#HE SAID THE LINE *thunderous applause*

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Would you write a part 2 of the aftermath of this ending https://www.tumblr.com/sourcherryandsprinkles/754130135676076032/sending-aemond-dirty-letters-by-raven-while-you

Request: Aemond ask for Velaryon!reader’s favor at the king’s tourney to piss off her betrothed who is also competing as knight from another house

I was secretly planning this 🤭 It's shorter than I wanted...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You should have seen Aemond’s move coming. 

He had a smug smile on his face when he met you in secret and stole a good fortune kiss after breaking fast. He told you he would ask for your favor if he won — and not only the flowers kind. 

Seated alongside your brothers, you watched from the royal box as Aemond entered the tournament ground with the other knights of House Targaryen. He sat tall and strong on his black horse, his long silver hair peeking from beneath the helmet. There was something about him in full armor that made you clench your legs, feeling your core ache. You didn’t know if you wanted to tear it off him or keep it on and ride him with it on. 

The other knights parted to the other side of the court, but Aemond stayed. He looked up and spotted you amongst the crowd, his intense gaze fixed on you.

‘’Prince Aemond of House Targaryen will now choose his first opponent,’’ the tourney announcer said.

Knights from other houses were lined up and Aemond trotted before them. He eyes them all, making it seem like he didn’t already know who he was going to pick. The prince smirked behind the protection of his helmet before stopping and pointing his lance at Lord Tully’s son — your betrothed. 

You tensed on your seat, knowing this duel was not going to end well and would stir drama. Aemond wanted to take him down. This was revenge for taking you from him. 

In the court, the two knights positioned themselves. Aemond was calm and collected, but you knew he was relishing every moment of this. His horse was stomping impatiently.

When he signed up for the tourney, Alicent disapproved immediately. But Aemond was determined to participate. He knew it would be more challenging for him since he only had one good eye, but he was confident in his skills. He’s been training for years with only one eye, and learning tactics to work around his blind side. If he could send Ser Criston on the ground, he could manage participating in the tourney. 

‘’Begin!’’ the announcer shouted, and the riders charged towards each other at top speed. 

Horses' hooves thundered, and a part of you wanted to close your eyes, scared of how this duel was going to end. Bloody, that was for sure. Another wanted to watch Aemond tear Lord Tully's son down.

Aemond's horse surged forward, his lance gripped tightly as he aimed true, striking the Tully knight squarely in the chest. A smirk curled on the prince’s lips as the impact sent the knight reeling, his armor screeching against the tilting barrier as his horse galloped on. 

Lord Tully's son regained his balance, then turned around, ready to go again.

You watched nervously, scared for the second round. 

The next clash was fierce, both lances aiming at the same time and splintering with a resounding crack. New ones were swiftly provided by their helpers, and they went again.

‘’Who do you think is going to win?’’ Jacaerys asked, seated on your right. ‘’I think Aemond should get his pride hurt and fall from his horse. He is too arrogant. Did you see the force he struck at the Tully knight?’’

You kept your gaze on the court, the air tense with anticipation. As they charged once more, hooves pounding like thunder, Aemond struck first, sending his opponent crashing to the ground in a clatter of armor. 

‘’That’s my son!’’ the King cheered from his chair, seated right beside Otto Hightower. 

The crowd erupted in applause, Aemond basking in his victory. He approached the royal box with his horse, the sunlight glinting off his armor. You stood to greet him, much to your mother’s irritation, a smile playing on your lips. irritation. She wasn’t happy about his antics, but she couldn't say anything to stop him. Not with so many eyes on you, watching.

‘’Nicely done, Uncle,’’ you congratulated as he removed his helm, revealing his features, his long hair cascading down his armored shoulders. 

‘’Thank you, Princess,’’ Aemond replied, smug satisfaction emanating from him. ‘’I’m certain I can win more duels, but I would like to ask the favor of the fairest lady of the Realm.’’ 

Daemon, who was sitting next to your mother, was watching the interaction, fuming. He knew Aemond was asking your favor on purpose. It was a subtle act of defiance, one that he knew would rile up your betrothed…who he just unhorsed.

You smiled and fetched your prettiest flower crown, the one your mother thought you made for your betrothed, sliding it down Aemond’s lance. ‘’Good fortune to you, Prince Aemond.’’

—

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[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood - Cost of a Kiss

Summary - During a tourney, a rivalry plays out both on the field and in the heated exchange between a sister and a cocky knight. When a wager ends in a kiss, lines blur between anger, pride, and attraction, leaving both tangled in a battle far more personal than any clash of steel.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x Bracken reader

Warnings - Violence (brief tourney description)

Word count - 2222

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

A tourney at King's Landing was always a spectacle of grandeur, filled with banners fluttering in the wind, the clash of steel, and the thunderous applause of the crowd. To participate was a matter of great pride, and the excitement was evident. 

Today, I found myself amidst the sea of spectators, seated comfortably in a private box reserved for the family and friends of the competitors, giving me a prime view of the arena.

My brother, Aeron Bracken, was one of those competing, and at the moment, he stood before me on the opposite side of the railing. I leaned forward, adjusting his armour with a careful hand, fulfilling my role as the dutiful sister. 

His nervousness was evident, his eyes darting to the crowd, but I met his gaze with a reassuring smile.

"You'll do great, Aeron. Don't worry," I said softly, trying to ease the tension that weighed on his shoulders. "Fight like you always do. Do not let the crowd rattle you." 

I brushed a loose strand of hair from his face, and with a final nod, he stepped back, slipping on his helmet before joining the throng of knights waiting to compete.

"Poor lad looks like he needs some consoling," came a voice from beside me, laced with a mocking tone. I turned to see a knight with a smirk plastered on his face, the distinctive Blackwood sigil emblazoned on his armour. 

The sight of it alone set my blood to simmer.

"Mind your own affairs," I snapped, irritation flaring as he sauntered closer, his expression amused.

"Quite the mouth on a lady—how unseemly," he remarked, leaning casually on the rail. His eyes roved over me, a slow, deliberate gaze that finally settled on my face. 

"Davos Blackwood," he introduced himself, hand over his heart, extending his palm in a display of chivalry.

I flashed a wicked smile. "I couldn't care less," I retorted, leaving his hand hanging awkwardly. His smirk faltered into a frown, but he quickly recovered.

"You Brackens are a cruel lot," he said, licking his lips slowly as if savouring the moment.

"Is that so?" I shrugged, dismissively turning my attention back to the arena where Aeron was preparing for his match.

Davos followed my gaze. "He's not going to win," he said, his tone smug and assured.

"And you are?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes.

He nodded confidently, puffing his chest. "Naturally. The realm loves a good story, and they won't pass up the chance to pit a Blackwood against a Bracken. Our houses have been at each other's throats for generations."

"There's nothing I'd enjoy more than watching my brother knock you on your pretty little ass," I shot back, my voice dripping with venom. Davos's eyebrows arched in amusement, clearly entertained by my fiery defiance.

"You sound very sure of yourself," he observed, studying me with that infuriating grin still plastered on his face.

"I am," I replied, my lips curling into a tight, unyielding smile. There was no doubt in my mind—Aeron was capable of more than handling the likes of him.

Davos leaned in slightly, mischief flickering in his eyes. "If you're so certain, then let's make a deal," he proposed, his tone casual, yet daring. 

I rolled my eyes, uninterested in whatever nonsense he was about to spew, but he continued, unfazed by my disinterest.

"If I beat your brother, then I get to..." He paused dramatically, pretending to think, dragging out the silence until I finally shot him an impatient glare. "...kiss you."

The audacity of his words hit me like a splash of cold water. I scoffed, astonishment and irritation boiling within me. 

"Absolutely not," I snapped, my voice tinged with disbelief. "You must be out of your mind."

"What's the matter?" he taunted, leaning even closer, his eyes dancing with challenge. "Afraid he'll lose? You sounded pretty sure a moment ago." 

I turned my head, fighting the heat that crept up my neck, betraying me with a blush.

I hated that he could make me second-guess myself, even for a moment. But backing down now would mean letting him win without even stepping into the arena. I couldn't let him have that satisfaction.

"Fine," I huffed, more out of spite than anything else. His grin broadened, satisfaction dripping from every line of his face as though he'd already won.

"I look forward to our kiss," he said, his voice a low, teasing drawl as he finally stepped away, sauntering off toward the other knights with a swagger that grated on my nerves.

I watched him go, biting back a retort. "I'm sure you do," I muttered under my breath, sinking back into my seat, my eyes trailing after him. 

He moved with the easy confidence of someone who thought the world belonged to him, slipping his helmet on as he strutted across the field like it was his personal stage.

The moment I had been waiting for had finally arrived. 

The crowd hushed to a tense silence as Davos and Aeron took their positions at opposite ends of the jousting field. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the age-old rivalry between our houses hanging over the arena like a storm cloud. 

I could feel it in my bones, the expectation, the fear, and the fierce hope that my brother would emerge victorious.

Davos sat tall in his saddle, exuding an irritating confidence that made me want to scream. 

Aeron, by contrast, looked focused, his grip on the lance steady and firm. I watched him intently, my heart pounding as he lowered his visor, the gleam of his armour catching the sunlight. 

The signal was given, and both knights charged, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they hurtled toward each other.

The first clash was a deafening explosion of steel against steel, the sound reverberating through the arena. Aeron held his ground, his lance striking Davos's shield with enough force to make the crowd gasp. 

I gripped the edge of my seat, a surge of pride swelling within me. 

For a moment, it seemed as if Aeron had the upper hand he was relentless, pushing Davos back with every charge, his movements quick and precise. Each impact sent shockwaves through the stands, and I could feel the tension shifting. 

Aeron was winning.

But then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. Davos, with a calculated manoeuvre, twisted his body at the last second, avoiding Aeron's strike and driving his lance into my brother's shield with brutal precision. 

Aeron wobbled, his balance faltering, and before I could even register what was happening, Davos struck again, this time with a force that sent Aeron sprawling to the ground, his armour clattering against the dirt.

My breath caught in my throat. Aeron struggled to rise, but it was too late. The crowd erupted as Davos rode past, his lance raised in triumph. 

The announcer's voice boomed across the field, declaring Davos Blackwood the victor. 

My stomach twisted painfully, the cheers that filled the air were a bitter contrast to the sinking feeling of defeat.

Davos dismounted with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times, pulling off his helmet to reveal a face lit with smug satisfaction. He looked directly at me, his expression brimming with the confidence of someone who knew he'd just won more than the match. 

Every line of his face was painted with triumph, his eyes gleaming with that insufferable arrogance.

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a mix of anger, embarrassment, and something I refused to acknowledge.

The tourney continued around me, knights clashing with renewed ferocity as cheers and gasps erupted from the crowd. Yet, I couldn't care less about the ongoing matches. My mind was consumed with one thought, finding Aeron. 

I pushed my way through the bustling throng, weaving between spectators and banners. The small tent set up for treating injuries loomed ahead, and I hurried toward it, desperate to see my brother.

Just as I reached the entrance, a familiar, taunting voice cut through the noise behind me. 

"I believe you have a debt to pay," Davos called out, his voice booming with the confidence of someone who always got what he wanted. 

I turned to see him standing there, still in his armour, his expression infuriatingly smug.

"Luck," I muttered dismissively, turning my back on him and continuing toward the tent, but he was relentless, matching my stride as he followed after me.

"Not luck. I won fair and square," he insisted, his voice chasing me like a persistent shadow. 

I could feel my temper rising, frustration bubbling over as I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my composure.

I spun around to face him, ready to snap, but Davos was still rambling, savouring his victory and rubbing it in my face with every word. His arrogance was unbearable, and in a sudden, reckless moment, I decided to shut him up the only way I knew how. 

Without another thought, I grabbed him by the collar and leaned in, pressing my lips to his.

For a brief, electric second, everything fell silent. Davos stiffened in surprise, but his response was immediate his hands moved to cradle my face, pulling me closer as if he intended to deepen the kiss. But I was already pulling away, my breath ragged, cheeks flushed from more than just anger.

"There," I said sharply, stepping back and wiping my lips with the back of my hand, fighting the smile that threatened to break free. "You got your kiss. Now we're done."

Davos blinked, momentarily stunned, but his smirk quickly returned, though there was something softer in his eyes now, something almost playful. 

"I barely got to enjoy it," he teased, falling into step beside me as I resumed my search for Aeron.

"Well, tough," I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to look at him. "Maybe you should've stopped rambling if you wanted it to last."

I scanned the tent, searching for any sign of my brother, but all I found were bruised knights and the smell of herbs thick in the air. Aeron was nowhere to be seen, and anxiety gnawed at me. 

Davos, however, was still at my side, his presence impossible to ignore.

"Your brother fought well," he said, his voice losing some of its mocking edge as if he sensed my growing concern. "He'll be alright."

I shot him a sideways glance, momentarily thrown by the sincerity in his tone. It was almost as if he was trying to comfort me, and that only made me more irritated. 

I didn't need sympathy from a Blackwood, least of all from the one who had just put my brother in the dirt.

"Save it," I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. "I don't need your reassurances, and neither does he." 

I turned away, forcing myself to stay focused on finding Aeron but as much as I tried to ignore him, Davos's presence lingered, persistent and maddening, like the kiss we had just shared, brief, impulsive, and impossible to forget.

Finally, I spotted Aeron in the distance, talking quietly with another knight near the edge of the tents. Relief flooded me, and I lifted my skirts, rushing toward him, weaving through the crowd with determined urgency.

"Aeron!" I called out, breathless as I reached him. He turned, and though his eyes met mine with a flicker of warmth, they were overshadowed by the unmistakable weight of disappointment. 

Still, I tried to lift his spirits, offering him a bright smile. "You fought so well," I said, hoping to chase away the sadness that clung to him.

He shook his head, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "But I still lost," he replied, his voice heavy with frustration and self-doubt.

"Three out of four opponents is nothing to scoff at," I said, my voice firm and encouraging. "Those are impressive numbers, Aeron. You made us all proud." 

I watched as a reluctant smile finally broke through his solemn expression, the edges of his lips curving up despite himself.

Aeron's smile faded as he looked closer, narrowing his eyes as he examined my face. 

"You've got sand on your chin," he said, a touch of amusement lacing his tone as he reached out, wiping a smudge away with his thumb.

My heart skipped a beat, my mind immediately flashed back to Davos, and I realized what had happened. The sand on Aeron's fingers had come from my face, transferred from Davos during that kiss. 

My cheeks flushed at the realization, a mix of embarrassment and a strange, unbidden thrill.

I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was, Davos, leaning casually against a post, watching me with that maddeningly self-assured grin. His face, too, bore streaks of sand, a telltale sign of our impulsive encounter. 

When our eyes met, he winked, an infuriatingly bold and knowing gesture that sent my thoughts spiralling. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to smile as I turned back to Aeron, pretending not to notice the triumphant gleam in Davos's eyes.

My mind drifted back to that stolen kiss, to the infuriating knight who had somehow managed to rattle me in ways I never expected. 

I couldn't decide what angered me more, Davos's arrogance, my own impulsiveness, or the undeniable truth that, despite it all, I was already looking forward to the next time our paths would cross.

A/n - Set out to a match and somehow ending up jousting with Davos Blackwood's lips 🫦

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Charitiy

Pairing: Roy Kent x reader

Word count: 1535

Warnings: Rupert existing and Roy being Roy

Masterlist here

Ever since last year when Rupert crashed annual charity ball and donated a butt load of money to steal her thunder, she was determined to make this year's even better. It was odd to you that someone donating so much to a good cause was grounds for revenge but then again, you'd met Rupert. He really was the worst. 

She'd gone all out this year, making sure she lined up at least 3 famous performers that equally hated Rupert and inviting everyone who was anyone. You were automatically on the list as her assistant but and also as Roy's plus one. It was at last year’s ball that Roy ended up walking you home from and kissing you in your doorway. Cut to this year and you were now in a semi-secret committed relationship with Richmond’s newest coach. You had both decided not to share to the press and after much convincing Roy let you tell Rebecca and the team.

One of the nights biggest earners was of course the charity auction. Roy had refused at least 19 times to do it but eventually with enough eyelash batting and promises of favours you'd convinced him to sign up. All the boys had signed up, even Will was forced to sign up.

To make things even more bizarre Rebecca herself was being auctioned. Though you as her assistant had also hired someone to come bid on her so she'd never have to have the date but still she was technically on the roster. What you hadn't expected was for her to turn to you with puppy dog eyes. 

"We need more women on the list. Cmon, you know how it is. Think of the children,"

Roy was more outrage you had said yes than the fact he had been convinced to do it as well. You however were sure that it would be fine. After all people were there to bet on the footballers to play a game with their kid or show off to their friends or whatever other questionable activities they had planned. Not some assistant. 

What you hadn't accounted for was that you were no longer just an assistant. Not only did you often appear in pictures with the team, but rumours floated around that you were dating at least one if not multiple of the boys. Between always being around famous footballers or the fact Keeley Jones was your best friend you’d forgotten people actually knew who you were now.

The night was fine to begin and halfway through the auction Rebecca had already hit the same record as last year but that was not going to stop her. Danni had gone for £5000, Sam for £6000, Keeley for £10,000. Yes, even Keeley had donated one of her Friday nights to Rebecca's cause.

Roy had practically begged you that if the old lady who won him last year was going to win that you steal the win and he'd give you the money so sure as fate you had just won a night with your boyfriend for £8000. This was only going to fuel the fires in the tabloids, but it was worth saving Roy another painful night with a toothless granny.

"Up next we have my dear, dear friend who many of you will recognise as the teams shadow. Come on up"(y/n)," Rebecca said, clapping as you walked up with an awkward smile.

" Can we start the bidding at £500?" You thought this would be over and done with in less than a couple minutes.

"Five thousand pounds," Ruperts voice came booming from the back of the room followed by the sound of Roy’s chair scrapping against the floor as he stood up, "Forgive me for being so late my dear Rebecca. A family emergency kept me away, but I couldn't miss this for the world," he said gesturing to the crowd who gave him a round of applause he didn’t deserve, “After all it is for the children,”

For once Rebecca stammered for words before finally stuttering out "Yes well thank you Rupert. Do I hear six?"

"Ten thousand," Roy boomed across the room. Small gasps left several tables as you stood, eyes bulging out at the moment happening. You’d got to witness the bidding war that went for Jamie last year with Keeley spending twenty-five grand, but you knew that both Rupert and Roy were far more stubborn. this could go for a while.

"This isn't how auctions exactly work boys-" Rebecca tried to cut in, knowing how stubborn Rupert was and how violent Roy could get, but to no avail. she looked at you with a sympathetic glance as the carnage began.

"fifteen thousand," Rupert said, walking to stand by Roy's table, his wife a few paces behind standing awkwardly. 

"twenty,"

"thirty,"

"thirty-five-" you heard Jamie's voice pipe up followed by a loud growl from Roy who was glaring daggers in the previously laughing boy, "withdrawn!" Jamie yelped as he shuffled his chair towards Keeley. you almost felt bad for Jamie as you tried not to laugh.

"forty-five," Roy yelled before turning to Rupert, whispering something in his ear as he went to say fifty.

You could practically see Ruperts sweat dripping down his forehead as Roy pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face, "Hard to beat that," Rupert smiled as he carefully stepped away from Roy, slowly moving back to his wife, “I withdraw,” Rupert said before pulling his wife to go join some random table filled with old white men.

"Forty-five going once, twice," Rebecca said as she scrambled to grab her gavel, "sold to Mr Kent. What a generous donation, everyone let's give him a round of applause," Rebecca said as she started the claps as everyone followed suit to try mask the awkward tension. “Always such a generous soul,”

You gave Rebecca a sorry smile as you walked back down to Roy, wondering how you’d explain this to the tabloids, but Roy had other plans. As you walked up to him, ready to quietly thank him, Roy stepped forward, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest. The kiss was brief, but it knocked the wind out your lungs and left you wishing you had a private room as whoops and hollers came from the room around. You pulled back, breathless and grinning like an idiot. 

"Just to be clear that isn't included in the final sale," Rebecca said from the stand, trying to avoid lawsuits and trying desperately not to laugh since the auction still had its final prize left, Jamie.

"What did you say to him?" you asked, as you finally say back down, hand in hand with Roy. 

"I told him I knew where he lived and enough people to hold him down if he didn't back off what's mine, “Roy said as cool as a cucumber as if he didn't just threaten to beat a multi-millionaire, possibly billionaire at this point. "Plus, I said I'd tell his wife about you know who," 

This however caught your, Keeley’s, and Jamie's attention, "Who's you know who?" Keeley ask as you all three leaned in for the dirt. 

"Fuck knows," Roy barked making you all look at each other confused, "once a scumbag always a scumbag. There's probably some poor girl out there he’s fucked I just don't know which one," 

The three of you began to cackle as Rebecca announced her last prize of the night. “Time to shine,” Jamie said as he got up, running a hand through his hair before jogging up to join Rebecca on stage. His cocky joy went from pale faced terror when the woman who won Roy last year won him this year but for £9000. Jamie returned to the table, no pep in his step or swagger in his walk as he sunk down into his chair, “Why did you save me?” he whispered in betrayal.

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore, remember,” Keeley teased as she sat back in her chair, “Call us even for last year babes,”

Jamie turned from Keeley to you and Roy, looking like a kicked puppy, “Roy?”

“Mate I’ve just spent 50 grand tonight. go fuck yourself,” Roy said before what was left of his drink.

“It’s for children Roy,” Jamie said as he sulked back into his chair.

“Fuck the children,” Roy said with no hesitation, “I’ve just bought them a really fucking nice orphanage to stop some old prick touching my bird,”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how Jamie pouted in his seat, trying to avoid the old woman’s little waves. “You do release your little stunt means we need to do press now?” you said, glancing up to a now groaning Roy.

“Already on its babes,” Keeley said from where she sat on her phone, “I’ve been waiting for this for months. knew you two wouldn’t go for my soft launch option,”

“Fucks a soft launch?” Roy said, confusing racking his face as he turned to you.

you patted his arm and shook your head, “You just let me and Keels deal with this yeah?”

Roy sighed as he sat back in his chair shaking his head, “I fucking hate charity,”

[lalunanymph]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎

↳ a foul-mouthed, aggressive, pro-soccer player on the verge of being disqualified from the biggest game of his life, is tossed into a fake relationship with a spoiled heiress to salvage their bad public reputation. what exactly could go wrong?

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

cw. mentions of injuries, angst, mentions of food, the itoshi brothers and their horrible communication skills, mentions of medication, arguments, shidou being a menace, language

masterlist | playlist

#6: HIS CONFESSIONS

Rin didn’t know what compelled him to open his mouth, or for those words to tumble freely from his loosened lips. He liked to think it was grief which compromised his unwavering pride for a split second. Or, the guilt for what he did and said to his brother when he exhaled—

“Teach me how to win her back.”

Sae’s expression betrayed a hint of surprise when those cold features morphed into begrudging curiosity. 

His deadened stare sparked to life with a flicker of interest, and he regarded his younger brother for a long moment. When the silence got too much for Rin to bear and he wanted to walk away and play it off as the after effects of a mild concussion, Sae tilted his head to one side. 

Another agonising moment later, he nodded.

“Fine,” his older brother mumbled. “On one condition.”

Rin waited for him to counter-offer something humiliating which his ego and pride would never consent to him doing. He anticipated the other shoe to drop, and tensed, shoulders squared and ready to take back his foolish question, replacing it with spat hatred into Sae’s face.

But, his nii-chan’s next words shook him to the core, and he thought he might actually be suffering from a concussion when Sae said: ���Play soccer with me again.”

Rin’s shoulders slumped, and something achy and hot pressed in the back of his throat. It crept into his eyes, burning a stinging path which bubbled over into beads of tears forming right on his lash line. Sae, too, could not bear to look at him; like he was a mirage and if he stared too long at his little brother, Rin might vanish.

“Oh.” Rin spoke past the lump in his throat, ignoring Shidou who hovered in his periphery like a gnat, batting its wings and waiting to float back to Sae’s side. “... okay.”

Their moment was interrupted by Shidou’s loud gagging. “What is this? A fucking Hallmark movie? You both are corny as fuck. Lame.”

He jammed his large hands into his hoodie and rolled his vermillion eyes, stalking back towards whichever hell hole he came from. “See you later, Sae. Don’t get too weepy.”

“Man, fuck you,” Sae murmured mildly.

“I would if you gave me a chance.”

Rin’s disgusted grimace broke the fine film of tension between the two men and Sae shook his head absentmindedly. Looking back at his brother, he motioned to a nearby field which was empty this afternoon save for a shoddy goalpost and one discarded, almost deflated soccer ball. 

“One on one?”

Unlike that wintry night when Sae challenged him to the same thing, Rin didn’t feel a sense of foreboding or dread. He welcomed the sunshine shimmering in his vision, almost blinded by the faintest glint of sincerity in his brother’s irises. Sae picked up the ball, and just like when they were both teenagers again, he shot his brother a challenging smirk. 

“Ready?”

Rin nodded, stepping forward out of his shell and into the man he already was today; a champion and a worthy opponent. A man who had proven himself multiple times in the big field. A man enough to go against Itoshi Sae. 

“Ready.”

It was time to put old ghosts to rest. 

The thunderous applause echoing across the gilded palace rooms vibrated through your very soul. 

Its ardour would’ve scared you if it was not directed towards your creations waltzing down the catwalk, validating your belief in your designing prowess. The spectators called you Japan’s next best underground fashion designer, and many heiresses, too, wanted you to dress them for their next event.

Your works encapsulated a mix between ornamental opulence and sleek simplicity; kimono-inspired suit sets made from spun golden silk, body-hugging cashmere and luxurious sleeves showcasing models of every ethnicity and body size as their godlier versions. A true spectacle considering the palace’s heavenly aesthetics which complimented your creative touch. 

You took one shaky step up onto the stage, and the lights almost blinded you; you were wrapped in a simple black corset dress from your collection, its sleeves trailing down to your knees and almost covering your hands when you humbly clasped them in front of you, bowing lowly to the applause.

The fashion critics remained impassive, and you had no doubt they would try to find an opening to diss a relatively unknown fashion designer. They may call you a nepotism baby, never mind that your father was famous in the sports world and this was the first attempt for the L/N name to breach through the fashion industry.

You let the naysayers whisper behind your back, already feeling like you achieved something because you took the first step—trusted yourself to put your abilities forward when the whole world saw you as nothing but a spoiled rich brat. That was considered a win in your book. 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N!” Every designer and model you worked with bore a bright smile when you went backstage to speak to them. 

Warmth suffused across your cheeks, and you shook your head, giving them back the credit. “No, it is all of you who deserve the recognition for bringing my designs to life.” Bowing low to each of them, you said, “Thank you for putting your trust in me.”

The talented individuals were touched by your acknowledgement, and it showed in their bright smiles and shiny eyes. 

“Tonight, drinks are on me,” you announced to the whole room through your cupped palms. Everyone cheered and the legendary near frenzied post-party after a fashion show began with manic cleaning up and rapid-fire jokes going off across every room.

Someone touched your arm amidst the chaos, and you turned to find Damara, her light eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“A gentleman is outside of the building and he’s requesting a one-on-one with you. Fair warning, he’s rather good-looking.”

You blinked, retracing in your mind who would have expressed interest in your works and stifled a gasp. Was it perhaps Itachibana-san himself who promised your father he would drop in for this show? Junni’s dad always did have a soft spot for you, and his contacts extended towards the top fashion conglomerates in the world. You pictured the mature, but still attractive man waiting for you with his carefree smile, and thanked Damara for sending the message.

Heart beating hard in your chest, you swiftly moved towards the backstage exit and out into the cool wind, forgetting to bring your jacket in your excitement. The streets were filled with activity, and you blended right into its motion, keeping your eyes peeled for your best friend’s father.

But, it wasn’t him standing underneath a pool of orange street lamp light, holding a rose bouquet.

Rin tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, teal eyes bright despite his impassive expression.

You faltered and took one step back when you noticed him. 

The bruise around his eye was stark across his pale skin, and his smile was paper thin with nerves.

“Hey. C-Congratulations on the show. Here—” He walked over to you and handed you the arrangement. You gingerly took it by the hefty stem, cradling the burst of roses to your chest, your heart doubling in speed from how heartbreakingly handsome Itoshi Rin looked tonight.

Glossy dark green locks tinted black from the darkness were pushed from his face, stray bangs falling across his forehead and brushing his chiselled cheek. Even with a blooming black eye, it could not compare to the delicate jut of his nose bridge or the elegant curve of those thick lashes framing his beautiful eyes.

Your voice was stuck in the back of your throat, and you stared at him in silence for a few seconds.

“I… heard from your designer that the show went well.” Rin shoved his hands into his slack pockets, dropping his gaze towards the grey pavement shyly. “I’m—that is to say, I… you did good.”

You suddenly felt too hot around your neck, and like there were far too many eyes on you. Shifting your weight from one Louboutin heel to the other, you managed to exhale a small laugh.

“Thank you.” Glancing at the bouquet, you gestured to it. “And thank you for these. Red roses are my favourite.”

“Yeah, you told me that before.”

You blinked. Like a mirage, the memory of that conversation sparked in your mind; the both of you sitting across the table having a simple dinner of ochazuke and tempura—where it felt like aeons ago that you could sit in such casual affection with a man you once held such strong feelings for. 

Feelings which were resurfacing back despite your efforts to keep a lid on them. 

“I guess I did,” you mumbled, smiling weakly. A beat of awkward silence passed between you two, and you desperately wished he would say something. Do something rather than blink owlishly at you, as if he were trying to find the right words to say. You settled for wrapping this conversation up, deciding it was time to put an end to your contact with Itoshi Rin.

“Thank you for the flowers. I have to go back in. My colleagues are waiting for me,” your smile grew tighter.  “I assume you’ll be heading off to France soon?” 

It stung him how you still remembered despite everything. How his schedule was etched in your memory. When he didn't reply, your smile waned around the edges and you bowed your head forward slightly. “Good luck with your game, Rin. I’ll be rooting for your win against your brother.”

Your best efforts at hiding the wobble in your voice was masked by your bright smile and you almost turned around to leave when his choked rendition of your name stopped you short. 

“W-Wait…”

Never in a million years did you anticipate Itoshi Rin wrapping his fingers around your wrist to anchor you to his side, a slight tremble in his grasp. The bouquet tumbled out of your arms in surprise, hitting the pavement in a rush of falling blooms, mimicking the blood roaring in your ears.

As if on instinct, your body flinched from his, and you backed away, unable to look into his beautiful teal eyes which were brimming with such a sharp emotion, you feared one glance would cut you up for life.

“Don’t,” you managed to whisper, tightening your arms around your torso. “Don’t… don’t play with my heart like this, Rin.”

The pain in your hushed voice drew him up short. 

Tell her you’re sorry, Sae’s voice echoed in his head. Apologise for what you said to her. Y/N’s feelings are hurt and if you try to make peace first, she will be open to hearing your words. 

But, what came out of his mouth was completely different from the words Sae coached him to repeat. 

“You did this to me.” 

Amidst the twinkling lights of the Milanese streets and the adrenaline pumping in your veins, no one could fault you for taking a step back; wanting to preserve what sliver of inner peace you still had left.

Those that he hadn’t taken from you just yet.

You puffed your chest and squared your shoulders, meeting Itoshi Rin’s glare head-on even though you felt like dissolving into sniffling sobs. He truly was the bane of your existence—not even a few days ago, you were glad to be away from Tokyo; away from the man who had taken every inch of your thoughts, but did not reciprocate it.

“It’s all your fault.” You had never heard Rin sound this angry. 

Your words were tripping over each other, spluttering out into indignant sentences which raced to fly off your acidic tongue when you suddenly stopped. 

He had closed his eyes, pretty eyelashes casting shadows onto his chiselled cheekbones and took the final step so your chest was pressed to his. 

“I hate you.”

He swept you into his arms, holding you fast to his heart while his face was buried in your hair. The anger you held for him died in the back of your throat, and you froze, unable to believe he was touching you on his own free will. 

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” he continued to murmur into the softness of your hair. “Lost so many goals because of you. My pass rate dropped by 45%. I got a foul. I punched Isagi in the face.”

Your mind was blaring sirens of overwhelming response to his sudden touch and barrage of information. “Rin,” you gasped. “You did what to Isagi—?!” 

“Stupid,” he growled, stopping your influx of words. Tall and imposing, his body heat was heady and made you want to curl up in his embrace forever. A sob bubbled from the roaring depths of your heart and you hiccuped it back, refusing to fall into his embrace and deception again. “You’re such a fucking pain, Y/N.” 

You swore you would never be that same girl who cried on the plane to Italy while wearing the jersey you stole from his closet. 

You swore you would never let Itoshi Rin kick your heart around as if it were a spare ball. 

But, you couldn’t pull away, not even for one second. 

“Yeah?” your voice quaked from disbelief. “If you hate me, then why are you here?” 

His rough palms slid up the bodice of your dress, feeling the ridges of the corset you wore which barely concealed how your heartbeat was quickening; his lips touching the rapid pulse ticking under your jaw. 

Itoshi Rin was never a man who minced his words, so what else did you expect when he exhaled— 

“Told you. Can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Rin—”

“Y/N.”

He gave you no time to second-guess his intention when he leaned closer to you, one palm cupping your cheek to hold you in place. You could not look at him, not when the words he uttered behind your back still scarred your trust.

You had shown him, didn’t you?

Showed him how you finally found the courage to stand on your own two feet; how you did something crazy and stupid and took a chance on your dreams which landed you on one of Milan’s hottest runways.

He knew that, didn’t he?

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, unable to look directly into his eyes; afraid of what you might find. The truth, perhaps, that your doubts were real. “Said I was nothing but a spoiled brat.”  

“I’m sorry,” he finally muttered after a beat of silence. “I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. My ego—”

“Is fucking huge,” you quipped which earned you the softest glimmer in his teal eyes even if his expression remained impassive.

Eventually, he agreed.

“Yeah,” Rin muttered softly. “It is fucking huge. And it nearly cost me someone I care about.” 

Were you hallucinating?

Did his team put him up to this so they could record your reaction and laugh at it later in the locker rooms? 

Whatever hope you buoyed that Rin actually reciprocated your feelings curdled in your chest like sour milk from the bitter memories, and you stepped back from him, unable to look into his gorgeous aquamarine eyes which clouded over with confusion when he noticed the tremble in your lower lip. 

“I should go,” you mumbled, willing the tears not to break down your cheeks, and spinning around so he couldn’t see your expression. Gathering what was left of your composure, you dipped your head low and mumbled: “We don’t have to fake anything anymore, Rin. You can hate me out loud now. I won’t mind. It’s your sentiments. It’s just—”

I wished you didn’t.

But, you had no courage to tell it to his face. 

In the end, you were as much of a coward with your emotions as he was, and your skin suddenly flashed hotly, goosebumps prickling your arms; the world was spinning slightly in your periphery, the lights too loud and the people rushing down the streets sounded like a roaring waterfall and you haven’t eaten anything yet this whole evening so you could fit into this stupid, vintage dress and you were so sure your curling iron was still switched on in your hotel room and—

His strong grip on your wrist nudged you back into his chest. Halting your thoughts right in their frenzied tracks.

You did not get to fight him off, not when he was fueled with desperation and contempt for his stupidly big ego.

Not when he gently spun you around, lifted your chin and fixed you with a look of hunger and yearning which softened the hard edges of his once diamond-like yes and definitely not when—

The world screeched to a stop.

Soft as a cushion, Itoshi Rin’s lips pressed onto yours, stealing the last of your protests and breath away.

Nothing in your existence mattered beyond the curve of his mouth rasping against your own; the hot press of his hands roaming up and down your back, bringing you closer to him—Rin’s courage solidifying from such an ensconced location away from the ruthless eyes of cameras, fangirls and Ego’s scheming. 

Is this really happening? 

Rin tilted his head to the right to slot the jut of his bottom lip in between your parted, panting mouth, and you almost shied away from the tip of his tongue touching yours, coaxing you to come out and meet him in a reciprocal dance of devotion. 

He ruthlessly overpowered his opponents on the field as easily as he overwhelmed you with his tenacity on this dimly-lit street, and you did not protest when one hand came to cradle the nape of your neck, holding you in place while the other tentatively squeezed your waist, committing your curves back into his memory.

Ever a quiet gentleman, Rin let you break off the kiss first; a single strand of spit connecting both your lips together flashed like a silver thread from the hazy orange glow the streetlamps above casted over two uncertain lovers.

You licked your bottom lip, tasting his musk and something minty, breaking the final connection between both your parted mouths. A dust of pink glowed on his cheeks, and his azure eyes—usually boring into yours with sullen distaste—were almost overshadowed by his black pupils, only a thin ring of blue left.

It was endearing how he could not even meet your gaze, uncharacteristically timid for someone so sure on the field.

A smile burst forth onto your face, illuminating the scenery with a sweet luminosity which took his breath away.

“So,” you started, a teasing glint in your eye. “I take it this means you miss me and you want me to come back?” 

Rin’s first instinct was to roll his eyes and scoff. But, strangely, the same contagious happiness stole the muscles on his face, curving his thin lips into a smile against his will.

There she goes again—making me act like a fool with no self-control.

He didn’t have to reply. That little grin was the only answer you needed.

The city lights continued to sparkle and a cool breeze nipped both your noses, but Rin’s hand in yours is as warm as ever. 

“—and that’s another spectacular goal from Itoshi Rin!”

“He’s on fire this season!” 

“The finest soccer legacy from Blue Lock is right here, ladies and gentlemen!”

You chanted his name along with the crowd, the cameras panning towards his impassive face with those fired-up teal eyes you knew and loved.

His number blazing across your chest, and pride overflowing in your soul—you were surprised when he lifted his head and noticed you right in the heart of the crowd. 

Nothing could compare to how the entire stadium went wild when they saw his eyes softened infinitesimally in real time; their clamour rocking straight into your bones when it kicked up a notch from his small smirk and wave in your direction. You shyly waved back at him, and this time, it was your lovesick grin splashed over the huge LED screens for the world to see.

But, Rin and you didn’t care. 

You were past faking anything, anyway. 

He doubled back after the ball went careening into the opponent’s goal, jersey soaked with sweat, and he gave a small fistbump when the crowds roared his name. You leapt to your feet with the rest of Japan’s supporters, and clapped, pride blooming hotly in your chest.

As if you had him in a trance, Rin glanced up at you, and disregarding the pitch etiquette, he jogged over to where you were separated by the touchline barriers and pushed his bangs from his forehead in time for you to flounce closer, hands extended towards him.

“Are you hurt?” you said in dismay, recalling the ball which accidentally smashed into his face, leaving him a smear of dirt on his cheek which you wiped it away with your thumb. He beamed up at you, drawing a gaggle of surprised reactions from his teammates who had never seen this side of Rin before; his broad shoulders relaxed, brow smooth, Captain armband stretched across his defined bicep. He looked far too enticing for such a crowded area. 

God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. But, you reined in your reactions, biting your lower lip to keep your face from splitting into a wide grin. 

He took your hand and squeezed, nodding. 

“After this game, baby, I’m bending you over the couch and I’m not going to go easy on you.” 

You gaped at him, unsure if he said what you thought he said in the middle of the most important game of his life. He’s insane. Your heart flipped and your stomach exploded in a rush of butterflies when Rin grinned at your stumped silence and ran back into the action, kicking up dirt from his quick sprint, leaving your melted heart gooey with affection.

He’s insane and he’s all mine. 

When Blue Lock scored 2-1 against Bastard Munchen, you swore you had never seen your boyfriend look this ecstatic; brows shooting up to his hairline, mouth parted in a raucous yell when he scored the final goal—his teammates lifting him up in the air as triumph blazed their happiness like a second skin.  

A familiar bob of reddish-brown hair made its way to the field, and you couldn’t see what the older Itoshi was saying to his younger brother, but Rin wore a small smile, and nodded. You had faith it was something good.

Later when the frenzy died down, you were admitted into the premium lounge where you found him sitting on the edge of the plush leather sofa, conversing with Isagi in low tones. At the sight of you, he paused, raising a brow. Quietly asking for you to come over to him. 

You did, and Isagi beamed when he noticed how easily you sat next to Rin, no longer tense nor fidgety. He took your hand and rubbed gentle circles onto the rise of your knuckles, and to everyone else in the Blue Lock, the sight must be completely alien for a few other players were smirking in your direction.

“Hey, Isagi, do you think I should get a girlfriend, too?” Bachira asked innocently from his perch on the floor, holding an isotonic drink pack in one hand. Ego was in the corner, speaking to a team of managers that he did not overhear Meguru’s innocent question which would land him in hot water.

Taken aback by his friend’s question, Isagi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. If it’s anyone you should ask, it would be Rin.”

To everyone’s surprise, the unsmiling, aloof and cold Itoshi Rin scoffed fondly, flitting his calm teal eyes towards you.

“Go for it,” he murmured while tightening his grip on your hand, secretly enjoying the feel of his fingers laced with yours, and the sight of his name and number on your chest. Everyone knew without a shadow of a doubt that you belonged to him. 

The corners of your eyes crinkled from your wide grin which was so full of life and unaffected by anything else. Completely enamoured with the fact you could wake up everyday and call Rin Itoshi yours. But, no one could say you were still not the same teasing girl who had melted the ice-cold walls around his heart. 

“Try it if you dare, Bachi. Rin should be able to give you some pointers off-field if you get stuck thanks to my training.”

Your charming quip was met with raised brows and surprised smiles, least of all from the one man who could make you melt into a puddle of your own glee when he scoffed a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll give you some real advice alright,” he grumbled to appease Bachira’s sudden onset of relationship questions.

He tuned his teammate out. 

No one else existed in the room to Rin at this moment; not Ego calling for the team to regroup and debrief on the latest match, or Bachira who bravely thumped Isagi’s back to cajole him to help get me a girlfriend, Yoichi-kun! I wanna see what the hype is all about! 

It was just you and Rin in this split second of time, and he could not stop those stupid muscles on his face from ticking upwards in a shy smile. Completely honest and truthful when he showed the world how much you had him head over heels in love. 

After all, he was done pretending, too.

hihi this is finally done and though i admit my interest in bllk has waned, im happy i wrapped this up and this little story has made everyone feel good :'> im not so sure what my future in the bllk fandom would be but your support and love for my work will always be the highlight of my time here <;33

p.s: pls listen to this song as the closing credits for a little serotonin boost as much as i had when i wrote this hehe

xoxo dawnie

©️ all rights belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[lightsofthe-living-gvf]

Si Vis (if You Want to)

18+ Minors DNI

Danny Wagner/Sam Kiszka

Summary: Fueled by racing adrenaline and alcohol, Sam and Danny find themselves in one of their dressing rooms post-performance, blurring the line between friendship and something more.

Warnings: smut, porn with plot, friends to lovers (eventually), swearing, some banter, light mentions of alcohol and drinking, tipsy sex, kissing, handjobs.

Little disclaimer: this is purely fiction and is in no way making speculations about the guys and/or their relationships.

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Hello, everyone! This has been in the works for a while, now, and I am so excited to finally share it. It will be a sporadically updated series, at least until my work schedule slows down a bit. I know that Sam/Danny isn't everyone's cup of tea, so if you don't like it, scroll on!

Danny could still hear the crowd as he made his way through the maze of hallways that would lead him to the greenroom, so loud and unwavering in their applause and exclamations of praise. He would always be absolutely floored by how the audience roared for him and his bandmates, and the number of shows Greta Van Fleet played nor the ever-increasing size of the venues at which they performed would never change that. Sometimes, he would pop out his in-ear monitors at the end of a song (Highway Tune, normally, right after his drum solo) to listen, just long enough for his hearing to go fuzzy from the sheer volume that echoed throughout the arena.

He felt as if he were up in the air, his head buzzing either from the adrenaline rush that came with playing such a fanatical show or the shots and other alcoholic beverages that had been passed around their set. He couldn't pinpoint which, but he figured it was a generous mix of both. He was replaying moments from the show in his head: Jake's guitar being so crackly and thunderous that it shook his cymbals, the swells of flame so close to his body he could reach out with a drumstick in hand and singe the tip of it, and Josh's joy while singing Light My Love, so infectious that he just had to crack a smile, and sing along with his entire chest. He was still so caught up in it all that he hadn't really registered the sound of his name being called or who it was being called by, not until the source of the voice was right beside him.

"Did you lose your hearing or something? Slow your ass down for a second."

Sam.

"Oh, hey, sorry," Danny said, slowing his pace a few steps and allowing Sam to catch up to him without having to speed-walk. "What's up? You sounded really good, tonight, by the way."

"So did you." He nudged playfully at Danny's side, then looped and arm through one of his, so that they were walking with linked elbows. They were then close enough that Danny could smell the alcohol on his breath, and he could see the flush across the bridge of his nose and all over his cheeks. Sam continued, "I have some more shots in my dressing room. You down?"

Danny pondered the offer. Or, pretended to, anyway. He never could find a reason to say ‘no’ to Sam. Even in this situation, where he most likely had more than just a few shots hiding away in his dressing room and that meant that he and Danny were going to wake up with a hangover the next morning. However, it wasn’t as if they couldn’t handle a hangover.

So, without much thought, he agreed, "Yeah, sure, Sam."

"I knew you would be." Sam grinned. He pulled his elbow from Danny's, his fingers just barely trailing down his friend’s forearm as he reached for his wrist instead. He always got a bit more touchy-feely when he had something to drink, but it had never really bothered Danny. He was well used to the Kiszkas’ love language.

When they stepped inside his dressing room, Sam went right into the mini fridge and pulled out some shots and a few bottles of beer, too. Just as Danny had assumed he would. He then straightened back up, grabbed a shot without looking at the label, unscrewed the cap, and threw it back.

"Heads up," Sam said suddenly, giving Danny only a few seconds to whip his head in that direction and get eyes on whatever was flying in his way. Sam had tossed him a shot and luckily, the small bottle was made of plastic, because Danny was too slow to catch it. It bounced off his chest and right onto the carpet beneath his feet.

Sam laughed as Danny bent over to pick it up, "Nice catch, dude."

Danny tried to raise his eyebrows all unamused-like, but he couldn't help but to chuckle a little as he spoke, "That was a bad throw."

He took the shot, scrunching his nose until the burn went away.

"Hey, watch this," Sam said. He grabbed a beer bottle, positioned its top against the edge of the vanity counter, and in one swift movement, slammed his palm into the bottle cap and popped it off. The beverage bubbled over the rim of the glass and onto the floor, but Sam didn't really care. He showed the bottle—now without a cap—off to Danny with a goofy smile on his face.

"Cool, Sam," Danny praised lightly, as if Sam hadn't been proudly performing that trick since they were old enough to go to parties, and even before that. "Do one for me?"

Sam happily obliged, opening a bottle in the same fashion and then handing it over to him. Danny took a swig, his curls just barely sweeping over his bare, freckled shoulders in a way that had Sam's eyes lingering for just a moment longer than what would be traditionally considered platonic. Honestly, Sam had abandoned ‘platonic’ ideals in regard to he and Danny’s relationship long ago, even if he hadn’t outwardly expressed that. He just didn’t feel the need to ignore the beauty his friend so obviously exuded, both physically and as a person, too.

Briefly, the picture of how Danny had been when they first started touring crossed Sam’s mind. He’d been so lanky, still not having grown into his height. And his hair- Sam could laugh out loud at how he and Danny had done their hair, back then. Regardless of his slightly dorky appearance, however, Danny—at his core—was the same person now as he was when they were just graduating high school. Gentle, considerate, and as sweet as can be. Just with a little more self-confidence backing it all up. Despite the lack of mental qualms Sam had about admiring the physical features of his best friend, his cheeks still flushed when he realized he’d been thinking about all of that while looking entirely into Danny’s direction. And they perhaps got even redder when he saw that Danny was, in fact, looking right back at him with a slightly confused expression that countered the face Sam was pulling, which was a moderate display of heart-eyes. Sam wondered if the fact that he’d been nursing boozy drinks since well before their acoustic set would be a good excuse for the little moment that he had just created between himself and his best friend.

But before he could dwell on it any longer, there was a swift banging on the dressing room door and a subsequent shout, “20 minutes ‘till go-time!”

Instead of apologizing or making it any more awkward, Sam decided to deplore, “Only 20 minutes?”

Danny shrugged. “The venue probably just wants us out of here so they can clean up. I’m gonna go change.” He turned to grab the door handle, but Sam’s hand settled on his forearm, stopping Danny’s movement. He turned back with a raised brow, “What’s up?”

Sam stared at Danny for a moment, letting his own thoughts reel. Why the hell did he do that? What was he going to say?Sam genuinely had no idea, because the only reason he’d really stopped Danny from leaving was to satisfy the impulsive urge to kiss him dizzy. It had been tugging at Sam all night, flaring up and searing like bright blue flame whenever Danny- well, whenever Danny did basically anything. So much for never outwardly expressing his non-platonic feelings.

After a few stretched-out seconds, Danny gave Sam a look, his brows tipped slightly in concern. “What’s the matter, Sam?” he asked in a tone so tender and caring that Sam truly believed he could weep if he wasn’t trying to keep it together.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Sam assured him quickly. And maybe it was all the alcohol catching up to his brain or even just plain desire rendering his self-control entirely useless, but he added, “I just have to ask you something.”

“What?”

Fuck! Why did he say that?? Suddenly so nervous he could hear his own heartbeat and immensely regretting opening his mouth in the first place, Sam faltered, “Well uh… It’s kinda hard to word.”             Danny chuckled a little. “Just tell me, Sammy.”

“Okay, okay. Fine.” Sam gave a short sigh before continuing hesitantly, “Do you ever think about me in like- a different way? Or, you know… us? In a different way?”

Sam had hoped his vaguely-worded question would be enough for Danny to understand what he was trying to say, but he just tilted his head in a painfully oblivious manner. “What do you mean? Different how?

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Sam, huffed.  

“Well, what—”

Sam—now acting only on his unmanageable desire and nothing else—cut Danny off by crowding him back against the wall next to the door with firm hands on those pronounced hipbones of his. The skin beneath his fingers felt like heaven, and the warmth of their closeness perhaps even more so. And before Danny could say anything else or even make a noise of surprise, Sam kissed him.

Danny’s mind went totally blank. His limbs stiffened in sheer shock from the move that Sam had just pulled, and the only thing he could register was the faint taste of beer on his best friend’s lips. But before he could even relax himself and try to chase that taste, Sam broke away from him.

Danny blinked at Sam, his lips parted dumbly. Sam had just kissed him. Right on the mouth. No hesitation, no bashfulness, and certainly no flirty smile or batting eyelashes. Danny was rendered totally speechless as the reality of it all sank in, in the same way a cannonball would sink to the ocean floor after being fired: slowly.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Sam’s voice, as small as it had been all night, broke through to Danny and for a few seconds, they just looked at each other. Sam, waiting with bated breath and Danny, still unable to find his voice. It was just a moment too long for Sam because he shamefully turned his head and took a step back from Danny, his hands falling from his hips as if the skin was burning his fingertips.

“Sam,” Danny breathed, tugging him back with a hand on his wrist and connecting their lips once more. And this time, Danny reveled completely in Sam’s kiss. His best friend kissed like he spoke, vivaciously and free from most inhibitions. His lips were as soft and as plush as they had always looked to be, and Danny felt the sudden—but not unwelcome—urge to kiss them red and swollen.

 Sam weaved a hand into Danny’s hair, his fingers trembling ever so slighting. And despite the anxiety—albeit rapidly fading anxiety—still gnawing at his stomach, Sam deepened the kiss with a gentle tolt of his head. To his delight, Danny went right along with him, bringing his hands to rest on Sam’s waist and pulling him close to his chest with a little tug.

While Danny was a little surprised by the way Sam had just outright kissed him, he certainly wasn’t upset about it. Afterall, Sam always acted on whatever was in his heart without so much as a question, and Danny knew that. He trusted in that, and he trusted in that indescribable and indestructible bond of theirs, because… why wouldn’t he? Sam was his closest friend and musical counterpart. It was all very black and white; Danny adored him.

Danny also knew that the very way he was entangled with Sam could change the dynamic of their friendship for as long as it would stand—if it could even be called a friendship, afterwards—but he couldn’t- he wouldn’t bring himself to even entertain the thoughts of the consequences, especially not when it felt so good and so right to hold Sam as close as he was.

And all of the thoughts tripping around Danny’s head came to a stuttering halt when Sam broke away and began pressing delicate, yet meaningful kisses along his jawline and down the column of his throat. So, Danny did what anyone else would do and tilted his head to bask in the treatment. Each warm touch of Sam’s lips to his skin sent delightful little tingles down his spine, and he wouldn’t ignore that just for the sake of overthinking.

Danny hummed and it was only a low, hardly audible sound produced from the bottom of his throat, but it was just enough to encourage Sam to sink his teeth into the skin beneath his lips. He found himself needing more of those noises, and he received more in the form of a pretty, choked gasp. Danny wondered fleetingly about how he was going to explain he mark to his make-up artist, but when Sam soothed over the reddened spot with his tongue and a few more light kisses, the thought was quickly replaced by the strong desire to feel his lips and hands all over his body.

Danny started grappling lower, pointedly digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Sam’s ass. And upon hearing Sam’s grunt, followed by the subtle movement of his hips pitching forward, something so warm and so electric stirred in Danny’s belly, leaving him fighting to keep his composure. In that moment, Danny wanted to do anything and everything with Sam, but he couldn’t be sure how far Sam wanted to take this, if he wanted to take it any further at all. So, instead of making any more moves, Danny zeroed in on the sensation of Sam lavishing his skin with kisses and nips, occasionally giving his bottom a light squeeze.

“Fuck- Sam,” Danny inhaled sharply as Sam scraped his teeth over the protruding point of his collarbone. It stung, but in a way that had his cock twitching helplessly in his pants. He used his hold on Sam to yank him impossibly closer, the friction of it all causing him to let out a short, low whimper.

Sam warmed the spot with a lap of his tongue, then came off and murmured, “Was that too much, Daniel?”

If Danny hadn’t looked down and seen the daring smirk on Sam’s face, he would have almost thought he was genuinely worried that he had been a little too rough. But, no- the words were a tease, and Danny had to play along. In fact, he had never felt more compelled to do anything in his entire life.

So, Danny huffed with feigned sass, “It wasn’t enough, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam pulled away, gazing at him with a cocked brow. “Is that why you’re already a little hard?”  

Instead of answering, Danny took Sam’s lips once more. Almost instantly, Sam was poking his tongue out from behind his lips, prodding at Danny’s own. Danny opened up for him gladly, and as soon as he did, he was delighted by the taste of sugary beer coating his tongue.

At that point, Sam was acting on instinct, and instinct alone. His languid movements and banter were all products of his unrelenting desire; there was no critical thought behind them at all. He would rather have it that way, anyway.

He certainly wasn’t thinking about the consequences of his actions when he pulled away from the kiss and breathed, “I know we don’t have a lot of time, but do you wanna do this?”

“We’ll just have to make it quick,” Danny urged, catching Sam’s eyes with an unexpectedly desperate expression. “I want this. I want you, Sam.”

Without another word from either of them, Sam brought his fingers down to the button on Danny’s pants and in one swift motion, popped it open. He pulled the zipper down and the moment he was able, gently freed Danny’s cock from his boxers, and holy shit- if Danny didn’t have the prettiest cock that Sam had ever seen. Sam was—by no means—ignorant to the attractiveness of other men, but he had never really seen anything like this. Even only half-hard, Danny’s cock was still modestly long and perfectly rounded and a soft pink color. Sam had to stop himself from muttering some sort of expletive.

Danny watched him with his teeth sunk into his swollen bottom lip, a sharp stab of need shooting through the walls of his weakening resolve. It was so electric, the way Danny found himself longing for Sam with his entire chest. And when Sam spit wetly into his palm and gave his first real touch—a tentative stroke downwards—to Danny’s cock, all of those cracked walks crumbled and he let out a soft, pleasured moan.

“Tell me how you like it, Danny,” Sam commanded gently.

Danny managed to choke out a question in return, “How would you do it for yourself?”

“Um… Fast? Firm?”

Danny huffed a laugh at that. “Don’t say firm. But do that,” then he politely added, “please.”

With that, Sam wasted no time building up a steady rhythm, pleasantly firm and hurried with the hopes of getting Danny to the edge before management came banging on the dressing room door again. Danny tossed back his head and drew a shaky breath. There was some rational part of him, way in the back of his mind, that still couldn’t quite process that he and Sam were doing this, but he shut his eyes, anyway, and focused on the perfectly thrilling feeling of Sam’s nimble fingers wrapped around his length.

Sam allowed his free hand to run fervently down Danny’s side, mapping out the skin he’d always snuck glances at, yet never had the explicit privilege of touching in the way he’d really wanted to. He smoothed that hand along Danny’s ass, next, then over the dimples on he small of his back, before bringing it back upwards to press against the plan of muscles between his shoulder blades. He wanted to explore and appreciate all that he could while he had the opportunity to do so.

He then slowed the movement of his working hand, thumbing right at the head of Danny’s cock until he saw a dribble of pre-cum appear from the slit. Danny couldn’t stop the broken whine that peeled from his throat as Sam continued on with his movements, faster and just a little slicker than before.

Sam hummed with delight at the noise. “How’s that? Is it good?”

“So good,” Danny returned breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”

Sam murmured, “Not really planning on it.”

As he worked, Sam watched Danny; the way his eyebrows furrowed when he did something that must have felt particularly good, and how he bit his lip to desperately keep from making a sound too loud for the small confines of the dressing room. And the more he watched Danny dissolve into boneless bliss, the less he could bear the ache of his own cock straining against his pants. So, with his free hand, he hastily undid his own button and zipper, then pulled himself out.

Danny blinked sluggishly at the loss of Sam’s hand roaming his body, and realized he’d been so caught up in his own pleasure, that he hadn’t been paying any mind to Sam’s. He was then quick to spit into his own palm and bring it to Sam’s cock, moving his hand out of the way and giving him a soft, apologetic look. Sam made a low noise and pushed his hips needily into Danny’s fist.

Sam and Danny worked themselves into a hasty, harmonious rhythm, not unlike the one they were able to form when up on stage, playing for a crowd of thousands. They had always been so in-tune with each other; it was just something that came with the bond they shared so fiercely. It was a trust rooted deep in their hearts, formed not only by years of making music and performing with each other, but by laughing together, bickering with each other, and everything in between.

And when Danny’s orgasm began to approach, it wasn’t the way his chest started heaving or how he was no longer able to choke down his noises that told Sam he was getting there, though those were all good hints. No, it was a knowing feeling that came from deep inside his stomach, showing itself with a shimmering intensity that he didn’t exactly need to look into at the moment. He tore his eyes away from where they had inadvertently begun to gaze at their hands and instead cast his glance upwards with a burning need to see Danny’s face- to see if it was anything like those sinful looks that he pulled on stage.  

To Sam’s entirely depraved joy, the expressions were deliciously similar. Danny’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes hooded and glossy, and his lips—so pink and pretty—were parted. And his tongue was even darting out from between them sporadically, as if he didn’t quite realize he was doing it. He looked so debauched and divine that it made Sam’s stomach flutter with desire, and his cock leak pearly drops of pre-cum.

“Sam—” Danny choked.

But Sam already knew what he was going to say, and cut him off, “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

Danny nodded fiercely.

“That was pretty quick,” Sam teased lightly, as if he wasn’t nearing his own peak and just as desperate to come undone as he assumed Danny was.

“Shut up,” Danny retorted, jerking his hips along with the rhythm of Sam’s hand. Sam was right: he was achingly close, and he had gotten there fast, too. He wished he could blame it on all the alcohol and the adrenaline that came from playing a show, then immediately doing something like this. But he couldn’t. Really, Danny knew the only reason he was approaching the edge so rapidly was because it was Sam who was dragging him there.

And eager to reciprocate the ecstasy Sam was working him towards, Danny doubled down in the pumping of his fist over Sam’s cock. In response, Sam let out a breathy moan and bit his lip, his head dropping lazily forward onto Danny’s shoulder. His fingers—though calloused from years of drumming and playing guitar—felt so amazing that Sam couldn’t help but to buck his hips, too, fucking himself into his friend’s willing fist.

“You’re so hard, Sammy,” Danny whispered breathlessly, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was the one causing it.

Sam whimpered in response, “Uh-huh.”

He was almost at a loss for words, which wasn’t something that happened very often. Sam knew he could ramble on forever if he was allowed to. But now, with Danny’s pace picking up and with the fingers of his free hand curling around his ass, he found that he only words he could say were broken phrases and mindless curses.

Soon enough, however, Sam began to pull out all of the stops, yearning to watch Danny lose himself to the pleasure they had created. He hastened the movements of his hand just a tick, while simultaneously dragging his thumb over the head of Danny’s cock and following the prominent vein down with every stroke. He was so hard and hot and slick beneath Sam’s fingers, that he found it to be intoxicating. In fact, it had him periodically biting at his already-red lips.

“Shit,” Danny gasped. “I’m almost there.”

Danny’s hand then snaked around Sam’s shoulder to hold the back of his head. He pulled him forward and connected their lips amorously, delighting in the sweet, muffled noise Sam made. It caused Sam to falter in his movements. He just couldn’t help it, not when he couldn’t ever recall a time when he’d ever been kissed like that. Danny’s kisses were so fervent, it was as if he were trying to draw all the breath from his lungs and replace it with stardust.

Sam was losing himself to the feeling, at least until Danny interrupted their kiss with an impatient whine against his lips. He hastily refocused his attention to the task at hand, rubbing his hip and breaking away to kiss at his jaw in apology. Despite being truly sorry for slowing down right as Danny was nearing his peak, he did feel a little rush of satisfaction at the way he had lost his composure.

And without much more than a hitching moan as a warning, Danny came into Sam’s hand. Sam’s cheeks went red-hot as he eagerly worked Danny through it. He watched his expression transform from a scrunch into something all pleasured and fucked-out, and that was enough to nearly make up for Danny having let go of Sam’s cock in the midst of it all and instead clawing at his wrist and hip.

But still, it wasn’t enough to get Sam any closer to the edge, so he took hold of his own cock—so hard it nearly hurt and so slippery with—and began pumping himself with a relit desperation to finish himself off before their bus had to leave. He groaned into the thick, open air, and that’s when Danny regained his senses and swatted Sam’s hand away.

“Let me do it,” he murmured, and began stroking Sam’s cock with a rapid fervor. Tilting his head downwards and guiding Sam to tilt his, he started pressing kisses and nips to the hollow of his throat, tangling his hand in his hair to keep him still as he continued his onslaught.

“Danny,” Sam’s moaned unexpectedly high in his throat.

“Close?”

When Sam nodded vigorously, Danny worked his wrist in a twisting motion, watching at the slit of his cock wept and thoroughly enjoying his responding whine. Sam bucked his hips, wordlessly urging Danny to go faster and accompanying the silent plea with a gasp. Danny complied, flicking his wrist hastily until—

“I- Ah- I’m coming- fuck!”

Sam shot directly into Dany’s palm, and maybe it was because his head was still a little floaty, but in that moment, he could swear it was the most beautiful he’d ever seen Sam. And while Sam was still panting from the force of his orgasm, Danny surged forward and captured his lips in a bruising kiss. And Sam let Danny kiss him hard, until they had to break away from one another for air.

“Well,” Sam was the first to speak after a moment of only shallow breaths. “That was hot as hell. I’m gonna get us something to clean up with. Not that it’ll do much.” He punctuated his statement with a short, boyish laugh as he looked down at their hands and freshly ruined stage pants.

“Right,” Danny nodded, leaning his head back against the wall. Coming out of his warm, post-orgasm haze, he could feel the coolness of the drywall against his skin and the ache in his shoulder blades caused by pressing against it for so long. He stayed like that, though, until Sam came back with some tissues.

Sam and Danny made themselves decent in a silence laced with a little bit of tension, cleaning themselves up and straightening their clothes and running their hands through their hair until it laid as flat as it could. Sam glanced over to Danny, and his heart panicked and sank to his stomach as he watched him wipe mascara smears from the corners of his eyes. What was Danny going to think of him—of them—nowthat they had tipsily stumbled across an unexplored line? In the morning, when they were nursing slight headaches and dry mouths, would Danny hate Sam for what they had done? Would Sam hate Danny?

But then, Danny caught his eye and gave him a little smile, and Sam felt himself relax. They couldn’t ever hate each other, could they? There was no room for hate in the relationship they’d spent so much of their lives strengthening and relying upon.

Banging sounded throughout the room, and this time it was followed by Josh shouting from the other side of the door, “What in the hell are you guys doing in there? We have to go?”

Sam then braced himself for the door to open and for Josh to just come barging in, but it didn’t happen. He almost cried in relief. Danny turned to open the door, but before he could reach it, Sam stopped him.

“Wait- how are we gonna explain our fucking clothes?”

Danny looked down at his clothes, then looked back up at Sam. “Uh- we can… tell them we spilled some beer?”

Sam narrowed his eyes and contemplated the suggestion, before deciding that it was truly their best option.

“Okay. But be cool, alright?” he said. Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, his tone erring on the side of desperation. “We can’t let them know about this.”

Danny nodded, biting back some sort of bitter emotion with a swallow, and agreeing, “I’m always cool, Sammy. It’ll be fine.”

Sam then allowed him to open the door, internally praising Danny for being the one to explain and subsequently take the brunt of all the nagging, from his older brother or otherwise.

[its-time-to-write]

ch. 5 - hustling for the good life

table of contents

your boots beneath my bed

You, on the other hand, had done your proper research. Watched his highlights on Lust Conquers All and everything. You want to know what exactly your stupid brain is doing, thinking someone like that is cute or (retch) boyfriend material but who gives a shit because you’re probably not going to see him again. 

You’re out of the hotel and in some tiny little cottage just outside of London. No paps, no PR agents or what-fucking-ever, just you, Natalie, and loads of fresh air. She finds you in the yard one morning, plucking a tune on a guitar and humming.

“That’s new,” she grins. “Gonna have a new single out soon?”

You raise a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. Might just keep this one to myself.”

Natalie says hmm then turns on her heel to go back inside. 

“Oh,” she says after a few steps, “you should at least send it to him. He might like it.”

“It’s not about anyone!” you call after her rapidly retreating figure. 

“Sure!” she yells back. You flip her off and she says, “I saw that!”

—

Natalie’s booked some coffee shop concert for you, so you’re a little preoccupied with sound checks and meeting your temp band and promising to drink a latte as soon as you’re done singing because fuck sleeping.

It’s sold out which isn’t hard because the place is small, but it’s fun to sit on a stool and sing into a small microphone and be able to talk and joke like you’re the small-town artist you began as.

The crowd goes crazy when you strum the first few notes of Mango, as they sing along to the whole thing. You finish the set and begin thank everyone for coming when you see an oddly familiar face in the very back of the room. You’re not even sure how you caught it because again, it’s crowded, but there it is. He’s with some other people who you’re pretty sure are part of AFC Richmond, but you don’t care about that now.

You pause in the middle of your goodbye and say, “You know what, I’m actually going to play one more song. It’s a rough draft right now, so be nice to me. The working title is Poolside, and you guys are the first to hear it.”

You begin to pluck the repeating melody that’s been playing on repeat in your brain and start the first verse.

I know it’s a bad idea

And I can’t have you anyway

But you’re like a tiny bit of sunshine

I can’t seem to chase away

It’s terrifying and vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. You’ve played songs for boys before, but never like this. 

You were in a hotel room with Austin one night after one of his movie premiers and just giggling about how stupid it all was. 

“I already have our breakup song,” you’d said, hopping down from the table. “Wanna hear it?”

Austin thought that was hilarious so he said, “Obviously,” so you grabbed your guitar from your room and strapped it on. 

“Alright,” you said while strumming a bouncy tune, “this one’s a little more line-dancey than my usuals. So.”

Austin had tapped his foot while you sang, “A long time ago/in a land not so far away/we met in a bar/and you fucking said ‘hey.’”

It was silly as you both bounced around the room singing about your impending split. Neither of you cared because it wasn’t real, and you had recorded him singing a harmony on your phone. 

You snuck it into the actual track months later, too faint for anyone to actually notice. 

But that was the closest you’d ever been to directly singing someone their song. It was different with Mango because it wasn’t romantic. 

And now it’s different with Jamie, because you’re singing about how dumb it is that you keep thinking about him asking if you were ok at that dumb fucking party. 

You end the song to thunderous applause, and you’re pretty sure bootlegs are going to end up on YouTube within the hour. You don’t care. All you can think of is slipping to the back of the café to claim that latte then sneaking out the back. 

“Nice one, girl,” Natalie remarks as she hands you a cup. “The label’s gonna love that.”

You smile. “They don’t care. I make them too much money for them to care.”

She rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak but just stops. 

“Hello? Earth to Nat?” you say, waving a hand in front of her face. 

“Hey,” says a voice from behind.

You spin around. It’s Jamie. 

And god, he looks fucking fit in trackies, Gucci slides, and a neon orange shirt. 

You can feel Natalie sneaking away behind you, and for once, you’re glad to be alone. 

“Hey,” you reply. “How’d you get in here?”

Jamie smiles. “Keeley. She can talk her way into anything.”

You nod, still holding your latte. “Well, usually we have a strict policy about fans who try to come talk to me unannounced, but I guess for you, I’ll let it slide.”

Oh god, are you fucking flirting?

Jamie smirks. “Babe, I ain’t any old fan. Probably number one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Right. And when did you decide you could call me babe?”

Jamie takes a step closer. “Right about the time Keeley convinced me to ask you out.”

You almost drop your coffee. 

All you can say is a weak, “Oh.”

“She would love to,” Natalie pipes up from behind a stack of coffee beans. “I’ll get you her number and you can set it up.”

Jamie’s looking at you expectantly, and you suppose he probably wants your consent, not just Natalie’s. 

You nod and say, “Sure,” with the same lack of conviction the oh held. Jamie’s expression ripples for a moment, but then he’s grinning and saying “Mint,” before saluting Natalie and exiting the way he came. 

“What the fuck, Natalie,” you say. Your bones feel like jelly. “I can’t go out with him.”

“Yes you can,” she tells you. “And you are. It’s settled.”

Oh fuck. 

—

He texts you the next morning.

hey it’s Jamie :)

I can’t be seen with you, you write back before you chicken out. The press would have a field day. I’m not looking for something public, so if you’re only in this to gain popularity, you’re out of luck. 

It’s a little harsh, but you’re going to be open about this.

no worries, he says. paps r fuckgn annoying. we can do smthg small. 

Turns out something small means sneaking into a restaurant where Jamie’s been going for ages. It has a small room in the back with windows you can see out of, but no one can see in.

“John’s been getting me back here for ages,” he says. “Haven’t had an issue with the press yet.”

It’s all so normal, the way he pulls out your chair and tells you what he likes to order. The way he’s making you laugh and asking you questions about your life, not the ones about your music, but the kind that are actually about you. 

The server comes around with a bottle, and asks, “Wine?”

Jamie looks to you and you shake your head, barely suppressing a grimace.

“All good here, mate,” he says.

“Not a drinker?” he asks once the man is gone. 

You hesitate. You’re about to cross into point-of-no-return territory. 

“I- I don’t know, I can’t really smell it without thinking of my family. They’re all…”

Jamie nods. “I get it. Like me dad. Prick’ll be sober when he’s dead.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Yeah, never had a family event without someone fighting. My mom’s the first one to get out, because she’s the youngest. She saw all that shit and decided it wasn’t for her. She went away to college, met my dad, and never looked back. Course, my uncles started showing up once I got famous. And my aunt, too. She’s probably the worst of all of them. She actually broke into my first apartment asking for money. She smashed a bottle and cut up my face pretty bad… I was nineteen and still trying to figure out my music career and stuff. I still have a scar on eyebrow from it. But, I wasn’t so famous that it ended up on the internet, so…”

You trail off again. Jamie’s looking at you all thoughtful. You’re not sure when he started holding your hand across the table, but there it is. It’s warm and calloused, and he doesn’t seem to care that yours is sweaty.

“My dad’s the same way,” he says softly. “Showed up a month back at a match. Fucking prick. But… can’t seem to cut him off, y’know? He’s fuckin’… family or some shit.”

“Hah,” you say, “That’s what Margarita’s about.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment. “Thought it was about how you really fucking liked limes,” he says finally.

That gets a laugh from you. “I do actually really fucking like limes. But enough about me. How’d you get into football?”

By the end of the night, you’re properly smitten. This boy knows how to flirt, knows all the right compliments and ways to brush his hand against yours or brush a stray strand of hair out of your face. 

This is bad, you think as his lips touch yours. This is very, very bad.

table of contents

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 15: PAINFUL RE:BAKE - Episode 18: The Fate of Ashes

also proofread by myuntachis!

Kabuto: "The ancients confessed before God. Now man is repenting before society." (1)

Kabuto: In other words, the script is done. Sorry.

Banri: It’s so damn light…

Aoshi: Please don’t drag Akutagawa into this.

Kabuto: Perhaps I should say I was entangled in the evil customs of the detestable world of theater… I need more than just time in order to write, there’s not much I could do differently.

Kabuto: Well, it’s well in time for our first performance. We’re going to start practice, so read through it properly.

Banri: Want me to hand out copies?

Kabuto: Yeah.

Actor A: I thought we’d end today with just etude training again…

Actor B: We’re finally starting the real thing, huh.

Banri: (Like he said, I’m the lead, and Hyodo’s the co-lead. Let’s see–)

Banri: ——

Kabuto: The title is “The Fate of Ashes”.

-

16th century London.

After the death of his mentor Jakes, a great playwright and director, the actor Baal takes over his theater company.

Gifted with talent, the directing techniques he had inherited from his mentor, and a large theater company, Baal felt omnipotent.

Just when he thought his time had come, his master’s will wished for him to act out the final play he had written alongside an unknown actor.

The lead would be played by Baal, and the co-lead would be played by an actor who went by the name of Judas. His mentor had discovered him in an orphanage, taken a liking to him and taught him acting.

Without understanding his master’s intentions, Baal welcomed Judas into the theater and they began rehearsals. However, secretly, he despised Judas’s acting, which was barely anything more than amateurish.

In an attempt to embarrass him and make him leave of his own accord, Baal made Judas act alone in the town square, introducing him as the new actor.

But when Judas started acting in front of the audience, it was as if he was a completely different person from the one during rehearsals, and his acting captured the hearts of the people.

When Baal witnessed the acting that had attracted his late master in the first place, he became filled with a jealousy stronger than he’d ever felt before.

As the opening day of the performance approached, Judas’s talents became more and more refined, and Baal started fearing that if they stood on the stage as they were now, he would be seen as the inferior actor.

Growing mad with the fear that he would lose his position and the theater company he inherited from his master, Baal devised a plan to replace the prop knife during the performance’s sword fight with a real one, and kill Judas in a way that would seem accidental.

And on the opening day–

Judas, despite being fully aware the props had been switched, still accepted Baal’s challenge.

Judas was jealous of Baal. He had been cared for by Jakes and stood in the spotlight, not only as an actor, but also as director and owner of the theater company, and wanted to kill and replace him.

The murder attempts disguised as acting escalate into a shameful scuffle on top of the stage, and they wind up killing each other.

The curtain falls, and their corpses are showered with thundering applause.

-

Banri: An one-man show in the town square…

Banri: (... Ain’t this just a rip-off of our Portraits?)

Kabuto: Heh.

Banri: (Now he’s done it.)

Banri: (Baal fixates on Judas’s acting to the point of jealousy and madness… It’s like he’s tellin’ me this coulda been me...)

Banri: (Honestly, it’s irkin’ me that I gotta perform this for him, but… It’s interesting, and seems like a role worth playing.)

Banri: (And this is a play I can’t perform in MANKAI Company– It’s a play that’s got Hyakka Troupe written all over it.)

Banri: (It’ll definitely become a huge source of knowledge down the line.)

Banri: But what’re you gonna do about the artwork and staging necessary for this?

Aoshi: We don’t have the time to create the props necessary to reflect the time period this play is set in.

Kabuto: We won’t be making any props this time.

Kabuto: My plan is to arrange, stack and break soapboxes in order to reflect each scene’s atmosphere.

Aoshi: Soapboxes?

Juza: I’ve seen… somethin’ like that before.

Juza: While the actors stood on stage, stuff like panels and chairs were moved around to represent either a train or a conference room–

Juza: The way the actors themselves created the set while acting was impressive.

Kabuto: That’s exactly “somethin’ like” it.

Kabuto: I plan to have all actors, main cast included, carry soapboxes during each scene change.

Juza: Sounds interesting.

Banri: … Do you even understand how difficult operatin’ through this is gonna be?

Banri: …

Banri: (What does Hyodo even think of this script?)

Banri: (Is he aware that we’re the inspiration for it? Or is he too dumb to get even that much…)

Banri: (Either way, this is a play worth actin’ for both of us. He’ll need to walk over my dead body to beat me on stage.)

Banri: (Uh, I do die in this play, though.)

Banri: ‘lright, let’s get the read-through started–

Kabuto: Wait.

Banri: ?

Kabuto: You and Hyodo will be playing each other’s roles until I tell you to switch.

Banri: Huh?

Juza: I’ll be playing Baal…?

Aoshi: You also had them act as each other during the etudes.

Banri: Ahh, yeah…

Kabuto: That being said, you can start.

Banri: Yes, sir. As you wish, Your Majesty.

-

Kureha: Hmmm… Muffins, or donuts…

Keiku: …

Kureha: Ah! It’s you again! Look, I’m still trying to decide!

Keiku: Doesn’t seem that way to me tho?

Kureha: J-Just wait a second, I’ll pick one right now–

Girl A: What, what?

Girl B: What’s wrong, Kureha-kun?

Keiku: Sup.

Kureha: He snatched the sweets right as I was picking last time, so I’m trying to secure them this time. Ah, but thanks for the puddi–

Girl A: You can eat my desert, then!

Girl A: This seasonal sweet potato roll cake is sooo delicious~! I’ll give it to you!

Kureha: Huh? Th-Thanks…

Keiku: (... Lovable, eh?)

Keiku: What’s that feel like?

Kureha: … Huh?

Keiku: ——tch.

[Keiku walks away]

Kureha: Ah, wait–

-

Keiku: …ugh. I should comm with someone.

previous episode | masterpost | next episode

NOTES:

(1) quote from ryunosuke akutagawa's shuju no kotoba (dwarf's words)

(2) the title of the chapter (and the play) literally translates to 'divine providence of the scorched earth'... kabuto when i get you

[curiouselleth]

Be He Foe or Friend

Decided to start posting this here as well! (ao3)

Be He Foe or Friend is a Silmarillion choose your own adventure fic I've been writing for a little while now, and right now I have 3 rounds of chapters out (including the first one.) At the end of each chapter there is a choice, and the one you choose corresponds with which chapter you read next! Right now I have the next chapters on ao3 linked in the options at the bottom, and I'll be reblogging this post with the next chapters!

This is written in second POV, as if you, the reader, are Lalwen.

Chapter 1: Introductions

“You are still young and this is a big step, my darling Lalwen, but as my daughter and princess of the Noldor, it is time you start attending court and finding your role as a princess of our people. I know you are unsure, but I have every confidence that the people will adore you.” your father said encouragingly.

“Are you sure, atar? I fear due to the controversy of your and amil’s marriage I may be ill received not just in the court, but by the people if I begin to take a greater role…”

Finwë tucks a braid behind your ear, “do not fear my darling, Fingolfin and I will be with you the entire time, even Fëanor will be there today.”

You smile, take a shaky breath, and nod, “I suppose we should stop stalling, then.”

“Lalwen, my daughter, my darling, my precious. You are the one stalling, not me!” we laughed.

---

The court hall had always been lavishly adorned. Precious metals were inlaid into the very stone of the walls and floor, running like rivers and vines. The floor is a beautiful mosaic depicting the path the Noldor traveled from the very waters of Cuiviénen in the far east to the border of the home of the Noldor in the west, the white city of Tirion. The thrones sat on a raised dais, and upon each step a level of the city is depicted, until the top step, which shows the gardens outside this very hall, with the thrones in the middle sitting where the Court Hall would be depicted on the mosaic. 

Windows of vibrantly colored glass depicting scenes of the Noldor’s travels and crafts starting nigh a step up from the floor stretch fathoms up, nearly to the ceiling where finely polished gemstones hanging in the eaves and vaults of the roof sparkle brilliantly in the light of the two trees. Between the windows hang intricately woven tapestries displaying the symbols of all the different Craft Guilds gently billowing as a breeze passes through the great doors of the hall.

Today the hall is filled with Noldor dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, and so many elves that they had to remove the benches that lined the halls to make more space. Garlands of flowers and vines stretch across the hall- no, not flowers! Finely crafted stones, ores and gems, shaped and arranged so realistically that one who was not accustomed to the Noldor would not even see the difference between these and the most beautiful of Yavanna’s blooms. If the light of the trees were any brighter the scene would be near blinding with the light reflecting off all the gems, metalwork, and polished stone. 

There were also minstrels scattered through the hall, playing soft, joyful melodies and harmonies, for today a new Princess of the Noldor was taking her place in the court.

As the Royal family enters, a hush falls over the hall, so that the very steps of even baby Finarfin, your young brother, can be heard by the elves' ears.

Finwë leads your family in with Indis and baby Finarfin between them, as they pass the people bow, then Fëanor, Nerdanel his wife, pregnant again already! You marvel for a brief moment, and their son Maedhros. Next Fingolfin, your brother, and his betrothed Anarie. 

Then it’s your turn. After you pass, the elves rise from their bow, and when you reach the dias and turn, about to take your seat, they erupt into thunderous applause and cheering.

It took several minutes for the crowd to quiet again so Finwë could properly introduce your joining the court. Such was their excitement to have a new Princess in court, as your sister Findis discovered that court was not for her and had begun contemplating becoming a devotee of Varda. The rest of the court session passed in a blur, so luckily there were not any matters that required your attention.

Unlike Findis, Fingolfin, your brother, had taken to court and politics like a… well like how only a prince of the Noldor could. 

Fëanor too had taken to courtly matters quickly as well, though his true passions were lore and smithing. Even though he was your half-brother, and your eldest sibling, you did not know much more about him then any other elf, as his disdain for Indis, your mother, and Fingolfin, your brother, usually resulted in him visiting seldom, and on the few occasions he did, he was rather haughty, although never to the point of being straight out rude. He seemed rather tolerable on easier topics though, the few times you had the chance to speak.

Perhaps it was seeing how confident Fëanor and Fingolfin were and how sure in themselves and their beliefs they were was what made you hold your head higher, and even began to allow a seed of courage to begin to take root. 

---

Perhaps you should’ve expected someone would ask you about it. It had been controversial from the start, and the memory of elves was long, so it may always be so. But when they asked you if you thought it was fair to Míriel, who was barred from ever being re-embodied when your parents married, it still shook you. For you to say it was unfair would be to say that you wish yourself, your sister, and brothers would never, should never have been born, and your parents never married. 

To say that it was not unfair to Míriel who was to be left dead permanently was to appear callus, saying that she made her choice and should never be returned to life.

Your half brother, Fëanor, the son of Míriel, would never miss the opportunity to argue for justice for his mother. But none could blame him, for he alone in all elves born in Valinor knew the pain of the death of a parent, in the undying lands. And furthermore the strange feeling of the loss of one who will never return. 

Your brother Fingolfin usually took a more delicate approach, recognizing that Míriel did make a choice for herself, so Finwë had the right to do the same for himself.

All this passed through your mind in a flash, and you voiced your support for:

Fëanor’s position that it was unjust to Míriel, and Fëanor himself for he lost his mother permanently. Go to Fëanor’s Position

Fingolfin’s position that Míriel made her choice, sad that it was, and Finwë had the right to seek happiness when Míriel chose to leave, as Manwe, King of All Arda, declared Finwë’s right to remarry. Go to Fingolfin’s Position.

Allowing everyone, including Finwë and Míriel, privacy in difficult decisions such as these and that the discussion of such personal matters should not be a matter of public debate, despite the fact that it was about their King. Go to Privacy for Eru’s Sake!

[artist-issues]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi is a great example of fandoms ruining their own movie experience. Often fandoms are right when they think a movie doesn’t deliver on their favorite franchise. But in The Last Jedi, the Star Wars fandom kind of proved that their heads are in a terrible place.

I will explain.

Movies are meant to reach in and grab your emotions. You’re supposed to get out of your own head, and the story is supposed to get under your mental defenses, so that you not only suspend disbelief, but suspend your inner film critic and enjoy an experience/learn what the movie is trying to tell you.

If a movie has terrible form and repellant content, like bad acting or a message like “cold-blooded murder is neat” then people generally don’t get to have that experience because the movie couldn’t reach in and grab your emotions.

The Last Jedi was not a bad movie. I know for a fact that it one hundred percent DID what it set out to do, in the theaters. What happened was, you Star Wars fans enjoyed the movie while you were watching it. Then you got home and got in your own heads and read what some other people thought and watched some Mark Hamill interviews and retroactively decided you actually didn’t like it.

I know you liked it because I was in the theaters with you. I saw TLJ on opening night, in a packed theater of dressed-up fans. Then I saw it three more times in theaters. I heard fans clap when Luke fought Kylo Ren and said “see you around, kid.” I heard them laugh when he threw the lightsaber over his shoulder. I heard them applaud when Snoke got cut in half. I heard no groans of disbelief during Holdo’s Hyperdrive ramming—you could’ve heard a pin drop, exactly as the filmmakers intended. I heard fans holding their breath or whispering, “please please please” when Rey said to Kylo Ren, “Please don’t go this way.” I heard, all four times, thunderous applause during the ending shot, when a kid with a broom is revealed to have the Force.

‘When the lights came on and everyone was leaving the theater, I heard NO ONE saying:

“I can’t believe they ruined Luke.”

“What was with Holdo? Hyperdrive doesn’t work like that.”

“I hate Rey, she’s a Mary-Sue.”

“What was with that casino planet scene, that was useless!”

I heard people excitedly talking about how awesome the film was. I heard them repeating the jokes to each other, or sharing their favorite parts. I heard them hoping Ben Solo would be redeemed for the next movie. The closest I ever got to anything even approaching negative was, “What was with the blue milk alien?” Which is fair. But my point is, even when the movie was over and we were leaving the theaters, the fans loved it. At the time. When the movie was all they had to base their opinion on.

I sat next to a young man who is now the loudest Internet Proclaimer of TLJ’s supposed failure, on opening night. But at the time, when the movie ended, he said, “that’s what The Force Awakens should’ve been! That was so great.”

Then he went home and watched EFAP and came back and said, “yeah I liked it at first but that’s because I was stupid and didn’t know any better. Now I know it’s terrible.”

What? No, you’re not stupid! It was a good movie. It said exactly what it wanted to say, and it had your attention and your emotions the whole time. It even set up the next film for great, new, unexpected success (regardless of how ROS squandered that opportunity.)

But this is how a lot of fans are.

They have pre-set expectations of what they want. Or they don’t have any expectations and they wait for their favorite influencer to tell them what to think. And then, even when a movie is good, they change their own minds about it later to line up with what they thought they wanted.

Not what made the most sense. Not what made the best story. Not what could be an enduring classic. Not what grabbed the emotions most effectively. Just “I want what I want.”

Guess what, at the end of Casablanca, the hero doesn’t get the girl. He loses her. But he becomes a man who takes risks and goes back to living life because of his experience, as sad as it may have been. If audiences back then could complain loudly enough on the internet and get what they want, Casablanca would have had a crappy sequel where the guy gets the girl, and the whole first movie is ruined. Or the filmmakers wouldn’t have been brave enough to do what the story needed in the first place.

TLJ is the perfect example of a good movie ruined by it’s own supposed fandom, who just want what they want, and can’t admit when a movie was good, or even that it moved them, because it’s not what they wanted, in hindsight.

[artistsonthelam]

I just met my childhood hero, R.L. Stine!! I can die happy and haunt a house now.

The funny thing is I bought the book for him to sign (picked one of my childhood favorites, Stay Out of the Basement) at the event; despite having read every single book in the original series as a kid, I’d never actually owned one. You see, every Saturday afternoon, starting when I was 6, my dad would bring me to our local library; there, he’d pick out 7 picture books, one for him to read to me each night, while I’d make a beeline to where the chapter books were and grab the latest 2 or so Goosebumps acquisitions (it was so satisfying when I’d open them up and see that no one else had checked them out before). I’d spend a couple hours there and read them on the spot; my favorite place to do so was on a rocking chair underneath a Mother Goose mobile in the middle of a sunny, seemingly private corner of the children’s section. When I was done I’d go find my dad in the history section (dads, am I right?). I also have fond memories reading the choose-your-own adventure ones there; I’d end up keeping all my fingers and about a million bookmarks at each junction so if I met an untimely demise or was curious about the other outcomes I’d go back and make a different choice. The peak of all this was when I was 9 and in 4th Grade. (I did also check some of them out though; I have memories reading Night of the Living Dummy in bed (who could forget Slappy’s face on the cover?).)

R.L. Stine inspired me to be a writer. And his writing style was a huge influence on my own writing back then (those cliff-hangers at the end of each chapter!).

And: Yesterday was his 81st birthday!

At the Chicago Humanities Festival | R.L. Stine: A Modern Master of Horror at Music Box Theatre (filled with possibly the highest concentration of fellow Millennials—the moderator was Gen X and asked if anyone in the audience was and was met with silence—and some kids of 90s Kids), which included a pre-event Book Fair, a screening of the first episode of a new Goosebumps show (which I didn’t know existed), a talk (he has a background in comedy and was SO funny—pretty much every answer he gave had us rolling with laughter), and (for a number of lucky folks including myself) a post-event Meet & Greet!

I made sure to sit near the front. When R.L. Stine entered the theater and made his way onto the stage to thunderous applause, I unexpectedly fought back tears.

R.L. Stine said during the talk that his literary inspiration was Ray Bradbury, that when he met him he told him he was his hero, and that Bradbury’s response made him burst into tears. At the Meet & Greet, I told Bob that how he felt about Ray Bradbury was how I felt about him. He was so gracious and told me I was so nice and thanked me, and I told him he was my hero and thanked him, and I could feel myself getting emotional. I started walking away before I could burst into tears myself haha.

They say to never meet your heroes. Not the case with R.L. Stine.

(P.S. We weren’t allowed to take photos with him—understandable because if everyone did the line would’ve gone way more slowly—so have a creep shot instead (and yes, the people in front of me were dressed as Slappy and the Haunted Mask!).)

[Edit: Thank you for retweeting me, Music Box Theatre, Chicago Humanities Festival, and Do312, and thank you for sharing my Instagram post in your stories, Music Box Lounge!]

// (c) Jenny Lam 2024

[bunnysnuff]

What I've Been Looking For.

Pairing: Poly!Ricky Bowen x Reader x Nini Salazar-Roberts.

Trigger Warning: Poly Relationship, none, surprise celebrity at the end!

Request.

The opening night of High School Musical: The Musical was finally here, and you were feeling every ounce of excitement, nerves, and adrenaline. You had spent months rehearsing with Ricky and Nini, both of whom were by your side through every high and low. Being in a relationship with both of them made everything feel even more magical — like you had a team who understood and supported you no matter what.

As the audience filled the seats, you found yourself pacing backstage, trying to calm your nerves. Ricky caught sight of you and quickly walked over, his hand slipping into yours. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he said softly, giving you that signature charming grin. His calm energy always seemed to ground you when you needed it the most.

Nini joined you both, a warm smile on her face as she squeezed your other hand. “You’ve got this. We’re all in this together, remember?” she winked, making you laugh despite your nerves. It was moments like this that made you realize how lucky you were to have them.

As the house lights dimmed and the show began, your mind raced, but once you were on stage, everything seemed to fall into place. The music, the choreography, the lines—it all flowed, and the energy from the audience made it feel even more electric.

By the time the final bow came, the applause was thunderous. You stood between Ricky and Nini, their hands in yours, hearts pounding with the exhilaration of a show well done. The three of you shared a proud look before heading offstage, basking in the glow of your accomplishment.

However, as you made your way to the dressing rooms, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N!” You spun around, heart skipping a beat. Standing there, smiling brightly, was Vanessa Hudgens, your cousin. She stepped forward, arms open wide.

Your eyes widened in shock. “Vanessa?! What—what are you doing here?”

Ricky and Nini exchanged confused glances, but your cousin didn’t hesitate to pull you into a tight hug. “I wouldn’t miss your big night for the world! You didn’t think I was gonna stay away when you were performing High School Musical, did you?”

“I didn’t think you even knew!” you stammered, still in disbelief.

Vanessa chuckled, pulling back to look at you. “Of course I knew. Your mom may have let it slip, but I wanted to surprise you.” She glanced over your shoulder at Ricky and Nini. “So, are you gonna introduce me to your friends?”

You turned to your partners, cheeks flushing. “Um, yeah. Vanessa, this is Ricky and Nini. They’re... well, we’re...”

“Together,” Ricky finished, smiling sheepishly as he extended his hand. Nini gave a small wave, her own smile matching the pride in her eyes.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow, but her smile widened. “Well, it looks like you’ve got a great team supporting you. I’m really proud of you, Y/N. You were incredible tonight.”

Your heart swelled as you took in her words. Being related to someone who had been a part of the original High School Musical was something you’d always known but never thought much about—until now. The connection felt surreal, but standing there with Ricky and Nini, you realized that tonight was even more special than you’d ever imagined.

Ricky wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Looks like being a star runs in the family.”

Nini nodded, her hand slipping into yours again. “I’d say we have some pretty big shoes to fill.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had all night. “Well, no pressure, right?”

Vanessa grinned. “Trust me, you’ve already made your mark.” She glanced at Ricky and Nini. “And I’m glad you’ve got these two to back you up.”

As the night went on, you couldn’t stop smiling. With Vanessa’s surprise visit and the warmth of Ricky and Nini by your side, you knew this opening night would be a memory you’d cherish forever.

[meret118]

"Ever since I got elected, Republicans have attacked me by saying I should go back to bartending," she said. "But let me tell you, I'm happy to, any day of the week, because there is nothing wrong with working for a living. Imagine having leaders in the White House who understand that, leaders like Kamala and Tim."

Ocasio-Cortez called Harris someone who "understands the urgency of rent checks and groceries and prescriptions." "I am here tonight because America has before us a rare and precious opportunity," Ocasio-Cortez said. "In Kamala Harris, we have a chance to elect a president who is for the middle class because she is from the middle class."

Ocasio-Cortez also took swipes at former President Donald Trump, getting thunderous applause as she called him a "two-bit union buster" and said he would "sell this country for a dollar if it meant lining his own pockets and greasing the palms of his Wall Street friends." 

"The truth is Don, you cannot love your country if you only fight for the wealthy and big business," she said. "To love this country is to fight for its people, all people, working people, everyday Americans like bartenders and factory workers and fast-food cashiers who punch a clock and are on their feet all day in some of the toughest jobs out there."

[twstinginthewind]

“Happy Birthday Joker! And you too Punch!” Said Molly. “I hope today is most wonderful! I’ve gotten your gift right here! I do hope you enjoy them.”

Insides the personalized gift bags were embroidery designs for each of the siblings all neatly arranged in the little embroidery hoops. Bows, sweets, poker cards, and an accordion were embroidered for Joker and for Punch, there was a hockey stick, a ukulele, and a computer. “I worked rather hard on them, I do hope they’re to your liking.”

“HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” Astrid was practically singing at the two. The light brown haired girl placed a golden paper crown on the twin’s head. “Back home, if it’s your birthday, you’re considered royalty for the day! So here’s your crowns!” Astrid then hugged Joker, and planted a little kiss on Punch’s cheek that smelled of her sugar cookie chapstick

“Before I forget! I got you guys something!” The gift ended up being a large box of chocolates and some ultra-soft blankets straight from the Aneira Kingdom.

“WE’RE NOT DONE YET, I’d like to dedicate this performance….to the birthday boy and girl” Ellis said as she took a microphone and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses. Ellis then gave her gift, a full on performance for the two of them! Featuring their favorite songs! With help from others, Ellis was able to serenade the two with thunderous applause at the end.

hopefully this isn’t too many ocs! And I hope you don’t mind the little astridxpunch mention! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY NETTE!

It was Joker & Punch's birthday yesterday, but the party goes on!

"See, Punchy? I told ya it'd be fun for us both to hang at both of our parties," Joker said, nudging her brother with her elbow. "Besides, you know you like the tea party crowd. Now smile, here come my dormmates, and the Ramshackle prefect."

"I'm already smiling, chucklehead," Punch murmured in reply, giving a polite bow as one of their upperclassmen approached with gifts. "Good afternoon, Molly!! I'm glad we can all be here today; the weather turned out splendid for a garden party, hasn't it?"

"It really has," Joker agreed, peeking into the gift bag. "Oooooh, is that needlework art? Tell me you didn't design theeeese, OM7."

Punch turned his gently in his hands. "It's really, really cute! I have a space on my corkboard where this'll look perfect."

"Thank you!" the twins chorused, and gave Molly a proper and polite matched Queendom curtsey and bow, respectively. Joker smiled fondly at her senior as she rejoined the party, but Punch's attention was grabbed by the next in line to greet them. His cheeks went a bit pink as the freckled princess approached them singing.

"We better not let Riddle see these crowns," Joker giggled as she returned Astrid's embrace. "He's gonna think we're competing for his position, sweetie. But thank you so much!"

"It's an honor, though," Punch said, pressing his hand to his reddened cheek. "If you want to call me a prince for a day, Astrid? I'm not gonna argue..." He hugged the blanket to his chest dreamily for a moment as the chatter continued around them. "Hey, Jo? What's going on at the gazebo...?"

Joker turned her head and laughed. "That's a whole stage setup in there. Are we getting a live show?"

As if to answer, the speakers hummed to life, and Ellis's voice cheerfully broadcast her announcement. The twins looked at each other, grinning, then focused on the stage. Grim, snacking on a cupcake, pressed the play button on a boombox, and the performance began! Punch and Joker cheered along with the others (laughing merrily at the backup dancer antics of Ace, Deuce, and Epel) as the show went on, and singing along.

"Now, THAT'S a party," Joker cheered as the show wound down. "Thank you all so much!"

"It's always a blast with our friends," Punch added. "Everyone, you're amazing. Thank you!"

[batboyblog]

LOUISVILLE ��� She wanted to hear Henry’s voice again. So she went to her son’s room on an overcast February day and started digging through the boxes he left behind, looking for something he’d written to give her guidance.

Henry Berg-Brousseau always knew what to say.

Eight years had passed since he’d told Kentucky lawmakers how it felt, at 16, to be the only transgender student at his high school. Eight weeks had passed since he’d killed himself, at 24, at his Northern Virginia apartment.

It was Henry who’d inspired his mother, Karen Berg, to run for Kentucky’s state Senate, helping her win a seat in an overwhelmingly Republican legislature now contemplating a pile of anti-trans bills.

All morning long, the doctor turned Democratic lawmaker had been pacing around her Louisville house, trying to figure out what she could say to stop them.

“Don’t shake. Don’t cry. Don’t let your voice waver,” Karen, 61, muttered to herself as she did the laundry. “Short and sweet is better.”

Henry, who’d worked as a press secretary for a major LGBTQ advocacy group, often reminded her to speak in sound bites, to repeat phrases so listeners could absorb the message.

But would the people with power in Frankfort pay attention?

It was an election year in Kentucky, and amid America’s widening cultural rifts, Republicans were pouncing on gender identity issues. Already, almost a dozen new anti-trans laws had been proposed in Kentucky: censoring books on gender, barring doctors from providing hormone therapy to trans teens, banning them from certain restrooms and locker rooms.

Five days earlier, a senator running for lieutenant governor had stood a few feet from Karen and introduced legislation to allow teachers to use students’ birth names and pronouns against their wishes. He was greeted with thunderous applause from colleagues.

Karen, one of just six Democrats in the Senate, couldn’t believe it.

Now she headed down to the basement and sat among the 30 boxes that had arrived from Henry’s apartment in Arlington.

“I keep searching for his smell, but I can’t find it,” she said, rooting through his old shirts.

She found herself returning to his childhood bedroom.

“God, I could use his advice right now,” she said quietly, as she leafed through his high school yearbooks.

It was in ninth grade — when Henry came out as transgender to his classmates — that the cruelty and isolation peaked. Parents Karen had known for more than a decade called to say they didn’t want Henry talking to their kids anymore. Bullies hacked his Tumblr blog and repeatedly sent him messages telling him to kill himself. The first of several suicide attempts followed soon after.

From one crate, she pulled a thick stack of binders from Henry’s time at George Washington University in D.C.

“These must’ve been from his classes when he came home during covid,” she said. As she flipped through them, the neatly penciled handwriting on one college-ruled page jumped out at her.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as she made out the first words on the page.

“What am I living for?” it read. “Why? What is keeping me?”

Underneath, her son had written out in tidy columns across two pages the apparent pros and cons of killing himself.

“I can’t,” Karen said, struggling to breathe. “I didn’t expect this. I’m not ready.”

She laid the pages down.

She thought about the hour-long drive to Frankfort the next morning and the eight-week legislative session still ahead. She thought about the fellow state senators she planned to plead with in private. And about the floor speech she was still composing to persuade them to back away from more anti-transgender laws — for her sake, for the sake of her son, for the sake of others like him.

“If they’re going to pass these bills,” she said, “I want them to see me and my dead child and know that they are killing other Henrys out there.”

Continue

every single line of this is heart breaking.

[daisha-mochizuki]

Well, it's that time! You guys voted, and I shall give you what you all want! I've worked in order to have the first main fic of this AU in time, and I did it! I hope you all enjoy it. I will say, there are mentions of gore and limb ripping and nightmares and all that fun jazz, so be warned.

And now, I am pleased to present to you all:

And, if you're an MHA fan, please check out the discord server I made :P

Something had been off about that day. Perhaps it was just the rain, Enji had mused, but that wasn’t the case. No, looking back on it, much bigger issues were prominent than he had originally realized at the time.

It was the latest Billboard Chart since All Might had returned to Japan from America with his working partner, David Shield. All of the top ten heroes in Japan were lined up across the stage, the cheers and whoops of the overwhelmingly large crowd permeating the airspace of the area. Rain thundered and pounded on the earth outside, but nobody cared. It was what was going on inside the building that was important to them at the moment.

And nobody would realize how important it would be until the time struck.

“WHO’S READY FOR THE TOP TEN HEROES?!”

An announcer's voice boomed over the speakers built into the arena, louder than any of the citizens’ voices. The crowd screamed and stomped their feet, and they started chanting to start. The announcer’s amused chuckle radiated through the arena, and then they cleared their throat.

“Alright, alright, settle down now or else I can’t proceed.”

The crowd attempted to silence, save for the ever-so-often whoop and applause as well as the wolf whistles.

“Coming in at No. 10, our not-so-little guy, Kūki!”

Said hero grinned widely, and they waved as they giggled to themself at the nickname given to them while a small yellow beaded bracelet saying ‘THEY’ on it jingled slightly.

“No. 9 Pro Hero, having risen a rank since his last Billboard Chart, a guy you wouldn’t want to rub the wrong way, Static!”

The hero named Static puffed as he placed his hands on his hips and looked around for where the announcer’s voice had come from. “Alright, I thought we said enough puns!”

“Whoopsies! Looks like I’ll be getting a shock later!”

Static puffed and was about to say something, but the camera cut away from him and the announcer’s voice rang out over his, as well as the laughter of the crowd.

“Anyway, continuing forth! No. 8, our shining light: Purity!”

Purity smiled softly, and he pretended to blow a kiss to the camera as he giggled. “Aww, look at you all, my sweet little sun rays!”

“No. 7, a guy who’s pretty high in the ratings despite being weighed down, Gravata!”

The male rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Jeez… the puns…”

“A woman whose heart is strong and apparent, our lovable No. 6, Kanjō!”

Kanjō threw a shy smile at the camera, forming a little heart with her hands as she smiled with her eyes closed. Her light pink curls were joined with a yellow color, reflecting her embarrassment as well as her joy.

“Our hero - as unpredictable as Time itself, it’s No. 5, Temptresso!”

Temptresso pulled the hood of their cape over their face, hiding their eyes as a blue ‘HE’ bracelet jangled around his wrist. Kanjō gently nudged the male, giving him a reassuring smile. Temptresso puffed a little, but he pulled off the hood a bit nonetheless and crossed his arms. The crowd cheered, and he shrunk down a little in himself and gave a small little wave, earning even louder cheers.

“And finally, before we meet our top 3 heroes; No. 4, a woman who has worked hard at bending probabilities and turning the tide in her favor: Sieluth!”

Sieluth, a woman of taller stature, pulled down the mask she wore and grinned at the crowd, waving rapidly as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

The announcer cleared their throat, hoping it would be enough to reign the crowd back in, who had started cheering wildly for the No. 4 hero. “Alright, alright, you lot. Now, onto the top 3!”

“A hero who made his way to the No. 3 spot using pure strength and appearance, a man as powerful as his Quirk and name, All for One!”

All for One stood in an almost defiant pose, his arms crossed, and when the camera was directed toward him, he only raised an eyebrow.

“For No. 2, a man who has climbed the ranks for his entire hero career, a man who has never given up in the trap of defeat: Endeavour!!”

His flames appeared on his body, thus warming - nearly boiling - the air and space around Endeavour. He sneered at the camera, puffing up his chest as he crossed his arms and stood up as tall as he could. At the age of 28, Endeavour was still pretty tall, although he was still sort of dwarfed by the two men on either side of him.

“You’ll get there eventually, Endeavour!” the announcer called out, resulting in a flare of Endeavour’s flames and an indignant look to cross his face.

“And now, our No. 1 Pro Hero, a man who’s been away for a while, but has made his mark and has been shooting his shot. A man as mighty as he sounds: All Might!!”

A spotlight flooded the stage, singling out one hero in particular. The two blonde rabbit ear-like strands of hair that stuck up on the man as well as the red, blue, and yellow hero costume with the accents of white were the most identifiable traits about the No. 1 hero. His iconic grin was spread across his face, his hands on his hips, and his chin tilted up in a sense of pride.

The man was sure of himself, that was for sure.

After having introduced all top ten heroes, they went down the line once again, each giving their own little speech and thanks for the support they had been given. Even the shiest ones spoke.

Endeavour had just been finishing his mini speech when he saw All Might's sidekick, David Shield, entering onto the stage with All Might's permission in his peripheral vision. Once he closed his mouth he turned toward All Might, a glower on his face. He hated that practically cocky look the No. 1 wore at almost all times.

Although… he did find it odd how he was clinging onto David. An arm was around the back of David's neck and the hand gripped the arm of David. David seemed blissfully unaware, but Endeavour felt a feeling of unease pooling up at the bottom of his gut. A part of him wanted to reach out and talk to David, but right as he opened his mouth, All Might took the microphone from the lady who had been walking up to all of the heroes, letting her back off as he brought the mic up to his smile that was slowly getting creepier by the second in Endeavour’s eyes. He cleared his throat - again, with that grin.

“Unlike all the rest of these heroes, I want all of you to just…” he squeezed David closer to him, who was still unsuspecting, “…watch me!”

All Might activated his Quirk, the swirling power rays crackling around his body, causing the crowd to cheer and ‘oooo’ and ‘ahhh’.

Nobody could’ve anticipated what would happen next.

All Might grabbed a now very confused David Shield, with that sickly grin, and twisted - practically tore - the poor man’s arm off. Flesh and muscle ripped, bones crushed and disintegrated, and blood spurted and splattered. David let out an agonizing scream - more than one, actually - as All Might tore off his other arm as well.

Blood spattered and shot from the gaping wounds, staining the front of All Might’s costume as well as some getting in his yellow-blonde hair. People in the first couple of rows also found themselves covered in the sticky red blood, resulting in some screaming in pure and unadulterated terror and others gagging and throwing up. David’s body slumped to the ground, but he wasn’t dead. He was close enough, though, and All Might threw the torn limbs back at the man he had torn them from to let them join the bloody pile, his hands stained a deep and sticky crimson.

For Endeavour, the noises of the arena were all squished together into a cacophony of horror and pain. Screaming, crying, wailing; all the same in one man’s head. Even the smells of it all. His own suit was stained with blood as well, as he had been standing closest to All Might. The other heroes were either trying to help people escape or were frozen in fear and shock, just as he was.

All Might then turned, his blue eyes meeting Endeavour’s. Endeavour couldn’t move, not even when All Might grinned wickedly and quickly moved closer. All Might reached out, and-!

--

“Ah!”

Enji woke up with a start, his back - his spine - aching terribly as he had relived yet again the reason why he had to retire at a young age. He groaned in pain, his breath catching as the corner of his eyes burned. Shoto, a one-year-old then, woke up in the crib in his parents’ room and started crying, thus waking up Enji’s wife, Rei.

Rei sat up, rubbing her eyes with a soft sigh. Right as she was about to get up, however, she noticed Enji struggling to calm his breathing. She knew immediately what had happened, as it had been happening at least once a week since the event. Rei went and got Shoto, shushing the baby softly as she brought him into the bed.

She slowly helped Enji sit up a bit, before gently tucking Shoto into his arms, letting the weight of the baby sink fully into Enji with a slight hope that it would help ground Enji. Enji’s breathing was still shaky, and he was still in slight pain, but it dulled slightly as he opened his eyes and looked down at Shoto. With a trembling hand, he started softly caressing Shoto’s hair, a breath of relief escaping his lips as the corners of his mouth curled up ever so slightly.

The sound of their door creaking startled both parents, Enji holding Shoto a little tighter as both he and Rei tensed up. But the sight of it just being their other three kids eased them, as all three had worried looks on their faces.

“Is Daddy alright?” Fuyumi asked meekly, playing with her hair as she stood on her tiptoes slightly behind her older brother Toya and her younger brother Natsuo.

Rei nodded softly. “He just had a little nightmare, like you and your brothers do sometimes.”

Natsuo, around five years old, took a tentative step forward as he looked into the room.

“Can… Can we hug you, Father?”

Enji’s face softened up, and after a quiet chuckle, he nodded. “Come on up.”

The kids quickly scrambled over one another, each trying to get onto the bed before the other, and Toya, the eldest, ended up clambering up and throwing his arms around Enji as gently as he could. He buried his face into one of Enji’s arms, and despite the boy’s own rules that he would never cry, Enji could hear the soft sniffles coming from him. No other words were spoken as the other kids climbed around and got comfy as they hugged their father, with Shoto still in Enji’s arms being cradled and Rei coming up from the side to join in on the cuddles.

Despite all of the hardships, they were still a family. And Enji found a sort of comfort in that, despite what he had to go through. They had a few moments of blissful silence, all of them nearly falling back asleep…

…and then Enji’s phone began to ring…

“Incoming call from ‘Midoriya’. Incoming call from ‘Midoriya’.”

[sheikah-simp]

⭐star⭐ for Exile//Vilify :0

I know this ask was like FOREVER AGO but I was SICK forever ago and couldn't properly rant about Exile//Vilify in the way I wanted to.

For this particular Director's Cut, I want to focus not on one particular passage, but sort of just the whole progressing relationship between Astor and Rose, and how they are reflections of each other and the world that surrounds them.

Astor is in his first year at the abbey when he first sees her - just about thirteen years old - while she is having her seventeenth birthday, triumphantly making her way up Mt. Lanayru. And, incidentally, this is something that is brought up again from Astor's POV at the end of the Epilogue:

Tomorrow, Princess Zelda would be going up Mt. Lanayru, as her mother did before her, as did she with all the hundreds of goddesses with whom she shared a singular soul.  ...  She, unlike the others, would not be met with flowers and roars of thunderous applause.  There would be no showers of trumpets and throngs of people lining in the streets.   No, her journey instead was to be made in secret–almost in shame–as the kingdom, in the threat of Calamity, was well aware she had been unable to awaken her mother’s power yet.  They had little hope remaining that she would.

But, of course, this passage is not about Rose, although Rose is clearly in his mind. This passage is about Zelda-Sparrow, Rose's "failure" daughter.

Astor spends what he knows to be his final day in "normal" Hyrule--the Hyrule before the Second Great Calamity--looming over the village of Hateno. This was his birthplace, the place that set his prophecy in motion, and the first place in the world that rejected him for his difference. It's the place he was forsaken from the start.

But. He also spends it there because it is in sight of Mt. Lanayru. He was watching Princess Zelda there. I wanted to get into this more, and somewhat had plans to, but there was going to be a portion of the book that just detailed Astor stalking Link, Princess Zelda, and the rest of the Champions while they set themselves up for their own failures. I was going to extend the things I summarized in the Epilogue into their own chapters, but the book was getting longer than I wanted it to be, and Astor's final line is already the pinnacle of the book proper for him:

“I am Astor, your oracle,” he said.  “The last seer to the royal family, forsaken child of Hateno Village.  Catalyst of the Great Calamity, and Prophet of Doom.”

Astor had owned his identity and his own fate at that point. That's the capstone of the book. There was no need for further chapters, as I thought they'd detract from the gradual progression of Astor's acceptance of his "evil personhood" -- his acceptance of his failures.

A sense of failure, a deep and unshakeable feeling of being damned by the gods, forsaken by Fate, a feeling that he shares with Rose's own daughter, Princess Zelda. Whom the whole kingdom, he knows, shall and already does regard her as a failure. As unable to live up to her legacy, and the legacy of her foremothers.

Rose, to me, and to Hyrule as a whole, is triumph. Even though she does have the inklings of the struggle that her daughter is about to face (she has blockages in her power, can't craft arrows, and ultimately dies because she steps into Malice and is unable to fend off the Stalfos with her light), this is not evident to anyone else in the kingdom. She is, and always would be, remembered as Hyrule's Rose, their beautiful bloom, with a sad, bitter thorn to have been taken so quickly from the world. Even though her power failed her too, this is never how she would be remembered. All of her memory is always joyful and triumphant, because she was chosen and blessed by Hylia, and incredibly, incredibly fortunate in her lifetime. And she is, of course, the inheritor of a kingdom that bears the name of the Goddess that dwells inside her. The Goddess who is always prophesied to win.

Astor, on the other hand, is failure. While Astor is a prodigy in his own right, and "chosen" by Fate in other ways, he is chosen to be favored by the inherent loser--the person in these prophesies that Link and Zelda are always fighting and winning against. The person the kingdom hates. I think that, had I explored Astor following Rose's daughter's journey more, this sense of failure is something he would have deeply empathized with her. Perhaps even developed a sense of love and paternal guardianship over her, especially since she is his last, living connection to Rose. To victory. I think he might have grown to love her the way he would have loved her had Rose still been alive. This is one of the many reasons that I joke that Astor is Zelda's real dad, aside from the fact that he is.

Astor does not know, at the end of the book, if he will live or die. If the Great Calamity - and therefore all his efforts, all his life - will be a success or failure. He knows the kingdom will be plunged into a long era of darkness, and I think he has his suspicions due to the history of the kingdom, but he has also surrendered completely. Because it's not actually about Hylia or Ganon. It is, and always was, about Fate toying with everything and everyone around it. And, having had the great privilege of knowing Fate and dispensing the words of Fate to others, and still considering himself to a degree to be Fate's right hand, he finds peace in the uncertainty. His sense of power and pride comes much less from being a servant of Ganon as it does in knowing that, whether good or evil, he was, in fact, one of those favored (or unfavored) by Fate.

TL;DR Exile//Vilify can be read as a big dissertation on what it means if you are literally, cosmically, pre-destinationally born to be a failure. And then of course there is the shadow of Thelem, haunting the entire narrative, calling out from the pre-destination of his own grave, calling out desperately to Astor that yes, your life and your story will matter, even if that.

Fanfic Writers: Director's Cut