#(no hate I have just always been more of a dan girlie) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miraculousandbts · 3 years ago

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BTS | AMAs

P.S. The story is in y/n's perspective. Just because I wanted to.

Summary: You get your first big nomination, but you just had to stumble into a very handsome stranger.

Pairing: OT7 X Reader (Platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: Reader’s train of thought goes crazy every once in a while. I feel like this should be a warning.

I was hugging my manager and jumping in circles with her, as a way of expressing my happiness. Ashley was not only my manager, but also one of my closest friends, always supporting me and believing in me since the start. Both of us were ecstatic with the news, and this was our way of showing it. Aside from jumping, we both were also screaming very loudly. I had never been so thankful for having a house near the forest area without neighbours.

Oh, wait! I never introduced myself; how rude of me. (Yes, I was thinking about the Thea Stilton books...) I'm y/n, a singer and songwriter. I live in LA. Me and Ash were just watching the American Music Awards nominations, and we just couldn't control our excitement when they took my name. This was my first nomination for an award. It wouldn't be that big of a deal for an experienced artist or someone who has been in the industry for long, but I'm still a rookie, debuting only two years ago.

Me and Ashley finally calmed down when a very startled guard came in and told us that we screamed so loud that he saw bats fly away from deep inside the forest. We sheepishly apologised, and decided to go to sleep. I had been recording a song the whole day, while she had been busy with manager duties, so we both were exhausted. I had actually known her for the last four years, and she often stayed over. So often, in fact, that my guest room had become 'Ashley's Room' very quickly.

After bidding each other happy good nights, we both went to bed in our respective rooms, falling asleep speedily.

*****

Taylor was applying my makeup, while I sat in the stiff makeup chair. This had been going on for the past hour, despite me telling her that I wanted light makeup and a simple dress. Instead, she and my stylist Ben decided to go against my wishes for once. Ben had prepared an extravagant dress too fancy even for a royal ball, and I was thankful it wasn't pink or blue or yellow; I absolutely did not want to look like a princess, that just wouldn't be me. Taylor kept on applying a little too much makeup on my face for my liking. She was very talented, so at least I was sure I wouldn't look bad.

Right now, she was working on my eye makeup, expertly putting on eyeliner and...something. I'm not good with this stuff. Taylor's assistant, whose name I always forgot, was painting my nails. I looked at her working. She was a pro at this. She smoothly glided the brush over my nails, effortlessly painting them purple, and then decorating them. She used as less materials as possible, knowing I hated it when even my nails felt heavy; my face was enough.

After two more hours of torture, I was finally ready. I looked breathtaking, but if I had an option, I would still go with something lighter. After another hour of sitting in the limo, we were finally there.

I got out, and there were cameras in my face. All I saw were purple blotches, because the camera men couldn't use their brains enough to shut off the flash. Or maybe those cameras didn't have an option to shut off the flash.

Anyway, I struck a few poses, blew some kisses, and walked ahead. And then I saw Dan. He was a reporter for such gigs, and I often did short interviews with him. He wasn't like the others; he didn't ask about rumours or made new ones, he didn't ask controversial questions to increase their channel's TRP.

I gave him a grin and walked towards him.

"Hey, Dan."

"Y/n! Looking beautiful as always."

"Oh, you flatter me." I kept a hand on my chest.

"Okay, stop with the over dramatics, girlie." You grinned.

He motioned his cameraman to start recording. I tuned out the whole introduction, and focused when he asked me a question, the said question being how was I feeling about being here even though it hadn't been long since my debut. "It's all thanks to my fans. I love making music, and I believe that if you do something with true passion, you will be successful. I guess this is destiny's way of showing me that what I'm doing is right. And not gonna lie, it feels like I've been feeling like I'm on a sugar rush since the nominees were announced, because of the adrenaline."

After some more questions and smiles, I finally went in.

I was too focused on not tripping on my own feet because of the long dress, so the first thing I did after entering was bump into someone. Great! I wasn't even surprised anymore, knowing how I was. "I am so sorry!" I looked up with wide eyes, only to meet kind brown ones. It took me a second to register that he wasn't alone, six other men behind him. They seemed familiar. I could tell they were from east Asia. I glanced at all of them, and then looked at him, apologising again.

"It is okay." He had a cute accent to his English, and I internally smiled, not only because of his accent, but also because he wasn't mad. I must've smiled in relief, because he looked amused. Now that I was looking at him properly, he was handsome, with a capital H. Little round face, pretty eyes, cute boop-able nose. And then he smiled. And then I died. It was the cutest smile I had ever seen!

Thankfully, I wasn't the kind of gal who would stand there checking him out. All of this took me a second, and I excused myself after thanking him.

*****

"Oh, hey!" I heard a smooth deep voice as soon as I sat down. I looked to my side and found one of the friends of the man I had bumped into earlier. I was right, my brain didn't forget. I smiled a small smile. "Hey."

Extending my hand towards him the old fashioned way, introduced myself. "Y/n."

He shook my hand, seemingly unfazed by my apparent childish behaviour. "Kim Namjoon, more commonly known as RM."

That's when it clicked. RM. K-Pop. BTS. My eyes must've widened; I was always terrible at hiding my emotions. "Everything okay?" He brought me out of my stupor. "Uh, yeah. Just, when I stumbled into one of you guys before, you all seemed familiar, I just couldn't place your faces anywhere." I replied honestly. "Oh." He simply leaned back into his chair and nodded.

"So, in which category are you nominated?" He continued.

"Top social artist. You?"

"Same. It'll be a four year streak for us if we win again."

"Ooh, really. Well then, I hope you win."

"Don't you want to win?"

"Coming here already feels like a dream. I don't think I can handle the adrenaline if I do win."

"So basically you want us to win for completely selfish purposes, huh?"

You both laughed at that remark, and continued making small talk for a while. Then he said he had to use the washroom. I hummed in his direction, and as soon as he got up, I saw the guy I had ran into in the chair next to his.

He had noticed Namjoon getting up too, so he was looking on my direction. He grinned at me, and sat in Namjoon's chair. "Hello."

"Hey."

"I am sorry. My English is not that good. Only Namjoon speaks English." He sheepishly rubbed his neck. "Why are you apologising for that?" I was genuinely curious. It was okay to not know perfect English. Even though I was a native English speaker, I still made mistakes. Everyone did. And the said language wasn't even his first language. "At the entrance, I wanted to talk."

"Oh. Well, You should have, I don't judge because of stuff like this." He smiled at that. "I will introduce you to them." He gestured to his band mates who were very engrossed in the show. Before he could do that, I interrupted him. "Hey, sorry. I haven't been in the industry for long, and I've only ever heard your guys' name, so...I only know RM and V? Is that right? So, yeah, I don't know your name."

I cursed at myself internally. Way, to go y/n! So damn awkward. He must've sensed my hesitation, because all he did was offer me his hand. Ooh, the old fashioned way. Good to know I wasn't the only one.

"Suga."

"Y/n." I shook his hand. Namjoon came back at that moment and him and Suga said something to each other in Korean. Wait, Suga? That does not sound right. Oh, right! It must be his stage name.

And then I facepalmed. Literally. I didn't think before my hand met my forehead. I must've made a pretty loud smack, because both of them were now looking at me like I was some weirdo. I sighed and slowly hid my face in my hands. "These kind of things always happen to me..." I mumbled.

I looked up when I heard them chuckling. I pouted, but I knew they could see the relief on my face that they didn't think of me like I was demented. "Don't worry, we've been living with these guys for the past eight years, these kind of things don't faze us anymore." Namjoon gestured to the other guys, who were still oblivious to their surroundings, absorbed in the performances.

I let out a breathy chuckle at the fact that they were so openly dissing their own friends. Namjoon, by now, was seated in the chair in which Suga was previously sitting in.

"So, I refuse to believe that Suga is your real name. And I would rather be literal friends with you guys, rather than two artists who just know each other."

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi." The way he said it reminded me of how Geronimo Stilton introduced himself. 'Why my brain has to go down completely random memory lanes is beyond me...and why am I thinking about a kid's book series?'

Within the next hour, I had been introduced to the other guys, and all of us were conversing about anything and everything. Seokjin was very happy that I was loving his dad jokes, Hoseok was a little too excited about my proposal of shooting a dance cover on one of mine or their songs, Jimin, Taehyung and me got along very well, as we were all the same age, and Jungkook had offered to teach me boxing, after I expressed my wish to learn it.

All in all, I was getting along very well with them. They were fun to be with, and it was absolutely adorable how they sometimes got flustered over their mistakes while talking. After the fun night ended, I congratulated them on their win, and went home, completely exhausted.

*****

"Noona!" Jungkook was the first to notice me. With wide eyes and a happy grin, he came to hug me. I had decided to surprise the boys by coming to Korea. Right now, I was standing in their dance studio. Even after four years, we were still going strong. It felt like now I had four elder brothers, two twins, and a kid. '...that was a terrible reference...god, please tell me what is wrong with me.'

Soon, all the boys came to hug me, though I tried running away to avoid their sweaty hugs, but Jungkook held me at one place, while I tried to squirm away. I should've just waited in their dorm.

"Kookie!" All I got in reply was a mischievous giggle. He really was a baby. Later that day, a collaboration between us was confirmed, and I couldn't have been happier.

Geronimo Stilton and Thea Stilton might be kids’ books, but they’re still the best!! Change my mind, I dare you.

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maddiethebull · 5 years ago

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Satan (Obey Me!) - Prompt #9 - “I could quote a thousand poems, but none can describe what I feel.”

I’m BACK Y’ALL After some InTrOSpeCtioN and HeaLiNG and LoTS of CRyINg ;)

Sorry for my absence. I hope you like it and thank you for making a request! Requested by @l3v1sblog

Here’s a song to listen to while reading if you’d like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_R0Ix90hFu8

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You were cleaning around the lounge of The House of Lamentation, it was your chore for the day to help dust and reorganize whatever silverware or centerpieces that may be out of place. You always thought it was such a bore, you never found anything cool to talk about with the brothers while you cleaned there, unlike the many times you’d found an interesting book to talk about with Satan whilst you cleaned the library. Or the times that you found household items with huge bites taken out of them and asking Beel if he did it and him so innocently denying it… You were about to put some silverware away when something caught your eye, though, it was a red, leather bound book. There wasn't any writing on the cover, piquing your interest, so you opened it and the first thing you saw was a poem titled Suns and Seraphim dedicated to…… WAIT THAT’S YOUR NAME???. It read,

“Could seraphim descend to earthly ground,

For chance to brush thine lips with hues of rose;

Discard their grace and heav’nly guise, cast down,

They would; just as the sun is always bound.

The moon will rise upon the sun’s repose

With gifts to thee inside night skies of opal tone

Of diamonds who’s shine dare not oppose

That which resides in precious eyes, thine own.

Si j'avais été dans le royaume des cieux

Pour vous donner ces soleils souriants

Et regarder votre beauté,

Mon cœur volage me tenterait d'arracher

Mes ailes angéliques et descendre;

Je quitterais ce paradis creux pour être en Eden

Avec mon amant, Mon ange de la terre, vous.

(written by Madeline Melcher (me lol) I dont know french so I used a translator btw)

Your jaw dropped, who could have written this?? It popped up in your head that it was most likely either Lucifer or Satan, it definitely wasn’t Mammon, Levi, or Beel. The maybes were Belphie and Asmo, but the chances they wrote that were rather slim.

Curiosity killed the cat and you couldn’t restrain your fingers from flipping through the many filled pages of the notebook. Another page had read,

“I could quote a thousand poems, but none can describe what I feel when I’m with you. You are a glimpse of a Heaven lost to betrayal, a sun that, for so long, I’ve been missing. I promise, someday I’ll show you these and then I’ll take you on a picnic (maybe in the human world?).”

Involuntarily, a smile made its way to your lips and a blush to your cheeks until you heard a knock on your door, it was Lucifer,

“MC, Why aren't you cleaning?”

Your heart sped up, what if it was Lucifer who wrote this? You began stuttering, you liked him, sure, but not in the way these poems talk about. Oh god… what if you had to turn down the second most powerful demon ever? Oh lawd.

“MC, we enjoy having you here but if you don’t finish your chores and put down whatever book you're reading-”

A HUGE sigh of relief escaped you,

“So you don’t know this book?” You asked, still slightly on edge.

He answered, “How could I know what you’re reading? There's not even a title on it.” He sighed and stepped closer, he eyed the book and, “Is that Satan’s Journal? Oh dear, MC, I believe you’ve made a rather stupid mistake.”

Your eyes were open wide as you sat completely still and quiet staring at the book in your hands. Lucifer spoke up, seeing that you looked quite shocked and perhaps a bit scared,

“If you would like, I can put it back where it was. Though I will be giving you extra chores because it seems that you also know what you did was an invasion of my annoying brother’s privacy.”

You thought a moment then spoke,

“No, I don’t feel good about that… I think I should give it back to him. I don’t wanna lie to him.”

“If that’s what you would like to do then I am nobody to stop you, just be careful and if something happens then don’t refrain from calling me for help.”

“Thank you Lu-”

In a seemingly dejected and scoffing tone Lucifer said, “And do your chores.”

With that he left you all alone to contemplate a plan to give Satan his journal back. Your mind was clouded with a million thoughts, the most prominent one being ‘he really thinks of me like that?’ A brush of pink crept onto your cheeks, thinking of him writing these poems. Thinking of him thinking of you. You wished so much that you could just revel in these thoughts, but the issue at hand was that, like Lucifer had said, you invaded Satan’s privacy. ‘What if he doesn’t feel that way anymore...’ Excitement and fear mixed inside your mind making you feel overwhelmed. How would you go about this?

‘Maybe I can just leave it in front of his door with a note on it. But, no, what if someone else picks it up?’

‘I could just burn it and forget about everything…….. No, MC, that’s NOT what’s gonna happen.’

You thought and thought and came to the realization that the easiest and most moral way to take care of the situation was just to knock on his door and hand it to him. You would tell him what you did and apologize and it would go very super incredibly smooth… yeah. You picked up the book ad headed towards Satan’s room with conviction, ‘you can do this MC!’ you thought. But when you got to his room, you froze like Mammon’s credit cards.

You’d never felt more anxious in your life. You liked Satan a great deal, he was handsome and charming, he had a soft side that he showed you often, he was wonderful. Even though these poems were made out to you, you felt as if it couldn't possibly be real. And moreover, this was the Avatar of Wrath’s personal journal that you had gone through... You breathed heavily to calm your nerves and gave yourself a mini pep talk. Then, finally, you meekly knocked on the door. Satan opened the door and saw you standing there, a smile crossed his face,

His blonde locks messily hung around his bright green eyes with a beautiful happy go lucky look in them,

“Hello, MC, find something interesting today? I certainly did and would very much like to give it to you.” A sweet chuckle ran off his words as he began to show you in but he froze and his expression changed drastically.

With his eyes open wide he asked while pointing to the book,

“What’s that?”

Stuttering and mumbling, fumbling your words you managed to get out a small “I’m sorry”

Silence. Silence that was louder than the rumble of a volcano.

He cleared his throat,

“Did- did you read it?” his eyes fixated on the book you held, he looked incredibly worried. You weren't looking at him so you could only assume that his visage was pure rage, something you, a mere human, were terrified of.

“I-I-I-I-”

You were cut off by a chuckle, although this time it wasn’t sweet, per say, more nervous. But through your ever amazing perception skills, you again thought he was angry with you and as he said,

“MC, I-”

You blurted out, “I’m sorry!” and ran away.

Your heart beat a million miles per hour as you hastily made your way to your room, locking the door and looking down to see that your dumbass TOOK THE BOOK. You were silent on the outside, but screaming like Hell on the inside.

Just then, a voice wriggled it’s way through the wooden door, it was Asmo.

“MC, do you think I could borrow your hair straightener? Mine broke and I can’t go anywhere looking like this!”

Shakily, you replied, “Sure, it’s just on my bathroom counter.”

He waltzed in all happy and pretty but the look on your face made him stop in his tracks,

“What’s wrong?” With those two words, you nearly burst into tears.

“Oh hun…” he said as he put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his arm. “Why don’t we go to my room and talk about it? I’ll even give you a makeover, that’d be nice, yeah?”

You wiped the tears from your cheeks, “Yeah.”

You told him all about it as he did your makeup, making you feel slightly better, though, it wasn’t really the makeup, it was more seeing how much the brothers cared about you in times like this. He began to finish his own makeup as you sat down on the bed and your restless thoughts ran out of your mouth as if it were a marathon.

“And he got angry at me, I can’t stand seeing him angry, and and-”

“MC, honey, calm down,” he said as he finished doing his eye makeup, focusing on his reflection in the vanity mirror.

“How can I? These poems, they’re beautiful but I just read his journal without asking and I feel so horrible about it. And I’m really scared of him when he gets angry… I just don’t know if I can face him right now.” You flopped from sitting up to splaying out on the pale pink bedspread.

“You said the exact same thing just five minutes ago! You won’t get anywhere from repeating that.”

“UGH but it's all I can think about right now… What if he hates me because of this…”

Asmo let out a light chuckle, “He doesn’t hate you sweetie, I don’t think he can.”

You frowned, “You don’t know that.”

After a moment’s pause, looking at how distraught you were with the current situation, Asmo spoke again,

“MC, let me tell you a secret, I’ve been watching this whole thing unravel, I could sense rom com vibes since the day you waltzed in! You should’ve heard the way he talked about you, it was constant ‘MC this and MC that’ ‘Oh I made MC laugh today,’ ‘MC let me borrow her pen’ ‘MC asked me to get coffee,’” Asmo said while doing a ridiculous impression of Satan, “But you can’t tell him I told you this or he’ll probably string me up by the ankles.”

You chuckled and when your smile faded, Asmo looked you in the eye and said in a sincere voice,

“He likes you girlie, I would even say he loves you. I’ve never seen him care about someone so much. When I said I don’t think he can hate you, I meant it. So go back there and tell him what you feel, this is the climax of your love story! And believe me when I say a good climax can fix anything!”

“Asmo ew.”

“Hehe, too much?”

You looked at the red book cover, “He really said that?”

Asmo rolled his eyes with a smile,

“Yes! So what’re you waiting for?? I can feel the stress seeping out of you and it's not good for my skin.”

Meanwhile in his room Satan was pacing like a worried cat, mumbling to himself. ‘I knew MC didn’t feel that way…’ ‘How could I be so reckless? I left my journal in the dining room of all places!’ With a frustrated grunt, he brought his hands to his face, lowkey slapping himself in the face. He sat down on his bed and tousled with his hair, as he did so, his focus was taken by a single blooming Mirage Flower on his desk. He winced and flopped onto his bed face down. The sigh he let out after that held an almost tangible emotion of frustration. He was frustrated with himself, but also with you. He didn’t plan on you finding out like this and it made him feel, well, kind of lame. He imagined telling you many times, none were as embarrassing as you reading his journal. He wanted to sweep you off of your feet like a prince in one of Levi’s animes, with the flowers mysteriously blooming and all of that. He turned to the side, restless and angry with himself and again was there the flower he had secretly picked from Diavolo’s garden, only to give to you. His lips turned to a frown and he sat up again, taking the flower from it’s vase and like a child, he plucked each petal saying “MC loves me.” “MC loves me not.” As the flower diminished to just the stem he finished with “MC loves me.” ‘Hmph, I look like I’m losing it, don’t I?’ he thought. Still, this powerful demon’s heart felt aflutter from something as silly as the words “MC loves me” as he plucked the final petal from the pistal. Those petals that would soon dry out and crumble to dust reflected in his aquamarine eyes like lilies floating in a pond. His brow furrowed and he decided it best to lay down looking the other way.

You got off of Asmo’s bed, dropping the journal with the spine facing the ground, making it open to the last page that had only one sentence on it. Your heart beat sped up as you read the short entry and what you read was enough to make you happy for entire lifetimes.

“I've loved you every day before today and I will love you every day after.”

You didn’t know why, but it was enough to bring the hint of tears to your eyes. He really thought of you like that? Did you think of him like that? As intensely in love as these poems and pages had shown?

Now holding the book in your hands, looking at the same red leather cover but seeing something different. You smiled, and said “Yeah. I think I do.”

Asmo turned around with a confused look on his face, “You do what?”

A blush rose to your cheeks much like a rose in bloom,

“I love him.”

You left the room determined, set firmly on a path to Satan’s bedroom.

All alone in his room, Asmo chuckled,

“Have fun dearie.”

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This was a long one, I wrote this over a long period of time and I changed it up a lot. I was feeling sad when I wrote a lot of this, so it’s a bit really sad and I decided to end it like this because it kind of felt right? Like instead of explaining the whole thing from beginning to end, it would be a better read and be a better experience for the readers to be able to imagine whatever ending they would like when confronting the character Satan. I’m open to writing an ending that includes MC finally confronting him, though, just say the word and I’ll finish the story in a different way :) Thanks for reading! <3

also as a BONUS:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9raS7-NisU this song is basically what Satan was thinking the entire time lmao

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depths-of-hope-and-despair · 4 years ago

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Cicatrix

(( Short story time guys! This will be a new series where I post the longer stories about the girls I write in my free time. These stories are events currently happening, that you are encouraged to send asks about. These are not build up to events though, just simple slice of life stories. That being said, enjoy my first character driven story, this time with Aditi and Iyabo. Feel free to send asks about the story to the girls! They'll respond as if it just happened. Enjoy! ♥️ ))

The sun shines bright on the riddling tides. The white sand hurt the tallest girl’s eyes, which were far more accustomed to the dark. Aditi, as objectionable as ever, leaned on the wall of the small beach-house, twiddling her thumbs. Fay had enthusiastically suggested the group spend this Saturday at the beach to enjoy the warm weather. Finn and Putri latched onto this idea to practice their respective talents, Iyabo seemed to hesitate but caved, and Aditi was carted a long since her vote no longer counted. Democracy and all that. Fay sat down at the end of the beach, letting the tide hit her feet, and giggling about how cold the ocean was. Finn was already a mile out to sea, all smiles and ready to “catch some waves,” as he put it. Aditi trusted he’d be safe, his title wasn’t for nothing, but her eyes always looked over to make sure he was above water. Putri, had selected a few fire dancing tools and set up shop very far away to avoid hurting anyone with the flames. Sand isn’t flammable like the grass of their backyard, luckily. All was as it should be. Wait. One. Two. Three…… Aditi’s attention turned to the beach house she was currently leaning against. Iyabo had disappeared inside to change into her swimsuit nearly thirty minutes ago. She barely took ten to get ready in the morning time. Concern filling her chest, the goddess took a quick glance back at the others, before making her way inside the cabin. —————— Nothing looked out of the ordinary inside the changing house, in fact, it was quite pristine and.. girlie. Pastel colored walls, polished sinks, stall doors for privacy with flowers on them. She was certain Iyabo would’ve rushed out of here as soon as physically possible, which only added to her concern. Noticing one of the doors being closed, Aditi walked closer on silent feet. Her hand reached out and knocked. “Iyabo.” “Geh-!” The girl behind the door jumped out of her skin, holding a hand over her chest to calm down. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, beanpole. Do ya wear shoes that absorb sound or somethin’? Fuckin’ hell…” That was definitely Iyabo at least. Ignoring the question, Aditi moved on quickly. “You have been gone for half an hour. I was concerned for your safety. Are you alright?” She asked, her tone flat. “Yea… yea, I’m straight. Wot are ya? My mum? I don’t need ya lookin’ out fer me. I’m a grown ass adult, y’know?” Iyabo answered back, her voice prickling defensively. “It just took me a minute ta figure out this damn bathin’ suit. That’s all.” “Grown adults don’t typically need thirty minutes to put on a swimsuit.” Aditi commented, earning a disgruntled sigh from her friend. “Is there something wrong? Aside from your struggle with your swimwear?” Silence fills the air for a second. Aditi bites her lip, hoping she didn’t say the wrong thing. “It’s….” Iyabo began, only to trail off back to saying nothing for a moment. Aditi hesitantly took a step back, prepared to leave if the other girl took this as a chance to yell and holler at her for being nosy. “Just-! Come in ‘ere. Te door’s unlocked.” Iyabo piped up. The taller girl blinked in surprise, at a loss for a moment. “... Pardon? You want me to come into your changing room?” “That’s exactly wot te fuck I said, now get in ‘ere, ‘fore I change my mind!” Iyabo said in a rush, pushing the door open slightly to urge her roommate to do as she said. “Don’t make dis weird, just come in!” She huffed. After a moment's worth of catching her mind up with the current events, Aditi did as she was asked. —————— The changing room wasn’t exactly roomy, Aditi finding herself only four feet apart from Iyabo despite how petite both girls were. The close proximity wasn’t a problem to the tallest, who often hovered for no other reason than a need to be close. Iyabo however… “Step back a lil’, will ya? I asked ya ta come in ‘ere, not breathe down my neck. Fucksakes…” She grumbled, doing her part in backing up. Aditi flattened her lip, but took a step back. “Satisfied? Why did you insist I come in here to begin with?”

“Ta see this fuckin’ bathin’ suit, dingbat! Look at it, will ya!?” Iyabo snarked, pointing down to herself. After that small outburst however, she looked unreasonably bashful, now that Aditi’s eyes scanned her.

Navy blue, that was the right color to describe the two piece swimsuit that Fay had graciously picked for Iyabo to wear on their beach day. The top was frilly with a small but noticeable star on the left strap, while the bottom was a plain bikini fit, to draw more attention to the top half obviously.

Despite all her observations, Aditi couldn’t see the problem. Was there a problem? Was she just looking for validation? “It looks lovely.” Aditi commented, tilting her head to the side. “The color serves as a good contrast to your hair and skin tone. I don’t see a problem with it.”

Iyabo blanked. “... There’s an obvious fuckin’ problem ‘ere, beanpole.”

Oh, she missed something? What could possibly be wrong? Maybe the compliments weren’t directed at her insecurities? Let’s try again. “Aside from the fact that half of your oversized hindquarters are hanging out, I stand by my previous statements. You look perfectly fine.” Aditi snickers.

“Wot!? Don’t-! Urrragh!” Iyabo blushed furiously, her hands flying up in the air to dance around aimlessly as she explained. “The scar! The bloody scar, Aditi! Good god-!”

It dawned on Aditi, she hadn’t even bothered to notice the scars on Iyabo’s body. They had become so mundane, a simple part of her being, that pointing them out felt uncalled for. One on her neck, one on her right arm under the bandages, and various on her left. They varied in size, shape, depth, color, so different and full of character.

Her eyes traveled downward to Iyabo’s torso and was greeted by the problem at hand. On the left side of her body, a giant scar had formed from the mistakes of her past. They were definitely teeth marks of an animal that had gotten a hold of her, the noticeability of the scar leading Aditi to believe the bite depth was harsh. Despite the wound being old, the bruised tissue had grown over at a poor rate, leaving it looking new and fresh. “... Oh.” Was all that Aditi could muster to say, as the realization dawned on her.

“Glad yer finally on te same fuckin’ page.” Iyabo sneered at her friend's befuddlement, at first. The scrutiny from the taller girl caused her to fidget in place, tempted to cover herself up. The zoologist settled for running a nervous hand through her bangs. “Do ya get it now? Why I don’t wanna be seen like this?”

“Somewhat.” Aditi admitted, one question sticking out in her mind more than any other. “What makes this one any different than the scars on her upper body?” She asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Iyabo stalls for a moment, seemingly baffled that she needs to explain this to her. “Well, look at it, Dee.” Her bright orange eyes look down at her own body as best they can, not noticing the fact she had picked a friendlier nickname to use. “It ain’t like my other scars.Te other ones, they don’t look this bad. They’re neat an’ no one thinks twice when lookin’ at ‘em. I don’t care ‘bout ‘em ‘cause nobody ever really asks ‘bout ‘em. But…” Her hand grazed over the grizzly bite mark. “Everyone notices this one. It’s… an eye sore, an’ I hate te way people look at me when they see it. They look at me like some little girl who lost ‘er mum in te grocery store. Like, I’m helpless. Some poor victim. An’ when I tell ‘em that I’m fine, they still push! They wanna know every god dan detail ‘bout wot happened that day, they care all of sudden. I don’t want their bloody pity!” She yelled, full of indigence.

Iyabo took a moment to breathe and calm her boiling anger, and allow Aditi a moment to process this information. “I, just…” The zoologist began again, looking downward towards the ground. “I don’t wanna be looked at like that. Like I’m weak. I hate it..”

After what felt like an eternity of processing and trying to understand Iyabo’s point of view, Aditi finally felt some form of closure. She could see the need to be strong behind her friend’s sneering attitude. Her fear was being weak, or being seen as weak. Was she never allowed to be weak in the past? Would her pride not allow it? Aditi wondered about the source of the problem, but realized it should wait. She needed to act on the issue at hand.

“I believe you have a false narrative planted in your mind, Iyabo.” Aditi reaches out, placing a hand atop the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Scars are not an indicative of weakness. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Iyabo tries not to flinch at the touch, steading herself against the wall behind her. She met the ravenette’s gaze, confused. “Can ya say that in yer lamest terms fer me, Shakespeare? Because, I’m startin’ ta think yer takin’ this as a joke-!” She snarked, being cut off by the feeling of Aditi’s hands catching her wrists mid air.

“Meaning..” Aditi continued, ignoring the sass for this moment, her grip on the other firm but not damaging. “You don’t form scars from events that make you weaker. Your scars come from you powering through an event that could have likely killed you. Scars, mean you went through hell, survived it, and came back stronger. They are a testimony to your strength.” Her lime eyes scanned down back to Iyabo’s gruesome reminder of the past. “I, for one, respect that.”

Iyabo, held in place and forced to listen, felt her jaw work aimlessly at that statement. After staring blankly, her expression turned sheepish, looking towards the ground. “.... I never thought ‘bout it that way.” She admitted quietly, not even attempting to pull away curiously.

Hearing the gentleness in Iyabo’s voice made Aditi feel taken aback as well, her hands releasing the smaller one’s and giving her an unusual look. One full of relief and sympathy, when she typically looked so stoic and unreadable. “Well, I hope you do think about it that way, from now on.” She said softly.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence and stares, Iyabo let out a disbelieving breathless laugh. “Alright, alright. We done with this chick flick moment, or do ya still need to profess yer undyin’ love ta me or some shit?” She joked.

Aditi huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes despite the smile on her face. “Hardy har. I almost forgot how you cheapen every meaningful moment with your excuses for humor.” The tallest turned and exited the changing stall first.

“Yer life would be borin’ without me, an’ ya know it.” Iyabo proclaimed in a smug fashion, sticking her tongue out and blowing a raspberry in the air. She too exited the stall following her roommate over to the gateway back to the beach.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it would be.” Aditi agreed with a feigned tired sigh, smiling before it flattened once again. Opening the doorway, the breeze of the sea hit both parties’ faces like a truck. Aditi stepped out first, stopping on the third step once she noticed Iyabo was not following. There was a look of uncertainty on her face in spite of their heart to heart conversation from before. With a look of understanding, Aditi grabbed a towel from the stair rail, and offered it to Iyabo to cover herself. “Baby steps?”

Iyabo hesitated, looking from the towel, back to Aditi and her group of friends enjoying the sun. Nodding, she reached out, grabbed the towel and flung it around her shoulders. Aditi raised an eyebrow at this action, watching as Iyabo walked down the stairs and darted in front of her. “I’m more of a dive in head first kinda gal, beanpole.” She grinned, before running off to meet the others.

Aditi watched as Iyabo joined Fay on the beach towel, chatting with her until Putri came running over to pull the pair into one of her hairbrained schemes. Her mouth twitched into a smile once more. This time, the happiness lingered.

How strange.

#📝 short story time 📚#(( new tag for a new series! ))#(( story under the cut since it’s long af lmao ))#(( feel free to send asks about what happens here 💜 ))

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falconlord5 · 5 years ago

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Batgirl Returns

This is it, true believers! The end of The Adventures of Batman and Robin and with it, the last tv episode featuring the original Timm Style. Tomorrow, we will do Batman and Mr. Freeze: Sub-Zero.

Written by Michael Reaves and Brynne Stephens.

Directed by Dan Riba

Okay, that jade cat is a dead ringer for Selina’s Isis.

Ah, Barbara’s dream sequence. Okay, here’s a little historical rant for all you guys.

In 1966, the producers of Batman (1966) had a problem. They didn’t have enough female viewers. Now, contrary to what certain people even today say, the female demographic is worth a fuck ton of money, and William Dozier was tired of losing to... whatever the hell else women were watching at the time.

That wasn’t the only problem they had, though. Julie Newmar had decided to quit the role of Catwoman. That in itself wasn’t that big a problem: the producers hired the awesome Eartha Kitt to replace her.

Unfortunately, Eartha Kitt was black. And Catwoman could no longer be Bruce’s love interest because that was how racism manifested itself back then.

So Dozier was in a hole. Ratings were down across the board, but especially in regards to women. He had just lost his Catwoman, and the replacement came with more baggage than he could handle.

So Dozier went to DC and asked them to come up with a new female lead he could use as Batman’s love interest that women and girls would like too.

Legendary comic book writer Carmine Infantino came up with Barbara Gordon, the first of the true Batgirls (no, Bette Kane doesn’t count).

My point is this: Barbara, as originally designed, was Bruce’s equal and potential love interest, not Dick Grayson. In point of fact, Barbara was originally ten years older than Dick, with a Ph.D and brown belt in Judo. She was also a congresswoman, the head of the Social Services Department at R&D and a few other things besides.

Bruce was never a father figure, the Dick/Barbara romance didn’t really get started until this show and is honestly a massive downgrade for Barbara, as she’s been reduced to a twenty-something college student as opposed to the thirty-something doctor she was. Plus, given the way Dick treats her on this show, I’m amazed this ship took off at all.

On with the episode. Also, this won’t be my last rant, as this episode doesn’t do Catwoman any damned favours either.

Kiss him, girly, you know you want to.

Dick, I’ve seen you get girls. I know you know this isn’t how you get their attention.

Barbara, you’re a computer geek in this show. Why do you hate math?

As a side note, apparently Yvonne Craig was terrified of facing Newmar in the show, and deeply relieved to be facing the much smaller Eartha Kitt.

Trespassing, for one. Though that might be a case of the pot calling the kettle black...

Okay, Barbara should have been honest with Dick here about what she knew. But Dick’s condescension is way over the line and again brings us to the question: what the hell does she see in him?

Like, seriously Dick, you are an asshole of the highest degree. If you treated a woman like that today, you’d get #MeToo’d so fast there’d be friction burns on your genitalia.

I believe this is called a ‘seduction’ by the professionals.

Bruce is not a fan of Brexit.

Dick, if you would stop treating Barbara like she’s an infant, she might be able to help you.

Okay, let’s talk about Bruce’s description of Selina here. Yes, Catwoman does like to play mind games... in the comics. In this show, Selina has always been much more upfront with Bruce, and is usually an ally. It’s only in these last two appearances that Selina’s villainous traits have been exaggerated and brought to the fore. It’s just a nasty little bit of character assassination that is typical of Batman’s love interests. As soon as they get too close, they get demonized. And of all the love interests, Selina gets this by far the worst. Though Talia is a close second.

Barbara is the police chief’s kid. How the fuck is she still naive enough to fall for the ‘don’t call me chicken’ thing? God, I grew out of that in elementary, and I’m as about as immature as you can get and still be a functional adult!

Oh hey, it’s Doctor Sivana! Also, good on Selina for not taking shit from that guy. People who don’t respect boundaries piss me off.

Or Roland Daggett?

Ooh, bar brawl!

I think Jim supports queer relationships, Barbara... (yes, Babs is bisexual. If you doubt that, I invite you to ask Gail Simone her opinions on the subject).

For a minute there, it sounded like Barbara had a cold

The last stand of Roland Daggett.

That’s what you get for waging biological warfare in your city, dumbass.

Lucky save.

See, I don’t like this either. Catwoman isn’t a killer, that’s a big part of what separates her from the rest of Gotham’s rogues and why Batman is so willing to give her second chance after second chance. And yes, I know about Black Mask in the comics; imo, that was out of character, too.

Also a murder charge is not something a professional thief wants on their record.

I do like that Barbara is the one to catch Selina, though.

Animated by Dong Yang.

And that’s it guys. Now on to Batman and Mr. Freeze: Sub-Zero and after that?

The Man of Steel himself, baby.

#Batman #the adventures of batman and robin #batgirl returns #dcau #btas #batman the animated series #live blogging #batgirl #robin #catwoman

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it-lives-in-westchester · 4 years ago

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3-10?

3. Thoughts on Dan Pierce and your MC’s relationship with him:

Dan should have appeared more in the story and it sucks that a lot of his character development/depth is hidden behind a paywall. Besides that, he is still a good character and is really nice. Love the scene he had in ILB with the ILB MC.

After what happened to Jane, they didn’t really talk to eacother at all. Like except for a few greetings and nods when passing eachother in the hallways. Feel like he and Claudia become good friends after ILITW. He is one of the people Claudia feels the most comfortable talking about what is bothering her and such. They are just good friends, no romantic undertones at all.

4. Thoughts on Noah Marshall and your MC’s relationship with him

Noah deserved better, man. He is one of the best-written character's choices has ever written IMO. His betrayal hurts a lot, but like as an older sister myself, I get it.....

After what happened to Jane he and Claudia just had a mutual avoidance of each other. Like just did not try to talk to each other at all in 10 years. When they start reconnecting they start becoming close again and maybe they can be friends again maybe?......but then Noah fucks up everything so yeah.

She also lowkey have a crush on him, but don’t tell anyone

5. Thoughts on Andy Kang and your MC’s relationship with him:

Andy...I LOVE YOU. He is a fantastic character and just lkjasjlajd love him. Love that he doesn’t take BS from anyone and is ready to fight. But he is also so sweet to his friends and his loyalty to his friends is my favorite aspect of his character

Obviously him and Claudia are friends. Claudia feels bad that she didn’t visit Andy more when he was in the hospital after ILITW, because she was dealing with her own bagage. He fully understands that and does not hold that against her. She tries to make up for it to go to as many of his game’s as she possible can.

6. Thoughts on Ava Cunningham and your MC’s relationship with her

She was the first character I fell in love with. I was like “Oh a character with almost the same name as me (My name is Eva FYI) and she is a goth queen....sign me the fuck up!!!”. Love her sense of humor and her dialogue are goals. Also, her smile is one of the best smiles in choices, change my mind.

She and Claudia have a similar sense of aesthetic and interests so obviously, they get along. Feel like they do makeup and hair dye together and talk about their interest. A related story I was talking to a female friend and a guy friend came up to us because he had to tell us something. After he was done with whatever he was saying, I was like “Okay but back to what we were (me and the female friend) talking about”. The guy friend left and was like “Yeah continue talking about whatever lady stuff you were talking about”..... we were talking about murder/serial killers, feel like that is Claudia and Ava in a nutshell.

7. Thoughts on Lucas Thomas and your MC’s relationship with him:

Lucas's struggle with perfection and expectations was really compelling. Also, the character that stressed me out the most during ILITW, like I thought he was gonna die the most. Have never been able to pass the first nerve check with him in ILITW, is that even possible??? Also let me fight his parents PB.

Out of the group feel like him and Claudia is the least close. not because they like hate eachother, but they just have personalites that clash and not that many interests in common. But she is supportive to him and feel like when he finally confronted his parents after ILITW and told them about the drug thing she was there with him as support.

8. Thoughts on Stacy Green and your MC’s relationship with her:

Stacy is one bad bitch and we respect her in this house. She was definitely a character who grew on me after a while like I didn’t hate her at the start, just realized after everything that I did not respect her enough while playing the first time. Also when she dies she is the only character that doesn’t beg for mercy and she goes out like a motherfucker yelling at Jane and Noah saying basically “Fuck you” to both of them and we stan.

Feel like Claudia goes to a similar arc as me, that she didn’t appreciate her as much as she should have at the start. Also, they are an unlikely duo who just kicks ass together.

9. Thoughts on Lily Ortiz and your MC’s relationship with her:

Lily is a sweetheart and the most underrated character in ILITW. I like that she was kinda girly but also loved gaming at the same time. Why don’t more people talk about the fact that she is a gamer?? Hello?? Love her arc of standing up to herself and her standing up to Jane at the end of ILITW was one of the most badass moments in ILITW

I feel like Lily is the only character of the group that Claudia actually kept in contact with. Not necessarily best friend status, but will catch up when given the chance. Also, Claudia would always stand up to Lily when she saw people bothering her

10. Thoughts on Connor Green and your MC’s relationship with him:

I don’t have that many strong opinions about Connor like I don’t hate him, but I don’t love him either. I mostly just forget about him if I am being honest, maybe it’s because I have never spend diamonds on him so I don’t know him that well But he is kinda over-hated by the fandom I can admit.

Feel like Claudia was low key annoyed that he tried to get involved in all the supernatural stuff. “Dude you are cool and all that stuff, but this does not concern you at all”. But they were gonna make this super cool monster-fighting club together....hope we see where that goes in the future :)

This took over an hour to write oh boi need to lay down for a while. but thanks for sending the ask ^^

#eva answers stuff

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

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is that as good as it gets?

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: teen & up

warnings: none

tags: memory loss, amnesia, fluff, introspection, established relationship, some gender-y discussion

word count: 9,101

sequel to still the best, more or less (which you can read on ao3 or here on tumblr) and so easy to come back into you (on ao3 and tumblr) and written for the lovely @intoapuddle <33333 happy belated birthday pal!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil loves his parents. He always has, even in the worst of the puberty-fuelled rebellion. Well, alright, 'rebellion'. There were a lot of long nights spent with a book and torch or his GameBoy under the covers, heart pounding in his ears as he listened for any sign of his parents coming to check on him, but he doesn't think that counts.

Even when things were at their hardest, he still loved his parents. He loved them when his dad kept asking after girls with absolutely no inclination that there were other things he could be asking in order to know his son better. He loved them when his mum pulled him aside and said his new hairstyle made him look 'a little girly, love'. He loved them when he was grieving for a friend and they didn't know what to say, how to help.

Right now, he loves them. Beneath the fear and the guilt and the anxiety and the frustration that's been his whole weekend, there is a solid bedrock of love and trust that will never crack.

"They keep treating me like I'm twenty," Phil complains, quiet because he isn't sure how thin the walls are in this new house.

"You kind of are. Like, in a way."

Dan's voice is so comforting, even with the swirling mix of emotions that Phil is dealing with right now. It helps to ground him, that soft, posh, sleepy voice.

"Yeah," Phil says. He rolls over, stretches out, because even a double bed feels too big without a second set of too-long limbs. "But it's like, they're not even acting like I'm an adult. Mum's been asking how I'm feeling every twenty minutes and dad called me 'kiddo' at dinner."

"They're doing their best," says Dan. He's five hundred kilometers away, on a different island entirely, but if Phil closes his eyes he can pretend they're just murmuring across the distance between their pillows.

"I know they're doing their best, babe," Phil sighs. "It's just that this was so easy for you."

Dan laughs. He doesn't have to be quiet the same way Phil does, nobody trying to sleep on the other side of his headboard, but he matches Phil's volume anyway.

"I'm sorry," says Dan. "Did you just say this has been easy for me? I'll have to refer you to my therapist."

Somehow, Phil smiles. He doesn't feel like smiling at all, so exhausted by the role he's been playing with his family, but Dan always seems to have that effect on him. "I mean, you just treated me like a regular person right out the gate. They're acting like I'm gonna break."

"Maybe you will. I've seen how you stumble on those cliffs."

Phil chuckles, low, and then sighs into the phone. He's getting more comfortable with having the flat rectangle between his ear and shoulder. "I miss you."

"Mm," Dan hums. It sounds like he's smiling. Phil has never wanted to be somewhere so desperately. "Miss you, stupid."

"Are we always this bad when one of us is away?" Phil asks. He wishes he was talking on an old landline, wants to twirl the cord through his fingers while he and Dan whisper to each other. It's better than what his fingers are doing now, which is reaching out on reflex for a warm, citrus-and-mint body that isn't there.

"Yeah," Dan says with unabashed simplicity.

"I'm glad," says Phil. He feels a slight itch under his skin, unsettling him, but he fights it down by repeating, "I'm really glad. Like... I'm glad I'll still feel this way about you ten years from now."

"You're such a sap," Dan says, fondness seeping out of every word. "Normally you just call me a rat and ask if I'm eating."

"Are you eating, rat?"

The loud bark of laughter down the line makes Phil's toes curl with happiness. He loves that sound, loves making Dan laugh in such an unrestrained way. "Yes, Phil, I'm eating. Probably not as good as you are, I'm sure mum's got you eating like a king."

It's still so strange to hear someone else call Phil's parents 'mum' and 'dad' - someone who isn't Martyn, obviously. From everything that Phil has learned about Dan over the past two and a half months and every tiny detail he's remembered, Phil is certain that the titles were something his parents insisted on. He doubts Dan would have just started saying them on his own, even with all the social grace he sometimes lacks.

That makes him feel warm, too. He's never exactly thought his parents would hate him for who he is, but. He hasn't been a hundred percent sure.

Phil doesn't think that anybody is a hundred percent sure that their parents will love them the exact same way if they bring home someone who's the same gender. He loves his parents, he trusts them, and he's still been terrified about letting them in on the life he was living at uni.

They know Dan, though. They ask after him every time they talk to Phil, call him whenever Phil doesn't answer his phone, tell him to think of them as 'mum' and 'dad'. Like he's part of the family. Like it's all the same to them what Dan is, as long as he's making Phil happy.

"You're sure you don't want to come up?" Phil asks, fully aware of how needy he sounds.

"Positive. It's important for you and your parents to get to know each other, like, as you are now. I'm afraid I'd just distract all of you with my wit and charm."

That's probably true. Phil huffs another sigh, anyway. He pulls a pillow closer to him, wraps an arm around it. "But I miss you."

"Christ, Phil," Dan says lightly. "You been drinking or something?"

"Am I not allowed to miss you?" Phil grumbles.

"Course you can miss me," says Dan. "I miss you when you're in another fucking room of the apartment, sometimes. I just haven't heard you say it so much since we first started dating."

Phil thinks that's a little unfair. It still feels like they are in that honeymoon stage of their relationship, to him.

He wonders how long it's going to take before his slow trickle of memories and natural progression of time team up to make him as settled in their relationship as Dan is. It's almost disheartening, knowing that Dan doesn't want him as desperately as he wants Dan. It's a different kind of want, of affection, and it's a kind that Phil has never experienced before. He's almost afraid to reach that point.

"I'll be quieter about it, then."

"Don't you dare," Dan says, and Phil laughs. The knot in his chest starts to ease.

"Should sleep," says Phil. "Mum wants to go for a walk before we eat breakfast, what the hell. Who walks?"

Dan laughs. "Be grateful Martyn isn't there, or the walk would turn into a hike before you could say," he makes a dramatic wheezing noise instead of finishing with a word, and Phil has to cover his mouth with a hand to contain giggles.

"You're so annoying," he whispers. He wonders if Dan can hear the emotion behind the words, the same way Phil has figured out that when Dan calls him stupid, it means 'I love you'.

"Yeah," Dan agrees warmly. Phil thinks, yeah. He can hear it. "Go to sleep, Lester."

"Oh, honey, you remember Mrs. Oliver, down the street?" his mum asks, bustling around the kitchen and waving Phil away anytime he tries to jump in and help. It's starting to get to him, a bit. He's not an invalid.

"No, mum," says Phil. He wonders if he sounds as annoyed as he feels. "I don't know any of your neighbours. I don't even know mine."

If he does sound annoyed, his mum breezes past it. "Right, of course. That's probably a good thing, to be honest with you, love - she's a right witch. Just last week..."

Phil zones out almost immediately. He loves his parents so, so much, but they have no idea how to act around him. His mum has been plying him with cakes and giving him neighbourhood gossip, doting like he's sick, and his dad has been watching him like he's a ticking time bomb.

That might actually be true. Phil had only clung to his composure by a thread when they decided to tell him, conversationally, about his dad's health issues. Just dropped the C word with no hesitation.

Being with his parents is nice, but he wishes he had Dan at his side. Even Martyn would be better than nothing. He needs something to dilute the smothering worry and death bombshells they've been putting in Phil's lap all weekend.

Phil has been counting down the hours until he can be back in the noise and bustle of London, far away from all this anxiety. He has never exactly been outdoorsy, and as much as he appreciates the beautiful views here, as much as he appreciates his lovely parents, he just wants to go home.

It's strange. By all intents and purposes, he should feel more comfortable around his parents than he does around Dan. He's known them his whole life, and twelve years isn't nearly enough to erase everything they know and love about each other. He hadn't known a single thing about Dan when he woke up in their shared kitchen, but. That doesn't seem to matter.

London isn't the only thing that feels like home to Phil. It isn't just the rolling hills and the sound of the sea making him unsettled, it's the lack of a big hand on the small of his back, guiding him away from a tripping hazard.

The itch hasn't gone away. Phil keeps expecting it to fade, the more he and Dan get to know each other as they are now, but it's still there. Persistent.

Growing up, Phil never expected to be someone that was scared of commitment. He'd always wanted what his parents had, after all, even after he came to terms with the fact that he might never be able to be married the way they were. Then, he actually started to try and date boys.

Phil doesn't fancy himself an expert on gay culture. He didn't join the society at uni or anything, has never read a queer theory book in his life. So he has no idea if this is, like, typical, but it turned out that gay boys - at Phil's university, in any case - weren't interested in dates. They only really cared about hooking up.

Honestly, Phil has never wanted anything more than he wanted to go on a proper date with someone he wasn't pretending to be attracted to, but it's always been easier to just act like those desires aren't there.

The idea of getting married, now, is terrifying instead of a pipe dream. He isn't sure when that happened.

Somehow, he'd become one of those boys who'd hurt him in the beginning, who called him the wrong name unapologetically or reminded him not to wake up their flatmates on his way out. He'd finally understood the appeal - he couldn't get hurt again if he didn't care again.

He doesn't want to hurt Dan, though. This self-built fear is his to deal with, something he's positive that 2019 Phil has long since gotten over.

"Mum," he says, cutting into whatever she's been saying about her neighbour while he sulks.

She doesn't seem very bothered by the interruption. She gives him a quizzical sort of smile as she mixes flour and eggs together. As if they need more bloody cakes in this house. "Yes, dear?"

"You like Dan, right?" he asks.

It feels like a pointless question. He knows the answer already.

Still, his mum doesn't laugh at him for asking. She smiles, more warmly, and leans her hip against the breakfast bar he's sat at. Phil's damaged brain supplies him with a hundred moments just like this one, watching his mum bake up a storm for no reason besides keeping her boys fed and happy.

"We love Dan," she assures him. Phil notices the 'we' statement, so caught up in the way Dan uses them as he's been. "He's a lovely boy."

"Even though he swears a lot?" Phil jokes weakly. He can't bring himself to ask the question he really wants to.

His mum gives him a look, like she knows exactly what he isn't saying. It's uncanny, how she's always been able to see through him. She'd had a blind spot, sure, but Phil can't put that on her shoulders when he'd done all he could to keep it under wraps.

"Daniel is lovely," she repeats, turning back to her mixing bowl. "He's a good man who takes care of you, dear, what else could we ask for? Besides, he's no worse than your brother."

Phil doesn't think that's true, exactly, as he's heard Dan come out with curses that Martyn probably doesn't know exist, but he isn't about to argue the point with her. Not when he hears the words she isn't saying.

They really don't mind. His mum and dad are happy for him, they have Dan calling them 'mum' and 'dad', after all. His brother doesn't bat an eye when his partner kisses him at the dinner table. They don't just tolerate this part of Phil's life - they embrace it. They embrace Dan, the man Phil had fallen in love with.

He doesn't think he's quite there. Not yet. He's never been in love before, so he's sure he'll notice when his feelings tumble into that.

"I miss him," he tells his mum's back, because he can say things like that to her now. That's not something he's going to take for granted, no matter how stressed they've been making him.

"You'll be home soon, love," she hums.

Home. Also known as the space where he slots his knees into the backs of Dan's and buries his nose against Dan's soft curls. He'll be there soon.

"How are you feeling, actually?"

Phil's dad looks up from the malfunctioning radiator and gives Phil a thin smile. "How are you feeling, actually?"

"Touché," Phil mumbles. He's not helping with the repairs so much as he's sitting on the cold cement floor and passing tools to his dad when he asks for them. He wonders who's going to do this sort of thing when he and Dan buy a home.

Great, now that itch is back. All he wanted was to know if this is something he should be learning how to do. They've probably got enough money to pay someone else to do it, Phil supposes.

Dan still hasn't let him look at his bank account or their joint account, which would bother Phil if he had any idea of how to handle money at all. His parents have taught him the basics of budgeting and investing, sure, but he doubts that they've properly prepared him at this scale. He's happy to leave all that to Dan for now.

"I'm feeling good, actually," his dad says. "Still kicking, and all."

"Same," says Phil. Neither of them laugh.

A quiet falls over them again as his dad works. Phil leans against the wall and tries not to get frustrated by the little glances his dad keeps sending his way.

He understands that they're worried. He'd be going out of his mind if this had happened to someone he loves. It's really starting to get to him, though, the undivided attention on his health when he is already so anxious about it to begin with. Don't they know that he's doing the best he can?

"Does it bother you that I don't know how to do this?" Phil asks. He wonders if he will ever be able to say what he means to the people he loves the most, to ask what is on his mind instead of layering it under something innocuous.

Being with Dan has been helping him with that, he thinks, but something about being around his parents always makes him revert back to a shy, uncertain teenager.

His dad hums thoughtfully and shakes his head. "No, you were never much into this sort of thing."

"And that doesn't... I dunno, disappoint you?"

"I could never be disappointed with you, kid," his dad says, almost incredulous with it. Like this is something Phil should already know. Like he's said it a million times. Phil can't speak for the past twelve years, but he knows damn well that he hadn't heard that enough, growing up.

"I'm just not," says Phil, scuffing at the floor with his socked foot. "Dunno. Not much of a man, I guess. I'm in my thirties, aren't I? I should be a man by now."

"You are a man, Philip," his dad says. "There's no right way to be a man."

It takes a lot to make him cry, but this conversation is getting to Phil in a spot he forgot was sore.

"Yeah," he says instead. "Need the torch?"

His dad lets the topic drop almost gratefully. Phil isn't sure if he's happy for that or not.

The frustration has been climbing up his spine all weekend. It's not exactly fair of him to be getting mildly annoyed by everything they've said, not when they're only trying to help. He takes a few deep breaths - in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, just like Dan taught him - and tries to pull a good mood back around him. For his dad's sake, if nothing else.

Phil has to get out of the house for a bit on his own, despite the chilly winds coming in like the waves and the lack of good cell signal.

He walks the same path he'd gone down with his parents that morning, pulling the fleece jacket tighter around his body. It's one of Dan's, something he'd smuggled into his bag and hoped Dan wouldn't miss.

The view here is unparalleled, really. Phil finds his breath catching several times, and only some of those are from exertion. He takes photos with his phone, because he's still clumsy with most of the controls, but he's figured out this one easily enough.

His phone doesn't have any social media apps on it, which he's not about to try and correct. Dan deleted them for a reason. So Phil opens his texts and sends a couple of the better photos to Dan.

The signal fails. The pictures don't go through. Phil wants to go home.

"This feels familiar," Phil says, grinning at his shoddy laptop camera.

"Does it?" Dan's voice is a bit distorted, his face more pixelated than Phil would like, but he's smiling so wide that Phil can't find it in himself to mind.

"Yeah," Phil says simply.

The sofa isn't very comfortable compared to the bed upstairs, but Phil had figured this would be better to not wake his parents up. He folds one leg under himself to try and find a position that doesn't make him feel hunched over his laptop like he's still a student.

Even through the mediocre quality of the webcam and internet connection, Dan looks good. He's wearing a wide-necked jumper and his curls are still soft and pushed off his face, like he hasn't bothered to do anything with them today. Phil wants to reach through the screen and run his fingers through them.

"Wonder why," Dan says in that teasing way he does when he knows something Phil doesn't.

Some days, that tone gets to Phil. When he's feeling anxious and frustrated with himself about all the things he can't remember, the last thing he needs is that tone.

Today, though, it makes him grin. He fiddles with the wireless earphones he's still getting the hang of and murmurs, "Tell me why."

"We used to do this for hours when I lived with my parents," says Dan. He messes with his curls to make them fall with more purpose, probably looking at himself in the screen instead of at Phil. "For, like, almost the whole first year we knew each other."

"You look fine, you dork," Phil says. He's watching Dan with an absent smile that, when he glimpses it in the corner of his screen, makes his breath catch. He's never seen that look on his own face before, doesn't even know what he'd label it as. Dan huffs a laugh, and Phil turns his attention back to him instead.

The lighting is low in Dan's room - in their room - but Phil can make out the warm colour of his eyes.

"You always think I look fine," says Dan, which doesn't exactly sound like a complaint. He leaves his hair alone, though. "Which is useless, since I know you have no taste."

"Is this about the carpet again?" Phil asks, exasperated.

"I just don't understand why you don't see the value of a good rug anymore," Dan whines. "It took me four years to convince you."

"Hardwood is cold on your feet in the morning and - you know what," says Phil, fighting back a laugh, "I'm not having this conversation again. We can duke it out when it's relevant, we aren't buying a house right now."

Dan grins at him. "I'll win."

Probably. Phil is stubborn, though, and he's not about to take everything Dan says about his changed tastes as fact when he could easily use that to win arguments.

"It's not relevant," Phil repeats. "You know what is relevant? I kind of remember Skyping you."

Dan is still and quiet for so long that Phil thinks he's frozen at first. Then he blinks. "You do?" he asks, voice careful.

"Kind of," Phil says, not wanting to get Dan's hopes up. He pulls a face, scratches at his jaw. "It's hard to explain. I don't remember doing it, I just remember that I have done it. Does that make sense?"

"No," says Dan, blunt as always. He smiles weakly. "Explain it to me?"

It's hard for Dan, Phil knows it is, but he makes such an effort all the time that Phil has, tentatively, attempted to do the same. He's not always comfortable talking about his innermost thoughts, since giving voice to things makes them more real. For Dan, he'll try.

"It's not like a flashback or anything," Phil says slowly. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but he also doesn't want to make Dan think he's still holding back. "That's not the way this has worked for me."

"I know," says Dan.

Phil traces shapes on his own knee, wishing he could be touching Dan instead. "It's more like... I just know."

"Right," Dan says, and Phil can hear the way he's holding something back. Disappointment? Excitement? "Kinda like déjà vu?"

"I guess so, except it isn't, like, disorienting. I just saw you on my screen and I was like, yeah, I've done this before." Phil feels like he's explaining this badly, like it's all coming out wrong. "I dunno, babe. I'm sorry it isn't more."

"You're," is all Dan says. He looks offscreen, takes a couple of deep breaths.

Maybe it's the familiarity of this whole thing, or the sound of Dan's shaky breathing in his ears, but Phil has the sudden certainty that he's looking at a Dan who is about to start crying. A Dan who has cried on Skype with him before, Phil knows that, too, somewhere deep in his gut.

"Hey," Phil says softly. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Dan tells him, rather more sharply than Phil thinks it intends to come out. Dan grimaces. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm not - I'm not upset with you, Phil."

"You look upset," says Phil. The physical ache he's been carrying around all weekend has intensified, makes him think he could swim back to Dan if it would shorten the distance quicker. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dan considers it for a moment. That on its own is a step in the right direction, Dan no longer brushing everything he's feeling off with a joke and a kiss. Phil taps an erratic rhythm against his knee while he waits for Dan to make up his mind. Eventually, he shakes his pretty head. "Not tonight. Can we talk about it when you're home, maybe?"

That's progress. Phil has to remind himself of that every time they make a point to communicate, every time he says or does something that makes Dan freeze up for a moment.

"Of course," Phil says. "Talk to me about hardwood floors some more. You're still wrong, but I'll hear you out."

Dan looks relieved, and Phil doesn't let that get to him. Neither of them are avoiding emotional conversations outright. Phil can remember the way Dan likes his eggs cooked, even though he can't remember learning that. Dan hasn't even eaten eggs in the past couple months, on a vegan kick that Phil doesn't understand, but Phil knows exactly how to cook them to make Dan grin at him across a breakfast bar.

Slow progress is still progress, Dan's therapist says. Phil is inclined to agree with her.

Leaving his parents is bittersweet. Phil always wants to spend more time with them, knows he'll never quite grow out of the momma's boy phase, but they've been getting under his skin all weekend.

Phil does wonder if that's a regular part of being a proper adult, the desire to cling to gained independence, or if it's just him feeling smothered and wistful for Dan.

He gives them tight, lingering hugs anyway, makes them promise to come visit him before Christmas. He'll feel better about that, he thinks. Having Dan around makes it all so much easier that he can't imagine living a life without him, now. He fits into the places where the rest of Phil should be, allows Phil to settle into shape around him.

It's early when Phil gets on the plane, early enough that he gets to watch the sun rise until he's dropped back under the line of clouds that seem to permanently hover over England. The sun still hasn't peeked out by the time Phil unlocks his front door and lets himself in, juggling his bag and keys and wallet and proceeding to drop them all on the floor of the entryway. There aren't any echoing noises from deeper into the flat, so Phil thinks it's safe to assume that Dan is still dead to the world.

Sure enough, he finds Dan spread out in the middle of their bed, his bare back rising and falling steadily with sleep. The blankets are in disarray, half underneath him and half wrapped around his legs.

Phil smiles. It feels like something settles into place inside of him just looking at the expanse of Dan's skin. He undresses to his pants and doesn't bother digging around for something else to wear, not when there's some necessary snuggling to be done. The cool air makes Phil shiver, but only until he's set his glasses aside and crawled into bed, pressing himself along Dan's back with a kiss to his lightly-freckled shoulder.

London is chilly in November, but Dan carries a warmth with him that emanates from his very core, and it drags Phil into sleep easily.

He's home now. He can breathe again.

Phil stirs from hazy dreams when his heat source disappears, and he makes a little whine of a noise to express his deep displeasure. He gets a throaty laugh in response.

"Fucking drama queen," Dan's voice breaks into his half-asleep state. It's soft, just like the kiss that's pressed to Phil's hair. "I'll be right back, I gotta piss."

"Wait," Phil yawns, stretching out his arms in search of Dan. He doesn't want to open his eyes. "Coffee?"

"You little - fuck, fine, yes, I'll make you some fucking coffee. Unbelievable."

Phil must fall back to sleep, because the next time he's coaxed into awareness, it's by the smell of coffee and the feel of a mouth on his jaw.

"Mm," Phil hums, reaching out to blindly pull Dan closer and tilt his head for a kiss.

Dan chuckles, a gust of breath against Phil's face before soft lips find his. Phil runs a hand over Dan's back, sleepy and hesitant, because that's not something he's always allowed to do. This time, Dan makes a pleased sort of noise against Phil's mouth before he pulls back with a low, "Mm, yourself. Good morning."

"Hey," Phil murmurs. He squints up at Dan and grins, loose with the contented feeling of being home. "Missed you, pretty boy."

The laugh he gets in response is more of a honk. Phil is so endeared. "You can't even see me," Dan points out. He's not wrong, but Phil doesn't have to have his glasses on to know how pretty Dan is.

"It's not like I forgot what you look like," Phil says dryly. He lets his hand continue to trace shapes on Dan's bare back, since Dan doesn't seem to mind the contact.

"Maybe I grew a beard."

"Yeah. Because you can totally grow an entire beard overnight."

"Probably couldn't grow a beard if you gave me a month," says Dan. "I missed you, too, stupid."

It feels like Phil has been away for weeks rather than a handful of days. He can't get enough of the bumps and grooves of Dan's back, like he's never touched it before, and his whole being aches to be impossibly closer.

He kisses Dan's temple - at least, he thinks he does, it's a bit of a blur but at least Dan doesn't make a noise as though Phil has accidentally connected with his eyeball - and runs his thumb slowly along the ridges of Dan's spine.

"We don't spend a lot of time apart, do we," says Phil. It isn't a question, really. He knows they don't.

"No," Dan says, simply. "Why should we?"

Phil supposes that there isn't a reason. In the back of his mind there are always niggling fears, worst case scenarios chasing each other around until he's worked himself up, and right now those fears are trying to make themselves known. The codependency of it crawls over Phil's skin, making him itch.

He doesn't want to spend more time away from Dan, that isn't it at all. It just worries him that he doesn't know if he'd even be able to.

The weight of Dan on him is solid, the skin under his fingers so soft and warm, and that helps Phil feel grounded.

"Let me up, baby," says Phil. He needs coffee and maybe some food before he feels fully functional, even though this is his third time waking up this morning. He might have a problem.

Dan huffs - at the pet name or at Phil himself, it's unclear - but flops onto his side next to Phil anyway. He keeps his hand on Phil's thigh through their blanket and gives him a lazy grin. "You're less grumpy today. Happy to be home?"

"You've no idea," Phil says, sitting up against the headboard so he can cradle his mug to his chest and breathe in the aroma. "I love them so much, but it's not the same."

"I've got some idea," Dan says on a yawn. "You bring any cakes home?"

"Of course. What do you take me for?" Phil scoffs. He shoves his glasses unceremoniously onto his face with one hand so he can actually see more than the vague shapes that make up his boyfriend.

Fiancé, he guesses. Technically.

The smile that Dan shoots up at him is sleepy. His eyes are half-lidded and a little red, lashes clumped together by the moisture that wells up every time he yawns. He's just in his pants, like Phil, and he's not self conscious about it in the slightest. Once again, Phil is struck dumb by how beautiful he is.

"What?" Dan asks after a long moment of Phil just looking at him. Hints of dimples are showing around his mouth, like he's holding back a bigger grin.

"Nothing, you're just," says Phil. Adjectives bump against each other at the forefront of his mind, competing to be the most truthful without being ridiculously sappy. He can call Dan pretty or hot without issue, but a flush creeps its way up Phil's neck the moment he wants to say something like 'gorgeous', 'perfect'.

"Just the best thing that's ever happened to you, right?" Dan says, all performative sarcasm.

Yeah, Phil thinks. He doesn't say it. He doesn't think he can.

"Totally," he says instead, dripping his voice in the same irony as Dan's. He refocuses on his coffee, and Dan starts to scroll through his phone.

He leaves his hand on Phil's thigh, though. He's not usually the one initiating contact, always complains jokingly when Phil reaches for him too much, but Phil guesses that Dan has missed him almost as much as Phil has missed Dan.

Phil drinks his coffee and watches Dan's screen scroll through photos of people he doesn't recognise, places he's never been.

The scrolling stops on a face Phil does recognise with a jolt, just long enough for Dan to tap it twice with his thumb and move on. It's so strange to see Anthony Padilla look... old. He's not old, not really - Phil can't remember for sure, but he's fairly certain the Smosh guys are the same age as him - but Phil is so used to seeing him look a specific way. He's got an image in his mind of the way Smosh looks, of the way he looks, and it's like the screens and mirrors are lying to him.

It doesn't help that Phil sees a bit of Dan in the pose, the curly hair, the big sweater. He wonders what came first, wonders which of them looked at the other and saw something they wanted in themselves, or if they even did it consciously. By the time Phil thinks to ask if they know each other or just know of each other, Dan has opened a different application.

Being with Dan is too much, sometimes.

Phil has been very lucky in his life. He knows what it feels like to be loved unconditionally by his parents, his brother, a handful of friends, and how it feels to love them the same. The way that Dan loves him, though, is different. New. Something Phil didn't know could ever be directed at him.

Most days it isn't an issue. Dan loves him, and he's very fond of Dan, and they do all they can to meet each other in the middle of the gaping chasm where a decade used to be.

But there are moments when the itch gets so bad, when Dan's big hands and brown eyes get so intense, that Phil doesn't know how to handle it. Dan loves him so much that he projects it like an aura, enveloping Phil in the gentle warmth he manages to carry with him even when he's shouting obscenities at Phil over a game, and sometimes.

Sometimes, it's overwhelming. When it gets like that, the smallest things can make Phil feel like he's missed a step or five on a staircase he can't see the bottom of. It's not stifling, suffocating, upsetting. It's simply too much.

He doesn't know how to convey that to Dan. How to explain the itch. So he doesn't.

In the days following his return from the Isle, Phil feels it more than he ever has. Something about being apart, even if it was only for three nights, has Dan clinging in a way that Phil hasn't experienced yet. Sure, Dan is cuddly enough, especially when they're curled up together in bed or on the sofa, but this is another level.

Dan has currently plastered himself to Phil's back while he washes the dishes, an arm slung over Phil's shoulder, lips pressed to Phil's jaw, and he's stayed there for nearly fifteen minutes while he chatters on about whatever's on his mind.

It's not the casual brushes of lips and fingers that Phil expects, that they both initiate every day; it's Dan planting his feet and staying in Phil's space like he never wants to leave it again.

That's scary. Never is a scary, overwhelming, too much word.

"Love you," Dan reminds him on his way out of the room, taking the overwhelming warmth of his aura with him. He no longer qualifies the statement with a 'you don't have to say it back'. Phil doesn't know if that's because he wants Phil to say it or because he thinks Phil has probably understood that by now.

The words get choked in Phil's throat the way they do every time. It's reflex, instinct, to say he loves someone when they say it to him. That wouldn't be a fair thing for Phil to slip up with at all.

Phil breathes deeply in the sudden quiet of their big kitchen and tries to calm himself from that missed-step panic.

"What are you doing?"

There's a note to Dan's voice that Phil doesn't recognise, not without turning around to see his face. It's sleepy confusion, mostly, and Phil doesn't think he needs to know what else it is.

"I'm snooping," says Phil. His hands pause in their rifling. "Or organizing, I guess, but snooping makes it sound more fun."

"It's five in the morning," Dan tells him.

Oh. That is a bit startling. Phil doesn't know what time it was when he gave up on sleep and got out of bed, but he's made it through a dresser and a half. He wonders if he's sorting things wrong, if Dan's got a system for the drawers like he does for their hangers.

Phil stares down at his hands, tangled with the loose socks in one of their top drawers. He feels weirdly disconnected from the physical sensation.

"You didn't come to bed," Phil says, the reason behind his earlier restlessness coming back to him.

"No, sorry," says Dan. He doesn't actually sound sorry, but Phil still can't figure out how he does sound. "I got caught up in this thread, I know I've read it before but I, like, forgot enough about it that it still fucked me up? There was this guy and he kept seeing these, I dunno, sticky notes, I fucking guess, in his own writing, and he didn't remember writing them, right, so he -"

"Cool," Phil says, probably too sharp. He isn't sure where that story is going, but he knows that it's hitting a bit too close to home as it is.

There's a beat. "Sorry," Dan says again. This time it seems like he means it.

Phil shrugs. "I'm not upset."

"No, you're not. Will you look at me?"

Honestly, Phil had forgotten about his physical form entirely. He blinks. After a moment, he takes his hands out of the drawer to turn and face Dan.

Dan smiles. He looks exhausted, sitting at the foot of their bed in just an oversized jumper. Probably some pants, as well, but the way his top hangs makes it impossible to tell for sure. His long legs are bare and crossed at the ankles.

"Are you wearing pants?" Phil blurts out, like his thought process is connected directly to his tongue.

He is reminded, ridiculously, of Cordelia Chase, and the way her speech and thoughts mirrored perfectly. Sure, he can't remember the PIN to his own bank card, but he can get a flashback to Earshot like he watched it last week. He wonders if Charisma is happy in 2019.

Phil's thoughts are ping-ponging so much that he almost misses it when Dan laughs and nods, rucking up the front of his jumper to show them off. "Yeah, you fucking pervert, I'm wearing pants."

The sound of Dan's laugh relaxes some of the tension that Phil didn't even realise he was holding in his body, and he gives Dan a tired grin.

"Oh, I'm the pervert?" he teases. He gestures behind himself, indicating the dresser he's half done organizing. "I'm not the one who's got a collection of women's underwear. Unless I am? Am I? You'd tell me if I wore women's underwear, wouldn't you?"

Dan's lips twitch, but he gives Phil a surprisingly stern look. "They're not 'women's underwear'," he says with little air quotes. "They're just underwear."

This seems like one of those things Dan can rant about for hours that Phil doesn't completely understand and has to make discreet Google searches to keep up with, but he's always willing to listen. Or, well, any time but five in the morning, he'd be willing to listen. He's sure Dan can rant about gender roles and normativity when they're both properly awake.

He's curious about this, though. He does his best to make sure that the curiosity is all that comes through, doesn't want to accidentally sound like he's being judgemental when he says, "So they're yours, then."

"Yeah," says Dan, simple.

"Is it a sex thing?" Phil asks, because apparently a distinct lack of sleep makes him tactless. He thinks of Cordelia again.

Dan doesn't seem bothered by the question. He shrugs, pulling idly at the collar of his jumper. "Sometimes. Not always. I dunno, Phil, not everything I own is from the men's section. I just buy things I like and wear them when I want to."

He says it like it isn't a big deal, but Phil isn't stupid. Dan doesn't do anything without overthinking it. Neither of them do, really, although they overthink in different ways - Phil's anxiety is what makes his thoughts race and his palms sweat at any decision he makes, while Dan will sit down in a quiet place and let all his thoughts tumble forward so he can try to sort through them.

It's so easy to picture. Dan in one of those stores Phil is always afraid to touch anything in, flipping through hangers with a bored look on his face. Getting his attention caught by something black and glittery on the opposite wall. Hesitating. Turning to Phil and saying, "Sometimes I wish I was a girl."

Phil realises with a little jolt that it isn't imagination alone. He knows in his gut that the exchange, or something like it, has happened before. He remembers the nervous look on Dan's face all too well.

"It's not weird," Phil says, to the Dan in front of him and the younger Dan in his mind's eye. "I don't fully get it, but that's okay. I shouldn't have said it was weird."

Something flashes across Dan's face, too quick for Phil to decipher.

"I know it isn't," says Dan. "But thanks."

He doesn't think that Dan has always known that. He thinks that there must have been a lot of bravery in the simple action of crossing a store. But it's five in the morning and they're both tired, rough around the edges with it, so Phil holds his tongue.

"In any case, your underwear's been sorted and folded," Phil informs him.

Dan rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Folded, sure. I've seen you try to fold shit that's a hell of a lot easier than some of the pants I have."

"There's just not a lot of fabric to some of them," Phil admits. The material hadn't helped, since Phil doesn't think he's ever touched lace that isn't attached to a tablecloth at his grandparents' house. "I did my best."

"I'm sure you did," says Dan. He dimples up at Phil and reaches his hands out in invitation. The missed-step swoop in Phil's stomach doesn't come, so he just smiles back and steps closer, settles himself comfortably on Dan's bare thighs. "So, I was thinking about when you Skyped me."

It takes Phil a moment to try and figure out Dan's train of thought, see where the statement has come from, but he decides that it's useless. Dan could have been waiting to bring it up for days now and a tired Phil with no filter was exactly the opener he needed.

"Yeah," Phil says, tracing the bags under Dan's sleepy eyes with his thumbs. "What about it?"

"I don't think I'm being very fair to you," says Dan. "When you remember things, I mean. It's a good thing, and I was happy, I just."

He pauses, bites his lower lip.

"You just wish it was more," Phil finishes for him. A small pang hits him in the stomach when Dan grimaces and nods. "That's okay, you know. You're allowed to wish I was... him, again."

"You're not separate people," Dan says again, quiet.

"I kind of am," says Phil. "I hope you know that I - I want to be him. For you, and for me, because he seems like he's got a really good handle on this life thing and I've got no bloody idea what I'm doing, but I can't just. I can't make myself him. I can't even, like, guarantee he'll ever fully be here again."

Dan's inhale is shaky. He runs his hands up and down Phil's thighs in a show of comfort, although Phil can't tell which of them it's for.

"That's scary," Dan murmurs. His eyes are so big and warm and vulnerable, Phil almost feels like he shouldn't be seeing him like this. "That's really fucking scary, Phil."

"It's scary for me, too," Phil reminds him. He's got a bit of a tightness in his chest, anxious from the lack of sleep and too-serious conversation, and he tucks his face into Dan's neck to break from the eye contact. "I don't want this to be happening, you know? I kind of hate it. You're so - you're really good, Dan, you like. Deserve to have him back."

The room is quiet for a little while. It's dark in the safety of Dan's neck, and only the feeling of Dan's hands on his thighs keeps Phil grounded to reality.

Eventually, Dan says, "Thanks for saying that, but also, like. We've gotten through a lot together. I'm sure we can handle this if it's permanent. It's just one of those things that... we aren't going to know what we're doing right away."

You're home for me, Phil thinks. You're home, and that's overwhelming sometimes.

"You can tell me what we've all gotten through tomorrow," is what Phil says. He pulls back and presses his lips to Dan's cheek, because he can. "I think we should get some sleep."

"Alright, stupid," Dan hums, squeezing Phil's thighs and dimpling up at him. He's so beautiful that it makes something ache in Phil's chest, some weird combination of pride and want. "You'll have to get off me, first."

"Okay," says Phil.

It takes him another few minutes to actually leave Dan's lap. Luckily, Dan doesn't seem to mind.

Dan still doesn't think that having social media on his phone is a good idea for Phil, too easy to get overwhelmed by, but he's happy to sit back against Phil's chest while they watch tv and scroll through his own feeds. He shows Phil a lot of things that Phil doesn't understand, and most of it is just perplexing.

Some of it is viscerally upsetting, but Phil knows that Dan doesn't mean for it to be. Advances in technology are only cool to hear about until the wheel of worst case scenarios in Phil's head starts to spin. Maybe self-driving cars and robots that talk back are neat to think about in theory, but the reality of them makes Phil so, so anxious.

He hears Dan murmur, "God, she's getting so big."

So he looks. Then, suddenly, he feels like he is going to pass out. All the blood in his body rushes to his head and his eyes start to water, because. What the hell.

The girl in the photo isn't one Phil recognises. She looks younger than twelve - he isn't good at guessing ages, he'd place her between six and nine - so he guesses that's not very surprising. What's making his head spin is the man with her.

"Is that Ian?" Phil asks, blinking a bunch like it'll change the fact right in front of him.

Dan locks his phone immediately and winces, turning in Phil's arms to hold him close. "Yeah, that's Ian and his daughter. Are you okay? I should have warned you, I didn't even think."

"Ian has a daughter?" Repeating it doesn't make it sound any more true. Phil shakes his head. "I just watched him throw up in a girl's purse. Like, he just gave himself a concussion trying to climb out of a ground floor window. He doesn't have a daughter."

"Are you okay?" Dan asks again, softer.

No, Phil isn't okay. The reality is, of course Ian has a daughter. All of Phil's friends and family have lived a life that he no longer has access to. Every memory he has of Ian is so much clearer than the memories Ian must have of him, clouded by time and nostalgia. He wonders if Ian remembers the concussion and then thinks, don't be silly, how could he forget? How could he forget anything about Phil? How could Phil have forgotten anything about him?

"No," he says out loud, because Dan deserves to know the truth. "No, I fucking hate this. I hate it, Dan."

The laugh that's startled out of Dan is wobbly and wet, and Phil really wishes he wouldn't cry. If Dan cries again, Phil will desperately want to comfort him, and he wants this selfish moment of anger for himself.

Dan's voice isn't shaky when he speaks, though, his arms tightening around Phil and their legs all tangled. "Yeah, it really sucks, huh? She's a good kid, if that helps. She likes you."

"I don't know if that helps," Phil says, "but thank you for saying it."

He wonders what Ian thinks of Dan. How does his best friend feel about Phil settling down like this? Was it surprising to him or did it seem organic if you'd lived it?

It doesn't feel organic to Phil. He's getting there, he is, because Dan is wonderful and he wants to be around him all the time, but. Dan feels like home in a way that Phil doesn't think he's earned.

Slow progress is still progress, Phil reminds himself. He knows how to cook Dan eggs he doesn't even eat anymore, knows what Dan looks like when he's about to start crying on Skype, knows a thousand things that he's learned ever since he woke up on the kitchen floor.

It's progress. He has to keep telling himself that or he's going to lose his entire mind.

Dan's voice, quiet and empathetc, breaks into Phil's spiralling frustration. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No, Phil doesn't want to talk about it. He isn't okay and he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it in case everything comes tumbling out at once.

The itch isn't there right this second, but Phil knows how easily it comes on. He wonders if there's a way to get rid of it without Dan ever knowing its existence, wonders how his brother and parents and probably Ian are all so chill about this relationship when Phil himself feels like it's all-consuming.

He can't exactly get frustrated with Dan for not talking about his feelings if he just turns around and does the same thing, though. So.

"No," he says, "but I will anyway."

Despite his worries, Phil's words don't come tumbling out the moment he gives them permission. Instead he has to force them, stammering and avoiding Dan's big brown eyes as he talks about the way it feels to be thrust into a life he doesn't remember making, a life he doesn't feel like he deserves. He talks about the itch under his skin that he'd thought would go away if he just embraced the reality of being in a committed relationship and how it hasn't, really, and sometimes it feels even worse than it had when he first woke up.

Dan lets him talk. He's good at that, Phil thinks. He doesn't try to interject in any of the pauses where Phil forces himself to say things that have been on his mind for almost two entire months.

It isn't until Phil apologises that Dan's large hand is covering his own and squeezing.

"What on earth are you sorry for, stupid?" Dan murmurs. "I'm glad you told me you feel this way, because, like, it isn't the first time."

Phil blinks. He meets Dan's gaze, his heart pounding a bit at the sheer amount of affection behind those eyes. He turns his hand over to link their fingers together, holds tight like Dan is an anchor. "What?"

"I told you," Dan says with a sad little smile. "I know everything about you. Do you really think you never panicked when we first moved in together and a dozen times after that? Do you think I didn't? You're not the only one who was in love for the first time, Lester. I know it's been a few years, but I remember how it feels to be thrown in the deep end of feelings you can't get a fucking grip on."

The sheer relief at being understood washes over Phil, and he laughs.

"Ten years," he says, the same awe as always washing over him as he does. Right in this moment, it doesn't scare him the way it has been.

Dan's smile is still sad, but his eyes are twinkling. "Ten years. There's no part of your bullshit I can't handle by now."

"You're so annoying," Phil says. He knows that Dan can hear the emotion behind it, the same way Phil has figured out that being called stupid means 'I love you', but voicing his other feelings has made him brave and stupid with it. "I think - no, I don't think, I'm pretty fucking sure - that I, like, love you."

He's not sure what he expects. His heart is pounding and he waits for Dan to beam at him or cry or something else ridiculous, but Dan just gives him a little shrug.

"I know," he says, grinning. "I know you." He doesn't say it back this time, but that's okay.

Phil knows him, too.

#phanfiction #phanfic #phan #dnp fic #words words words #i'm going to be late to work sjkghjks

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ratchedspeach · 5 years ago

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Can you write a one shot about Cat and Jade being cute and in love?

Oh who am I to say no to this! Get ready for fluff with a lil bit of angst (cause I’m still me teehee) … In which Cat hates studying, and Jade has had way too much coffee

La Lune et Les Etoiles

In which Jade is an insanely passionate student, and Cat is not.

She might be the only person Cat knew that loves finals week. Jade sat cross legged on a chair, her purple-streaked curls pulled into a messy ponytail and her eyes trained on the novella La Salle de Bain by Jean-Philippe Toussaint. She had dragged Cat there to help her do research for their French final, which Cat had agreed to after enough threats to her immediate bodily safety from her morbid but mostly harmless friend. Cat hated finals - hated school in general, really, which only made her hate being in the Hollywood Arts High School’s surprisingly dull library past 1:00 in the morning on a Friday night that much more.

“Are you planning on actually reading it?” Jade inquired, taking a sip from her fourth cup of coffee since they’d been there, but never looking up from her own book.

Cat looked at the book in her own hands - Dans La Café de la Jeunesse Perdue by Patrick Modiano. They were comparing the dichotomy of French gender roles throughout the decades by analyzing famous philosophic, literary works. It had been Jade’s idea, obviously, and Cat had only gone along when she’d finally promised that she would write the paper on her own if she would agree to at least help with research.

“It’s in French.” Cat pouted, bending the corners of a few delicate pieces of paper with her index finger.

That got Jades attention. She peaked her eyes out from behind her already half-finished book, quirking an eyebrow. “So?”

“I speak English.”

“Cat, the project is for our French class.” Jade addressed, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach when she realized she knew exactly where this conversation was going.

Cat nodded, adding an airy “yeah.”

“We ... It’s supposed to be in French.” Jade folded the corner of her page down before placing the book on the desk separating the two of them. “Can you ... do you not ... Cat, please tell me you can actually speak - oh forget it.” She placated, bringing her thumb and index finger to clamp down on the bridge of her nose.

“I’m sorry,” Cat spilled, “I tried to tell you that I wasn’t very good at this.”

“Cat,” Jade cautioned, her eyes burning with an amalgam of frustration, and what Cat could only explain as ... humor...? “this is an upper level literature course. One of the requirements is speaking French. How did you even get in!?”

It earned them a hush from the librarian, which earned her Jade’s loudest, most melodramatic groan. This was all just getting to be a little too cliche for her. She had agreed to be partners with the red head because out of everyone in that class, she was the person that Jade hated the least. She had known that it would mean doing the bulk of the work - not because she thought Cat wasn’t smart; as a matter of fact when she applied herself, Jade was often shocked at what the girl had to say. No, rather she knew because she had seen Cat’s performance throughout the semester, thus knew how much she struggled with the language. She just ... hadn’t realized the full extent of it.

Cat bit her lip, averting her own gaze from the brooding girl across from her. “You sounded excited when I said I was gonna be in it. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Okay, first of all, nothing excites me.” Jade griped, ignoring the color that rose in her pale cheeks. “And second of all, I wouldn’t have told you to take it if I knew you couldn’t actually speak French!”

Cat’s usually sunny features drew into a childish glower. “You were excited.”

“Excitement is for man children.”

“Sikowitz is always excited.”

“Point and case.” She gloated with a smirk.

Jade could hold a grudge against anyone, but when she harrumphed softly, crossing her pink sweater adorned arms across of her stomach, her smiled tugged a little harder at the corners of her mouth. There was no use being angry with Cat - it was like trying to be upset with rain for falling - it didn’t know better, and neither did she.

“Look, it’s fine.” Jade sighed, rolling her eyes and pulling her hair out of the ponytail. “I’ll do the project, and Mme. Chopain doesn’t need to know a thing. I promise.”

Jade tossed her now loose curls over her left shoulder, bringing her fingers to massage the roots of her hair and tussle them softly. Cat watched, her warm caramel eyes fixed on they way her fingers skillfully moved through her dark locks. It did not go unnoticed by the goth, who felt something in her stomach flutter. She took a deep breath, pulling her fingers out of her hair and bringing both hands to cup her now lukewarm coffee mug. The library had a small vending machine which dispensed one dollar cups of the stuff, and while it wasn’t to the standard of the countless artisanal shops in the LA area, it was enough to keep her wired, and that’s all Jade really cared about.

“Thank you.” Cat intoned, the last of her pout melting away back into a sheepish smile.

Jade watched the redhead, a flash of something warm streaking through her eyes before they settled into her usual, deliberate glare. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment as though she were about to say something, before shrugging slightly and burying her nose back in the text.

“What?” Cat queried, leaning in across the desk and placing her chin gently on her folded arms.

Jade bristled slightly. “Nothing.” She snapped. “I’m just stressed now, that’s all.”

The other girl studied her for a moment, because it wasn’t anger she sensed in her. It was … something else. Cat worried her bottom lip between her teeth, continuing to examine Jade, who had noticed her interested, which only made the color in her cheeks rise further.

“You’re being weird.” Cat noticed airily, twisting a few pieces of hair between her fingers.

Jade’s brow furrowed. “I am not!” She exclaimed, earning her another shush from the after-hours librarian. “Shush me again, and I’ll strangle you with your dollar store wig!”

They were kicked out of the library immediately, much to Cat’s delight. The Hollywood Arts parking lot stretched drearily in front of them - a fresh blanket of mist causing it to glint in the early morning light. Cat checked her pear phone for the time. 3:13 a.m. She rubbed at her eyes before glancing at Jade, who was rummaging through her cluttered backpack for the keys to her yellow VW Bug (It would never not make Cat giggle a little to see the otherwise monochrome girl in her all-too vibrant, all-too girlie car).

“I can drive you home if you want.” Cat offered as Jade threw her bag on the ground in a fit of frustration and what she could only assume was coffee-induced adrenaline.

Jade didn’t respond. It was now her turn to press the palms of either hand to her eyes, heaving a low sigh as she sat on the curb, her legs stretched onto the empty street. Cat bit the inside of her cheek, uncertain of whether that was supposed to be a yes or a get the hell out of here. She chose to assume the former, mimicking the other girl’s movement, and sitting delicately next to her. Jade shifted slightly as she felt her friends hip graze her own when she sat down.

Cat noticed.

“Planning on sleeping here?” She asked, only half joking, before adding, “I think my cot is still in the attic.”

Jade smiled softly. “Well I can’t sleep.” She admonished, pulling her hair back into the ponytail she had started the night in. “Too much coffee. So I might as well…”

“What?”

Jade shrugged, but didn’t respond, because honestly, she wasn’t sure. She was too tired to study, and too wired on black coffee to sleep. She hadn’t planned on getting kicked out of the library. Come to think of it, she hadn’t exactly planned on doing the work of a two-person AP French Lit exam all on her own. Jade felt the tension in her chest grow as her breath hitching dangerously in her throat, and apparently so did Cat, because before she could process what was happening, the redhead was pulling her head onto her shoulder, stroking the goth’s hair, and apologizing.

“I should’ve told you I couldn’t speak French.” Cat whispered.

She smelled like a mix of peppermint and lavender, and it made whatever anxiety was bubbling in Jade’s stomach almost completely disappear. “It’s ok.” She whispered as her breath came back to even. “I should’ve known better than to think you did.”

Cat giggled, and Jade matched her, pulling her head off of her shoulder to meet her gaze. Their laughs dissipated into a heavy silence. Cat watched as Jade’s smile fell into an uncertain glower, the light behind her eyes glinting with a mixture of deviance and … could that be … Is she scared? Cat thought, before something flared in her mind.Oh shit. Am I? Cat thought she should look away - thought that holding the gaze of her fickle friend could only lead to empty, but still terrifying threats of violence. She knew Jade.

Or … so she thought.

It caught her completely off-guard, therefore, when what came from Jade’s lips wasn’t incitements of bodily harm, when it wasn’t anything coming from them at all, but when it was just … her lips - soft, and gentle, and tasting of rose-tinted lip balm. Cat’s eyes went wide for a moment before a flood of warmth starting from her mouth and radiated through her body, and her eyes closed and she just reveled in it. They sat like that for a moment, Cat’s arms coming across Jade’s shoulders, and Jade’s awkwardly at her side as though she still wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch the redhead.

The kiss lasted no more than a minute. Jade was the one to start it and to end it - pulling away with her eyes still closed like she couldn’t believe that she had just … that she …

“Shit.” Jade breathed, alarm sounding through her entire body.

Cat watched her, the fingers of her left hand coming up to touch her now lips in disbelief, wide-eyed, and still warm, and wishing that she could kiss her again. “That was …”

“Shit.”

They looked at each other for a moment longer before a smile pinched the dimples on Cat’s cheeks, and Jade’s heart fluttered desperately. It scared Cat a little to see her so uncertain, because it was the very opposite of the behavior that she had come to expect from the brooding teen. She placed her fingertips on the pavement, allowing them to brush against Jade’s, and watching as her lips pursed into a tentative smile that resembled more of a smirk.

“I didn’t know you were …” Cat trailed off when the dark haired girl shook her head.

“I … didn’t really know either.” She admitted, before adding in flustered babble. “I mean, I knew, I just … I … I hadn’t planned on …”

Jade trailed off, bringing the hand not touching Cat’s to smack her forehead as she continued to fight for the right words. The redhead smiled sheepishly, her chest fluttering as she watched the other girl. The smile fell, though, when she saw the tears rimming her lash line as she desperately tried to blink them away.

“J-Jade…?” Cat pulled her hand fingers to fully lace between her friend’s (if she could still really call her that).

“My parents don’t know.” Jade whispered, sucking in a sharp, shuddered breath.

“Neither do mine.”

“Beck doesn’t know.”

“… oh.” She’d forgotten about him.

They sat in silence for a moment, Jade still holding back tears, and Cat watching her like she might disappear altogether if she so much as blinked. Their fingers stayed entangled, both of them grasping onto the other like it was the only thing grounding them to earth. Jade felt like she was flying as the mixture of angst and utter joy jumbled in the pit of her stomach. She had never thought about what her first kiss with a girl would be like. She had always known that she wanted to have one, but she hadn’t expected it to be so … gentle, so exquisitely delicate and easy. Jade realized that a large part of that had to do with who she was kissing. Cat - all smiles and sunshine and utter bliss. Jade wished it could be simple, wished so desperately that they could just kiss and have it mean nothing more, but she knew it couldn’t be left at just that. Cat, on the other hand, blinded by her positive (dare Jade say … naive?) outlook on the world, was over the moon and nothing more. Jade envied her for that.

“There’s a saying in French,” She changed the subject, eyes still fixed on the empty school lot, “la lune et les etoiles tout ensemble.”

Cat had never heard her speak French, and it took her breath away - the way the words flowed and flickered between her teeth, and the expulsion of breath that perfected her accent.

“What does it mean?” She asked blithely.

Jade looked at her, eyes ablaze with too many different things for Cat to comprehend. She wondered how someone could feel so many things at once, how she could fit everything into her slender frame.

“The moon and stars all in one.” Jade smiled faintly, perhaps even a little sadly, before placing her head once more on the other girl’s shoulder.

Cat didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t, welcoming the contact and the warmth that once more radiated throughout her body. They sat like that until dawn, watching the stars fade into the glow of morning, and letting the rest of the world slip away.

At least for a little while.

#you don't know me #nat writes #cat valetine #jade west #victorious #one shot #fanfic #fluff #angst #cade #cat/jade #i loved writing thus #might turn it into a larger fic tbh

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tuliptx · 5 years ago

Text

Outlaw Woman Ch2

Rated M - this is a serious rating y’all. There’s derogatory terms and sex and violence. The MC world is not a soft place but I won’t water it down.

Lexi is constantly finding herself in the middle- She belongs with the SOA, family is everything, but finding her role within that family is hard. She has to find a balance and a place before she just teeters over the edge and gets lost in the madness. Love, Lust, Violence, and Hilarity.

Jax x OC x Happy - David Hale x OC

Hey guys! Lets act like we’ve done this before ok? No copying my work- I don’t own SOA etc etc. I LOVE Lexi. I put a lot of myself in her and I would adore your feedback. Check out my Master List Here.

Happy locked eyes with Lexi as he slid his calloused, masculine, strong right hand under her left knee. Lexi couldn't help the sudden intake of breath, her lips parting ever so slightly. The room suddenly felt way too small. No man had ever made her nervous like Happy did. She had no idea what to do with that. It had been years since their one night. One night of mindless pleasure. No names had been exchanged. No club affiliation ever discussed. That night had gone completely unacknowledged even after they realized. Verbally at least. It was for the better.

Thank God he wasn't around more because as is, these moments are getting far too frequent. As his hand slid slowly but with purpose down her calf lifting her ankle onto his jean clad knee she held her breath. He lifted it just off his knee sliding the ice pack under to cool it from behind where it looked to be the most bruised. "Hand me that gauze." His voice was slightly deeper than normal- less raspy. She nodded dumbly and then, and then the most embarrassing thing ever, she let out a loud hiccup that was so violent it actually caused her to bounce slightly off the bar.

Lexi was mortified; she couldn't look up at him. She hadn't even had warning enough to cover her mouth. Her face immediately began to heat up and she handed him the gauze as quickly as she could before taking a long pull from the bottle of Jack at her side tossing the lid across the room. This day had been exhausting- she had every intention of making it all go away by drinking as much of this bottle as she could. 'At least the hiccup had killed that moment before anyone could walk in on that super sexy eye contact,' she thought.

Her leg was so smooth and warm from the sun. Happy's mind went blank when she bounced- he'd been captivated by the jiggle of her DDs. Really, he had to get ahold of himself. If Tig kept catching him staring like this- it'd be his nuts. Especially now that she had an old man. His eyes wandered over a fresh piece of ink on her calf. She was lucky her boots had protected it. A beautiful reaper curved along her calf. The style very reminiscent of the one painted on the door- this one held more color. It was centered in a golden frame with the shadows of crows dancing behind its head and in its extended palm instead of the traditional anarchy sign it held a glowing sacred heart. He had to rein this shit in. Happy didn't like being out of control of anything- with Lexi he felt he was out of control of EVERYTHING. From the moment he’d arrived in Charming five years ago only to learn that sweet wild delicious piece of ass he’d fucked on the road was actually Tig’s sister, he’d been fighting to get a solid grip on things. She never followed direction, she was always putting herself in bad situations, she was ever chasing adventure and danger. That he was attached to her in the slightest was dangerous. EVERTHING about Lexi was dangerous for him.

"So what was all of that about?" he distracted as he began to gingerly wipe the blood off of her leg, putting slight pressure on the scrapes to stop the bleeding. "Fucking idiot probably should have done this first," he muttered. Lexi laughed, "yeah well you know my brother- more bullets then brain." Hap smirked nodding his head and continuing to work on her- long golden soft warm- leg. "That stick in Tara's ass has been super-sized lately. It's starting to affect the functionality of her brain." Hap glanced up at her, "but why? Why you?" Lexi scoffed taking another pull off her bottle, "I honestly don't know where this started. She's always hated me, but since she came back- she wants me dead." She took another pull, "Jax definitely isn't helping things. This reminds me I have to find a new place to hide my key." "Wasn't your old man mad when he showed up like that?" Lexi almost shot whiskey out her nose- which burns for a very long time if you've never done it. "What old man? What have you been smoking Hap and can I have some?" Hap reached into his pocket with his left hand using his right to apply light pressure. He fished out a joint and handed it over and she giggled in delight.

After a deep inhale, holding the smoke in her lungs, "What're you talking about Hap?" her accent continued to thicken with each vice she partook in. He gently tapped her tattoo and then ran a finger firmly down one side of the frame. "OH!" She was becoming more animated; her hands were now flying as she was speaking to him causing some of the booze to slosh out. "No, I got that just for me. It's not a crow. I got shot six months ago, Clay and Gem and Tig and the boys all said I earned my own reaper. I had to make it a little more girly though. I'm just not the kind of girl to rock anything overly masculine." Happy's brain had stopped on the shot part, "see this is what I'm talking about! How the hell did you get shot?" Lexi's eyebrows furrowed as she leaned forward, "what you're talking about?" He shook his head, "How the hell did you get shot?" She leaned back eyeing him suspiciously but in her buzzed state quickly let it go shrugging and smiling, "drive by." She unbuttoned the top button on her blouse allowing her to shift the collar so he could see the vibrant pink shiny new flesh where she had taken the bullet. And also a good flash of skin and pink lace. Happy shook his head. Focus. He took the bottle from her taking a long pull only to realize she’d already knocked back more than half of it. Well that wasn’t good.

Focus. He hadn't heard of a drive by. "Drive by where?" "Oakland." "What the fuck were you doing in Oakland?" "I had a meeting with a gallery in Oakland. I sold three paintings- Jax took me to a bar after to celebrate." "What the fuck?"

Jax should know better than that.

He had put Lexi in danger.

He had started this thing with Tara too.

Lexi was the artist of the door and the tattoo. Well that made her hotter. Fuck.

Happy filed it away at the look of confusion on Lexi's face. Her blue eyes were sharp, even in her inebriated state. He schooled his features trying to look casual. He'd have to ask around about this when she wasn't around. Something about all of this didn't seem right. What the hell was Jax thinking- or better yet what was Jax thinking with?

Before he could even process all of this new information two things happened: One, Tig, the Prospect and Chibs came laughing and rough housing out of the dorms; two, the front door to the club house was thrown open with a loud BANG. Gemma cut a formidable figure in her bitch heels; large black hobo bag slung over her shoulder. "Little girl, you have a lot of explaining to do!" Lexi was immediately off the bar forgetting her swollen foot and leaving the half smoked joint in an ash tray. The pain immediately reminded her why she’d been smoking it in the first place and she reached out gripping Happy's shoulder for support. He stood and maneuvered her to his stool. The way the two moved with each other was so natural- the all-seeing mother bear quirked an eyebrow, not missing a thing. Happy pulled up a second bar stool and lifter her foot; replacing the ice pack, only when she was situated did he step away. Then again Alexia is family and Happy was notoriously protective of SOA family- especially the women. Though, no one would ever label him a nurturer. Gemma filed this new observation away for a later date.

"You fucking broke the doc's nose! You better have a damn good reason!" Gemma scolded charging toward her beloved pseudo daughter. "Gemma you know me better than that! The bitch started something she didn't have the ass to back up." "Why the fuck would she do that Lex? Jax was at your house last night! That's why!" Happy’s shoulders tensed and he leaned back against the bar staring at the juke box intently. Lex rolled her eyes, "that's an issue you should take up with your son." Gemma threw her purse on the counter, "I would if I could but he's too busy talking Tara down." Lexi threw her hands up, "this is nuts! Why do I have to defend myself when I was just defending myself!" "Lex, you know I’ve always thought you were better for Jax then that little tart, but when you sleep with another woman's old man she has every right to give you hell. You screwed up you should take it!" Lexi, now seeing red, threw that mother fucking bottle of booze against the wall behind Gemma who covered her head and stared at her pseudo daughter in shock. "I didn't do shit!" The entire club was silent in the wake of the bottles shatter.

Tig came up behind Lex quietly, putting an affectionate and comforting hand on her shoulder. Her chest was heaving from screaming and a tear of rage sank down her cheek. Lexi was not an angry girl but she had a temper that she struggled with at times- one that had been passed down to both of his children by Dan Trager. Chibs turned to the Prospect, "go get me medics bag." Half Sack nodded and slipped out of the room silently, relieved to be anywhere but here. "You know what Gem?" came a low soft lilting Texas accent, "If I had slept with Jax, yes, Tara would have every right. I have never slept with Jax. I don't intend to sleep with Jax. I. Don't. Want. Him." She took another long deep breath and the queen opened her mouth as if to say something but quickly shut it. "Jax," Lexi was disgusted, "broke into my house last night. I had no idea he was there until the morning. I am sick,” her voice hitched, “I am sick and tired of your fucking son putting me in the middle." Lexi looked up from where her eyes had been glued to her lap. Making eye contact with Gemma, Gemma felt her spine go cold at a look that was violent and fed up. "Tara jumped me- pulled me off the bike- Jax did nothing- I defended myself. That is the last time I am saying it to you Gemma. Believe who you want."

Gemma sat down in the nearest chair with a dramatic sigh. “Well why didn’t you just say so.”

Lexi closed her eyes and took a deep breathe trying to calm herself. Happy noticed that her hands were clenched and shaking. TIg glanced at the Killer and followed his dark stare. He lovingly, gently pried her fingers apart and rubbed his thumbs over the crescent imprints from her nails. Chibs made his move then, the medic's bag appearing in his hand. Got to give it to the Prospect, he had come and gone with no one noticing. Chibs moved to Lexi's side examining her scrapes. "We need to clean these honey and then we need to take a look at that ankle, see if it's broken." Lexi nodded allowing the Scott to clean and bandage the wound on her thigh in silence but not before she scooped up Happy's abandoned beer on the bar and downing it in one go and taking a long hit off the joint. "When I know what's goin on with your ankle, I'll give you something for the pain and to chill your nerves love." Lexi gave him a thin smile before carefully putting the now significantly shorter joint between the Scotts lips who gave her a roguish smile in return. “I’m good,” she muttered.

From her spot at a table Gemma lit a cigarette massaging her temples as she puffed and puffed.

#sons of anarchy #soa #soa fanfiction #Jax Teller #jax x oc #jax teller x oc #jax teller x reader #happy lowman #happy lowman x oc #happy lowman x reader #gemma teller #angst #romance

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