horned rimmed glasses

Sugar? Yes, Please (M)

Summary: SugarDaddy!Yoongi AU. You’re a college student with an aspiration for journalism, but the traumatic experience of being broke and lonely gives you an opportunity to try out something new: become a Sugar Baby.
Genre: Smut 
Words: 8,216
Warnings: Daddy kink, age difference
A/N: This was originally supposed to be separated into two parts, but I figured just screw it; we’re all thirsty for Yoongi, so I’ll keep it all in one. Please enjoy this monster of a fic because it took me literal days and I am so done with myself.

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A re-viewing of The Talented Mr. Ripley, and I am quite undone at how divine it still is. Sun-kissed Ischian vistas, mid-century metropolitan ennui, pulsing Henry Scott Tuke-esque homoeroticism, glacial Hitchcock elegance, morning lolling about in piazza cafes and afternoons idling in the Musei Capitolini, typewriters and telegrams, capricious cruelty and horn-rimmed glasses, existential decadence amongst the ruins of iconoclastic piety, the curve of Matt Damon’s mouth (and Bosie-incarnate that is young Jude Law), and a bust of Hadrian as a murder weapon. It is, dare I say, my ‘aesthetic’?

Flashes (Part 2)

Summary: Soulmate AU. “The fault, dear Brutus is not in our stars, / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” - William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,831

Warnings: language, fluff, wishful thinking, angst, sadness, borderline depression, sarcasm, discrimination, tw: terrible family relations, shunning

A/N: Well, I did it…at least I tried. The lovely @minervaem challenged me (sort of) to do an angsty story. I’m warning you now, it’s not gonna be pretty.

Lots of reader backstory here. Hopefully it’s not boring!

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Originally posted by heartsnmagic

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In the Arms of Justice Pt. 16 (Cop!Bucky Drabble Series)

Characters: reader x Detective Barnes, Natasha, Rumlow. 

Summary: Reader is a witness to a crime, tying her to the investigation as well as the police involved. She never would have guessed how that one night would continue to change her life years later.

Warnings: Some anxiety, also blood, murder, weapon and death mentions (none of it graphic), violence against women, gritty police drama tv show kind of feel.

Word Count: 1054

Tags at the bottom 

A/N: I’M BACK, BABY. A thousand apologies that it took so long for me to find my groove and stop being afraid of this fic. heh. I finally tackled it and miraculously, I’m in love with it again! Detective Barnes is back and I’m so excited for what’s ahead. :D Part 17 will be posted Friday, May 19! 

<<<Part 15  Part 16   Part 17>>>  

In the Arms of Justice Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Originally posted by imagine-that-marvel

Previously:

Entering her office once again, Natasha stepped forward.

“Y/N, this is Mr. Kopecky. His aunt and uncle immigrated from the Czech Republic and he would like to keep them here legally.”

The man was facing away from you, reading the degrees and certificates adorning the esteemed lawyer’s office wall.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kope…”

As he turned your way, you lost all power of speech, ice freezing in your veins. 

___________________

You remained frozen in place, eyes transfixed on the man who held a knife at your throat two nights ago and now haunted your dreams. Although, if you had passed him on the street you might not have recognized him. Instead of the bleach-blond hair and a clean shaven face, he now wore a knitted cap over a bald head with a few days’ stubble dotting his chin. Horn-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose and he wore khaki trousers with a long-sleeved black sweater and dress shoes. If it weren’t for the cold eyes fixed on yours and the scar on his left cheek, you could have sworn it wasn’t the same man.

Light bruising was visible under his eyes, you noticed as he took a few steps forward. His nose might not have been broken by your head striking it, but you definitely left your mark. Seeing him approach from across the room, you finally thawed enough to stumble to Natasha’s side.

“H-how did he get in here?” you whispered to her, your eyes never leaving his face.

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tongue tied

Originally posted by ksjknj

19 “can I hold your hand?” and 37 “can I kiss you? + namjoon + harry potter au

part of a request from anon for the 100 ways to say ily drabble game!

➾ Summary: Namjoon is down with a very unique curse, but it turns out to be a blessing in disguise. 

➾ word count: 2.6k, fluff


“_____, it’s Namjoon, again.” Jimin’s frantic voice lights up your fireplace, and you stop in the middle of your essay, quill poised in the air. You really, really have to finish this last sentence before getting distracted, but the growing heat of the flames emanating from the fireplace draws your attention insistently.

“I swear, what is it this time?” You turn to face the brief outline of Jimin’s face in the flames, and even though it’s blurry due to each and every leap of the embers, concern is etched deeply into the Hufflepuff’s features.

“There’s no time, we’re in Potions now! Hurry, please!!!” The flames die down before you have a chance to protest, to ask if this is really a life or death issue. Instead you heave a sigh and gather your blue robe around your shoulders, already having an inkling of the disaster that lay ahead. Namjoon and Potions is not a good combination, you’d learned over the past 4 years. He may be the brightest wizard of his age, excelling in topics like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but throw him an intensive hands on subject like Potions and Kim Namjoon is equivalent to a troll in a china shop.

In fact, he’s so bad at Potions that he got held back a year, so he’s the only fifth year student taking Potions at fourth year level. As you start to near the dungeons where the Potions classrooms are, you hear a boisterous voice vehemently protest against a chorus of accusations, and you already know even before entering that Jeon Jeongguk has a part to play in this mess. Bracing yourself for the ordeal ahead, you fling open the heavy wooden doors and immediately duck for cover. 

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Castiel Imagine

Imagine: Castiel getting distracted while grocery shopping with you. (Warning: Adult/18+ readers only - drabble contains references to NSFW themes.)

You followed the trail of tears – tears of the unfortunate beleaguered grocery store staff – in your search for the missing angel.

Although you had a good laugh, and still did thinking about it now, Castiel had not appreciated being summoned over the intercom loudspeaker like a lost child on the previous week’s trip. For the wrongful hurt to his pride, he endeavored to ignore you for the rest of that particular evening, pretending to be engrossed in a documentary about the manufacture of cheese. In retrospect, you couldn’t actually be certain he wasn’t deeply interested in the topic. He managed, that night, to stoically withhold his affections until you kissed the sensitive nape of his neck just so, lips and warm breath tickling his ear as you whispered in highly specific detail the not wholly unpleasant physical punishment warranted to wandering angels. The wave of arousal surging within his vessel upon perceiving your suggestion betrayed his celestially feigned lack of interest and he willingly submitted to your reprimand with an unconvincingly remorseful gravel-edged promise uttered by him as you lay together in a tangle of limbs and sheets, sweat-soaked and gasping, never to wander off again.

You passed aisle 4B now, noting the shattered jar of sliced pickles splattered and seeping in all directions, pale green juice being sluiced around ineffectively by a grumbling horn-rimmed glasses wearing man in a jaunty striped red vest bearing the market’s embroidered logo on the upper pocket and the word MANAGER in bold. You shrugged sympathetically when he glanced up and he gestured to the far wall of the store. This practically affirmed to you Dean’s belief that the angel’s picture, unshaven strong jaw and brilliant blue eyes displayed in both portrait and profile, was plastered in warning of a menace-at-large in grocery break rooms across the beautiful state of Kansas and perhaps beyond. You imagined there probably existed training exercises wherein the staff scrambled SWAT-style, brooms and mops at the ready to contend with every possible mess he might create, with complex contingency plans for the horribly unfathomable aftermath. Reinforcements were likely summoned with a tri-county APB to assist in the reorganization of the disheveled shelves upon his happy departure.

Approaching the indicated far wall, the wheel of your cart twisting squeakily in protest all the way, you discovered Castiel standing mid-aisle, basket of sundries forgotten at his feet, intently perusing a magazine. “What are you reading?” It was a redundant question. You could clearly see he held aloft the latest issue of the women’s magazine Cosmopolitan.

Unsurprised given the noise accompanying your arrival, he focused quizzically on you over the glossy pages, eyes narrowing askance, asking seriously, “Did you know there are five types of female orgasm?”

An elderly grey-haired woman scanning the greeting cards at the opposite end of the aisle coughed and shot him a rheumy castigating glare. A young mother pushing past with a stroller quickly redirected her momentum to flee toward the hot yeasty scent drifting from the bakery section. The buxom middle-aged employee kneeling to reinstate order amid the paper products in the angel’s wake looked up at you with a sensual simpering feminine smile, evidently approving of Castiel’s interest in the matter and thinking you a very lucky woman indeed.

Your eyes widened, cheeks staining with the rosy tint of profound mortification. This was surely his payback for the intercom incident.

Those luminous blue pools of light he possessed for eyes beamed expectantly at you, expression punctuated innocently with the endearing heart-melting puppy-dog tilt to his chin he had long ago learned to wield as a formidable weapon in human interaction.

Mouth gaping, tongue thick and velvety, your throat cracked dryly as you answered, “Did you know that there are at least a thousand different ways to embarrass your girlfriend in public and you seem to be an expert at every single one of them.”

Undaunted by your reaction, a small satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he closed the article and bent to slip the magazine in his basket. The seraph smugly and silently predicted that odds were in his favor that he’d be needing it very shortly for reference.

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The History of Emo Fashion

Hey if you ever thought “where tf did emos come from???” then here you go. I decided to do some research on this useless information rather than do homework!

I’m sorry this is so long for some reason the “read more” thing won’t work.

2000’s

Although emo is commonly mistaken for goth today, it didn’t originally come from goth. Emo was originally described as “geek chic” and was popular among the nerdy crowd. Bright v-neck sweaters, white dress shirts, fitted jeans, and horn-rimmed glasses were worn for the emo look. For those going for a slightly edgier look; hair was dyed black, tight t shirts, and darker make up (for girls, boys didn’t wear makeup quite yet) were worn.


As you can see from the magazine cover above, the 2000’s emo actually looks more like 2010’s hipsters, which I kind of find hilarious.


2005

During the mid-2000’s emo started becoming mainstream, and that’s when it started becoming more of a dark alternative look.

Emo fashion now included skinny jeans, tight band t shirts, studded belts, fingerless gloves (sometimes with bright colours),converse & vans, and black wrist bands. The rim-horned glasses remained in style and some still wore v-neck sweaters, but they were no longer in bright colours. Emo hair was still dyed black, but now came with large bangs that swooped down and covered half or more of the face.



2010

Around 2008, 2009, and 2010 emo fashion became a lot more exaggerated. Makeup became darker and thicker, hair became larger with different colours added, and suddenly everyone became obsessed with checkers and stripes.

Because it had been popular for a couple of years already, people started getting a lot more creative. Converse shoes that went up to your knees, hair you thought only anime could achieve, plus some of the original geeky things were coming back (like ties and fedoras).



2015

Around 2015, emo fashion started looking more clean and less all over the place.

Hair being dyed one or more unsual colours, makeup was less messy and based more on mainstream trends (winged eyeliner, thick arvhed eyebrows, etc.), and by then emo kind of branched off it’s own unofficial sub genres.



And there you have it! That’s pretty much how emo fashion evolved through out the years.

anonymous asked:

I get you man, but I also see your idea of modern feminism. You always share these memes of the women with dyed hair and the horn-rimmed glasses screaming, ok ha ha very good, but you think that the hundreds of thousands of women that marched globally last month are all like that?

I’m sure they aren’t, but when you look at both academic and mainstream popular feminism you see a lot of misinformation. The falsehoods that come from the movement get distilled down and spread. I think most of those women believe we live in a patriarchy and that they’re oppressed. I think that most of those women believe that men are born with some inherent advantage in society. I think the majority of those women believe we live in a rape culture. I’m sure the majority of those women believe in the wage gap. I could go on.

That’s a problem in my eyes. None of these things are true but the fact that so many people believe that they are is more than a little disconcerting. I don’t feel bad for speaking out against these falsehoods and I’ll continue to do so.

Top tier diva names

Gladys Knight - Gladys is like a classic lunch lady name but together with Knight I think the juxtaposition really elevates the whole name. your gentle elderly lunch lady Gladys plus the martial Knight. its a beautiful name, one of my favorites. Since I love the surname Knight so much, a mention also to Jean Knight, also a strong name, and whoever else is named Knight

Aretha Franklin - I dont know if appraising this name can be separated from its reputation but I just feel a power emanating from it. Aretha is a unique name and then Franklin, a la Franklin D. Roosevelt, Benjamin Franklin, adds this horn-rimmed-glasses sturdy statesman air to it. Another great name

Minnie Riperton - This name is just fantastic because Minnie is the cutest name you could think of, borderline twee. Minnie for Minnie Mouse, or miniature in miniature, very appropriate for the sweet woman with flowers in her hair and whistles everywhere.. but then suddenly RIPERTON hits you its aggressive and unexpected and more great contrast

Celia Cruz - The two Cs bring symmetry but the different pronunciations of the letter keep the name flowing. I also just really like the sound of the surname Cruz, and the look of the letter Z in a name

Selena - I think picking a mononym is cheating because they’re inherently catchy anyway (e.g. I will omit Beyoncé, Rihanna, Sade, Shakira, etc. from this list because mononyms are just cool) but Selena is an exceptionally good mononym because its so classic to go with her combination of old-school and modern sounds and her classic look. Selena the singing moon

Etta James - simple but very very good name as with Aretha combines a solid given name with a more masculine surname that just sound excellent and powerful together

Janet Jackson - alliteration AND assonance. hello!

Billie Holiday - an ambiguously gendered given name plus a real noun for the surname. A fantastic, winning combination

Donna Summer - again, the two syllable given name, real noun surname. 10/10! And on top of that I think “summer” pithily captures the heat of her music and the disco era

Celine Dion - Now im conflicted about this one because it rolls off the tongue like I can’t think of a simile but something really smooth and rolly, but on the other hand it’s French and I hate French

Chaka Khan - I think its nearly always a winner to have a real title in your name a la Knight or Khan. Very good name because it’s a concise three syllables and incorporates the underappreciated K-vowel sound not once but twice, and with internal rhyme on top of that

Mid tier diva names

Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Diana Ross, Tina Turner, Natalie Cole, many others - I grouped these together because they’re not bad names but they also could sound like regular woman on the street names compared to the prodigious talent (“[Diana]… is talented sometimes”) and immense personality of the women they are each attached to. But sometimes that’s better. Allow your work to speak for itself I suppose

Mary J. Blige - I think this is a good name actually but I think it comes down to the J. The J. adds a Sriracha-like kick between a normal, pretty name and the cool, cutting surname Blige, but I knocked the name down to this tier because sometimes people say it “Blidge” and one time Madonna spelled it Blidge and I always think about that now when I see the name, and Blidge is not good sounding

Christina Aguilera - Im conflicted about this name; the obvious Peninsular source of the surname makes it sound pretty cool and it probably has something to do with eagles, and eagles are cool, but on the other hand taken as a whole it sounds something like her singing: many syllables that may not be logically or pleasingly spaced and ordered

Britney Spears - I think this should sound cool but when I think of Spears I just think of pickle spears. 

Roberta Flack - Roberta is a great given name. Also, her middle name is Cleopatra. But Flack/Flak carries such a negative connotation it weighs down the rest of the name. Also speaking of Flak, Roberta Flack has an entire section on her Wikipedia page entitled “Critical reputation” that is various critics dragging her for being boring

Lesser tier diva names

Most successful singers have at least mid tier level names so most of these women aren’t like mega stars like most of the above, otherwise I couldn’t think of any names

Angela Winbush - I just think anything with -bush in the name is an inelegant stage name. Bushes arent generally elegant, trees >

Patrice Rushen - cool individual elements but together, very clunky to get out of the mouth it is like your tongue has to do a U-turn

Jennifer Lopez - J Lo can’t sing!!!!!

Phyllis Hyman - not to be the kid that laughs in class at the number 69 but Hyman is not a good surname and according to Wikipedia its sometimes a derivation of the Hebrew Chai and Idk how when or why it became Hymen

Angela Bofill - I just think Bofill is not a great surname for a musical act because Bo- is a clumsy first syllable and the following syllable has to make or break it and -fill is just not the syllable to make it

anonymous asked:

everybody is getting pumped for christmas sterek, i was wondering if you had any halloween sterek recs?

  • borders and horizon lines by magneticwave (T, 15k) “Let me do this nice thing for you, Derek, no strings attached,” said nobody ever.
  • Always the Sidekick, Never the Superhero by mirrorkill (E, 45k) Yup. Stiles has successfully managed to convince himself that nothing is worth the indignity of the costume and he’s reaching to pull the skintight outfit over his head when his phone chimes. He looks down. Don’t even think about it, Stilinski. (Wherein Stiles wears spandex, Derek does too, and “convince” doesn’t mean what Lydia thinks it means.)
  • untitled by halekingsourwolf (Not Rated, 2k) Stiles catches Derek eyeing the poster and immediately goes on high alert. “Crap, don’t tell me the haunted hayride’s actually gonna be haunted.”
  • In This Town We Call Home by paintedrecs (M, 10k)  Stiles has always loved Halloween; in the Stilinski-Hale household, it’s officially, no question, his holiday. (Derek can have Christmas, with its lights and cheerful decorations and prickly-needled trees.) This year, though, their daughter’s decided to dress up as Little Red Riding Hood - and there’s really only one choice to play the wolf. The question is: will Derek agree to wear horn-rimmed glasses and a poor excuse for a robe all night? And what’s Stiles’s role in this family outing?
  • Triple Shot Pumpkin Spice Latte by coffeeinallcaps (E, 20k) ”For two years, Stiles had very much enjoyed his position as Guidance Counselor at his old college. The pay was all right, the students who came to see him were interesting, and his work was challenging and diverse. …Or so it used to be, before some guy named Professor Hale joined the staff.” AU in which guidance counselor Stiles has to deal with all the students crushing on the elusive and infuriating Professor Hale. This was meant to be a light-hearted winter fic, but some emotional angst slipped in here and there.
  • You’re The One(sie) for Me by mikkimouse (T, 8k) Stiles buys Halloween costumes online and badgers Derek into wearing one for a party at the Preserve, because they’re friends now and friends do those kinds of things. It’s all fun and games until he and Derek turn into their costumes. Stiles probably should have done a little more research on the seller.
  • you scare me (in a good way)  by pr1nc3ssp34ch (G, 4k) Turns out Derek Hale is a massive dork. Stiles has no idea what to do with this adorable information.
  • The Hale Pumpkin Farm Patch by thepsychicclam (Not Rated, 4k) “If you treated all the customers that way, you’d sell five times as many pumpkins.” Derek stands and glares at Laura. She’s got her arms crossed, sleeves rolled up to her elbows despite the cold air. “I don’t like people,” Derek growls. “Those two girls are people.” “I don’t like big people.”

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ok look. i know there’s this fandom-wide idea of annabeth being super organized in contrast to percy’s, well, percy-ness, but here’s the thing:

annabeth chase is a messy ass bitch.

she’s so smart, and so creative but she gets so distracted so easily so she’ll start a sketch for one building or statue or whatever, and then immediately toss that paper aside in favor of a new, better idea. and then again and again.

and we all know that she has glasses. like no doubt about it. she has this huge horn-rimmed reading glasses that percy likes to steal, a lot of times she won’t even notice them slipping down her nose until they very nearly fall off her face.

it’s very rare that she brushes her hair: if it poses any sort of difficulty in the morning, she just tosses it up on a rat nest of a bun or ponytail that she probably either did sleep in or will sleep in.

all of her papers are everywhere in her backpack; she tried to stay organized with folders, but all of her assignments and what not ended up outside the folders, floating around in her bag in an order she can figure out.

that’s all i got for today, just your friendly announcement that annabeth is a messy ass bitch.

okay yes but imagine that mr. curtis had these black, horn-rimmed reading glasses he kept on his bedside stand.

imagine darry going to clean out the room, and finding them. he decides to try them on for size and ends up forgetting he had them on as he shuffled through his parents’ belongings.

imagine a close relative of the curtis family finding him sitting cross-legged on the floor, doing just that. when darry finally looks up, pushing the glasses further up the bridge of his nose, they get all dewy-eyed.

“my god, you look just like him.”

Just A Girl in Arkham (Jerome x reader) Part 1

Word Count: 1784
Warnings: nope, just you meeting Jerome in Arkham.
A/N: Ok peeps, I’m probably gonna do a part two with the Galavans, and breaking out, and all that. Let me know what you think (not my gif)

Originally posted by fallenangelia

 You sighed heavily as a creaking from the other side of your cell woke you up. You heard the rustling movements of the guards coming towards you, but you didn’t bother moving. Strong hands grabbed each of your arms and harshly pulled you to your feet, and you let them. You really couldn’t do much else, seeing as they had you in a straight jacket.
 Smiling, you looked over at the guard on your right. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” You asked him, not expecting an answer. He looked at you in disgust as he helped lead you out of the small cell and up the stairs, out of the basement. They took you down the hall to the ‘patient-doctor-sessions’ room. One nurse trailed behind your group, emergency sedatives in hand. When you got to the therapy room, if you could even call it that, she scurried forward and opened the door. The guards shoved you inside, one staying by the door, the other forcing you to sit and cuffing your ankles to your chair. They retreated quickly, the nurse informing you in a weak tone that your doctor would be there soon.
 Once the door closed, you began humming. It was an odd song, but it was the one that had been playing when you’d shoved your older brother out the window of your fifth story apartment. You sighed happily thinking of it. He was always awful to you. He brought girls home every night, barley went to work enough to support you, and he often hit you when he got angry or drunk.
  You were so lost in your happy memory, you didn’t register the door opening, or the doctor walking in. You did, however, snap out of your thoughts when the chair opposite yours scraped against the floor so someone could sit there. You looked up to see your doctor.
 He was a very short, very trusting little old man. Just the type you could manipulate without much effort. His face held round horn rimmed glasses, and his white coat barley fit around his fat body.
 He smiled at you as he sat. Pulling out your file and turning to your current progress page, he began to list off everything you’d been diagnosed with.   “Patient Y/n L/n, diagnosed as a psychopath, and in extension suffering from alexithymia, along with narcissistic personality disorder, insomnia, and a severe case of pyromania.” He looked up at you. “That’s quite a resume.”
 “Aww, glad you like me, Doc.” You said indifferently. He sighed and began to ask you questions.
 “So, Y/n, tell me how you’ve been feeling this week,” he said kindly. You made a show of thinking for a moment before answering.
 “I feel…..better. My head feels clearer.” You said carefully. He nodded happily.
 “Good, good. And about the incident two months ago?” He was, of course, referring to when you’d killed one of the guards by poisoning his water. That was why they’d put you in solitary in the first place.
 You allowed an expression of regret wash over your face, and you hung your head in false shame.
 “I…I feel really bad about it…I’m sorry I killed him.” Lies. You were more than happy he was gone. He was one of the guards that thought hitting the residents of Arkham was okay.
 But the doctor seemed very happy with your supposed ‘progress’. He nodded excitedly, shuffling through some papers.
 “And, the nurses tell me you’ve been taking your medicine regularly?” He inquired, peering at you over the top of his glasses. You nodded.
 “Good, good.” He muttered, moving papers around and signing a few here and there.
 “Alright,” he said after a moment, “I am letting you go into the common area with the other patients, your solitary is finished. But, you must still wear your protective jacket until further notice.”
 You sighed outwardly whilst smiling internally. Finally, you were getting out of that stupid cell. Being alone was very boring after two months.
 Fifteen minutes and three light sedatives later, you were being escorted to the door of the common area. You smiled at the guard, and the second he left, you spit out the meds they’d given you. You flipped your head upside down and shook out your hair before flipping right side up again. Shaking out the skirt of your dress (as best you could wearing a straight jacket), you pushed open the door in front of you.
 You strolled into the room like you owned the place, (which, in a way, you did), and sat down at your usual table. It was the table you’d sat at before you’d been sent to solitary, and in your mind, it belonged to you.
 It must’ve been very early in the day, because only two other patients were there. Gretter, a blind schizophrenic who’d killed three homeless children, and Maylee, a narcoleptic old lady who never spoke to anyone.
 With some difficulty, you managed to sit comfortably with your forehead resting on the surface of the table. You sat there for about an hour, thinking, before you heard the chatter of the other patrons. You kept your head down, waiting to see who’d recognize you were back. You’d heard from the nurses that there’d been several new additions to Arkham while you were gone, and you were eager to see the fresh meat.
 The first person to walk through the door was someone you recognized instantly. Richard. Nice guy. Weird. Had a habit of calling you his friend. You watched through your hair, which had fallen partially over your face, as he turned toward the person behind him. Which happened to be a gorgeous blond. You wondered what they were both in for. No one really talked about why they were in Arkham, unless you were asked, or unless it was very apparent. Like Greenwood.
 “Speak of the devil,’ you thought as the cannibal walked in behind blondie.
It took a moment for them to walk to where you were, setting down their breakfast trays at the far end of your table. You watched with interest as a small group formed around them, slowly spreading down the table towards you.
  Richard was animatedly telling a story when the blond suddenly noticed your presence.
 “Who’s that?” She questioned, interrupting Richards story and making him turn to look in the direction she’d pointed. Richards face screwed up in confusion for a moment before realization dawned on him.
 “Y/n!” He called out, standing up and walking to you.
 “Richard, nice to see you.” You said as you lifted your head from the table, h/c hair falling back into place.
 “How was solitary?” he asked, taking a seat beside you. You grinned.
 “Same as the last six times I’ve been.” You informed him. “And you, well,” you chuckled, “seems like you’ve got a little group. Am I still invited?”
 “Of course you are!” He exclaimed, turning towards the gathering of people.
 “Y/n, Barbra,” he pointed towards the blond, who waved at you, “Greenwood, you know, and that’s Helzinger, um…who else?” He turned to Barbra, who simply raised an eyebrow at him.
 “Oh! Y/n, you’ve got to meet- “He was cut off before he could finish.
 “Well, hello gorgeous!” A voice spoke from behind you. You turned to see a young man, maybe eighteen. The first thing you noticed was his hair. Ginger. The second was his eyes. Blue and grey, like stormy water. The third was his smile.
 “Well hello there, what’s your name?” You flashed him a smile of your own.
Jerome’s P.O.V.  
I placed a hand over my heart and fell onto the seat next to Y/n. “I’m Jerome.” I said, snapping out of my dramatic act. “Jerome Valeska.”
 “Y/n. L/n.” She introduced herself.
 “And you must be new, right?” I asked with a large smile.
 “Actually J,” she corrected,” you’re new. Compared to me.”
 My smile dropped and my expression turned curious.
 “What’s that mean?” I asked.
 “I’ve been here almost six years. I was in solitary for the last two months.” Somewhere in her explanation, Richard had muttered a quick, ‘I’ll leave you two for a bit,’ and he was gone.
 “Ooh, bad girl,” my smile was back, “what’d you do?” I propped both of my arms up on the table, resting my head in my hands and giving her my full attention.
She leaned in close to me and whispered, “What didn’t I do?”
I knew it the moment I saw her smile, but now there was no questioning it. I was hooked.
Your P.O.V.
Jerome shivered slightly before repeating his question.
 “No, really. What was it?” You laughed slightly.
 “I killed a guard. One of the ones who thought he could beat the residents of this fine establishment.” Jerome’s eyes went wide, and he laughed.
 “Ahh, I see,” he said once he’d calmed down.
 “I just got out today, actually.” You nodded your head down toward your straight jacket. Jerome’s eyes went wide, as if he hadn’t noticed it yet.
 “I can think of a few places I’d like to use that.” He remarked, grinning cheekily.
 “Ooh, kinky Valeska.” You said, sending him a smirk.
 “Well darling,” he drawled, “we’ll have to find out.”
—–
You were seated across form Jerome, on some uncomfortable chairs in the group room. You leaned a bit closer to him.
 “Alright, why are you in Arkham?” It was your turn to ask the question. Talking with Jerome had been interesting, and Twenty Questions had seemed like a good way to get to know one another.
 “Ooh, I killed my mother.” He said, waving it off, though you knew he wanted to tell you his story.
 “Well, don’t leave me in suspense.” You teased.
 “Oh, well, you know how mothers are. She was always…pushing. Bringing home her flings. I thought, hey, fine mom, be a whore. Be a drunken whore, even. But don’t be a nagging drunken whore,” his eyes were filled with obvious contempt for his mother before he snapped back to himself, “ya know?”
 You giggled for a moment before nodding.
 “I do, actually. My brother…,” your eyes darkened at the thought of him, “well, let’s just say he sounds a lot like your mom. He always brought home girls, almost never went to work, he even hit me….so I killed him.” You finished, grinning.
 “Wow,” Jerome breathed out, “you’re amazing.”
 “You’re not too bad yourself, J.”
 “No, really Y/n,” he said, looking at you intently,” if we ever get out, I’m gonna make you my queen. That’s a promise.”
 “Alright then, Mista J. I’ll hold you to it.” You said, grinning at him happily.
 Little did you know, getting out would come sooner than you thought.