, which doesn’t help your case), only so much sex you can have before you’re gonna start losing your mind.

Fortunately, Piotr is well-attuned to you and your mental states –meaning he notices that you’re getting twitchy before you dip into pyromania to keep yourself entertained.

“We should do something fun today,” he says during breakfast. He spreads some sour cream over his plate of blinis, then adds cottage cheese and sausage meat. “Perhaps play some video games. Ellie has been pestering me to play some multi-people games with her and Yukio.”

“Could be fun,” you say before stuffing your mouth full with Nutella-covered blini. You swallow, then ask, “What did she want to play?”

“Ah… she had two. I think… Falling Guys and Among Us?”

A slow, wicked grin stretches across your place. Fuck yeah. “Let her know we’re in.”

 ***

 Piotr, unfortunately, turns out to be none too good at Fall Guys.

“No!” He wails, then flops back against the couch when he gets thrown off a platform and into the slime. “I could not run away!”

“You have to anticipate the enemy’s movements,” Ellie says over Discord. She’s already qualified and is spectating you and Yukio. “Predict their strategy, then counter.”

“I think it is less strategy and more ‘giant hands do not play nice with tiny controller,’” Piotr grumbles good-naturedly.

“Or maybe you got your butt kicked like a scrub,” Ellie fires back.

“I never contested that,” Piotr chuckles.

“Alright,” you say, eyes glued on your pink and yellow striped player. “I’m almost there, there’s plenty of slots left –no, you fucking pigeon! Let me go!”

“Language,” Piotr murmurs between bouts of laughter.

“It’s always a pigeon!” Ellie groans. “Fucking skyrats.”

“Language, NTW.”

You qualify for the next round (no thanks to the damn pigeon, who qualifies, too). Egg Scramble is next, and you wind up facing off against Ellie and Yukio for the win.

“Damn it!” There’s the sound of something hitting the floor –most likely Ellie throwing her controller—when she and Yukio get booted out. “Yellow always loses!”

“Is that it?” you ask while the loading screen plays. “Are we at the final round yet?”

“There’ll be one more,” Yukio says. “To finish whittling down the competitors.”

Sure enough, there’s a round of Tip-Toe –which you get through by the skin of your teeth—and then you and eight other players are sent to the finale.

“Okay, Hex-A-Gone. You’ll want to just hop from tile to tile,” Ellie advises you while the level loads. “It makes the tiles last longer.”

“Don’t be afraid to drop a couple levels at first,” Yukio adds. “You can carve out one of the lower levels, meaning anyone that falls above you will have further to go and will be more likely to get out.”

“I appreciate it, but don’t expect any miracles,” you say, laughing self-deprecatingly.

Piotr kisses the top of your head. “You can do this, myshka.”

You follow the girls’ advice; you let yourself drop down two levels, then start hopping from tile to tile to start carving out the platform.

“One guy’s already out!” Ellie announces. “You’ve got this!”

“Shit! I fell!”

“That’s okay,” Yukio reassures you. “Find a decent mass of tiles and hop, don’t run. Make them last.”

“The pigeon grabbed another player,” Piotr marvels, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, they both died, so fat lot of good it did them,” Ellie mutters.

You keep going, bounce from brightly colored hexagon to brightly colored hexagon.

“Only four left!” Ellie lets out a whoop. “Holy shit, you’re gonna make it!”

“Don’t jinx me!” you laugh as you dodge another player’s attempt to grab you. “Don’t jinx me!”

“Three left –two! It’s just you and one other guy!”

“You’ve got this, Y/N!” Yukio cheers.

You dive for a clump of tiles –and miss. “No!” You groan, then laugh as your character plummets into the pink slime. “Damn. I’m never going to do that good ever again.”

Piotr wraps an arm around your shoulders in a conciliatory hug. “You did wonderful job, myshka.”

“He’s right. That was really good. The winner fell a few seconds after you, so it was basically a coin toss as to who was gonna get the crown,” Ellie says while the winner’s animation plays on screen.

“Yeah! Great job!” Yukio congratulates you.

“Wanna do another round?” Ellie asks as she flicks between skins and accessories for her avatar.

Yukio laughs lightly. “Baby, we were going to get lunch.”

“Oh, right.”

“Perhaps we can try other game after lunch,” Piotr suggests. “‘Fall Guys’ is okay, but makes me too dizzy.”

“Yeah, sure. Text me when you guys are done eating.”

***

 Among Us doesn’t go much better for Piotr, if only because he doesn’t adhere to the strategy of the game. He does his tasks without fail –which usually leaves him alone, and thus a prime target for killing or pinning a murder on. He’s also a terrible liar, which makes it easy to tell when he is the impostor.

You laugh as Piotr’s little red spaceman goes floating into space. “I honestly feel bad.”

“I don’t,” Wade says (he and Nate hopped on the Discord call when Yukio sent them an invite). “Pay for some acting classes, Chrome Dome! Give us a challenge, at least.”

Piotr starts grumbling in Russian, but it gets cut off when the round starts up again.

(You all still wind up losing because Nate’s the other impostor and racks up bodies like nobody’s business.)

“I’m still waiting for when Ellie and Dad get the impostor role together,” you comment as the defeat screen flashes on your laptop screen.

“What, so we all die in five minutes?” Wade grumbles. “So we can suffer the agony of betrayal and not honoring trust again?”

“It’s just a game, Wade,” Nate sighs. “And I apologized already.”

“Is our relationship ‘just a game’ to you, Natey? I gave you an alibi –and then you shanked me in the shower like rejected prison bitch!”

“Language, Wade,” your husband pipes up, voice world-weary. “Please.”

You all start another round once Wade calms down –which, admittedly, takes a while and a great deal of coaxing from Nathan. You grin when you see that you’re an impostor alongside Yukio –then giggle to yourself when a plan pops into your mind.

You start stalking Piotr around the map. You fake doing tasks alongside him, acting as his shadow as he treks around the map. On the corner of your screen, you watch your kill timer wind down, then wait for the right moment once it runs out, and—

Downstairs, in his art studio, your husband lets out an indignant scream when your character murders his.

You fall back onto the bed and cackle.

 ***

 Day Five

 The squall rages on outside. The world is practically buried in snow. It’s a sea of white outside your bedroom windows, blinding and sterile.

You peer at the swaths of snow blanketing every inch of ground, every tree branch, and every shrub, then nestle further under the blankets. “Ugh. I don’t even want to get out of bed today.”

Piotr chuckles, then wraps an arm around your waist. “How come?”

“Have you seen what it’s like outside? It’s disgusting!”

“I thought you liked snow.”

“I do. That’s how you know it’s bad.” You sigh as you eye the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky. “I wish I could, like, go outside. Go to a store or something. Leave the house.”

“Is not safe to drive yet.”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “Is it bad that I miss the color green?”

“Nyet. Is normal.”

You smile, just a little, when Piotr kisses the back of your head. You roll over to face him. “Can we build a blanket fort today?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What… here? In bedroom?”

“Yeah. We can make it look all pretty, and snuggle in bed, and watch movies, and have sex…”

“Bozhe ty moi.” Piotr snorts, then takes a moment to study your face, your eyes. “You really want blanket fort?”

“Kind of, yeah. I just… I want something new to look at.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a soft smile. He presses his lips against your forehead. “Alright, myshka. Let’s make fort.”

***

 “When a man and a woman see each other and like each other, they ought to come together. Wham. Like a couple of taxis on Broadway.”

You let out a content, relaxed sigh, then wriggle closer to Piotr.

The fort, admittedly, is simple –but you don’t mind. While you were taking a shower, Piotr assembled the whole thing, just to give you a little surprise.

He’d brought up a couple floor lamps from the main floor, then clipped some fairy lights to them before draping the largest quilt in the house over top to make the room. He’d pinned some throw blankets to either side of the quilt to make the sides, then made the bed and assembled the pillows so the two of you could have a nice, cozy, comfy den to watch movies in.

The recurring, delighted thought of ‘he made it for me; he made it for me because he knew I wanted one’ loops around in your brain like a bumblebee drunk on fermented crab apples. You grin, then loop your arms around Piotr’s neck and kiss his cheek.

He grins, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What was that for?”

“You made me a blanket fort.”

“You asked for one.”

“Yeah, but you made it for me. You could’ve just waited until we could both work on it.”

He shrugs, lips curving into a soft, pleased smile. “I wanted to see look on face. You were very happy.”

“Correction: I am very happy.” You kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

 ***

 Day Six

 You know it’s bad when you wake up before Piotr.

You look over at your husband, who’s still slumbering away next to you –and sawing some logs, no less—then out at the winter hellscape outside, and decide there’s only one thing for it.

You’re channeling your inner Great British Bake Off contestant and demolishing the kitchen.

***

 Piotr comes downstairs around ten in the morning –which is a miraculous amount of sleep in time for him—but by then, the damage has already been done.

There’s a cake cooling on the counter (you’d found a box of cake mix in the back of the pantry and decided to use it as a warm-up. The mixer is working overtime on a double batch of sugar cookies –plus there’s already chocolate chip cookie dough chilling in the fridge.

You look up from the cookbook you’d been perusing –you were thinking pie next—and flash your husband a slightly sheepish grin as he gapes at the kitchen. “Uh… good morning?”

“Myshka…”

“I made cake.”

“I can see that.” Piotr drops his heads into his hands and makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Why?”

“Because being trapped inside is stressing me out and I want to cope by eating my weight in desserts.”

Piotr sighs, then lifts his head. He eyes the mixer, then the increasingly sheepish expression on your face. “How much is that?”

“In the bowl or in the fridge?”

“Bozhe ty moi.”

“Look, the way I see it, we can share—”

“You have that much correct. We do not need five million cookies.”

“Excuse you, I’m only making three million. Also, do you know where the lard is?”

Piotr’s face scrunches up. “Lard? Why—”

“I wanna make pie.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We already have cake. And goodness knows how many kinds of cookies.”

“But those aren’t pie.” You smile impishly at him. “Plus, like, pie has fruit, so it’s good for you. You like fruit. Think about how good it’ll be to eat something with fruit after all the cake, and the cookies…”

“Or I could just eat fruit.” He sighs, resigned and slightly frustrated, when you bat your eyelashes at him. “I will check pantry.”

***

 Day Seven

 “—as of today, authorities are lifting the ban on nonessential travel—”

“Yes!” You launch yourself into the air, twirling around and pumping your fists before landing lightly on the couch once more. “Finally!”

Piotr laughs and shakes his head. “What, is staying inside with me so terrible?”

“Absolutely not.” You crawl across the couch and into his lap, then give him a loud smooch. “I have enjoyed every single day of your company. However, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before I start repainting the walls out of sheer boredom.”

Piotr bursts into raucous guffaws. He puts a hand over his eyes, shoulders and stomach shaking with each laugh. He sighs, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes as minute giggles slip past his lips. “Well, we do need to restock on food. And flour and butter, since someone decided to open bakery yesterday.”

You pointedly ignore the pies and full cookie jar sitting on the kitchen counter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He snorts, then pats your thigh. “Get dressed, myshka. We will go shopping.”

“Fuck yeah!” You zip up the stairs.

Downstairs, you can hear Piotr start laughing again.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #negasonic teenage warhead x yukio #heavy on the fluff #because this year has been a shitload of angst #and quite frankly im done with it #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

[brandstifter-sys]

Not a Secret

Word Count: 1218                      (Ao3)

Rating: G

Pairing: Moceit

Characters: Patton, Janus, Virgil

Warnings: Food Mention

Patton is having a bad day and Janus is ready to give him the attention he needs. (So I posted this back in May 2019 on my old blog and it’s still cute, I just updated Deceit’s name and made room for the duke.)

---

The den of nostalgia, also known as Patton’s room. It was usually happy, warm, and glowing gold with memories. But not today. Patton wasn't feeling happy, warm, or glowy, he was just lying in bed with the covers over his face. Sometimes he was just feeling sad, and despite admitting that and promising to be more open, he really didn't want the others to see him like this.

“Patton, dear, you know better than to hide your hideous face under the covers.” a familiar voice cooed as a new weight settled on the bed. Those covers came down to his shoulders so he could see the face of the only side who seemed to have a sixth sense. Janus had to have an internal alarm for days like this. He always appeared.

“Hey Jan, good to see you.”

“My sweet turtledove, you know I can see through your lies.” Janus chuckled, “You don't want to be seen.”

“Then you know I want you to leave, just for a little while.”

“Yes, but I'm not going to. I can't leave you completely alone in good conscience.”

“Conscience?”

“I hardly ever listen to it, but I assure you I have one. Why else would I show up?”

“Because you secretly like me and want to talk to me.”

“Secretly? My dear, it's not a secret.” Janus chuckled, “Now you rest, mope, whatever it is you want. I'll be back with some food. We can't have you going hungry.” He got off the bed and navigated his way to the door through the clutter. Patton smiled softly when he left.

“Patton what the heck?!” Virgil snapped when he burst through that same door not a moment later. The smile fell.

“Virge, don’t yell, please.” he whined. Virgil took a deep breath, and sighed. It was one of those days and he was making it worse.

“Why was he in here just now?” he hissed.

“Janus?”

“Uh, yeah!” Patton internally cringed at the exasperation in his voice.

“He was just checking in, saying hi. Nothing bad.”

“You know, you can come to any of us if you feel down, you don't need to resort to that slimeball for help.” Virge pouted and rubbed his neck. Patton could see right through him; he was worried about his best friend. He was worried that a compulsive liar was more important to him than him.

“I know. I love you guys and I said I would be more open. Right now, I just need some space, unless you need something, kiddo.”

“No, not really. Lemme know if you’re not gonna come to movie night. Lo and Ro already canceled.” Virgil replied and left. Patton sighed. He was definitely canceling too, to give a certain strained duo some time alone to do whatever. He wasn’t in the mood to chaperone. All he wanted to do was lay around and mope. Too bad he couldn’t do that, even with Virgil gone.

“Morality.” Janus called and knocked on the door before coming in anyway because Patton was expecting him. Patton didn’t mind, it’s not like he had the motivation to stop him. He had a tray balanced on one hand as he entered. It held a glass of milk, a peanut butter sandwich, and a few cookies.

“I didn’t cut the crusts off,” he hummed, coming to rest on the edge of Patton’s bed. Patton pouted–he hated eating the crust!

“Now that is a face I could just smother in kisses.” Janus droned sarcastically, “Sit up so I can start.” Patton begrudgingly shifted and squirmed from under his covers. Janus set the tray on his lap and waited for his reaction.

“Thanks, Jay.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. The sandwich had been cut into two heart shapes with a cookie cutter.

“I thought you said—”

“Patton, I didn't cut them off, I simply didn't need that part.” Janus chuckled, “Now eat up so I can give you your space.” Patt tentatively took a bite of the sandwich and eyed Janus curiously.

“Are you really going to go?” Patt questioned, somewhat ruefully.

“No. I’ll hide under your bed and scare away the spiders.” Janus teased, “I'm staying in this room, catching up on my reading, distorting a few minor memories the raccoon had too much influence over, and keeping you company.”

“But I don't really want company” Patton said as he finished his sandwich. It sounded a little distorted due to the peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth, but it was understandable as well as adorable. Janus chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” Patton pressed, going for the glass of milk.

“You are a liar.” he hummed, “And I know exactly what you want, so lying to me about it is fruitless.” 

“Hm, and what do I want?”

“You want company—company that doesn't need you to be happy and the voice of positivity. You want to be near people who won't treat you like a fool or a child, people who can see you as you truly are in every aspect without judging or treating you differently. You don’t think Logan and Roman take you seriously, and you don’t want Virgil to worry. You believe what you want is out of reach.” Janus answered plainly. Patton choked on his drink.

“Don't be surprised, Patton.” he chuckled and patted Morality's back to ease the coughing. He was fully capable of honesty, it wasn’t like deception was his only purpose!

“Thanks.” Patt cleared his throat once he caught his breath, “That doesn't explain why you're still here, though.”

“I know the truth, I know you better than the others. The sorrows, the anger, the lingering angst, as well as the joy, the love, and the childish glee. I have the clearest picture of you, and I must say, you are a masterpiece.”

“Thanks, Jay, but I'm a mess.” Patton sighed and bit into a cookie, snapping it in two.

“Mess is the soul of art, duckling.” he cooed, rubbing gentle circles on his back, “You are a vibrant, multifaceted individual who has my unending respect and admiration.”

“Jay,” Patton whined, setting the other half of his cookie on the tray. He wasn't hungry anymore, “Could you move this to the desk? I'm full.” The snake did as he was asked, smirking as he whittled away the front Patton put up.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked upon his return. Patton tapped his chin and pouted adorably. There was one thing, but he was afraid to say it. He didn't have to.

“Do you want me to sit with you and cuddle?”

“Please.” Patt whimpered. Janus smiled and climbed under the covers, pulling Patton to his chest. Patton leaned into him and closed his eyes. He was so warm, a welcome heat source for the snake. It was like a dream come true, simply to be this close to the kindest, most welcoming side.

“Would you like to hear a secret?” Janus breathed, tickling Patton's ear.

“Sure.”

“I love you.”

“My dear, it's not a secret.” Patton giggled and snuggled closer. His smile fell immediately afterwards, but that was to be expected. Cuddles wouldn't change his mood right away, but they helped.

“Not anymore.” Janus chuckled and kissed his forehead.

#sanders sides #moceit #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #food mention tw #sandyscribed

[passionate-hedgehog]

Hooked (Damien Haas x Reader)

Damien and his producer girlfriend just wanted to update their fans on a SMOSHcast after he posted a picture to his instagram account indirectly outing them as a couple. So, why are Sarah and Shayne singled out at the end?

Damien Haas x OC

5020 words

ITALICS are flashbacks

AN: I wrote this in 5 hours so if it sucks, it’s because I rushed. I tried really hard not to delve into SMOSH fanfiction but fuck me, I’m here. and I hate it. I had to pee the entire time. I have zero clue how VIDCON or any fan convention works. It is what it is. Mythical are assholes kinda in this.

AN2: Find my first Ian Hecox fic here.

AN3: I’ve rewritten it to be a Damien x Reader

m.list

“Welcome to another SMOSHcast. I am Ian Hecox from SMOSH.” The host of the podcast looked into the camera put off to the side to record video. “We have a few guests today. Right next to me is producer Sarah Whittle…”

“Isss meee!” The producer proclaimed in her cute tone. “I’m Sarah Whittle from SMOSH.”

The host continued, “And next to her is Shayne Topp, actor extraordinaire.”

“Heeeeyyyy. I’m Shayne.” The actor whispered weirdly into the mic.

As the group at the table giggled and/or rolled their eyes, Ian did the next introduction. “And then we have our video game professionalist: Damien Haas.”

“Aw, that’s sweet, man. Thank you.” Damien replied to the host and then looked into the camera. “Yes, I am Damian Haas, an actor from SMOSH. Disclaimer: we ALL play video games. Don’t let them fool you, listeners.”

“Mmmm...not quite.” The final guest commented from the left side of Damian. “Unless you count merge games on the phone. Not that you haven’t tried to hook me into them.”

“Oh, yeah.” Shayne piped in. “Y/n, you’re not a fan of video games.”

 Damien and Y/n were sitting on his couch with controllers in their hands and cats by their legs. Damien was working on loading Smash Bros onto the tv while Y/n scratched behind Zelda’s ears.

“I know our thing is you watching me play, but I think you might really like this one. I promise.” Damien tapped at his buttons to work through the settings.

“When I gave you that business card back at VIDCON that said ‘I’d love to watch you play games sometime,’ I meant it. YOU play. YOU.” She pouted.

He shrugged as if it was out of his hands. “It’s already been decided.”

“Do we gotta, though? Like, I’m totally content watching you play and using my hands for more important things...like loving on the felines. So important.

”“Super important.” Damien nodded in agreement.

“Super important.” Y/n repeated, feeling as if she won.

“Too bad.” Damien looked back at the screen. “What character do you want to play as?”

Y/n groaned in despair and threw her body backward against the cushions. “Fuck me.”

Damien looked at her with raised eyebrows. “What’s up?”

The look on Y/n’s face told him not to push it.

 Damien turned his head to the new producer. “You just can’t be hooked.”

Ian chuckled. “Well, I think we’ve proved that you can, as a matter of fact, be hooked.”

She looked at the host with a playful glare. “You really ready for this conversation?” 

It was Y/n’s first VidCon and, honestly, still her first month at Mythical. Her job was to engage the attendees that walked past the Mythical booth in conversation. She was meant to talk about things pertaining to the people and things in the videos. She was still fresh at her production assistant role and didn’t know much about Mythical’s behind the scenes things quite yet. She’d had a few people stop by, and she was able to amp up the hype for the projects she knew were coming up. That was a thing she could do, and she did it well. She loved Mythical so far.

When a small group of people around her age started walking towards her booth while laughing and what looked to be recording, she started to feel a little shy. She was an extrovert, which helped with what she was supposed to be doing. But there hasn’t been an actual group of people to approach her. The closer they got, the more nervous she got. She ended up deciding to take the L and make herself look busy in hopes that they’d just keep walking. It worked in the end, but she felt bad about purposefully not doing her job. She promised herself she wouldn’t let herself do that again and made sure to engage with anyone she could while at her station.

When it was Mythical’s turn at the panel, she stood off to the side and took pictures of her bosses and co-workers. She filmed a little for future needs and made sure to enjoy her time overall. She also made sure to listen to what Rhett and Link talked about and store it away for later and made mental notes on things she had questions about.

It was when she was going through some of her pictures during the fan Q&A that she noticed someone was watching her. She had glanced up for a second while being in thought when they locked eyes. She squinted while trying to figure out who he was really looking at because there was no way he was looking at her. She wasn’t even a producer that the fans knew. It took a minute, but he eventually looked away, while looking like he was caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

The next day, she was able to explore a little bit more. One of the OG producers took over the booth, and she decided to go and see what else was out there. She ended up stumbling upon interactive video gaming booths. She wasn’t a fan of video games, but she always liked watching people play them. Those that really enjoyed video games would be the most entertaining. It always pulled her in.

She scanned the games that were being played and caught sight of the group of people from yesterday. Feelings of guilt from not doing her job hit her, and she gnawed at her lip. She knew she had to start going easier on herself, but there was still a fear that the company would one day realize she was some incompetent girl from the midwest that didn’t belong in California or the industry.

“Hey, are you okay?” A voice spoke from in front of her.

She looked up and noticed the guy from the day before looking at her with scrunched eyebrows. “Huh?”

“You looked like you were trying to give yourself snakebite piercings with your teeth, and your foot was tapping faster than Thumper. Do you need anything? Or is there someone I can get for you?” He looked around the area.

She shook her thoughts from her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I didn’t realize I was that lost in thought.”

“Do you...do you work for Mythical? I saw you yesterday taking pictures of the panel, and I noticed you were at the booth. So yes...you do work for Mythical. That was a dumb question, never mind.” The guy scratched his face awkwardly.

Y/n assessed the situation. Was this guy a fan of Mythical? Like one of THOSE fans that she needed to be concerned about? Or was he just trying to make conversation? Y/n was at a disadvantage. She was alone at VIDCON (and California altogether, but that's for a different day), and she wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“Hey, Damien! I thought you were going to play the Halo campaign?” A blonde guy came up to the two. There were a few others with him; Y/n recognized them as the group from earlier.

The guy, Damien?, looked to the group as if forgetting that they were there. “Oh. Yeah. That slipped my mind entirely. Guys, this is...uh…”

“Y/n. My name is Y/n.” She smiled her work-place smile—the polite one she saved for when she didn’t know what else to do.

“She works for Mythical. Isn’t that cool?” Damien smiled as if he really thought taking pictures of the panel at VIDCON was the biggest dream job anyone could ever have.

“I think you’re way too excited about what I do for my job.” She laughed in response.

“It’s probably because he relates to it a little. We work for SMOSH.” The blonde friend supplied.

Y/n tried really hard not to let her face control the conversation. “Forgive me, but I don’t know what that actually is. And by the looks on your faces, I feel like maybe I should….”

“Oh, it’s ok!” Damien interjected. “If you haven’t gone to a panel yet, ours is later tonight. You should come by and check it out. Our channel has a few different things.”

One of the other group members stepped in. “Yeah, there's sketch comedy, video games, things like that. You’re at the video games booths, so I’ll assume you like video games?”

That made her chuckle. “I actually don’t really like video games. I was just wandering around because I got a break from the Mythical booth.”

When she looked at the group again, she noticed they were all staring at Damien with raised eyebrows.

“Oh. Right…” He said while looking shocked. “Well... as Noah said...there’s sketch comedy?”

“Well, who doesn’t like to laugh??” Y/n shrugged. “I’ll try to make it to the panel! Thanks for introducing me to something. I have to actually make it back to my booth to help with cleaning up. But I’ll be waiting for the panel!”

On the last day of VIDCON, Y/n was exhausted. She was just thoroughly exhausted. When she went to get herself a snack from the food service area to refuel for breaking down the booth, Damien was there as well. His group wasn’t with him, which made it easier for her to approach him.

“Damien?” She called when she was a few feet behind him. He turned around and held a pleasantly surprised expression. “Hey, I ended up missing your panel, but I hoped it went really well.”

“That’s ok. It means a lot that you found me and told me that. Thank you for the consideration.” The look in his eyes was earnest. He really meant what he said. “How was your first VIDCON?”

“I wasn’t really sure what to expect, to be honest. I don’t know a lot about any of this. I’m completely new to the industry. But I’m excited to see where it takes me. I hope to see VIDCON next year. Maybe you’ll be here too?” She licked her lips, wondering if that was a little too forward.

“I hope so, too. I’d really enjoy that.” He gave a smile that melted Y/n’s insides.

“Oh! I have a thing for you!” The PA reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a small card. “It’s the industry, and one of the rules is to exchange business cards, right? Here’s mine.”

He looked at the white cardstock in his hands, noting that something was scrawled onto the back of it. “I gotta say. You’re super prepared for someone new to this. I don’t even have one. But thank you. I gotta get back to my group so we can head back to Sacramento. It was nice to meet you, Y/n.”

Y/n watched him reach a hand out to her, and she took it to shake. “It was nice to meet you, too, Damien.” 

The host sighed. “And our final guest, today, is SMOSH producer: Y/f/n Y/l/n. This is her first cast, and we’re very excited to have her on.”

“Aw, thanks, Ian. I almost forgive you.” She said with a glint in her eyes. “Yes, I am Y/n. I’m a new producer for SMOSH. I currently work under Sarah until I can get my feet more settled on the ground here.”

Shayne chimed in. “Have you noticed a difference yet? Between here and Mythical?”

The producer looked to be in thought before she replied. “Hm. The obvious difference is the job title. I was just a PA there, but I did a lot of producer side work because there were opportunities. I didn’t ever actually produce, but I still did a lot. I’m not complaining; I loved it. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. But because I am currently working under someone, it’s mostly the same.”

The host closed his water bottle after taking a swig from it. “Are you excited to start as a producer on your own soon?”

“Uh, oh! Trick question!” Shayne called in his Aunt Carolyn voice before going back to normal. “You gotta say yes. Or you get fired.”

“Listen, bruh. I’ll take you. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Well, that’s not fair. Fighting you is like fighting three people right now. I’d have absolutely no hope!” The actor threw his hands into the air.

“OOOH nice segue, Shayne! It goes right into today’s first topic.” Ian looked into the camera. “We’ve always considered SMOSH as a...a family. We’ve had good times and some really awful bad times together. There are a few different kinds of out-of-the-workplace relationships amongst all of us.”

“Yeah, like Y/n has become my complete best friend. I mean, it started while she worked at Mythical, but it hasn’t changed since she moved over here. And right now, especially right now, we’ve grown even closer.” Sarah cut in while motioning to the new producer.

Y/n excitedly jumped in. “Yeah, I’m super thankful for Sarah just existing in the first place. I don’t have any family here in California, as you guys here at the table know. So, during everything that’s been happening, it’s been really...uplifting to have her support through it all. I couldn’t imagine the past year and a half without her.”

Sarah’s sweet smile held as she reached her hand out across the table and Y/n grabbed it to hold for a second. The men around the table let out a chorus of “aw’s.”

“Yeah, Damien, are you being replaced?” Ian asked. Jokingly.

The actor chuckled. “Listen, if Sarah wants to replace me, that’s fine. She’s got more cats. I completely understand.”

“That’s true.” Y/n looked into space. “She has quite a few more cats than you. But Freya and Zelda have become my children. I could never leave them behind. I’d have to take them with me!”

Damien looked at her for a second before he gave a simple “no.”

“I tried. Sorry, Sarah.”

The older producer giggled and shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t know how many more cats Claudio will be okay with me having.”

“You just see Claudio coming home one day to an apartment full of six cats, and he’s super confused. ‘Sarah Whittle???? Do you even live here anymore? Sarah?’” Shayne laughed after giving a very bad mimic of Claudio’s accent.

“And then there’s just one giant cat because I’ve become one myself. ”

“But it’s like a cat from the movie ‘CATS,’ so it’s super terrifying.” Damien chuckled his way through his addition to the joke.

“Oh, my God. No. My poor husband. I couldn’t. OKAY, no more cats. I give I give! Damien, you can keep your girlfriend.” Sarah laughed.

There was a quick hush that spread across the studio. Ian raised his eyebrows and nodded. That just made his job so much easier.

“So, back to today’s topic…Some of our guests have an announcement to make.”

“It’s not really an announcement, though, Ian.” Damian began but stopped when the girl to his left gently put her hand on his arm.

“It kinda is. The photo from earlier wasn’t like...an official announcement. The caption you gave was a little vague. I also don’t know why I’m even arguing. My bad, babe.”

Damien turned toward her as best as he could with the surrounding equipment and table. “No, don’t worry about it. You’re right. This morning’s photo wasn’t an official statement.” 

If there was one aspect of being in Y/n’s current life situation that she detested the most, it was the constant migraines. Without fail, she would develop a headache when she first woke up.    

Damien learned to be prepared for the morning routine. In the first few months of their new lifestyle, he had grown to realize that mornings weren’t going to be the easiest. He would be the first to wake up, take his shower, and start the coffee and tea. Y/n had been a heavy coffee drinker until recently.  

After the actor got his morning routine out of the way, he went to wake up his girlfriend. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a morning person...but that she had difficult mornings. As he walked into their shared bedroom, he noticed she was sleeping peacefully for the first time in a while. Without wanting to miss out on the opportunity to express how happy he was at seeing his partner in a relaxed state, he pulled out his phone and snapped a pic. He opened Instagram to edit the picture, adding a grayscale filter. The caption was kept short, simple, and mildly vague; they did have a SMOSHcast announcement to make later that day, after all. After making sure that the blankets covered her body, he posted the picture for all of his followers to see. He proceeded to put his phone back into his pocket and get on with the rest of the usual morning routine.  

 Y/n pouted. “You’re so good to me.”

Damien gave a gentle smile and tapped her bottom lip so she’d stop. “It’s because you deserve the world.”

“I remember now why I made that rule about you two showing affection in the office. Y’all are gross.” The host shivered.

“You don’t have to lie, Ian. We know you dig it,” Shayne interceded.

“Yeah, when I first started a few months ago, I really believed my job would have been in jeopardy had Damien and I been caught in anything other than a respective distance apart from each other as co-workers. But, now that I’ve been here for a minute, I can tell how much you like to see your kids happy.” Y/n winked at her boss.

The president of SMOSH nodded in agreement. “The rules were for you two, honestly. I knew that you wanted to keep things private, so I was just trying to create a safe work environment for you. I’d never, well...at least now that I’m in charge of it all… I’d never ask you guys to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. When we agreed that you’d be coming over to SMOSH, Y/n, I knew that your privacy as a person and a couple would be at the top of your concerns. It wasn’t necessarily your choice to be a part of SMOSH, and I’ll never stop apologizing for that, but I want your experience here to be worth it. You’re worth it just by existing.”

“God, Ian. You know I cry easier these days, man. Don’t do this to me. Don’t be that ho. Fuck.” The girl was wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her SMOSH merch hoodie. “It’s fine. I didn’t actually put makeup on today. It’s cool. Whatever.”

“But I mean it. You were thrown to us when we needed it the most, and I’m, and the rest of us, are extremely grateful for you.”

 There was a jovial nature to the lounge that everyone was in. The SMOSH cast hung out in between sketch takes and were gathered for an impromptu meeting that Ian had called earlier that day. No one thought anything of it when Y/n walked in and made herself comfy next to Damien on the couch. Shayne was originally next to him, but he automatically got up and sat on the arm instead.

“How’s today been so far?” The Mythical PA asked as she settled in.

“Not bad. We knocked out a few sketches. We have some Pit stuff to record after this meeting.” Her boyfriend’s best friend responded.

“OH Y/n!” She heard Courtney cry from across the room. “Them boots! They’re so cute!”

“Thank you, Courtney! I found them on a resale Facebook shop. I’m not mad at them.”

Everyone in the room fell into their own conversations about this and that. Y/n took the time to look around and really take in the SMOSH members surrounding her. A year ago, she didn’t know ANYTHING about SMOSH, but she was happy for the relationships she built and the opportunities that being affiliated with the channel gave her. When SMOSH was bought by MYTHICAL, she found herself wandering over to SMOSH once or twice and did some side work. They’d borrow her occasionally, and she loved it.

Ian had walked into the room during her reverie and was attempting to draw everyone’s attention. Y/n missed the first part of what he was saying but eventually caught on.

“So, because we’re down a producer, we’ve been able to pick up a new one full-time. I think we’re all pretty excited that Y/f/n Y/l/n is officially joining our team as a SMOSH producer.” Ian kept going, but Y/n tuned him out to work through what he just said.

“Wh...what?” She asked, completely confused. “What did you just say?”

“You moved to SMOSH?” She heard Jackie ask from her right.

“Babe?” Damien looked down at her with scrunched eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were leaving Mythical.”

“I...I didn’t either.” The girl started floundering. “I...what? When did I move here? What do you mean I work here now? I don’t...What? I love Mythical...I would never leave.”

The president of SMOSH sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Well, fuck. This is not what was supposed to happen. I was given the green light from Mythical to make an official announcement. I would not have had this meeting if I, at any point, didn’t think you would know…”

“So...just like that...I work here now?” The girl was close to tears.

The room was quiet.

“Right. Right...I uh…” she got up and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I guess I have an office that I gotta cleanout on the other side of the building. If you’ll all excuse me…”

No one said anything as she left. Everyone looked at Damien, who then looked at Ian. Ian sighed heavily and walked out of the lounge.

Y/n was in the office she used to occupy putting things in boxes and trying hard not to cry. She loved working at Mythical. There hadn’t seemed to be any problems that she could see, but maybe she was so blinded by all of the good things in her life that she missed something.

“Do you want some help?” Damien stood in the doorway, wearing a sad smile.

That’s when she lost all composure. He must have caught the second she was about to start sobbing because he was right next to her chair, holding her as she kept sitting. He whispered words of love and encouragement as she cried.

“I don’t understand! I thought I was doing so well. I love it here! I got so much out of being here. What did I do?!”

Damien was crouched next to her at this point, wiping her tears. “Did you talk to them?”

“For like a minute. They said that I’d see more opportunities at SMOSH. They said that they could see me becoming something better over there. But they didn’t tell me that before they talked to Ian? I’m the one that essentially got fired! How can they just make these decisions for me?! I’m not…” She stopped.

“You’re not what, Baby?” He had his hands cupping her cheeks.

“I’m...I’m not ready...I don’t want to be a producer yet. I’m not ready to leave the nest yet. I don’t want it to change.”

Damien nodded in understanding. “That’s what’s really upsetting you, isn’t it? You don’t feel you’re ready to make this career change. Yes, and about being traded to SMOSH.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love all of you. I love SMOSH. But I belong at Mythical. This is my home.” The woman sniffled. “It’s not time to leave.”

“Baby, you’re going to flourish at SMOSH. I know you’re terrified. Especially since this isn’t something that was discussed with you. And you’re right. It’s not fair. I’m sorry that they didn’t say anything to you.” He brushed some hair out of her face. “Love, it’s your choice if you want to work at SMOSH, but Baby, it’s time to leave Mythical.”

The next day at SMOSH, the couple found themselves at Ian’s desk. They were called in first thing, but Y/n wasn’t quite sure why. Ian was in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee while the two looked at each other.

“I think...we need to talk about somethings now that you’re both at SMOSH together. I know that you guys have been keeping everything private dealing with your relationship.” Ian took a minute to think through his thoughts.

The two nodded to show that they were listening and agreeing, so far.

“I couldn’t be happier that you two found each other. You’ve somehow managed to find your perfect other halves. It lifts the spirits here when you’d come over and visit, Y/n. You were already one of us before this week happened. I mean it.”

Y/n gave a sweet smile. “I know you do, Ian. I love you, too.

”Ian sucked in a breath. “So, I’ll have to lay some rules down in order to protect your privacy, because that’s my concern. What you do out of office hours is whatever. If you decide to come out as a couple, then I support it one hundred percent. But for now, with your wishes to remain unknown to the fans as in a relationship, there can’t be any PDA. We gotta nip that in the bud. I know this place is our home, but you never know. And when we’re on location or on a set, just please be careful. Okay? We’re a small company. We don’t have that many PR resources. Okay? Does that sound fair?”

The couple looked at each other. They seemed to be conversing with just their eyebrows and head movements. It took a minute or two before Damien spoke up.

“Yeah, about that...We do want to keep it as private as possible, but that might start to get a little hard.”

“Please don’t tell me that one of you posted something and that I’m too late.” Ian tapped the desk, anxiously.

“Oh, don’t worry, Ian.” Y/n bit her lip. “You’re not the one that’s late.”

The president couldn’t keep the deadpan expression from his face. “You kids are gonna put me in an early grave.”

 “Keep it up, Hecox, and I’ll quit. I swear it. I’ll just sit at home all day with the cats whilst judging OG SMOSH videos and why that weirdo with a bowl cut acts the way he does.”

“Okay, claws in, tiger.” The table laughed with Ian trying to fake-placate the girl. “I’ll hold in the nice things for the rest of the cast.”

“Thank you.” Y/n blinked. “No, wait!”

“Hey, Y/n,” Shayne called. “I like your hoodie.”

“Oh, this ol’ thing?” She pulled at it. “It’s borrowed, and it’s super soft. I’m LIVING. I wanted to ask if there was some vault or something where I could get my own.”

“No, no…” her boyfriend patted her shoulder. “You can wear this one. You can just wear all of my hoodies. Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t be able to fit in them forever. I was already bigger than you to begin with. I don’t have long until I’ll get stuck putting them on. I need bigger ones, babe.” She turned to Ian. “Honestly, I don’t care what they look like. I just know I’m quickly running out of time before nothing fits anymore.”

“Yeah, of course. You’ll get your own to pick from. Don’t worry about it.”

It was Damien’s turn to pout. “But I like seeing your tumtum. Don’t put it awaaaay.”

“I love you so much, Damien, I do. But I’m about to suffocate in this.” She tried pulling at the bottom hem of the shirt to prove her point.

“If I may ask, how far along are you?” Ian spoke. “Also, as I ask this, I can see Shayne in the corner of my eye, giving me a look because he knows this answer.”

The blonde gave a suspicious smile. “I’m like the pregnancy stalker. I wasn’t trying to be weird about it. I was trying to give them their space, but like, Damien is my best friend in the entire world. I admit I have a problem. It hasn’t reached the point where I show up to doctor appointments, however.”

“Yet.” Y/n chimed in. “But uh to answer your question, Ian, we’re about...6 months? I think? Honestly, anything with numbers is gone from my head. Pregnancy brain is real. I talked to my best friend back home, who has two children, and she said sometimes, pregnancy brain never goes away. So...I’m SUPER excited for that. I can't wait to never do math again. THANKFULLY my man is super smart. He just has to be smart enough for the both of us from now on until we die.”

“That’s the most pressure I’ve ever been under. Thanks, babe.”

Shayne laughed. “Yeah. Having a kid? Easy. Being smart? Oh, man. OOOOOOH MAN. Whole other level.”

The SMOSHcast went on and drifted away from Y/n and Damien’s relationship to other topics. They talked about upcoming projects, future trips, and movies that were coming out. Shayne and Damien threw out jokes. Sarah and Y/n shared looks pertaining to things that were between just the two of them. Ian made sure to keep the talk flowing and always had something to say to stir the pot.

Finnerty called out that they were winding down to about fifteen minutes left of recording. Ian looked at the couple across from him and gave a slight signal that Sarah and Shayne didn’t miss. They shared a look but waited for the expecting couple to start. Y/n and Damien looked at each other to decide who was going to start. Y/n shrugged and sat up straight.

“So there was something else we wanted to share. But it’s actually for the two of you.” She faced Shayne and Sarah. “We were wondering if you’d do us the honor and be our kid’s godparents?”

Sarah’s face lit up, and Shayne gave a simple and quiet “what?”

Damien picked up where Y/n left off. “You two are our best friends, respectively. While yes, we wanted to discuss everything and make this cast an honest statement to the fans, we wanted to ask you something important to us. We love you guys, and there’s no one better for it.”

“OH MY GOD YES! REALLY?!” Sarah yelled but immediately apologized into the mic to the editing team. “You really want us to be godparents?? It’s a total, yes from me! I could never turn that down!”

Everyone turned to Shayne, who was busy trying to hide his tears behind his hands as he tilted his head back. They let him try to collect himself for a minute before Damien tried again.

“Buddy? You good?” He put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“Oh, my God. You really trust me with that?” The blonde actor ran his hands through his hair while still looking at the ceiling.

The look in Damien’s eyes was softer than what Y/n was used to seeing aimed at anyone but herself. But she understood it. It was Damien and Shayne, after all. She winked at Sarah as the two giggled softly.

“Of course! Who else do you think I’d ask? You’re the only one I’d ever pick for that, man. I love you. And I’d be honored if you’d just say ‘yes,’ you dingus.”

“Well, duh! You think I’d say no? Oh, my God.” Shayne and Damien awkwardly hugged as best as they could.

Ian nodded at the whole thing. “Yep. Well, that’s a good place to leave that. Thank you, guys, for listening. If you enjoyed this SMOSHcast and want to know when we post more, then hit that bell. Subscribe. And hey, watch the rest of the videos we’ve uploaded. Stay safe out there. We love you.” 

#smosh fanfic #kill me #i keep falling to depths i never i think ill reach #smosh #what have i become #damien haas #damien haas x reader #shaymien friendship #is this another smoshcast #smoshcast #family

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon VII

Jason is a CEO: Part VII

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

The next two parts are hella long. Enjoy my loves!

i want to

tangle with you

and fall into you

and feel all of you

your breath, your skin,

your hands, your heart,

your everything...

all of it, all of you

all around me

-butterflies rising

“Good morning Frank, why does it feel like I haven’t seen you in forever?”

“It’s only been a week,” He laughed, “Are you having withdrawal symptoms?”

“I think so,” He nodded gravely, “Heart ache, constant longing, and inability to stop thinking about cars.”

“Sounds like a terrible case.” Frank grinned, pulling the car into the road.

“Shall we grab some coffee to mend our gaped days?” He pouted.

“Reedpipes it is,” Dark eyes sparkled.

“How’s your grandmother?”

“She’s alright, thank you. Stubborn as a mule about going to the old age home but I told her I can’t be worrying about her while she’s alone in that big house. She says if I forget about her she’ll come back to haunt me and make my life miserable.”

Jason giggled and then quickly sobered at his friends look, “Oh she’s serious?”

“As the plague. My grandmother has never been the type to shower you in cookies and sweet hopes. I have no doubt she’ll be pouring river water in my shoes if I even think to forget about her.”

“Well then I better make sure you get as many days off as you need. She may haunt me for working you too hard.”

His friend shoved his shoulder a laugh rasping in his throat.

“What are the plans this week?” He held the door open to allow Frank to pass as they walked into the café.

“Nothing exciting,” He shrugged his shoulders, but Jason noticed the small blush.

“Looks like nothing,” He grinned.

The man stealthily ignored him, saddling up to the counter and engaging in a conversation with their friend.

“Jason Grace,” Grover Underwood greeted brightly, as he did every morning, “You do look much more this morning.”

“Much more what?” He frowned.

The barista gave him a warm, knowing smile, “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a chai,” He muttered, still puzzling over those words.

“And I’ll have a mocha,” Frank mumbled, excusing himself to take a phone call.

“What did you mean by more?”

“These past few months you have looked duller, like someone has taken the wind out of your lungs, the light from your eyes, the storm that sits in your chest. But now you look more. You look alive again.”

Words were a scarce commodity on his tongue, his brain a blunt rock trying to whittle broken toothpicks. Before he could conjure any coherent answer, Frank returned, grabbing their coffees and nudging him to a table.

“I know I haven’t been all that engaged these last few months,” He began, collapsing into his chair and taking in the man across from him. “I’m sorry for that. How are you?”

“We’ve got lives Grace, it happens sometimes.” His friend shrugged, tipping his cup in acknowledgement, “But I’m good thank you. We do need to talk though.”

“This sounds like a breakup. I swear to the gods Frank if you tell me you’re moving across the country or something I am going to murder you.” He narrowed his eyes, body tensing.

Black eyes danced with laughter, “It’s nothing bad, I uh– the thing is Hazel and I are….dating?”

“Oh,” He smiled, “Well that’s great! It’s about time honestly.”

“What?” He blinked in surprise.

“You’ve been pining over her ever since she came to work for me. I may have been preoccupied but I’m not oblivious.” He giggled.

“So you aren’t mad?”

“Mad?” He reeled, “At what? Of course I’m not mad. You are both consenting adults who know how to be professional and more importantly you guys are my friends. I trust you completely.”

“Wow,” Relief flooded through his face, “Thanks Jase.”

“You never have to be afraid to tell me something you know that, right?”

Frank nodded, black hair flopping, “Shall we get to work then?”

Grover’s words were still circling in his mind when they got to work and stayed with him through the day. He had always thought in his days since him and Luke broke up, he had hidden his feelings well enough from the rest of the world. It was a flinching realisation that he had not done as good a job as he had thought, especially if a barista could pick up on it. What had his friends and family known all these months?

***

That evening he walked into his building feeling a mix of conflicting emotions he wasn’t ready to unpack. He gave a distracted nod to the concierge and stepped into the elevator, sending off a final email to end a blissfully productive work week. Leo’s friend Harley was happy to meet and discuss the project and Jason prayed it would all go well. Working with Octavian felt like poison injected into his bloodstream. It left a vile taste in his mouth.

Shaking the thoughts, he walked into his apartment, chucking the keys on the counter and tugging off his tie. This evening he was going to sit down in front of the fire with a book, feet wrapped in fuzzy socks, and a finger of whiskey to savour.

“Jason,”

“FUCK!” He clutched his chest, whipping around “Holy Hades you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” The voice was soft, tired.

“What the fuck are you doing here Piper?”

“Please, please just hear me out.”

“How did you even get in?”

“They let me up. They think we’re still dating.”

He scoffed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I told you I need some space. Time. I just need time.”

“I understand. I know this is probably creepy, but you weren’t taking my calls and none of our– your friends will help me get a hold of you. I just need to know if you’ll ever hear me out?” She sighed, and then quickly added, “It doesn’t have to be today. I just want to know if you’re willing to listen?”

He didn’t know how to tell her he would rather drown himself in tar than watch her justify their actions. He didn’t know how to tell himself that wasn’t true. He wanted to know why. That question burned like an SOS signal in his brain. Why did they do it? Why did they hurt him?

“I–“ He didn’t know what he wanted. He did. He wanted to sleep, to run away, to throw his name into the wind and let the flowers sing it till it was unrecognisable. He wanted to disappear. “I will hear you out. But I’ll reach out to you, when I’m ready.” He collapsed onto the couch.

She nodded, opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut.

“Is that all?”

She nodded again, turned to leave. “For what it’s worth Jason, I never intended to hurt you and I’m sorry that I did.” Before he had time to formulate a response, she had shut the door quietly behind her. He didn’t hear the soft sob that left his ex-girlfriend as she walked down the passage and out of his life.

He scrambled into the shower, scrubbing off the day with brutal force. He wasn’t sure when his life had turned into a mess of emotions and risks, but he didn’t like it. He wanted his order and discipline back. Wanted to wake up with a run, sign a beneficial contract with a business who cares, and collapse into a warm bed with the feeling of accomplishment and calm that had once followed him. He turned on some music, drowned out the voice in his head that says the life he remembers wasn’t calm it was safe, and it was boring. Some days he felt he’d rather take boring over this. He felt like someone had taken a battering ram to his nerves. But he’s pulled from his spiral by his phone, which dinged softly on the nightstand. Rubbing the towel through his wet hair he picked up the device to see one new message.

Zoe: Hey, was just thinking about you.

He smiled at the screen, thinking about the lady in question. It was too early to say where all this may lead but the butterflies in his stomach and the blush in his cheeks gave him hope.

Jason: All bad things, I hope?

Zoe: You Mr summa cum laude? Mr one party day per two study days? Mr we can’t go into that garden cause it’s private property? ;)

He laughed, half regretting telling her all the goody-two shoes ideals he maintained in college.

Jason: I never should have let you drag that out of me

She sent a laughing emoji back and he fell into bed, holding his phone to his chest. Maybe one day when he runs away to live in the woods he’ll ask if she wants to come. Maybe one day they’ll call the forest home. He almost pitched the idea, almost called her and lets it all rush into the air but at the last minute he chickened out. Finger hovering over the call button, but never quite reaching it. His plans for the evening were demolished when minutes later his eyes drooped closed, phone slipping out of his grasp and onto the pillow. 

He dreamt of trees, the wind, sunshine made cloth, sparkling black eyes. He dreamt of life.

***

Jason was bubbling with happiness as he finished draining the pasta and drizzling some olive oil over it. He glanced around his apartment making sure the pillows were straight- as if they ever had the chance to get scrunched under his eagle eye- and the furniture was in its designated spots on the grid of tile. Zoe was coming over and although his apartment was generally immaculate the universe had a bad habit of stirring things up just when you think you’ve got it handled.

A knock at his door set off the zoo of nerves in his stomach but more than that it made him grin with overwhelming happiness.

“Miss Nightshade,” He opened the door.

“Mr Grace. You do look dashing.”

He scrunched his nose at her a gleam in his eyes, “Oh this old thing.” He pulled at the panda onesie she had made him order.

Her laugh was bright and beautiful.

“So what are we having for dinner? And is white wine okay?” She set the bottle on the counter along with her miniature backpack.

“Perfect, and we’re having pasta.”

She lit up at that running to hug him, “You do know the way to a woman’s heart don’t you?”

“I think it’s just to yours,” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to him.

“Fine by me. I’m not a big sharer anyway.” She winked.

He giggled into her neck, relishing in her clean spicy smell, and the warmth of her body.

“We have to take a selfie before we sit down to it. I want us in matching onesies documented for all eternity.”

“Me too, Leo says he’s never going to believe me unless I send him a picture.”

An hour, one photoshoot, two Instagram posts and a lock-screen change later they finally settled in to eat supper and watch whatever movie they could find on Netflix. He poured the wine and handed her a glass, tipping his own in her direction.

With a soft clink he brushed their lips together, “Happy three months my stella.”

She sucked in a breath, “My mom used to call me that. She said it rivaled my–“

“Your eyes,”

She nodded, looking at him as if he had read every page of the book that made up her, “Happy three months my thyella.”

He smiled into her, putting their wine down and cupping her face.

“The storm and the stars?” He breathed, “Sounds cosmic.”

“Sounds like magic,” Her eyes fluttered.

He closed the minuscule distance between them, capturing her lips softly. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged him impossibly closer. There was electricity and light pouring into their souls as they explored each, as they found life bubbling between them. He broke away for a split second before kissing across her jaw and down her neck. She moaned when his teeth nipped her collar bone and his lips soothed it over. He grabbed the shoulder of her onesie gently and looked up at her,

“Can I?”

She nodded, half breathless with need, “Please.”

So he tugged down the fleecy pyjamas, both of them giggling.

“Why pandas?”

“It was between this and sheep,” She laughed.

He kissed her shoulder with a smile and tugged the zip down fully.

“You sure?”

She cupped his cheeks and pulled him up, so they were eye to eye, “I’m sure, if I want to stop, I’ll tell you.”

He kissed her again, overwhelmed by his feelings, his happiness.

“And Jase?” She rested her forehead against his, “If you want to stop you tell me.”

He beamed at her, brilliant and unrestrained, “We are never getting to dinner.”

Pasta for breakfast, it turns out, is just as good as pasta for supper.

***

His shoes against the marbled floor of his office building clacked in time with his heart as he walked through the lobby on Monday morning, a week later.  His thoughts spun with the things he had to do today and the people he had to make nice with. As much as he’s loved Project Hestia this last stretch has given him more trouble than the whole venture together. Him and the community were agitated to get it finished.

“Hazel Levesque, please tell me you have a cappuccino for me?” He groaned, stepping into his office.

“Good morning Boss,” A bright smile and bouncing curls greeted him, “Cappa is on your desk, and one Miss Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano is waiting for you,”

“You’re a gem,” He blew her a kiss and disappeared behind his glass door.

“Jason Grace,” Reyna smirked, a coffee cup dangling from her manicured fingers.

He narrowed his eyes at her, “Is that my cappuccino?”

“If you can prove it,”

“Lawyers,” He grumbled, “How are you?”

“Great thank you,” And she was. He peered at her, his lawyer of many years. She was glowing.

“You look great,” He smiled softly.

“Now, now pretty boy, don’t get all sappy on me,” She scrunched her nose, “I hear we’re meeting new contractors today.”

“Yea Valdez sent them my way. I’m hoping we click because Titan gives me bad vibes.”

“Well me too. I looked through their updated contract and there’s still some things I’m not comfortable with.”

“Let’s get through this meeting with Harley and then bitch about contracts.”

Harley Davids was a small man with infinite energy and the spark of life glittering in his warm brown eyes. He was full of ideas and enthusiasm and listened intently to everything Jason wanted for this project. By the time the meeting was over, a rough draft of an incredible contract was drafted. They had been in the meeting room for two hours, but it had felt like mere minutes and when Harley left, whistling down the hallway and into the elevator Jason had turned to Reyna and hugged her for all she was worth. She laughed at him but squished his ribs back.

“I think we deserve to celebrate that!” He cheered, as they walked back into his office where Hazel was having an animated conversation with someone.

“Percy!” Reyna squealed, slamming into his open arms.

He mumbled something into her hair, arms wrapped around her torso. Jason looked away, hating the pang that hit his chest. He longed for something that easy, that welcoming.

“Jason,” A velvety voice said, “How are you?”

He snapped himself to the present, “Wonderful, thank you. It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh you two know each other?” Reyna smiled curiously.

“Know is a strong word,” He laughed, “We met at the university dinner a few months ago,”

“Well I think we should all go out this weekend. We have something to celebrate after all!” She smiled, looking between them.

“Absolutely, everyone has been waiting for this project to close and it finally is. Haze, you and Frank? And I’ll invite Valdez and Annabeth.” He turned to his lawyer, “You get the word to Nico and Will?”

“Sounds like a party, send me the details. Oh, and we are not going to the disco bar again! I refuse to dress up in neon pink and striped socks.” Reyna gave him a warning look.

“This sounds like a story for the books?” Percy’s eyes danced.

“They are all evil, and I spent a good two months getting glitter out of everywhere.”

A golden laugh burst from the black-haired man, “My only question is how did glitter get everywhere?”

“I have pictures,” Hazel winked.

“Hazel, don’t you dare!”

“I mean I feel he has the right to know what you look like with pink pigtails, blazing yellow thigh-high socks, and about twenty tons of glitter plastered to your body.”

“Oh babe,” Percy gasped, “You cannot deny me this.”

“I hate all of you,” She grumbled, pulling the middle finger up.

“So Friday?” Jason laughed.

“Until then Grace!”

When he finally made it back to his office to do the last few things for the day, he felt for the first time in many a moon, hopeful. He let his mind wander on the quiet car ride home; thoughts were abstract and unimportant as they flitted in and out. Flashes of blueprints, the cool metal of an arrow, laughter, gold chandeliers, earthy skin wrapped in silk, the rush of water, shining green eyes…. green eyes?

Fuck.

“Everything okay Boss?”

“What? Yes, sorry, just remembering some admin I forgot to do.” He covered up quickly.

“Well we’re here.” Frank nodded to his apartment building.

“Thank you, see you tomorrow.”

He pulled up his text conversation with Zoe, already frantically trying to occupy his brain. If you can keep busy, you don’t have time to think.

Jason: hey, having a celebration night cause we finally sealed a contract for my big project. Friday? Can you make it?

She replied almost instantly: Be there! Send me deets.

And then he was throwing his phone on the couch, shoving his earphones in, and running until he couldn’t feel his heart beating. Running until his mind was white noise, till his legs gave out, until velvet words and ocean gazes were obsolete. That night his dreams consisted of nothing at all.

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

Sorry edit real quick: if you didn’t catch it in the fic: Stella means star and thyella means storm

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open): @lesbian-peanuts​​​

@leydiangelo​​​​

@queen-of-demons-and-hell​​​

@msdrpreist​​​

@sparkythunderstorm​​​

@nishlicious-01​​​

@lucyisblue​​​

#empires on the horizon #jason is a ceo #jason grace #zoe nightshade #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna #percy jackson #harley #hazel levesque #jason #grace #jercy #it's a slow burn y'all #PJSSG fanfic #PJSSG series #baby fanfic #baby fanfic series #mini fanfic #mini fanfiction #PJO fanfic #part 7

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Blow By Blow ch.4 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter 3

~~*~~

Read Chapter 4 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

No matter his concern, Antwan was smarter than to stand with the door open and risk being caught sneaking in by Janice. On a good day, she did her duty of chasing away undesirables who wanted to ‘drop in’ ferociously and those who earned her wrath lived with their regrets. On a day like today, Edge was very glad to be on this side of the office door.

Antwan had been on her watch list before and he closed the door hastily, making his way to the guest chairs…and stopped, staring at the newly whittled down armrest.

Bemused, he nudged at the wood shavings scattered on the carpet with the toe of one shoe. “What the fuck happened in here? Did the chair attack you?”

"No, you do not,” Edge said firmly.

"I don’t?" Antwan asked with wary confusion. He bypassed the slightly mangled chair and chose the one that was still in an acceptable state, sinking into the leather cushions with a groan. All the impeccable lines of his suit crumpled around him.

"No. We are not discussing what the fuck happened to me or the chair.” Edge gathered up his finished paperwork briskly and set it in the proper basket. “You came in here to talk about something specific, and we will discuss that and nothing else.” His interest in discussion any of his own personal issues had dwindled into the negative.

"Ooookay, I'm good with that," Antwan said agreeably. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs to rest his ankle on the opposite knee with fingers drumming against the intact armrest. “Red will tell me later, anyway."

"I suppose it's useless to ask you to stop drinking with my brother."

"Yeah, momma, sorry,” Antwan shrugged. “I need all my lines of communication open and if I buy the good shit, he spills the good shit.”

"Antwan,” Edge sighed. The headache that had been sending him threats all morning was looming ominously at the gate. “Did you actually want something? Because I do have my own catastrophes to deal with."

That turned out to be an unexpected misstep. Far from his normal lawyerly arrogance, Antwan promptly looked miserable and started to stand. "I mean, it's not that important—“

"Sit your ass down and talk."

He sank back down, absently plucking a pen from his inside jacket pocket and fidgeting with it in a way more reminiscent of Stretch than Edge was used to with Antwan. “Well, it’s… is that a chicken plushie?"

"Yes." Edge raised a brow bone, silently inviting him to express his concerns over Edge's choice of desktop decor. “Was that really what you wanted to discuss?”

"No, shit, give me a minute…look, you're probably the worst person for me to ask about this," Antwan said bluntly. His face was tight, a deep furrow between his brows. "You hit a home run and got married the first time you stepped up to the plate so what do you know about anything?"

Edge propped his chin on one gloved hand, gazing at Antwan thoughtfully, “This must be why we're such good friends, our mutual respect for each other."

"I respect the fuck out of you, or else I wouldn't be here.” Antwan took a deep breath. “But I’ve been sleeping on a shitty sofa for a week, I’ve gained five pounds with all the food Blue is forcing on me and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. This is way out of my area of expertise.”

“What is?”

“Jeff!” Antwan threw up his hands in frustration. “Look, I’ve gotten into some slightly weird shit before, okay? Once, I slept with this guy in a band and when I came home from work the next day I found him and bunch of strangers eating everything in my fridge and some girl redecorating my bathroom to make it more feng shui. But this is new territory, I really wasn't expecting my boyfriend to move in with another guy while my back was turned.” He sighed, dropping the pen into the empty seat and rubbing a thumb between his eyes. “Why the hell did you let him move in with Blue, anyway?”

“My apologies, was I supposed to forbid it? Would you rather he stayed at his old apartment while he recovered where anyone with the internet could find his address?” Edge asked calmly. His willingness to accept any blame for that began and ended at no. “Because I gathered he wasn’t willing to move in with you. We were simply offering another option. Then again, if you’d tried asking him to move in when he wasn’t well-drugged and fresh from surgery, you may have had more luck. Perhaps next time you’ll choose a better moment to express your intentions than in a hospital room.”

“How did you..?” Antwan started. His expression soured and he broke off, letting his head drop back with a sigh. “You really piss me off, sometimes.”

“I know, I learned from the best,” Edge said serenely. “Something you’re well aware of since you usually spend Wednesday nights drinking with him. That said, the last I knew, Jeff was down in public relations going over press releases, not in the hospital. Is there anything stopping you from talking to him now, aside from the stairs?”

Antwan met Edge’s stare but only for a moment, his eyes dropped as he muttered, “He’s been happy living with Blue.”

“He has.” This was an unexpected development. Edge couldn’t recall ever seeing Antwan as less than completely confident at anything. He’d seen defense attorneys flinch when Antwan came in to a courtroom, and plea deals were often struck after opening arguments. Antwan was very nearly as skilled as Edge in keeping his expression impassive, but the unhappiness on his face was as blatant as a Human nose when Edge pointed out, “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be happy living with you.”

“Maybe it does.” Antwan slumped back, staring moodily at the ceiling as if in hopes the answers would come from above.

Generally, Edge was indifferent to self-inflicted forms of pathetic, but since divine intervention seemed unlikely, this time he relented. “He cares about you a great deal.”

“Then why is it the only time he told me he loved me was when he doesn’t even remember doing it?”

The quiet hurt in those words made Edge pause, considering. Slowly, he said, “I couldn’t begin to guess the workings of Jeff’s mind anymore than I could Stretch. Why don’t you ask him? Just talk to him.” “But—“ “Talk. To. Him.” Edge said, exasperated. Why was he surrounded by such brilliantly intelligent idiots? “I may have hit a home run with Stretch, but I can tell you most of the problems we’ve had would have been prevented with a little communication.” Like now, but this wasn’t at all the time bring up their domino fall of troubles. “You give speeches in court all the time, I have to listen to you go on about them at lunch, I know you know how to talk. Plan what you want to say to him and say it.”

“When would I have the time?” Antwan shifted enough to look at him. The way he was sprawling in the chair in his expensive suit made him look like a child playing dress up. His mournful sigh was worse, and if he and Stretch had ever been like this during their difficult beginning, Edge couldn’t believe his brother hadn’t attempted an intervention, preferably one with plenty of swearing and threats of violence. “I haven’t been able to get him away from starry little bodyguard long enough.” That was a fair point. “If you’ll make the effort to talk to him tonight, I’ll handle Blue. Start making a plan.” He glanced at the clock. It was well past noon and he still hadn’t made it to lunch. “Now if you'll excuse me, I need to think of a way to convince my husband that he can’t piss me off enough to make me leave him, no matter how hard he tries.”

“What?” Edge made a mental note that the best way to distract Antwan from his problems was to introduce one of his own. He sat up straight and his expression was one of aghast dismay. “Why the hell would he ever believe that? Any idiot can see you worship that brat.”

“Yes, but Stretch is a special brand of idiot,” Edge said dryly. He might have left it there, but Antwan was his friend, and Edge admitted with some discomfort, “and I suppose I didn’t tell him in words he can understand.”

“That’s bullshit,” Antwan scoffed. “I’ve heard you tell him you love him, you two are disgusting about it! You married him for fuck’s sake!”

“Your argument is sound,” Edge agreed. “Which gives me a few decades to persuade him to my way of thinking. That being said, I’d still prefer to find a faster route.”

“Good luck with that, man,” Antwan rubbed the back of his head. “You want to head out for some lunch?”

“Thank you, but no.” The more Edge looked at remaining piles of paperwork on his desk, the less important they seemed. Particularly in comparison to his mental image of Stretch sitting at home, miserable and alone, unable to stop fretting about tomorrow, about Edge, probably about anything. “I think I’m going to call it an early day.”

That made Antwan wince. “You leaving early with nothing burnt down and no one dead? You sure you want to try and help me tonight?”

“Yes, and hopefully the trend of no property damage or homicide continues. I’ll text you later, all right?”

Antwan leaving gave him a chance to double check his emails before he shut down his computer. Edge took a moment to lean out to his office door to find Janice back at her desk, coffee cup in hand. She glanced at him expectantly.

“Janice, would you mind-“

“I’ve already rescheduled your other meeting,” she said crisply. “I’ll get the R & D reports ready for you tomorrow morning.”

“No, I’m taking tomorrow off as well,” Edge said, almost surprising himself. If he checked with Alphys, perhaps she could see them sooner than tomorrow afternoon. He suspected the only reason she’d asked them to come in so late to begin with was because of his work.

Janice’s reaction was closer to shock, but she nodded. “I’ll handle it. Go home.” It was very close to scolding.

He gave her a small smile. “Thank you, I am.” Moments later, he was headed out to his car. It was tempting to text Stretch and let him know he would be home soon, but he decided against it.

Hopefully, it would be a nice surprise.

~~*~~

Tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[queen-scribbles]

On All Counts

For  @pillarspromptsweekly fill 53: Anniversary. This is... not as happy an anniversary as I was hoping for, but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

When Tavi didn’t show up for breakfast, Aloth knew exactly where to find her. He also knew to bring something for her to drink and that he would probably want to keep his distance when he found her. Today was not going to be a good day.

He was right on all counts. Despite the early hour, Tavi was already on the training grounds, beating the stuffing--literally--out of a very battered practice dummy. She’d clearly been at it for a while, too. Long enough for her hair--and a line down the back of her shirt--to be damp with sweat.

Aloth watched her for a moment, forearms braced against the railing, and then without preamble., “Perhaps it’s time you took a break.”

One of Tavi’s shoulders flinched, ever so slightly, but she didn’t turn around.  “Nah, I’m fine.”

“Tavi. You and I both know, today of all days, that’s not true,” he said, gentle but frank.

She stopped, hands hanging limp at her sides. After a pair of heartbeats, she sighed heavily and dropped the wooden practice blades at the dummy’s base.  “You win, Aloth.”

If he’d needed any more proof she was definitely not alright, there it was. Aloth knew better than to draw attention to that, and so instead wordlessly held out the waterskin he’d brought as she turned around.

“Thanks,” Tavi nodded breathlessly, crossing the space between them to take it. She leaned against the railing a foot or two downwind from him(Which, much as he loved her, Aloth appreciated) and took a long drink. And then another. She wiped her mouth with the heel of her hand, and then raked her fingers through her hair.

“So,” Aloth began, after a long moment of silently watching her rub the faint scars on her palms, “now that the fighting your memories portion of the morning is behind you, how do you want to spend the rest of the day?”

She shot him a weak but grateful smile and used the tail of her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead. “Not alone, that’s for fuckin’ sure. Maybe once I’m... not a mess, we can sit in the same room and do our own thing? I know you have a couple new spellbooks you wanted to go through, and I...” She sighed and looked down at her hands. “I need to carve something. Maybe another duck...”

“Tavi...”

Tavi shook her head. “I’ll be fine, city slicker. Thirty years have done a little to dull it. But it still hurts, an’ today I’m gonna let it.”

“Understandable,” he nodded. “I don’t mind, Tavi.” He stepped closer and rested one hand on her shoulder, feeling the lingering warmth of her exertion through her shirt. “Whatever I can do to help.”

She smiled with at least some of her usual mischief. “Aw, thanks, Corfiser. I should hug you for that.”

Aloth gave her a flat look. “Please don’t. Or, perhaps, save that for later.”

Tavi’s smile widened and she ran her fingers through her hair again, dramatically flicking off the sweat. “After I don’t smell like a long day’s work in the hot sun, y’mean? I think I can hold off that long.” She took another swig from the waterskin, mood sobering as she pushed away from the railing. “Seriously, though, Aloth, thank you.”

He nodded as he followed her back toward Brighthollow. “Of course.”

-o-

She hadn’t expected the bath to feel so good. She’d only been out there for an hour tops; it hadn’t been anywhere near the usual workout. It had been more emotion-driven than her usual regimen, though, which was a good way to burn through energy fast. Tavi sighed as she climbed out of the cooling water and reached for a towel. Time heals all wounds the saying went, but this one was proving stubborn. 

Tavi dressed, eschewing boots, and tried very hard not to let her thoughts drift a certain direction--Wonder if Mom would still have the flower shop--without much success. Grabbing a small block of wood and her favorite whittling knife, Tavi headed for Brighthollow’s library--formerly Kana’s room--figuring it was the most likely place to find Aloth and that he’d be waiting for her with his nose in a book.

She was right on all counts. Aloth was there, spellbooks for perusal stacked on the table next to him, reading what looked like a book on either Ixamitl or Readceras. “Sorry for for takin’ so long. It felt really blazin’ good.”

Aloth chuckled as he nudged a chair out for her. “I imagine so. You gave that training dummy quite a beating.”

Tavi barked a sharp laugh and dropped into the offered chair. “One of the healthier ways I’ve dealt with this anniversary, trust me. The first couple I got fuckin’ smashed the night before, hopin’ I’d stay passed out or at least drunk a good part of the day. And there was one I started a bar fight.... Three decades has given me plenty of time to develop better copin’ methods.” 

“I’ll say,” Aloth murmured, watching her turn the block of wood in her hands.  “What are you planning to make?”

Tavi stared at the block of wood rather than look him in the eye. “A duck, I told you that.”

He hesitated in the middle of opening one spellbook. “Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked, obviously choosing his words with care. “Given that you didn’t want to spend the day alone specifically so you don’t dwell too much.”

Now she looked at him. “I don’t recall specifyin’ the blazin’ reason, city slicker.”

“Do you really think I don’t know you at least that well, Tavi?” Aloth pointed out. “Also, you mentioned that as a reason last year. I figured it would similarly apply.”

“And you remembered?” Her knife slipped from its first cut, narrowly missing a fingertip. Shit, that would’ve been bad...

“That surprises you?” he returned.

“Considerin’ everything that’s happened--Thaos an’ Stalwart an’ the Eyeless an’ all--I figured it got forgotten for something more important.”

Aloth smiled slightly, smoothing the pages of his spellbook. “That assumes any of those things were or are more important.”

Tavi’s face warmed and she set down the block of wood for a second, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re too sweet sometimes, Corfiser,” she said frankly as she picked the wood back up. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’m here if you need me.” He turned his attention to his book, only to glance back up a moment later. “And, since you’re going to risk dwelling on them anyway, if you want to talk...”

She nodded, shifting her grip on the knife handle. “I’ll let you know.”

-o-

She made it an hour in, the duck’s head and bill roughly taking shape, before something made her flinch badly enough her knife skidded off the curve she was working and gouged her finger.

“Fuck,” she hissed sharply, before sucking on the wounded digit to slow the bleeding.

“Here, let me,’ Aloth said, pushing aside his book and reaching for her hand.

“It’s not bad,” Tavi muttered. She wiped the finger against her shirt before acquiescing. “I’m more mad at myself for gettin’ distracted than anything.”

“Distracted?” The cut really didn’t look bad; a small knick just below her knuckle that was already starting to bleed again. He was just used to Tavi being more careful and couldn’t help being concerned.

She flinched and wrinkled her nose as he rubbed away the blood. “I... started thinkin’ about my brother.”

“Ah.” To be expected. It was inevitable, really, in his opinion, with the anniversary that she marked today. He was only surprised she hadn’t been thinking about them again. (Maybe she had been.) They were both quiet while Tavi clumsily cut off a piece of her shirt to wrap around her finger and handed it to him. We do have an infirmary. “You didn’t need to-”

“I know,” Tavi interrupted, spreading her hand to make bandaging easier. “Force of habit.”

-o-

She watched him wrap the strip of fabric around her finger, far more dexterously than she would have managed, even using both hands. He tied the ends off with an almost impossibly small knot and let go of her hand. Tavi instead clasped his, running her thumb over his knuckles. 

“I ever tell you how much I like your hands, city slicker?” It was true, but in the moment it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from her memories.

From the look in his eye, Aloth knew it, too. But he humored her, because of course he did. “You may have mentioned something to that effect before, yes.”

Casius grinning triumphantly, glasses slightly crooked, as he finally mastered a spell. “Well, it’s still true.”

Aloth smiled and gently squeezed her fingers, careful of the injured one. “And I still appreciate it.”

Malachi throwing his head back in a laugh, warm and self-deprecating, as he flubbed the words to the song he’d been singing. Tavi bit her lip. “Good. That’s... good.”

“If I may,” Aloth began, still slightly hesitant to pry even after her many, many reassurances she never minded(not for him), “this year seems worse than last.”

She winced. Trust him to pick up on that. Pure wonder in Khellin’s eyes as he cradled a tiny kitten in his hands, the creature barely old enough to be held by kith. “They never got to fuckin’ grow up, Aloth.” She ran her free hand through her hair in a fierce, jerky motion. “The twins would’ve finally hit adulthood a couple months ago, and Khel.... Khel was just a fuckin’ kid. What kind of copperfucker-” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. Opening up to Aloth was one thing, and she was happy to do that. Unloading on him was completely different, and she wasn’t going to do that. Not about this. “Every year is the same old Hard but getting better and it just... hit me again this time how young they all were. Even my parents, they were... gods, they were barely my age now when they had me, so...” The words trailed off, their implication clear.

As if sensing how close she was to floundering, Aloth squeezed her hand again. “I know it’s hard,” he said softly, then paused. “If it would help... I believe I owe you a hug from earlier?”

Tavi laughed shakily. “Right on all counts. It is, you do, and it would.”

The two of them stood as one, releasing their clasped hands so Aloth could wrap his arms around her shoulders, and Tavi hers around his waist. She leaned into the hug, appreciating how close he held her, his hand rubbing her back.

Tavi’s gaze landed on the wooden block, Casius’ voice floating out of the past. “You haven’t called me duckling in forever, Tav.”

That’s because you’re dead, she retorted silently, even knowing the memory it came from. All of you, and I’ll never get you back. She turned and buried her face in the side of Aloth’s neck, her grip instinctively tightening. “I’m really glad I have you today,” she mumbled, the words muffled even further by his shirt. She leaned back far enough to meet his eye. “I mean, I”m always glad I have you, city slicker, I just... it’s extra nice on days like this.”

Aloth kissed her forehead. “I knew what you meant, Tavi.”

“Good.” She leaned into the hug for one last squeeze, then stepped back and picked up the half-carved duck. She was pretty sure she could finish it now. The ghosts were still there, probably always would be, but she wasn’t facing them alone. She snuck a glance at Aloth, his lips moving silently as he resumed reading the spellbook, and smiled to herself. Hard as it was, today would be a good day.

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

i was trying to come up with something fun and fluffy for either these two or Ederity, I swear.  But none of the ideas I got cooperated in the fleshing out stage. And then this struck, and it was more cooperative, so... hurt/comfort Taviloth it is, i guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh, and now that I’ve got them roughly nailed down, at the time of the fire...

Tavi’s parents were early-mid 80s

Tavi was 28

Casuis and Malachi were 19

Khellin was 13

SUFFER WITH ME

do you see why i decided to not kill khel?i’m not that mean

Also now I wanna have him show up at Caed Nua post-Deadfire so Tavi gets him back in canon but we’ll see

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #tavi illani #aloth corfiser #pillars of eternity #look i got a much worse idea that i promptly shoved in the closet #bc it would hurt too much to write #this is much better than that would have been trust me #taviloth #otp: third time's the charm

[mymelodyheart]

Starting OverChapter 6 ~The Hangover Cure~

Jamie switched off his phone and made some coffee. Joe and Geillis were starting to get impatient, and they wanted to speak to Claire, but she was still fast asleep.  Again!  Geillis had shrieked into his ears and threatened him if she didn't get Claire to the phone. After pacifying the madwoman on the other end of the line and reassuring them that all was well, they finally calmed down when he promised, he would make sure Claire called them up at some point during the day. 

Thinking about what transpired before Claire fell asleep in the back garden yesterday, Jamie knew he'd made a huge mistake, and the thought caused a pit to grow in his stomach.  What was I thinking?  He'd promise Joe to lay off acting on his attraction towards Claire, and what had he done? He'd kissed her. Now Joe's words had come back to haunt him, despite reminding himself repeatedly he'd only meant to prove a point. Although he'd never been the type of person to act on impulse, when it came to Claire, every common sense, self-discipline and logic seemed to fly straight out of the window. It was becoming more apparent and frequent, his reaction to her didn't fall within the bounds of normal.

Though guilt and culpability stung his conscience, he didn't regret kissing her. He was guilty, yes, but he had no regrets. It was supposed to be only a brief kiss, but the moment their lips touched, his instincts along with his testosterone had gone into overdrive, and everything else had faded into nothing. His entire universe had suddenly whittled down to the softness of the body beneath him, and the scent of wildflowers penetrating his senses, sucking the air out of his lungs. Her kiss was sweet, almost-virginal and passionate at the same time, unmarred by any motive of seduction but to give. It became his salvation and torment all at once, and he burned the memory into his brain for safekeeping for the times he would crave for something beautiful and whole. He ought to have known better of the ramifications after their first kiss in Lallybroch. But his obsession for her had only grown with time, clouding all reasons and logic. Jamie had thought, he had everything under control, but by the time he realised how wrong he was, it was too late. He was already far too intoxicated under her power.

It's true, he was used to attractive women, but what made Claire more appealing and irresistible was her understated beauty that stemmed from her lack of awareness of how truly beautiful she looked. She'd reminded him of an untamed filly when he'd caught a glimpse of her fieriness in Lallybroch. He had wanted to be the one to tame her with no intention of quashing her spirit, but it was becoming more apparent, Frank had been slowly suppressing that part of her over the years.

As it was, there were far too many guilts already residing in his head, starting with his family's expectations. And then there's his inability to commit to anything that wasn't related to rugby. The last thing he needed was adding more to the growing list of accountability. What was he even thinking, taking advantage of a woman in her vulnerable state? What was he hoping to achieve? A relationship? He wasn't even sure if he knew how to be in one. But he had sought her out, hadn't he? And now what? 

Last night Claire had held onto his hand with complete trust as they laid side by side under the open sky. It was a trust that didn't demand anything in return - it was simply given. And that made him even more determined to do what is right. There was no denying that he wanted her but not while Frank was in the picture. Claire had loved that man at some point for her to agree to marry him, but she hated the man he'd turned out to be. If she hadn't cared about Frank, she wouldn't have been drinking to forget.  Christ!  He hadn't even met the bastard, and already he hated him with passion. But Joe was right. What happened yesterday could not happen again until she was free. He wished they had met under different circumstances, but right now, he would take anything that was on offer as long as he could get to spend time with her. Whatever happened beyond that, he could worry about it later.

He had promised Claire last night he would be there when she woke up. Picking up the tray from the kitchen counter, he decided it was time to wake her up.

...........

Claire heard the door creak and grimaced when she rolled to her side. Her head felt like a cannonball that had knocked a thousand castle walls and her mouth like it had been stuffed with cotton wool.

"Good morning, Sassenach."

She buried her head in the pillow. "Urgh, go away."

Footsteps neared her bed, and then the mattress to her side dipped. Jamie's scent of aftershave, sunshine and coffee filled her nostrils. "I'm no' going away. I let ye sleep in yesterday, and ye slept all evening last night. C'mon, time to get up. It's a beautiful day."

"Let me be. You sound too chipper. I can't do chipper today. You're usually grumpy."

"Look who's talking?" he chuckled. "Let's not waste this day, Sassesanach. I made plans for us."

She managed to raise her head and opened one eye. "What plans?" Unconsciously, she touched her locks. Holy Mother of God, why does he have to look so good? I must look like a poodle.  His hair was still slightly damp from a shower and fell in unruly waves around his forehead. He looked like a walking advertisement for summer with his plain white t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and a brand new tan.

"Ye just have to wait and see." He winked at her and placed the small tray on the nightstand.

She sniffed and managed to sit up, momentarily forgetting the state of her morning appearance. "Oooh, do I smell coffee?" 

"Aye and here ...take these first." He handed her two paracetamols and crossed his arms to watch her, his lips twitching at the corner and amusement dancing in his eyes. 

She took the pills and popped them in her mouth. "What's so funny? And why are you looking at me like that for?" she mumbled.

"Nothing is funny. I like looking at ye. Ye look adorable first thing in the morning. Did ye know that?"

She eyed him suspiciously over the rim of her coffee mug. "Oh yeah? What do you want? You want me to make breakfast or something?" Frank rarely ever saw her morning look. She'd made sure of that when one time she'd slept in late, and he'd made a joke about her hair blocking the sun from the window.

"Maybe another time. I have pancake batter already done."

"Pancakes?" Her stomach growled.

"Aye, pancakes," he grinned. "Now that I have yer full attention, I meant to tell ye that I spoke to Joe yesterday, but I never got the chance after ye disappeared on me. And um ...he called up again this morning. He says yer uncle seems not to be too overly concerned about ye, but yer friends are. I promised ye'd call them today, but if ye're not up to it yet, I'll try and hold them back for a little while longer. "

Of course, Uncle Lamb was not worried. Growing up in archaeological sites, she was often left to her own devices. Her uncle rarely fussed over her. " She's a smart kid ...she'll be back,"  he used to say whenever she'd gone missing. 

She sighed. "Why are you doing this, Jamie?" Taking a sip of her coffee, she looked at him and wondered why he was in a good mood. She'd been living in denial for a whole day and a half, and sooner or later, she had to start picking up the pieces of her life. Beautiful as Cullen might be, Jamie was acting like they were in some sort of holiday, and they weren't. She was in serious trouble ...at least where her career was concerned.  Doesn't he have his own life to sort out? Sure, he's Joe's friend and may feel sort of responsible.   But he barely knew her. All of a sudden, the thought broke off and then she stopped. Memories from yesterday came rushing in, and horror washed over her.  Oh no! Bloody hell, not again!   Her recollection might be a bit foggy, but her body remembered the kiss and the press of his arousal between her thighs.

As if reading her thoughts, he spoke the words out loud. "Oh aye, about that kiss yesterday. Dinnae fash about it. We were both drunk, ye were sorta sad, and looking pretty and I wanted to prove a point to ye. Nae need to feel guilty about it, ok? I initiated it. And to answer yer question, I'm doing this because, as I've said before, I like ye."

Her breath hitched, and her mouth dropped open. "Oh ..." 

"And also, from what ye've told me, I think Frank talks a lot of codswallop." He stood up and picked up the tray. "Let's not be awkward about this, alright? I'll leave ye to get ready, and I'll start up the pan for breakfast."

"Y-yeah, fine. And Jamie?"

Halfway towards the door, he paused and turned around. "Aye?"

"How was it? You never told me."

"The kiss?" A wicked grin slowly spread across his face. "Ye're an ace kisser, Sassenach. Took me ages to fall asleep thinking about it."

Her heart did a somersault, and before it could do a double backflip, she stopped herself. "Right, thank you, I think," she muttered, dismissing Jamie with a wave of a hand as she scrambled out of bed. "I'll get ready. I shall see you in a bit." She kept her head down so he wouldn't see the smile and crimson starting to bloom on her face.

He laughed out loud and walked out the door.  Unbelievable! He always says the right things. Why am I even surprised? He's a potential player. He's been there, done that and he knows his way in and out.  Too bad, she was beginning to like him a lot also. Crush or no crush, she reminded herself to keep her head above water with Jamie. Men like him are always a magnet for beautiful women, and she didn't think she could live with that. Not that he would be interested in her in a romantic way. Maybe a fling but she'd never done flings, and she wasn't about to start that habit either.

Moments later, feeling refreshed dressed in shorts, shirt and sandals and her hair scooped up in a ponytail, she made her way to the kitchen. The table was already set, and there was a fresh mug of coffee waiting for her.

She slid into the chair and immediately dove into a plate of pancakes drizzled with raspberry sauce. "God Jamie this is so good," she mumbled in between bites. "You weren't kidding when you said your pancakes are to die for."

"Glad ye like it, Sassenach. Ye'll need plenty of energy today." He sat opposite her and sipped his coffee.

"Why? What are we doing today?"

"I rented a couple of bikes. We're going sightseeing."

She shot him a look, her cutleries clattering, as she let go of them and leaned back on the chair. "No way. I'm still suffering from a hangover. And besides, I don't do outdoor sports."

"Fresh air and movement will be good for yer hangover."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"I'm the doctor here. I say I should take it easy and get loads of fresh air while reading a good book out in the sun," she argued, defiantly crossing her arms across her chest.

"C'mon. It'll be fun. Where's yer sense of adventure?" Jamie challenged.  He's got the bloody nerve to look like he's holding on to his patience!

"Are you joking? Fun? I just recently left my groom at the altar. This isn't a time for fun."

"Aye, it is. Ye just saved yersel' from a lifetime of misery. You ought to be celebrating."

She blinked, pushed herself away from the table and got up. "I can't be dealing with this. Good luck with your adventure. I'm going back to bed."

He caught her by the waist and swung her around, his eyes settling on her lips. "Listen, Sassenach," he sighed, his long exhale of breath blowing a loose curl at her temple. Fascinated, she watched him tuck it behind her ear. "I'm sorry for pushing. I wasn't planning on riding long distances. We'll take wee breaks, I promise. It'll be good for me too. In fact, this trip has been really good for me because it stopped me from wallowing in my own shit. How about this? We'll ride into town and if ye're not enjoying yersel' we'll come back. How's that?"

Compromise! I like that.  She jerked her head up and looked into his eyes. There was no hint of amusement or cockiness lurking behind them. Just a questioning look and almost pleading. Suddenly she felt like a selfish, spoilt child. She almost forgot he had his own problems too and all he'd done was try to help. "God, Jamie. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I've been so engrossed with my own problems that I ..."

"Sssh, it's alright." He pulled her against him and hugged her. This was the second time in two days he'd done that. There was nothing sexual but gentleness with the touch, and it gave her a sense of well-being and security. If she wasn't careful, she could easily get used to it, and with the mess she was in, it could complicate matters. Mentally shaking away her thoughts, she gradually began to relax and laid her head against his chest. "Would ye like to call Joe or Geillis now?" he whispered against her ear.

She tilted her head back. "Not ready yet. Maybe later? After the ride?"

When his face broke into the most heart-stopping smile she'd ever seen, Claire decided that maybe, agreeing to go on a bike trip was worth it after all.

..........

It was the best day Claire had in a very long time. She was glad she'd agreed to take the bike trip with Jamie. They'd explored the town, walked along the beach with their shoes off, visited a castle, and now they're in a local restaurant finishing their bowl of Cullen Skink, a thick soup made of smoked haddock, potatoes and onions. It was an ideal dinner, as the temperature had dropped down. Even though it was summer, it could still get nippy at night in that part of Scotland, and she was thankful Jamie had remembered that and brought with him a couple of cardigans for them to wear in his rucksack.

Her thoughts drifted to Frank, and she was reminded how she'd almost forgotten how much fun it was to let the day guide you and to be silly and impulsive without being criticised and reprimanded every second. It was almost like she'd been freed from incarceration after a very long time.

Was lack of freedom what she really equated life with Frank? He'd never shouted or physically hurt her, and he'd reminded her often enough how much she meant to him. He justified his controlling ways by saying he did everything out of love, to make sure they had a strong, solid relationship. And he reckoned, because of it, they'd become a better version of themselves.

"Sassenach?" Jamie leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "Ye in there?"

"Sorry ...got distracted." She pushed her bowl away and decided it was time to discuss the mess she'd left behind in Edinburgh. "About Joe and Geillis ...did they say how bad it was?"

"No. But Geillis threatened me with all sorts of horrible things she'd do to me if I didn't make ye call them back. That woman is scary."

She winced. "I guess it's understandable. I left them a huge mess to deal with. I'm such a bloody coward."

"Don't ever say that again! If ye are a coward, ye wouldn't have climbed out that window and ye would have stayed behind and married Frank."

"I think I should go back." Her voice was barely a whisper, as panic began to sink in. "I can't let Joe and Geillis deal with it on their own. It's not their problem."

"Ye think? Look, ye cannae go back without a clear head. There will be accusations, questions and ye'd be ripe for Frank's manipulation, and ye might end up doing something ye'd later regret. Call Joe and Geillis. I'm sure they'd understand and would want the best for ye. Go back when ye're ready. But on yer own terms."

She buried her face into her trembling hands. "I know, it's just that I haven't done anything like this before. God, this is so scary."

"Take all the time ye need. Do something for yersel' for once. I ken I'm no' Joe or Geillis, but I promise ye, whatever ye choose I will stand by ye. And if ye do decide to see Frank, I'll go with ye."

"W-what about your life? You've put it on hold for me. What will your family say?"

"Dinna fash about my family. I'll explain everything to them. As for my life, I've put it on hold for a while now. And I'm just beginning to join the land of the living again. I was a total mess locked up in my apartment for a long time. So me helping ye is not purely a selfless act. I'm kinda doing this for mysel' too. So what ye'd say? If ye wish, we could go to Skye ...a change of scenery, if ye will. I have a few friends there."

Her eyes widened. "I can't do that. Everyone will hate me."

"Not the ones who matter, Sassenach. In fact, if ye call yer uncle Lamb now, he'd probably encourage ye to stay away for a while."

The thought was tempting, and Jamie was right. She wasn't ready to face Frank yet. It had been a liberating couple of days not to be restrained by petty worries and expectations, and responsibilities. Surely a few more days wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like they were doing anything illegal or running away from the law. She used to be spontaneous and adventurous until Frank curved that trait from her. Time to regain her old self back.

"Alright, let's do it," she breathed, her body shaking with excitement. "We'll call Joe and Geillis when we get back to the cottage and explain everything."

Jamie grinned, signalled for the bill and took her hand in his. "That's my lass."

The waiter came and stopped halfway from clearing their tables and gazed at her. "I'm sae sorry for staring, but ye look ever so familiar. I was just wondering if I know ye from somewhere."

Claire studied him and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't think so, but I do meet a lot of people at work. Unfortunately, I'm bad at remembering faces."

"I beg yer pardon for the intrusion."

"No problem at all," she smiled.

Jamie handed his credit card and waited until the waiter was out of earshot. "Another admirer? Like the one from the beach yesterday? What was his name again? Oh, aye, Tom."

She rolled her eyes and smacked his wrist. "He was sweet. Just a tad bit touchy for my liking."

"Touchy?" He raised a ruddy eyebrow. "If I hadnae come, ye would probably have agreed to go out for a coffee with him ...or cider."

She laughed out loud. "Perhaps. With my self-esteem in tatters, Tom asking me out would have been good for my ego."

Jamie frowned at her, but before he could utter a word, the waiter glided back, placed the bill down for his signature and smirked. "Ah ken now where I saw yer face. Ye're in the paper!"

An icy chill of trepidation coasted down her spine, and she stiffened. "Wh-what paper?"

"The Edinburgh Post. Ye're the runaway bride. Yer pic ..."

Jamie jumped up from the table, threw the signed receipt down and grabbed her hand. "Haud yer wheesht, ye wee daftie or I'll more than yank yer tip from ye. Understood?"

The waiter's eyes widened and glistened in fear. Realising his error, he nodded shakily. "Aye, aye. I-I'm sae sorry. I didnae mean to cause offence. I willnae say a word."

Jamie ignored the waiter and grabbed Claire's elbow and led her down the street. The fresh air washed over her, but her thoughts were spinning round and round, and she couldn't stop it long enough for her to breathe. Her breaths came in gasps, and she felt she was about to pass out.

"Bend over and put yer hands on yer knees, Sassenach." 

She heard Jamie speak, but he sounded so far away like he was speaking from a narrow tunnel. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to calm her racing heart while gasping for air. Ye're the runaway bride, the waiter had said. The words burned like acid in her guts, making her want to throw up. She reached out for Jamie's hand and tugged it. "I-I have to s-s-see it ..."

"Sassenach, please. I'll try to get us a lift and ..."

"NO! I have to see it now."

He gave her arms a tight squeeze, the pressure from his big hands cutting through her panic and anchoring her. "Stay put."

Wrapping her arms around her chest, she waited in the darkened street. She tried to concentrate on the music drifting from the restaurant and the giggling couple that walked past her. When Jamie returned with the newspaper, the worried expression in his eyes confirmed it was bad.

With shaking hands, she gingerly unfolded it and read the headline.

Edinburgh's Wedding Of The Year - It Went Off Without A Hitch

Her gaze landed first on her engagement photo. She was wearing an elegant cocktail dress during a charity event, and Frank was holding her hand and staring adoringly into her face. Though she smiled for the camera, her eyes looked blank.

The next photo was of Frank, exiting the church surrounded by guests protecting him from intrusion and reporters thrusting microphones in his face. He looked lost, spent and broken as if she'd ripped his heart out and stomped mercilessly on it.

The world began to spin again as she forced herself to scan over the article. Several phrases jumped out:

Philanthropist and renowned surgeon ditched at the altar by his own resident.

Some speculate the bride ran away with another lover.

Family and friends rally around the groom, refusing to make any official statements.

Reality descended heavily on her shoulders like a metal cloak, and her hope of freedom suddenly becoming only an unattainable dream. She had done the unthinkable, and now it's time to pay.

Claire turned to face Jamie, her voice sounding foreign to her ears. "Take me home."

"Sassenach, let's take a moment and talk about this ..."

She shook her head. "Show's over. Take me home, please."

He muttered a string of vile curses before nodding in agreement.

A couple of hours and several phone calls later, they were on their way back to Edinburgh, her fingers still clutching the newspaper.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

[siodymph]

Fiddauthor Request 1

Ok I got a fiddauthor request from @bananaquits “i love your fiddauthor fics, i'm so glad you're taking requests! maybe you could write something about their first kiss???”

I definitely can! This was a really sweet request and prompt and I hope you enjoy my take on Ford and Fidd’s first kiss!

And just so you know I’m taking fiddauthor requests all day today as well as tomorrow (august 4th) So don’t be shy if there’s any last-minute prompts you want to send my way!

You can read this fic under the cut or over on my AO3! Hope you enjoy!

word count: 1454

Spring semester at Backupsmore was winding to a close. Exams were in one week and everyone who wasn’t planning on staying for the summer was already packing up their dorms.

And while it hadn’t been what Stanford originally wanted he had to admit his freshmen year wasn’t all that bad either. His pre-credentials were easy and if he stayed in school for the summer semester he’d have enough credit hours to already wrap-up his AA. And if he kept up the pace he could be writing dissertations in only a few year! Sure it wasn’t his healthiest year. He’d become a bit of a shut-in here at school and his workload was a nightmare in itself, not to mention his job in the labs to make sure he broke as close to even as he could. But all this intensity and pressure would be worth it if he could get out of this school as fast as he could and start doing the things he actually wanted to do.

Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that even was yet…

He was doing some light reading, going through his chemistry text book, prepping himself for next week when he heard Fiddleford knock on the door. At least he was pretty sure it was Fiddleford. No one else ever stopped by his room besides his own roommate. And he recognized the light, rhythmic tapping Fiddleford always seemed to use.

“Door’s open!” Ford called out over his shoulder. And still not looking up from his book he heard Fiddleford open the door and step in. “Hi, Fidds.”

“Hi’ya Stanford!” Fiddleford called out, he seemed to be in a happy mood. But his voice went flat when he saw what Ford was doing. “Are you seriously trying to study?”

“I thought it would be worth the effort.” Stanford said, still not ready to put down his book and trying to absorb as much information on polypeptide chains as he still could. If he were honest, it felt like he was reading over the same line a couple times now.

“Worth the- You ain’t spent a day in your life actually studyin’ and you know it!”

It was true. Growing up Stanford had memorized things easily and passed most his classes without even trying. Sure he took notes and did assigned reading and work but he’d never actually taken the extra time to make flashcards or whatever people did to study. And most of his associate’s school work was going the same way. Still though, since all his records from this point forwards would be permanent and the first thing any school saw… “It never hurts to prepare ahead of time. Just in case I forgot anything from earlier this semester. Don’t you study?”

“Nah, I learned a long time ago pouring over books like that don’t help me a bit. They may work for other but it doesn’t really stick for me, ya know?” Fiddleford said.

“I can understand that.” Stanford replied. “But I at least want to try. I can’t afford to get cocky and have to retake everything over the summer. It’d bruise my GPA and waste my time!” And money, Stanford added silently. If he ever failed a class and needed to retake it who knew how Pa would react? Better to just not find out.

“If you have A’s in your classes now, it’s unlikely you’d do anything real bad on you finals. You’d have to get every single question wrong just to get a low C!”

That caught Ford off guard and looked up from his book. He saw Fiddleford was dressed up a little more colorful than normal, yellow “That can’t possibly be right.”

“You better believe it Ford. These exams are only 30% of our grades, and we already have pretty high averages. Don’t have anything to lose by taking the test.” Fiddleford said just a little smugly. “Honestly, I thought you would of done the math as soon as we got them syllabuses.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of that.” Stanford replied. He’d hadn’t even thought of doing that. Then again he hadn’t planned on getting by on just the bare-minimum alone so it wasn’t something he would have done anyway. Probably.

“So if I asked you to go with me to a concert, you’d say no? Too busy with all your school work.” Fiddleford said, falling down onto Stanford’s bed melodramatically.

Stanford spun around in his computer chair t look at him. “Concert?”

“Yeah, a couple groups here at school are doing this free gig over at the park. I was planning on going with the gang and thought you’d like to come too.” Fiddleford explained.

Stanford gazed down at his page of polypeptides and back at Fiddleford. It would be nice hanging out with Simon and Betty, Rick less so, and it might be fun going to a concert. He’d never gone to any before he started hanging out with Fiddleford more so he didn’t have much point of reference yet. But whenever Fiddleford dig drag him out to some social event he always ended up having a good time with Fidds, no matter what it was they were doing.

Not like he actually know how to study anyways.

So he got up from his desk, finally whittled down. “Ok. I’ll go!”

Fiddleford looked delighted as he hopped off of Stanford’s bed and grabbed him by the hand. “Perfect! It starts and half-an-hour so we better get down there with the others. Find a real nice spot!”

Stanford just nodded, following Fiddleford and being willingly dragged along. And he could already feel himself smiling. Honestly the man acted like a beacon to positive emotions sometimes, maybe something worth experimenting on.

~~~

Stanford, Fiddleford and their small group of friends claimed a spot up on the hill under an oak tree. They had a great view of the make-shift stage in the middle of the field and were far back enough that they could do their own thing without looking like asses. And Rick went on about long-distance sound waves, optimal positioning and acoustics. Stanford knew next to nothing about music but he took Rick’s word for now.

So the five of them had been sitting up there enjoying the evening as the sun set, and afterwards when everyone lit up torches and lamps to keep the concert going. Most of the music was the hippy-experimental sort of stuff Stanford didn’t give much thought to but Fiddleford adored it. He’d get this adorable awed look on his face as groups came on stage and sang ballads about freeing the mind or the cruelty of the world at war. And whenever he closed his eyes, body swaying freely with the music, Stanford couldn’t help but watch, infixed.

After being lab partners, acquaintances, and eventually becoming much closer friends Ford had come to really, really value Fiddleford’s friendship. He honestly had no idea wat he would have done if he hadn’t met Fiddleford. He’d definitely be a lot lonelier, more miserable too no doubt.

He was a great friend. He wasn’t just smart, he was wise. He held on to everything he learned, never wasted anything. And he was kind. One of the kindest people Stanford had ever met. He listened. He cared. When he looked at Stanford he never felt like he was being belittled or observed…

In between performances as each new band set up Fiddleford would pull out his banjo and begin strumming. He had the soft little smile on his face as he played. He looked so peaceful. There was a light breeze tussling his hair. Stanford couldn’t deny it. Whether he was hanging out in an open field playing a banjo like a new-age minstrel, or wearing safety goggles, a lab coat, surrounded by vials and beakers of acid, Fiddleford was beautiful.

When he caught Fiddleford’s gaze he couldn’t help but look back.

And then all at once, without thinking he found himself leaning forwards. And he was pressing his lips against Fiddlefords.

Then he realized what an idiot he was being and pushed himself away. Oh god, that had he just done?

Fiddleford had a strange look on his face. Oh no, oh no this was over. He’d have to transfer to a different school. What had he done?

“Hey, hun wait.” He felt a hand grab his arm.

“Fidds I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. I promise. Just-“

And then he was pulled back into a kiss.

It was a little weird feeling. Stanford had no idea what he was even doing. But even when he felt like he was fumbling or awkward and sloppy, Fiddleford was there. And he couldn’t have felt happier.

#fiddauthor week four #fiddauthor week #fiddauthor #request #bananaquits

[forextraderpost]

Trading Psychology & Emotional Intelligence for Options Traders

Greed, fear, FOMO, anxiety, panic, over-confidence, stubbornness, impatience. These are just a few of the many emotional and mental states that traders find themselves in. And while we cannot avoid these emotions and thought processes, we can learn to manage them through emotional intelligence. This week’s podcast was curated to help you learn how to more effectively recognize and manage the dozens of emotional and cognitive responses you’ll encounter in your trading career.

As traders, while we cannot avoid negative emotions and thought processes while trading, we can learn to manage them by developing higher emotional intelligence.

Today’s show is about trading psychology and how to develop emotional intelligence. This show is designed to equip you to recognize and manage the dozens of emotional and cognitive responses that you’re going to come across in your trading career.

You’ll learn to make better, non-subjective decisions so you’re not being thrown around by your emotions, the market, and things you hear in the news, and become a more consistent and profitable trader.

A Lesson: Experiences can only be judged in hindsight

We cannot recognize the difference between positive and negative experiences when we’re in the moment.

While we might experience negative emotions during an experience, that experience that felt negative can turn out to have positive consequences for us.

2020’s market swings are an example of this.

The Difference Between EQ and IQ

Intellectual intelligence (IQ) is all about being able to process data, remember, and make sound, rational decisions.

Emotional intelligence (EQ) is your ability to process emotions that you feel and that others in your sphere of influence feel because of the energy they give off.

As traders, the market and related media sources give off a kind of emotional energy that can affect us emotionally. If we are bad at processing this emotional energy, we will be negatively affected by market swings and make poor decisions.

EQ and IQ are not the same; too much intellectual intelligence without enough emotional intelligence can be a recipe for disaster.

The Example of Astronaut Lisa Nowak (High IQ/Low EQ)

Lisa Nowak was an astronaut that had high IQ but poor EQ. This was proved by the story where she drove 900 miles in a diaper to attack her husband’s lover.

Her intelligent, rational decision making is evident in her wearing a diaper so she could make the journey quicker. But, the decision to do the proves that you can be incredibly smart, but if you let your emotions get the best of you, make poor choices.

The Example of Trader Peter Brandt (High IQ/High EQ)

One of Peter Brandt’s talents is the IQ-related task of charting patterns. He got listener questions during a webinar where people wanted to know the perfect entry, trigger, or chart pattern.

His answer was there’s almost no edge in doing all of this charting work. Instead, what matters is how you manage a trade once you get into it, manage your emotions around that trade, and properly manage your capital and risk.

Peter Brandt is really good at the rational side of his craft. Still, he stresses the emotional capital management side while having the ability to be firm, consistent, predictive, and understanding about how one’s emotions are going to play out after making a trade.

How to Develop Higher Emotional Intelligence

You have to practice self-awareness. Some of what we do is deliberate, and some of what we do is subconscious.

The first step in practicing self-awareness is to understand why you’re doing something, whether it’s on autopilot or deliberate.

The second step is asking yourself how you feel about doing a particular thing in the way you do it.

The third step is finding out what you don’t know yet about yourself, i.e., how you would respond to a situation you have not been in yet. Developing a game plan for future events can help you not be caught off guard when they happen.

If you have a level of self-awareness, you know why you’re doing something, what you’re doing, and how it’s making you feel. When you’re practicing these mental models of future scenarios, you get to a relative level of calm.

Accept all the emotions that come in. Rather than being consumed and having a new emotional reaction to the emotion itself, watch them as you watch a river, ask why you’re feeling this way, and label it. Don’t be consumed by the emotion or try to suppress it. In this way, you can understand how you’re reacting a little better and make more rational decisions than just letting the emotion take control of what you’re doing.

As parents, it is our job not to suppress our children’s emotions but rather give them tools to recognize them for what they are and a safe space to feel them and let them out.

As traders, if our parents didn’t help us in this way, we might not have the tools to do this ourselves. Often, traders suppress their emotions, and then they build up until an explosion happens.

Figure out what you can control in the moment. Don’t react emotionally to things you can’t control.

There are some things you can control and others you have zero control over.

In politics, one can get mad about things that happen and at the chain reactions that the event caused.

The market is similar where it is easy to get mad about things that happen, things that happened because of that first thing, or things happening differently than what we predicted.

Saying, ‘If only this or that didn’t happen,’ is a form of using things we can’t control (exterior events) as a scapegoat for the negative effects something we can control (our responses) had on us.

Turn values into bumper guards. Use your values as if they were bumper lanes as you develop your EQ.

Have a growth mindset, the will to see the lessons in scenarios, and a desire to embrace calm can help you keep an even keel rather than get derailed during emotionally charged trading moments.

Remember that your future responses to triggers don’t have to be the same as past ones.

You have to build a constructive feedback loop.

Continuously evaluate and revaluate your performance as you go. Reviewing your past actions and comparing them to present actions can give you a lot of insight into how to respond in the future.

Write down possible moves to make and review them later. In the time between writing and reviewing, your subconscious is whittling away at the question.

Kirk has learned to value his time and doesn’t accept by default any invitation for meetings. Rather he snoozes things for five days, and if they still seem important after that, he accepts the invitation.

You are not your thoughts. You are your actions.

We all have terrible, negative thoughts, but, if we don’t act on them, they don’t define who we are.

Realizing this can make uncomfortable thoughts and emotions far easier to accept and help you not be negatively affected by these thoughts.

If you don’t feel like going to the gym but still go anyway, you reap the rewards of the action and make it a part of who you are. The negative thoughts then had no effect on what defined you in that moment.

You are not your thoughts, so don’t let your emotions manifest into your trading activity. Otherwise, you’ll fall into the classic fear, sell, greed, buy pattern.

Knowing, doing, being, then mastery. You have to know what you want to do. Then you have to do it in order to become something. Only then you can master it.

Before being good at something, you have to start, realize you won’t be good immediately, and do all the necessary steps to learn the necessary things to be able to start doing what it is you want to do. Only then, through practice, will you see your skill grow. If you can’t trust this process and don’t have patience, you’ll succumb to your emotions and quit.

People get an idea in their head and then try to inhabit it immediately. For example, they buy expensive running gear because they want to be a runner before doing the training required to justify that expense. They then start running, realize it’s harder than donning an outfit and end up quitting. They skipped some steps needed to be a runner – the ‘doing’ part!

Here is Mark Manson’s article on developing emotional intelligence skills: 5 Skills To Help You Develop Emotional Intelligence

A Final Thought: Whatever you resist in life persists by the virtue of that resistance.

These small, seemingly inconsequential things that we don’t do just sit and grow in a dark place in our mind and fester until they become unbearable.

If you don’t address these thoughts and figure out how they might impact your trading, investing, or psychology, you’ll become like Lisa Nowak and do the trading equivalent of driving 900 miles in a diaper to attack somebody!

Option Trader Q&A w/ Berto

Trader Q&A is our favorite segment of the show because we get to hear from one of our community members and help answer their questions live on the air. Today’s question comes from Berto:

Hi, Kirk. My name is Berto from Colombia, and my question is when setting up the automatic closing order for an Iron Condor or Iron Butterfly at profit target of 50%, for example, do I have to set a single closing order for puts and calls or can I create separate closing orders, one for the put and another one for the call, both at 50% of the profit? Which one is better? I’m finding your extreme commitment very inspirational, so thanks a lot for that.

Remember, if you’d like to get your question answered here on the podcast or LIVE on Facebook & Periscope, head over to OptionAlpha.com/ASK and click the big red record button in the middle of the screen and leave me a private voicemail. There’s no software to download or install and it’s incredibly easy.

Thank You for Listening!

I’m humbled that you took the time out of your day to listen to our show, and I never take that for granted. If you have any tips, suggestions or comments about this episode or topics you’d like to hear me cover, just add your thoughts below in the comment section.

Want automatic updates when new shows go live? Subscribe to the Option Alpha Podcast on iTunes, Google Play, SoundCloud, iHeart Radio or Stitcher right now before you forget – it’s fast and easy.

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Please kindly consider taking just 60-seconds to leave an honest Review on iTunes for The Option Alpha Podcast. Ratings and reviews are extremely helpful and greatly appreciated. They do matter in the rankings of the show, and I read each and every one of them!

Also, if you think someone else in your social circle could benefit from the topic covered today, please share the show using the social media buttons you see. This helps spread the word about what we are trying to accomplish here at Option Alpha, and personal referrals like this always have the greatest impact.

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