#I just had the most cathartic conversation of this week and it made everything else about this week suck slightly less

[rurinnfane]

Finding out that one of your coworkers has the same opinions as you on petty issues that you can’t normally talk openly about at work is honestly THE best thing ever

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Things I Wish I Got To Say~

(Reader is GN, I tried hard not to give a lot of descriptions. This is cathartic writing. I usually write really positive, cute stuff that is a little steamy and romantic. This, however, is just Agnst. This is to release some emotions in me for a long time. I hope you guys will appreciate it as much as I do, and if not, I totally understand. The idea came from a tiktok I watched a few days ago where a man taught his wife how to dance for their wedding day, but she sadly passed before they could have their dance. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.) P.S. I would not oppose writing a happier ending if you like this. I know how much we all love those. TW: DEATH, Angst, Executions, Depression, Hurt

Alastors POV

I thought nothing of it the day I first saw you; You were just another person wasting my time in this infernal hellscape. Yet, had I known that you would have wormed your way into my undead heart over time, I wouldn’t have even allowed myself to set eyes on you in the first place.

The day I first met you, I thought you were kind and reserved, yet like everyone else in my life, I saw you as a pawn who could help me achieve my ultimate goal. Had I known that your voice would bring me such peace, I would have never introduced myself so formally to you.

The day I spoke to you on a deeper level than pleasantries for the first time, I was amazed at how well you kept up with my humor and quips. It was a fantastic feeling to hear and see for the first time since my mama had passed. Yet, had I known you would have given me these feelings, I would have never sat at the bar that night.

When I realized the need to be by your side grew day in and day out as you flourished in the hotel, I was taken aback. I had never experienced such emotions as this, and at first, I saw it as a weakness, but instead, you were my greatest strength. However, if I had known this would be the turn of events that happened, I would have never asked you to dance that night and confess my feelings.

I remember it like yesterday when you walked into the hotel. Not too long after my arrival and fight with Vaggie, you appeared chipper and eager to learn more about the princess of hell. However, you didn’t stay long, seeing as you had people you still had to protect. How foolish to safeguard people in hell. It was the most dangerous and deranged place to exist, and you had to protect people.

Days and weeks went by, and as we gained more notoriety, you kept coming back, helping in small ways. One particular day after I had battled with Vox, you came running in, smiling so wide, congratulating the hotel on the amazing victory. There was no real battle, just wits and quips between two old friends turned rivals, but you made it seem like I had slayed Lucifer himself. 

When I introduced myself to you after Charlie eagerly pulled me in, I couldn’t tell the feeling that I had in my chest. Your smile radiated heat from it onto my face, and I was astounded at how powerful you didn’t know you could be. With a bow at my waist and a kiss on your hand, I grew your smile even more, and the cutest color of red dusted your cheeks.

You left again that day, saying you had things to attend to but would be back soon. Soon—what a funny word people use to describe time. It could mean tomorrow or months from now. Yet you showed back up like clockwork the next day.

You made quick friends with the hotel staff, your permanent palace being made not too long after Pentious joined us. You found solace at the bar most nights, talking to Angel and Husk. How you enjoyed their conversions was beyond me, but your light laugh and gentle smile lit something in me. That’s when the day came that you had no one to sit with.

Taking this opportunity to explore this uncharted territory, I sat there with you and spoke to you truly for the first time ever. We talked about everything and nothing, the strangest of things occurring, and I felt like I could go hours without leaving your presence. Yet as your eyes drew closed from exhaustion, I couldn’t help the pride that washed over me that you chose to talk so long that you fell asleep with me.

I gently took you to your room, placed you in bed, and gave you a gentle kiss on the head. I was shocked. I had never done something so childish and unclean before, yet I felt the need to give you more. I was going insane with these feelings, which overran my mind. So, I sought solace in the best person I knew to help the situation. 

On my trip to Rosie’s, I heard a beautiful tune that reminded me of you, a sweet melodic vibe that sounded sweet to dance to, too. I let myself wonder how it would feel to dance by your side, swinging you through the night and getting lost in the songs that came from the radio. That was something that always amused me. You enjoyed the radio ever since I explained my distaste for TV. Could it be that you had the same strange feelings that I had?

At Rosie’s, I poured my heart and soul out to my dearest friend: “I don’t know what to think anymore. I am going crazy around them. Every time they smile or talk, I want to be there to bask in it. How could someone as strong and powerful as me succumb to someone so small and less than me? No, they aren’t less than me. They are everything to me, but that is what scares me.”

In that omission, I had Rosie laughing. She had never thought the day would come when someone would take my fancy. I listened to all her words about love and romance, things I had heard of but never experienced once in my life. Then she asked the dreaded question to solidify this ‘Love’ I had for you: “If your momma was around, would you take them to her?”

Yes, yes, I would have in a heartbeat. You would have made her so proud and happy if I had you on my arm. In that instant, I knew I needed you to be the other half I was always missing—someone who was on my level in mind, body, and soul. 

As I trekked back to the hotel, I bought a new crimson suit and matching outfit to ask you out tonight. The shadows took your gifts to your room with a note asking you to join me in the ballroom at 8 o’clock. I waited eagerly for your arrival, ready to face this path of uncertainty as long as you were by my side.

As you made your way over to me, I must confess I was tongue-tied. I had no idea what to say or do, so I let the music guide me. You seemed to not know how to dance, but after a few encouraging words and some leading by me, you were a natural. We danced the night away; it was perfect, and a simple, slow song started to play as the night ended. 

Holding you close to me, my hands around your waist as yours clung to my neck, I felt at peace. You were my peace, and that excited me and scared me all at once. Then I let it out on accident in the least romantic way possible: “I think I am in love with you.”

You laughed gently, that laugh that cured my ailments and healed my soul—the laugh that made hell worth living in again. Your simple reply, “I know.” was all I needed to hear, as a simple laugh also left my lips.

We were inseparable from then on. You were always there in my radio tower, cheering me on with a simple ‘I love you’ on your lips—something I grew so fond of so quickly. I knew you would conquer the world with me if given the chance, yet I also knew I wanted nothing more than to protect you until my own dying breath. Over time, even your dancing skills rivaled my own, and I was eager to take you to Mimzy’s club after all this execution business was handled. I wish I got to.

Then the dreaded day came, the day that would end my unbeaten heart and relinquish me back to a cold, miserable hell—the day of the execution at the hotel led by none other than Adam himself. I begged you, pleaded with you to leave the hotel and hide elsewhere, but you were so strong and spirited that you wanted to stay and fight. How could I say no when blood was my favorite color, too?

How I wish I told you to stay back harder. Because as the dust settled and the rubble cleared, there lay your lifeless, cold body, a sword through your chest. I had never transformed as fast and violently as I had that day. While everyone mourned you and Pentious, I was mourning just you, the love I had always told myself I never needed. 

I was so devastated, red clouding my vision. I had killed and eaten half of the districts in Pentagram City when the others finally calmed me down enough. Lucifer tried everything he could to bring you back, but it was too late; we all knew it was too late. They showed me your cleaned-up body, and I lost a small fragment of my identity.

I held you so close to me and cried, really, honestly, at the love I had lost. 

What I would give to tell you the things I wish I got to say……

To: My Lost Love

From: Your Radio Demon

[somnambulants]

i love your writing!! could you maybe do something with exes to lovers with nat?

word count: 3.9K notes: thanks for the request! i’m glad you like my writing! i also may...have started thinking about writing a second part because im super attached to this fic. let me know if thats something you guys would be interested in!

“Barton, you’re such a –“

Your world stops turning at the sound of that voice, everything else becoming static. It doesn’t matter that you’re standing in a room full of people that you’re supposed to be impressing.

It’s been over ten years since you’d last heard that voice.

Vaguely, you know that Captain America is speaking to you but the only thing you can pay attention to is her.

You turn slowly, and the second you lay eyes on her you know for sure.

It’s definitely her.

You see it the second she spots you too.

In all the time you’d known her, she’d always been so much more proficient at hiding things than you but you still see the way her eyes widen as she takes you in and the way her face shifts into something that resembles shock before she manages to mask it.

“Nat!”

You startle a little, having now somehow completely forgotten that Captain America was next to you and that you were in the middle of a tour of your new workplace the second you’d landed eyes on her.

Oh god.Your new workplace.

Your new workplace that was also clearly her workplace.

As she approaches, you futilely look for every possible way you can escape. “This is Y/N. Fury’s informant while Agent Emery is on reconnaissance. Y/N this is Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha? Romanoff? Absurdly, you have the sudden urge to laugh.

She really couldn’t have come up with a better name after fleeing the country all those years ago? It’s a surprise to you that you hadn’t heard about her sooner with that alias.

Pushing that thought away and hoping that your face shows the professionalism you’re trying to convey, you straighten your spine and clear your throat. “Nice to meet you.”

Captain America’s eyes flick between the both of you. Maybe you’re not doing as good a job as you’d thought.

Natalia-Natasha takes the hand you extend to her and shakes it. “Likewise,” she says, and you hate the way your body still reacts to her voice all these years later; hate the way her touch still makes you feel.

Even more so, you hate that you don’t know what it is you’re feeling more of as you look into her eyes: fury or heartbreak.

She makes a flimsy –well flimsy to you – excuse and leaves the conversation after that. You watch her walk away, clenching the hand she’d touched into a fist as you resist the urge to put it through the wall next to you.

Somehow you think you’d have a hard time explaining it to the man still standing next to you, who is now watching you with a thoughtfully puzzled but not suspicious expression.

Not yet, anyway.

--

Your dreams that night are fitful and full of her. The first time you’d met, you’d been nothing more than children.

There are no children in red room though. Only fighters and a fighter, she definitely was.

You? Not so much. You’d never been designed to last more than a day in that place and you wouldn’t have, if not for her.

Natalia throws you back against the mat, again and then again and again. Each time you stand up with more difficulty until eventually, she throws you down so hard your vision blurs for a second.

You never had a chance against her, something you knew before you even stepped foot into the room and you know they must have known that too when they set you up against the most experienced fighter here.

It’s abundantly clear you’ve been set up to fail.

The next time she hits you, your legs give out beneath you and you can’t bring yourself to get up this time, even though you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t.

You know how this works.

Bracing yourself for impact, you close your eyes and wait. It’s pathetic. You know.

The final blow never comes. When you finally crack open an eye, you find Natalia, arms crossed, just gazing down at you.

It might have been your imagination but her eyes don’t seem quite as hard as they had been before.

She extends a hand after a second of her just watching you and you watching her. A little part of you is convinced it’s a trick; that the second you take her hand, you’re going to fail whatever test this is.

Still, against your better judgement you take her hand and, rather than the macabre images playing out in your mind, instead she actually helps you stand, surprisingly gentle as she does so.

She gives you a second to reorient yourself and then her whole demeanour changes, turning cold and stiff as she crouches down back into a fighting position.

“Try again.”

Just as abruptly, you’re thrown into another and another. Quick flashes of the past that still haunt you.

Natalia taking you on your first mission.

Natalia holding your hand as you cried over the body of the first man you’d killed.

Natalia lying beside you on your mattress, running her hands through your hair gently when your nightmares became so bad you’d go days without sleeping.

Years and years of training. Years of bruises and broken bones. Mission after mission. Somehow, it’s all maybe not-quite worth it but it almost is – almost – because of her.

When you kiss her for the first time, you think that might be the first time either of you has had any control over what you do with your bodies. 

You can't remember a time where you'd had something you'd ever wanted and you wanted her so badly.

You can’t get enough of it. Or her.

And then, one day, you wake up and she’s just... gone. 

--

The next morning, feeling irritable and exhausted from your disturbed sleep, you walk into the avengers training room and find the one person you’d been hoping wouldn’t be there.

Of course, your mind spitefully whispers because of course it wasn’t enough for the universe to thrust her back into your life but it had to throw her in your face too.

When you enter, she has her back to you but you know she knows you’re there by the way her back stiffens slightly.

You watch as she stands up straighter at the words you throw at her back, unable to help yourself: “What is this? Babysitting duty? I think we’re passed that, aren’t we?”

She turns to you. “I usually come here early,” is all she says. She doesn’t respond to the bite in your voice.

You make a non-committal sound and then just decide to ignore her, stomping past her to make your way to the far corner of the room. You work by yourself in peace for about ten minutes before you hear the sound of footsteps and all of a sudden she’s in front of you.

“I need a partner,” she says. 

You have the urge to laugh in her face, before it strikes you how cathartic it would be to punch her right now, no matter how childish it might be, so you stand, letting the weight you’d been holding drop back to the floor with a loud thud, and follow her across the room.

You both crouch down in anticipation and you take a second to really look at her.

Her expression is unreadable. The pang you feel when you realise that surprises you.

There had been a time when you’d known her like the back of your hand and now she's nothing more than a stranger standing in front of you.

It hurts a lot more than you’d thought it would.

--

This continues for weeks. You don’t know why you let it happen but you do. You get up early; you go to the gym; you spar with her and then you fulfil the duties you’d been hired to do.

It’s almost easy to slip back into that headspace of your whole life revolving around her. Because it does. All you do is think about her when you’re not around her.

Over those weeks, you still barely speak a word to her because at least if you don’t speak, you have some kind of power.

To your surprise, she lets you ignore her, lets you pretend you don’t hear her whenever she speaks and you resent her a little more for that. You’d rather she hated you as much as you want to hate her.

It would make it all so much easier.

--

Eventually, though, you break.

You’re not strong enough to ignore your desire to know everything; to know how she’d ended up here. And why she’d clearly cared enough to stick around and try and save the entire world when you, a single person, hadn’t even been worth enough for her to stay.

“Why,” you pant, mid spar one morning. She’s kicking your ass, as usual. “Why here? Why the avengers?”

You’d sworn to yourself you’d never ask her this question but the yearning to know has been burning inside you since you’d walked into this building over a month ago now.

Equally as breathless, Natasha drops the careful façade she’d had up and looks at you with those eyes; the ones that could have made you do anything at one point in time. You’re not convinced they still couldn’t. “I wanted to do better… be better than what we were…. Isn’t that why you’re here, too?”

That answer hurts you more than any of the hits she’s landed on you this morning. And there’s been a lot. She’s still the superior fighter, even if she had left so long before you.

God, those words hurt to hear. Especially to have you lumped in with the clearly bad part of her life, whether it was her intention or not.

Maybe that’s why you say what you say next. Maybe there’s a little part of you wishes this whole situation would hurt her as much as it hurts you.

“How… uncharacteristic of you,” you ignore the last part of her sentence because honestly: you don’t know why you’re here. You feel like you’ve been lost and drifting your whole life and the only thing that had ever made sense to you was her.

You know your bitterness has bled into your voice with your words but you don’t make any effort to mask it. And if you can hear it, she definitely can too.

In the blink of an eye, she stops sparring with you, straightening up quicker than even you can catch. You let out a breathless huff of air as she grabs the front of your shirt pulling it so you’re forced forward until you’re almost nose to nose with her.

You hate that for a split second, before you can control yourself, you lean in slightly. As much as your mind can’t stand her, your body has no such feelings and it still wants her. You know you have no hope of hiding it from her so you don’t even bother.

“You don’t know me,” she says. The words come out of her mouth fiercely but the look in her eyes is soft, beseeching, like she wants you to hear her. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Like it matters.

It’s like you’re suspended in time for a second, and all you can think of as you look into her eyes is of the woman you knew.

You hate that you still miss her.

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes that you want to believe mirrors the torrent of emotions currently taking over you – the sadness, the anger, the grief – but you know better than to have hope when it comes to her.

You know all too well how it ends. And you’ve had enough of false hope.

Typically, in a fight, you know Natasha would come out on top – has every time -- but she’s never had your anger directed at her the way it is now and she isn’t expecting the way you’re practically vibrating with it as you shove her away, so hard that she stumbles backwards, only just managing to stay on her feet.

“Clearly,” you spit at her as you straighten up, and start walking towards the exit.

You know she’s still just standing there in the same spot. You can feel her eyes on you.“Yeah, run away,” she mutters under her breath.

It’s the first time she’s shown you the attitude you’d been giving her for weeks and her reaction is justified, you can admit it, but you don’t care.

You spin around, fury overtaking you as you advance on her until you’re pinning her against the wall behind her. “Sorry,” you hiss, glaring into her eyes. “I forgot you’re the only one who can do that.”

“That was different.”

You laugh. It’s not a nice one. It sounds like an injured animal trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. 

“Why? Because it was you doing it? Excuse me for not being —“

All of a sudden, she’s kissing you. Or you’re kissing her.

Either way, you’re kissing and you don’t know how exactly it happened but you know that you can’t get enough of her; can’t get her close enough even though there’s no longer even an inch of space between you.

She flips your positions, tugging you closer, and you’re abruptly bathed in cool air as she rips your shirt off you, shoving you against the wall.

Your heart picks up rapidly as she kneels in front of you, easing the rest of your clothes off in one fluid moment.

“I hate you. So much,” you tell her as you step out of your pants and it’s not convincing even to you. Still, you repeat it again and again as she kisses down your body – so tenderly and gently that your voice starts to wobble.

You hate it. You hate her.

She looks up at you from in between your legs, now on her knees. It’s such a vulnerable position that you find you can’t look at her and you have to close your eyes. Natasha digs her nails into your thighs as she forces them apart.

“Look at me,” she demands. Her grip tightens until you obey; you know you’re going have crescent shaped bruises tomorrow. Her gaze is soft and tender and just all consuming. You know there’s no coming back from it. You’d never had a chance, even back when you didn’t mind not having one. “Don’t look away.”

You don’t, not even when she finally, finally, touches you and your head falls back against the wall. 

You hold her gaze the entire time knowing how incredibly stupid this is and not caring at all about how much you’ll regret it later when you’re thinking straight.

--

And regret it, you do.

You stop working out early. You walk the other way in the halls if you see her. You know people are catching on that something is going on between the both of you; have caught multiple avengers giving you quizzical looks whenever you’re in the same room and it makes you feel even worse than before.

You channel all that regret into something more meaningful and commit to doing a damn good job at what you were actually here for. And you do. You can admit you do a fantastic job.

Every time you hand a report in or come back from a mission, you swear see a glimmer of approval in Fury’s eyes. Something you’d heard was notoriously hard to come by.

You must have done something really shitty in a past life though because after weeks of throwing yourself into your temporary duties, you walk into your temporarily office and are immediately flagged down by Fury, who debriefs you on the details of a mission he’s sending you on.

You’re thrilled for about three seconds until you see the name of the person you’re going with.

Agent Natasha Romanoff.

Fury is looking at you with a scrutinising expression when you look up from the file. Every time he looks at you it’s like he can see inside your soul. “Is that a problem?”

You grit your teeth and force yourself to smile. “Of course not, sir.”

--

It is a problem. A big problem, in fact.

You don’t speak to her on the flight there. Even though it’s only the two of you confined in the aircraft. You don’t even so much let yourself look at her. You can feel her looking at you multiple times, though, even though she’s piloting and should only be looking at the course in front of you.

There are no words exchanged between you all day beyond the times you absolutely have to speak. 

At least not until you reach the tiny hotel room you’d been given.

The second the door closes behind you both, she turns to you and opens her mouth and maybe it’s cowardly but you cut her off before she even start speaking.

“I’m going to have a shower,” you say and flee the room with your entire carry-on, worried that if you pause to sift through your things, she’ll keep talking.

Still in the same spot, the look on Natasha’s face when you emerge from the bathroom is full of clear exhaustion. You hate the way it makes you feel. Empty. Sad. It’s exhausting for you trying to convince yourself you hate her.

“I’m sorry I left,” she says and you freeze. “I wanted to come back. Find you. I just didn’t know - i didn’t know if you even wanted me to.”

You’ve wanted to hear those words for so long. Now you have you don’t know what to do. “Why did you leave?”

She hesitates. The look in her eyes tells you you’re not going to get a full answer. That as open as she’s trying to be, you still don’t get to know why she abandoned you. “It’s a long story.”

The evasion stings. “An apology means nothing if you won’t tell me why.”

It’s an unfair thing to say. You know that but you don’t really feel like being fair right now.

You chance a look up when she doesn’t respond and find her looking down at the floor. It makes you wonder what — or who — she must still be protecting by not telling you. 

It becomes apparent that she’s not going to say anything else after the silence between you drags on long enough that the tension in the air becomes almost unbearable.

You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears in your eyes so you flick the light off and turn the lamp on your shared nightstand off, throwing the both of you into immediate darkness. It’s definitely too early to be sleeping but you don’t care.

Eventually, after laying there rigidly for what feels like hours and listening to the sounds of Natasha tossing and turning in the other bed, you finally fall asleep and are immediately thrown into dream after dream that quickly turn into fitful nightmares.

Nightmares that may be more aptly called memories. After one particularly bad one that thrusts you back into consciousness, you bolt upwards, still half asleep. 

You only narrowly manage to avoid bumping straight into Natasha, who’s hovering above you, because of her hand on your shoulder holding you in place.

You flinch away from her instinctively and she backs up to give you a little space.

The only sound in the room is your heavy and desperate gasping for air. Natasha, now perched on the very edge of the bed, bites her lip, looking at you as if she knows exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

She probably does. It doesn’t take a genius to guess.

“Are you –"

“I’m fine,” you say flatly. You stare up at the ceiling, absently counting the tiles as you try to slow your breathing.

You’re hyperventilating, you know it, you just can’t get yourself to stop. You’re also sweating, it’s disgusting. You can feel how all of your clothes are stuck to you. Your hair flattened to your neck.

If you hadn’t been dealing with this for so long, you’re pretty sure that you’d think you were having a heart attack instead of a panic attack.

But you have. Been dealing with it. It’s just something you’ve come to expect now. You just never thought she’d be here to witness it.

All of a sudden, as you’re still trying to calm your breathing, the bed dips below you.

Your eyes fly open in shock to find Natasha sliding onto the mattress beside you, still on top of the covers.

Gingerly, she rests her head on the pillow next to your head and fixes her gaze on the ceiling.

It’s slight but her hand brushes against your own a few minutes later.

You suck in a breath between your teeth, but despite yourself, you let her move closer, until she’s so close you’re almost touching, and you can hear her quiet breathing.

Against your better judgement, you let your eyes slip closed again. Seeming to understand you’re not going to push her away, Natasha shifts closer, until you’re both shoulder to shoulder, the way she used to lay next to you when you had bad dreams when you were kids.

She grabs your hand, and slowly, hesitantly, she moves it to her chest where you can feel her heart thrumming rapidly under your fingertips. Surprisingly, it still works; you breathe in and out, in out in out, in time with her heartbeat.

You must at some point fall asleep because all of a sudden you can hear birds chirping outside the window and the sounds of people outside in the street.

When you open your eyes, you expect to find the spot next to you empty and the covers unruffled, as if she’d never been there at all but to your shock she’s still there beside you, awake and on top of the covers.

The circles under her eyes make you think she must not have slept at all.

You slide out of the bed and head towards the bathroom without saying a word, where you turn the shower on and just sit under the spray for what must be at least an hour, letting the water run over you and trying not to think.

This time when you return, she’s gone.

--

The rest of the mission goes smoothly. If nothing else, you both work well together as a team. You can still read her movements like a book, and she knows to anticipate what you’re doing before you even know yourself.

The days go fine. The nights not so much. You don’t speak about it but every night you’re woken up by the same dreams and every night you wake up to find her kneeling beside you.

If you were stronger willed, you would’ve shoved her away the first time, but you can’t bring yourself to. Maybe it’s a little selfish but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

The last night of the mission is when you finally break, though. Something shifts in the air when you wake yourself up gasping and meet her eyes. The same eyes that had been blank and lifeless in your dream. 

You know she feels the shift as well by the way she’s looking at you, cautiously hopeful.

You don’t say anything though and neither does she. You just lay there, side by side, and watch each other carefully for what could be seconds, or it could be hours.

Her eyes are begging wordlessly: Truce?

Despite yourself, as you gaze back at her, you find yourself giving in. For tonight at least.

Truce.

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 13 - Spinning

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Angst

Summary: You and Gojo are caught up in your feelings and he unintentionally breaks another rule. 

A/N: (18+ / minors and ageless blogs dni) New chapter! This is a bit of a filler chapter but I am working up to some dramatic things (smut and angst coming up!) plus revealing some of the secrets that happened in the timeline 👀 I hope you enjoy it! And as always comments are appreciated ☺️

- - - 

Sitting cross legged on your bedroom floor, you proceeded to fold the fresh laundry into perfectly neat piles. Music enveloped your room, the bass from your speaker bouncing off the walls as you mindlessly hummed along to the track that was playing. This is how you were choosing to unwind after a long work week, by organizing and cleaning up your apartment. There was something completely cathartic about resetting your space and you found yourself having plenty of free time on your hands recently.

Gojo has been exceptionally busy. At first there was an itch when you began seeing less of him, the two of you would plan to get together but that consistently kept getting cancelled. Eventually those plans transitioned to you agreeing on catching up with one another once things settled. Now it seems the only time you managed to hear from your friend was with sporadic phone calls and random text messages that he would send you at weird hours. The itch slowly turned into an ache, that familiar knot in your stomach making its presence known more often than usual.

There was something about the way he managed to fill the silence. You always gave him a hard time about talking your ear off but realised that he actually entertained you with some great conversations.

Even though half the time he was talking about ridiculous subject matters…

You had to hand it to Satoru though, he always spoke with such enthusiasm he would make the concept of paint drying seem fascinating.

He was fascinating.

Eight years of friendship have taught you that but you were smart enough not to feed his ego. Despite the two of you being close, Gojo still never fully let you in. You couldn’t deny that you were intrigued by him, curious to know more about the strongest sorcerer who seemed totally unphased by his own title whenever he was around you. You wanted to know more about how he fought off curses and protected people from the evils that seemed to be invisible in your eyes. Although he consistently evaded your questions, he did slowly open up about other things. You particularly loved the way his face let up when he talked about his students and it made you realise that if there was anything Gojo Satoru had committed himself to, it was his role as an instructor to the next generation of sorcerers.

Still, you usually tried to pry information out of him when the two of you would get lost in deep conversation, noticing the way Gojo would drift in his own thoughts whenever the subject seemed to focus on him.

Clearly there was an extent to which the man loved talking about himself.

There was a point when he spoke where you saw his face grow pensive as he brought up an old friend. He referenced him in passing but the way his mouth fell pained you just as much as it seemed to hurt him. Your question was on the tip of your tongue, eager to learn more about the people within his own circle, but Satoru immediately shifted the conversation onto something else.

That wall, much like his infinity, is impenetrable.

Unfortunately, the dynamics were in his favor. You wished that you could conceal your own emotions as easily around him but it was impossible. Gojo had the capability of knowing exactly how you were thinking and feeling at any given second. His incredible perception was his advantage, that’s why he is able to gauge your reactions so well.

You smiled subconsciously to yourself, goosebumps floating up to your shoulders when you realised how much you wanted your arms wrapped around his neck, your body pressing into his chest while breathing that spicy, sweet cologne…

Stop it.

You paused your action, the jeans on your lap in a mid-fold as you froze in place and your brain instantly turned off those dangerous ideas.  

You swallowed your own emotions, your abdomen tight when you realised that you had just spent the last ten minutes having intimate thoughts about Gojo.

You really shouldn’t but there was something about the way he acts around you that made you the slightest bit curious as to what he was thinking and how he was feeling.

How often did you cross his mind and did he even miss you as much as you did him?

At some point the two of you were going to have to stop this little game you were playing. Even though you weren’t seeking it out at the moment, you do want to settle down eventually with somebody you love. Satoru made it perfectly clear where he stood on relationships. He had no desire to get involved with anybody and the concept of marriage was something he completely rejected.

You recalled having a conversation with him about: 

“Are you really telling me that you’re okay living as a bachelor for the rest of your life?”

“Happily, actually…” Gojo replied, while you both continued your heated debate on the prospects of love.

“But why are you so against it?”

"I have my reasons,” he replied with a shrug.

Satoru always seemed to have a reason for everything but he was not willing to share it with you, leaving you in moments like this to analyze the little things he says to try and put the pieces together yourself.

Truthfully, you don’t want to stop as you found yourself fixated on this new…friends with benefits-ship…

Everything about it felt so good that you couldn’t even remember what things were like before you started hooking up.

How could you go back to just being friends after he’s seen you in your most vulnerable state? How were you supposed to pretend that his hands haven’t unraveled you into submission time and time again? How could you sit next to him without thinking about kissing him for hours on end? How were you supposed to listen to him talk without remembering the moments where he would whisper angel in your ear?

How the hell did you manage to keep your hands off him before this even started?

There was always the unspoken fact that you found each other attractive but since this new dynamic has started the two of you were like magnets whenever you were in close proximity to one another.

Well, you were able to keep the barrier because you were in a happily committed relationship with Haru, you interjected and suddenly you found yourself slumping your shoulders.

Haru was in love with you. He gave you the companionship you needed, he filled the silence with mindless conversations and was the one who held you when you needed him. He was the one to swallow your cries with soft kisses, that made you laugh in hysterics when you needed to boost your mood…

Your heart stopped, realizing that you were seeking out what Haru gave you with Gojo. Your gut wrenching at the idea of you using your friend to fill the emotional gap that Haru left. This ache that knotted your insides meant nothing and you were letting your thoughts confuse you into thinking that you were missing Gojo.

All you needed was to get your distraction back.

After all, Gojo is just your friend.

You had no reason to think anything else could come of this and burned any other thought about Satoru from crossing your mind for the rest of the evening.

If you even thought for a second that you might be falling for him, you would cut ties immediately. You weren’t going to put a strain on your friendship because you’re silly ideals were getting in the way of your agreement.

The two of you were just fucking.

Nothing more, nothing less.

***

Gojo studied the woman before him, acknowledging the fact that she is one of the most stunning individuals he had ever laid his eyes on. She was older than him by ten years but if it wasn’t for the age on her online profile, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

She was tall, meeting his own towering height, give or take a few inches. Her long, pin straight hair flowed to her hips, accentuating her curves and covering her supple breasts. Her face could strike down any man that looked at her with those deep eyes and he was tempted to nibble on her full lips. Seeing her in person made Gojo realize that her price was high for a reason and totally justifiable.

Anyone would pay extra to fuck a goddess.

Somehow, he wound up here thanks to his own frustrations. His desire for you was driving him wild and his own hands weren’t enough to solve this problem. He still respected the rules that were unbroken and knew that as long as he didn’t go too far with Ami, he was fine. He wasn’t going to have sex with her but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t help him out with his current predicament in other ways.

Besides, you did tell him that he was allowed to see other people. However, that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting at the thought of climbing into bed with someone other than you. He couldn’t quite figure out what this awkward sensation was or why he was bothered by his own decision to meet up with Ami in the first place.

Gojo stripped down to his boxers before sitting on the edge of her satin covered mattress. She was admiring him with amusement, the tempting smile on her lips telling him that she was also enjoying what she was seeing.

“You paid for a full hour but said that you might not be here for that long. Did something urgent come up?” she questioned, her voice sensually low and sending a shiver up Gojo’s spine.

My she is dangerous, he thought to himself, knowing full well how this entire experience would go under different circumstances.

The circumstances being, well, you.

“I don’t plan on sticking around too long...” he explained.

“I’ll have to adjust your pay accordingly then,” she replied, taking a few steps forward until she was standing in front of him.

“I don’t mind paying for the full hour,” Gojo teased with a grin, his free hand moving to touch her silky hair as he rubbed it between his fingers.

She smiled, nearly taking his breath away as she brought her finger to the blindfold covering his eyes.

“I don’t like accepting money for free,” she  stated, tracing her touch down his chiseled jawline. “I bet you’re handsome but I am guessing you don’t plan on taking this thing off to show me what you really look like.”

“Yep,” Gojo smiled as Ami proceeded to slide across her bed next to him. "And you guessed right, I’ve got an exceptionally pretty face.”

“Cocky too,” she purred, “there’s a special way I treat guys like you…”

Gojo hummed, switching his position so he was lying back against her pillows. Ami crawled her body over his lean torso, her hands rubbing up and down his thigh as she glanced in his direction.

“Oh, yeah? I would love to see how...” Gojo insisted, his breath growing heavy as she guided her hand all the way to his mouth.

She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, a devious mask highlighting her stunning features as she spoke, “Be a good boy and lie back while I take care of you…”

He fully caved, allowing this sultry siren to take control by touching and teasing his body however she pleased. Gojo usually enjoyed relinquishing his power every now and then but for whatever reason it was taking some effort for him to fully immerse himself with what was happening. Ami straddled his cock, before proceeding to press her mouth against his. Her lips were working fervently over his own as she deepened the kiss, but the spark that he needed just wasn’t igniting.

When Ami flicked her tongue over his, he would only think about the sensation of yours. The taste of you in his mouth lingered like an addictive poison. One that he craved every single time you crossed his mind. The sound of your moans played in his ear and the sweet way you called out his name when he touched you between your legs filtered his brain. He was only brought back to the reality that it wasn’t you pushing your body against his, when Ami wrapped her fingers around his throat. He tried to erase you and focus on the woman before him but was persistently failing.

She could see that something was off from how he was responding to her caresses. “Are you sure you're up for this tonight, baby?” Ami teased, whispering into his mouth as she snagged his bottom lip between her teeth. “You don’t seem ready for me...”

“Fuck…” Gojo grunted out of frustration, knocking his head back as he pressed his fingers to his temple. “It’s not you, I’m just distracted…”

“What’s on your mind?” she continued, stroking his broad chest lovingly to try and coax him out of the daze he was in.

“Not what...who…” he responded shyly, his cheeks blushing ever so slightly by his admittance.

“I see…” she cooed, “Wife? Girlfriend?”

Gojo scoffed, a comical laugh escaping him as he shook his head.

“Definitely not.”

Ami pressed her lips together, her nail doodling along his upper body with random figures as she continued to question her intriguing client.

“Tell me about her…”

Gojo froze, his hands digging into Ami’s thighs upon hearing her bold question, “she’s just a friend. There’s nothing to say...”

“Is she beautiful?”

“She’s gorgeous,” Gojo exhaled, his words passing his lips faster than he could process what he had just said. Ami tracked her hands down between her legs, stroking his boxers as she massaged his length.

“Tell me what she looks like…”

He described you in detail, from your sinfully sweet lips to the beautiful sound of your laughter and how soft your skin felt in his hands. She continued tricking him into revealing the intimate thoughts that swirled in his mind when he thought about you. She heard the way Gojo’s voice wavered as he swelled between her hands, the tip of his cock poking through his underwear as the pre-cum stained the material of his boxers. Ami pulled the clothing away from his hips, hands returning to grip his member as she continued stroking up and down his shaft.

“Do you think about fucking her with the other women you meet?”

“Yes,” Gojo revealed through gritted teeth, swallowing hard as she played with his tip by circling his thumb over the slit of his cock.

“How often?”

“Too often,” the sorcerer hissed, his hips bucking into her hands.

“I bet you wish you were fucking her right now, don’t you?”

She saw how turned on he is and how easily the thought of you brought him close to his release. Ami spread her legs, adjusting her stance until she brought the tip of his cock to her entrance. Gojo hesitated, knowing that he needed to stop what was about to happen. This wasn’t supposed to go this far. He was only here for a quick hand job or blowjob, but he couldn’t suppress a satisfied moan as she slid down to take in his length.

“F-fuck, wai-...”

“Shh, baby, close your eyes and think of your sweet angel…” Ami whispered in his ear, making Gojo roll his blue irises to the back of his head as he relaxed into her touch.

She didn’t speak after that, fulfilling her promise of taking care of him but also ensuring that his focus was solely on the mental image of you. The sound of her skin bouncing up and down his length took over the entire room. The way Ami stated that you were his was enough to send him over the edge and it didn’t take long until he climaxed at the thought, quickly pulling out of her and releasing hot ropes of cum all over her stomach but imagining that it was you the entire time. She immediately cleaned herself up after they finished, before giving Gojo some privacy and allowing him to get himself together.

After he got dressed, he pulled out his phone to transfer the payment. He doubled the amount he was supposed to give, totally aware that she didn’t reach her own release and was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t pleasure the remarkable temptress before him.

He slipped on his boots, his mind racing as the guilt rushed right through him. He hated that broke another rule, especially since this particular one was a boundary you set for your own comfort. He was angry at himself that he disrespected that and was annoyed for crossing the line in the first place.

What the fuck is wrong with me?, he thought to himself.

“I told you I don’t get paid for doing nothing. I don't accept money like that, not even from spoiled rich boys like you,” Ami stated, her words stung but she spoke in such a gentle tone that didn’t offend the sorcerer. She was leaning against the wall as she appeared before him, her body now covered with just a pink robe.

“You got me off but I did nothing to reciprocate. I tell all the other girls to charge double if that happens.”

“How considerate,” she mused before arching her brow in delight at him, “but for the sake of my own conscience I feel like I need to give you something in return…”

Gojo stood up from his seat, smoothing out his clothes before approaching her slowly. Even though he got what he wanted out of this arrangement, he was feeling worse about himself the longer he stayed in this room.

“How about a piece of advice before you leave and we can call it even?” Ami questioned.

“What is it?” the sorcerer wondered, hearing her feet patter against the carpet as she followed his footsteps to her front door.

She paused when she reached for the handle, before tilting her face and directing her full attention towards his covered eyes.

“Tell your friend how you feel or cut off whatever it is you’re doing. If you don’t tell her then you’re fucked, plain and simple.”

“Look, what happened just now doesn’t mean anything…”

She raised her fingers to his lips, stopping him from even attempting to defend what transpired.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re easy to read. I have had clients come here trying to forget their lovers and those who come to see me because they can’t resist their own primative urges. I see the ones who are lonely, who only visit me for companionship and nothing more. Then there are the ones who are like you, who will bury themselves in any cunt they see just to pretend that they aren’t in love with somebody else…”

Gojo clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands together as the heat rose up to his face.

“You don't know what you're talking about. Besides, wanting to fuck somebody and being in love are two very different things.”

“True, except those two things are tangled up in one person when it comes to you…”

Gojo pressed his lips into a thin line, unsure as to why her accusation made him so irritated.

“Awww, don’t get angry, pretty boy. It’s unbecoming for somebody as handsome as you are…” Ami whispered, before kissing him on the cheek as she said her goodbye. “It’s okay, I promise that your secret is safe with me…”

*** 

CHAPTER 14: JEALOUSY

[softer-ua]

I was thinking about how Katsuki has never seen Deku in the hospital before and how Deku might be surprised to see him, and how that would probably hurt Katsukis feelings.

Then I decided to be self-indulgent and write the scene out. It was supposed to be short but I got super self-indulgent, because I like making Katsuki feel and making it hurt 🥰

I don’t wanna be unexpected

Deku carefully cracks open his eyes slowly taking in a dark unfamiliar ceiling and the heavy aching of his limbs, he isn’t fully cast anymore but a routine stiffness that tells him he had been.

 He’s grown used to this routine over the last year, he doesn’t even bother trying to sit up. Instead, he just scans the room the best he can from his semi-horizontal position. 

Turning his head to the left he sees an empty visiting chair and a small window letting in the city’s lights. It’s the only light the room has so it must be well into the middle of the night. 

Continuing to the right he sees a small nightstand filled with get-well cards and gifts. It brings a smile to his cracked lips, he’d most certainly cry if his body had the water to spare. 

If you told Deku a year ago that he’d get into UA he might have believed you, but never in a million years would he believe you if you told him he was on friendly terms with at least 1/3 of all of UA’s hero course students. 

Sometimes that felt like the most unbelievable part of everything. Having his idol pass his legacy to him to beat an ancient evil? Crazy but within the realm of his imagination. 

Making close friends with half his class and being at a minimum a positive acquaintance to most of his peers? It was almost unthinkable for a kid who’d spent his whole life being scorned and left out by even his teachers. 

Choked up by his feelings, Deku tries to swallow the painful lump forming in his throat. He’s worried so many people and let them down by getting hospitalized yet again. 

He’s too dehydrated to cry but he can’t help the dry cracked warble that escapes him. It takes a concentrated effort to clear his throat and not break down completely. It wouldn’t be cathartic at this moment, just painful. 

A small groan from the foot of his bed pulls his attention away from reading what he could of the cards. 

What he sees doesn’t instantly register with his groggy mind. That’s not uncommon, usually, the longer he’s out the more disoriented he is upon waking, his body might have made a full recovery but the brain takes longer to re-engage with its surroundings. 

Deku doesn’t expect to see Kacchan of all people in his hospital room at all, let alone when he first wakes up in the dead of night, but the blonde tuft of hair sticking up from a familiar orange hoodie turned makeshift pillow cradled in well-toned arms makes the figure resting over the edge of his hospital bed unmistakable 

Deku would know that pale face pinched into a grimace anywhere. 

It adds to the layer of confusion he’s grown used to as part of waking up hospitalized. It also adds a layer of dread and an equal amount of relief. Things must be pretty bad if Kacchan is here, but Kacchan is here and he looks completely whole. It’s a best worst-case scenario. 

Kacchan lets out a small grunt as he pushes his face deeper into orange cotton. Deku’s heart squeezes at the sight of the blonde's obvious discomfort. 

Kacchan should be at home sleeping in a real bed, not hunched over in a visitor chair clutching a hoodie for a pillow. 

Without thinking Deku calls out “Kacchan?”, his voice just above a whisper, a selfish part of him hopes Kacchan will stay asleep a little longer. That he’ll stay where Deku can see him and knows he’s okay. But he knows it’s selfish. So he calls again a little louder, his voice hoarse and scratchy from lack of use. 

The blonde shoots up, eyes near frantic as he looks around before red irises settle their sites on him with more concern than Deku ever remembers seeing on Kacchan. Well, at least outside a fight and directed at him.

He hopes they're not about to fight, but when it comes to Kacchans temperament… well he’d be a fool to dismiss the possibility of it. 

For a moment all Kacchan does is stare at him. It makes something cold and heavy settle in his stomach. Nothing scares Kacchan, and yet he looks completely shaken. 

“Deku? Are you really awake this time?” Katsuki tries to not make his whisper sound as desperate as he feels. There’s no point getting worked up over another dream or worse a still drug-addled Deku, but this Deku seems to recognize him for the first time, and although tired his green eyes shined with a level of coherency that’s been missing for a few days now.

Katsukis’s chest grew tight seeing it. It paled in comparison to the glimmer of brilliance that usually shone in those beautiful emeralds, but when compared to the unfocused glazed look he had been sporting the last few days? Well, Katsuki thought he just might collapse with relief. 

This is what he’d been waiting for, Deku’s been physically healed for at least 2 days now but consciously he’s been pretty touch and go. “Uh, I think so?” That’s definitely not the kinda question Deku had been expecting, but he has his own question he wants to get to before they get into that. 

Pushing through the dry burning in his throat Deku rattled off the most pressing questions. “How are you feeling? Is everyone okay? Did LOV getaway? What’s going on?” 

Annoyance flashes in Katsukis’s eyes before quieting with acceptance, of course, the nerd wants to know how everyone else is and the current status. Katsuki wanted the same when he first woke up, they were heroes in training, after all. Their own lives would always take a backseat to their self-appointed responsibilities. 

“Hold on. You sound like sh– not good.” Katsuki got up and got the nerd a cup of water and then helped him sit upright, trying to decide on what to tell him. Completely missing the way Deku flushed at his uncharacteristic gentleness. 

Katsuki decided on the bare minimum. 

“I don’t wanna talk about that sh- not good fight right now. All you need to know is that everyone is fine. You’re the only one still layed up, worrying everyone half to death. You’ve been out for almost a week, you woke up a few times but you were all loopy calling people by the wrong names.” 

Calling him by the wrong name. Deku must have said an incoherent hello to half the class only sometimes guessing who he was speaking to correctly or just talking to no one at all before immediately falling back asleep. Deku had of course asked about him more than a few times but not once did the bastard see him sitting right in front of him. 

It had taken every ounce of willpower Katsuki possessed to not throttle him, but he’d promised All Might that for the sake of Auntie Inko he wouldn’t upset the nerd. 

The pride Katsuki had just momentarily taken in thinking to get Deku water, the gentleness he took help the dweeb sit up, and managing not to swear when recounting the transgressions to boot turned ashen when he saw the way Deku shied away with guilt. 

A stubborn part of him felt righteous and believed Deku should feel guilty, a larger part felt a sense of failure in breaking his promise to All Might literally the first time he actually spoke to Deku. 

“Wait, if everyone else is okay what are you doing here?” Deku feels himself relaxing despite his guilt, contentment settling in the spaces where trepidation previously roosted, he trusted Kacchan to be honest. 

If he says everything’s fine then it is, but the lack of pressing news makes Kacchan passed out at the end of his bed even more confusing. 

The painkillers he’s on make thinking feel like everything’s ruining through Windows 95’, he can practically hear his brain's fan whirring. His mind can’t really pull up fresh thoughts, just old truths, Kacchans never visited before and he apparently has no reason to now.

Katsuki sighs as he slumps back into his chair. Deku’s still clearly confused and he isn’t sure he has the energy to repeat himself right now, then considering how he failed the first time he decides might as well try.

“Everyone is fine, everything is as fine as it can be at the moment. You’re in the hospital recovering from the fight with supercharged crusty mcdusty, but you are also apparently going to be fine” Dekus staring at him like he has two heads so he keeps talking. “The league is being dealt with, I’m not talking about the fighting until tomorrow at the earliest, neither of us is in shape for that conversation and I don’t know much myself yet”

Deku’s pinch brows and slight pout tell him he’s got questions, questions he can’t answer. Anytime he even thinks about how the fight went down he feels like he’s going to explode.

Trying to reign in every ounce of self control he possesses he slumps further in his chair rubbing his face and counts to five. Then kicks Dekus hospital bed for good measure, before speaking again.

“Deku just rest, you're clearly still out of it and I don’t wanna repeat myself a third time.” Seriously how many other ways can he say everything is, by a very loose definition, fine. How much clearer can he make it that he’s not giving anything else up?

“Uh you didn’t have to repeat yourself? I believed you the first time, Kacchan” Deku couldn’t help but feel like Kacchan was purposely misinterpreting his question, but why? It shouldn’t be a hard question, he’d really only asked to make conversation and clear up some brain cobwebs.

“Then why did you ask–“ Something ugly and broken twists in Katsuki’s gut as he slowly repeated Dekus' question in his head ‘what are you doing here’.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here if you didn’t have to be.”

Deku wasn’t, hadn’t been, asking why someone was there with him but why he, Katsuki, was there. Deku wanted to know why he was here instead of literally anyone else. Deku didn’t know that Katsuki had basically taken up permanent residence in here with him, probably couldn’t see the cot laying at the foot of his bed.

White-hot rage coursed through him in an instant, after everything they went through Deku thought he’d just ditch him to some extras in scrubs? Katsuki had a bad temper on good sleep, exhausted he was ready to put Deku back in a coma.

He struggled with the feeling of his palms heating, but the second before he felt like detonating Katsuki caught Deku’s eyes in full.

As always they show everything the nerds feeling and the familiarity soothes him in a way he can’t explain. Doesn’t ever want to explain.

It used to drive him up the wall like Deku was purposely giving him messages in a language he couldn’t read. Shoving in his face how inadequate he is in comparison.

Katsuki knows now that’s not the case and over the last few months, he’s actually been learning how to read Deku for the first time in his life.

And he’s discovering that even though it’s an advanced read for him he likes the challenge and even more he likes the victorious warmth that spreads down to his toes when he can tell just what Dekus is thinking without any words.

Right now Deku does look slightly confused and yet still so open and trusting, and his crooked shy smile proves that he is actually happy Katsukis here. His confusion is just that, confusion.

Always glad to see him, always caught off guard by his presence.

As much as the familiarity soothed the recognition hurt.

A couple of months on good terms doesn’t erase all the bad years, he knows this, he’s told himself as much a dozen-plus times.

He’s never visited Deku in the infirmary or the hospital before now.

At first just because his stubborn pride insisted that he couldn’t show weakness/care for someone else because he was above them all, that he had to constantly act like Deku was below him. Even when he recognized Deku as a rival he didn’t visit, partly because of lingering pride but mostly because he felt like he didn’t deserve to.

He was too much of a coward/slave to his pride to risk being turned away.

This time he hadn’t even considered Deku might not want him, he had just selfishly insisted he stay by his side for his own peace of mind.

To see Deku wanted him here but couldn’t understand why Katsuki would want to be here himself left his fingers feeling numb as all the adrenaline drained out of him.

Deku studied Kacchan intently, his explosive rival had turned to him and risen half out his chair looking like he was about to shout at him but when their eyes locked the words had apparently died on his tongue.

Now Kacchan was just staring at him with an unreadable expression entirely unmoving after he plopped back in his seat, never breaking eye contact. It was clear now that Kacchan hadn’t understood his question at first but now he seemed lost at how to answer.

Deku wanted to wait for Kacchan to speak but experience told him he shouldn’t hold his breath.

Besides it was late, as much as he desperately didn’t want him to go, Kacchan should be safely asleep in his own room. It’d be selfish to ask him to stay.

Kacchan probably hadn’t meant to stay as late as he did, he was just prone to falling asleep wherever he was once 9 pm rolled around. Deku knew first hand that Auntie Mitsuki had a very strict bedtime policy that had long been physically instilled into Kacchans psyche.

“Kacchan, it’s late you should head back to the dorms and get some real sleep. I feel fine.” At the sudden incredulous tweak of a blonde eyebrow, Deku rushed to elaborate, “I mean I'm of course tired, and a sore but I feel whole. This is a familiar routine for me, I’m okay.”

Katsuki thought back to what he told All Might a lifetime ago, “he never considers himself”.

Here Deku was laying in a hospital bed concerned about his sleep and knowing just what he wanted/needed to hear, that Deku was okay, straight from the source.

It’s all he’d wanted to hear for almost a week now and he had to press his lips shut into a tight line to keep the embarrassing whimper he felt clawing at his throat from escaping.

“I know that you can go to the front desk and the attendant will call for a UA shuttle, doesn’t matter the time, Todoroki has left as late as 3 am”

Oh if that didn’t have something ugly snapping its jaws and thirsty for blood inside Katsuki. At heart, he’s always been explosively petty.

As much comfort as Todoroki being almost equally worried about Deku had been over the last week anytime anyone so much as even accidentally hinted at the ways Katsuki had failed to be there for Deku before now had him seeing red.

Reminding him how others had stepped up and into the places, Katsuki felt he should have been, felt like a slap in the face. But coming from Deku the anger he felt turned inward.

Where he usually saw red, all he saw was green. Not the warm emerald hue of Deku sitting in front of him, but dark bitter jealous green.

Petulant ‘whys’ clawed at his ribs. Why did people who’d only know Deku for a year have a more prominent roles in the nerds life than he did after knowing him forever, why did Deku have to like those extras so damn much, why didn’t he realize sooner how important Deku was, why did he have to care about any of that at all, why did Deku have to bring up that goddamn candy cane, why did Deku want to send him away, why wasn’t Deku even half as desperate to stay by his side as he was, why why why?!

He voiced none of these thoughts, instead just continued staring grumpily ahead. Hoping Deku didn’t notice how heavy his breathing had gotten or how he tightened his grip on the chair's armrests.

Deku took another sip of water before continuing. “I’m happy you’re here, really, it means a lot to me.” He let a genuine full smile slip on his face, he didn’t want Kacchan thinking he wasn’t grateful for his presence.

He really was happy that Kacchan was the first person he got to see upon waking up.

Circumstantial or not the fact that Kacchan was here with him now was a deep comfort to him and a pleasant way to wake up. Usually, it was to his classmates' forced positivity or his overly fussy weeping mother and that never got easier to deal with. As confusing as the change was it was a nice one. And he told him as much.

Why did Deku always know exactly what to say to people? When he, Katsuki Bakugo, couldn’t say anything at all.

Normally the instant relief his body felt at Deku’s words just pissed him off, but tonight exhaustion took its toll.

He felt the tears he’d been fighting all week fall hot and sticky down his cheeks, embarrassment shame and guilt tinted his face a splotchy pink. When he felt the lump in his throat give way to a choked hiccup he didn’t just crack, he shattered.

Ugly sobs racked through him and he buried his face in his hands and dug his fingers into his hair.

Why was the only familiar part of this him breaking down in front of Deku? He’s known Deku his whole life. He should have been the first and last person in Deku’s hospital room every time from the very beginning if for nothing more than obligation. Any one of those times could have been the last time.

Deku would have slipped away from him, and Katsuki would have been one of the last ones to know.

He hadn’t because he knew it’d always end up like this, him blubbering like a baby over Dekus hospital bed and he couldn’t risk it before. Too desperate to keep that little voice inside him that picks apart his every sign of weakness quiet.

It never goes away and UA had made it so much louder, he couldn’t give more feed to the fire. That’s exactly what Deku does to him.

On bad days Katsuki feels the little claws of insecurity scratching at his brain comparing him to Deku, that Deku’s surpassing him because he’s weak and he’s going to get left behind, he’s going to be forgotten.

On equally bad days he surpasses Deku completely and the voice switches gears, telling him he doesn’t deserve Dekus praises. That he’s a hopeless brat with an oversized ego and Deku’s words are empty. Katsuki hasn’t earned them, and he never will, Deku’s just placating him.

Katsuki doesn’t have good days.

Why did he even care though, Deku has seen him cry a dozen times and never once has it changed anything, hell Deku cries all the time.

But Deku’s never been debilitated by crying the way he is, Deku always keeps moving like he doesn’t even notice he’s crying. But he, Katsuki, can barely breathe around his tears.

Because he’s weak and a coward and everything Dekus not. Deku’s light years ahead of him in being a better person and by proxy a better hero and he’s never going to catch up.

Delirious with exhaustion Katsukis thoughts keep spiraling out of his control, growing more and more vicious.

He doesn’t even deserve to call himself Dekus' rival, Deku’s going to leave him behind, Deku’s going to keep taking on the world by himself because he’s not strong enough to fight alongside him, Dekus going to get himself killed and it’s all his fault. He’s hyperventilating through his sobs now.

“Wha- Kacchan, what’s wrong?” Deku suppressed a small groan at stretching stiff unused muscles as his scrambled brain had him lurch forward to grasp Kacchans wrists, he can see where blunt nails dig into his scalp. Gently as he could, Deku replaces callused hands with his crooked ones.

“Hey look at me.” He lifted Kacchans head to meet his eyes and took deep slow dramatic breaths encouraging Kacchan to match his breathing. Red eyes frantically scanned his face and clutched his wrists tightly like a lifeline, desperate that Deku doesn’t pull away.

Slowly their breathing synchronized, the tears kept flowing though, Deku was certain he was crying now too but he made no move to confirm this. He just kept watching Kacchan, keeping his own breathing steady. This wasn’t the first time he’s had Kacchan match his breathing, but it is the first time he’s been this close and this obvious about it. Then again Kacchans never looked this desperate.

In the past when he’s noticed Kacchans breathing has sped up and his gaze looks far away he’ll nonchalantly sit down next to him like he hasn’t noticed Kacchans problem at all, then he’ll practice his own breathing exercises a little louder than would be considered polite. Consciously or not Kacchan follows suit.

He’d learned the tactic when he was 7 from his mom helping one of their neighbors on the way to the store, a very nice lady he called Auntie Kay. She had some kind of disorder that gave her bad anxiety and had apparently forgotten to take meds that morning and got overwhelmed by the noise. His mom used to be an assisted living caregiver before she became, well his mom, so she had experience with this kind of thing.

Later she explained what she’d been doing. That you're someone they have a long history of trusting you don’t want to get in their space, just reaffirm to them that they’re safe and try to get them to slow their breathing, focus on breathing out.

1, because It’s hard to concentrate if you don’t feel safe. 2, the human body doesn’t know if it has enough oxygen, it knows if it’s getting enough air and if it has too much carbon dioxide in it, and you breathe out carbon dioxide.

That day his mom was like a mini hero, saving the day with a smile. It made him more aware that there’s more to being a hero than just fighting villains, it’s about saving people.

He can’t fight villains from a hospital bed, he could still be there for others. He could be there for Kacchan.

After a minute he hesitantly thumbed away the freshest tears but that seemed to just make things worse as another sob racked through Kacchan and he tightened his grip on his wrists. It wasn’t until Kacchan finally spoke and he reflexively snapped his jaw shut that Deku realized he’d been making soft shushing noises.

Katsuki tightened his grip on Deku’s wrists as he choked on one last sob thinking that Deku was finally pulling away, but when he just continued to thumb his tears away and making soft little noises he let himself believe Deku wasn’t going to dismiss him again.

Katsukis never let himself be comforted like this by anyone, not even as a child, but he was too tired to fight it, too distraught to care about how selfish he’s sure he’s being, and too certain that Deku was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He’s confronted his own mortality a few times this year but none of it had compared to being confronted in real-time with Dekus. Living with Deku so close to death over the last week had taken its toll on everyone but Katsuki especially had been unraveling more and more each day.

The first day he’d been ready to bring the entire hospital down if he didn’t get to Deku’s side immediately. It only got worse from there.

He’d grown more cantankerous than he’d ever been, but the fire in him had been dying out. By the time Deku first woke up and didn’t recognize him the only thing he’d say to anyone was the same mumbled shut up, only sometimes accompanied by half-hearted sparks daring anyone to try to remove him from the room.

Auntie Inko was distraught too but she had let All Might take her home after that first visit and encouraged her to rest there saying something about how no mother should have to see this side of hero work or whatever.

The doctors were probably just worried about what all those tears might do to their equipment, Katsuki certainly had been even if he hadn’t said so.

Katsuki had promised Inko he’d stay by Deku’s' side, she’d looked conflicted about something but they both silently agreed that was a discussion for another day.

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say now but desperately feels like he needs to say something.

He’s terrified it’ll all come out wrong and freak Deku out, Deku who just woke up for real for the first time! He’s terrified of saying nothing and losing his chance to say anything at all because Deku just woke up for real for the first time in a week!

Deku deserves to hear him apologize for everything, but he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to be forgiven and if Deku doesn’t forgive he doesn’t know what’ll happen to him, he may very well implode.

If Deku turns him away then the kindest thing the universe could do for him would be to ignite every nitroglycerin-soaked cell in his body and just let him go. But the universe isn’t kind and will instead make him force himself out of this room and into a UA shuttle and into a life where everything green fades into bleak gray.

“Kacchan, your muttering” Deku says with the softest smile Katsuki has ever seen, and he feels like all his broken pieces have begun melting.

Deku stays silent, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. He seems content with doing nothing more than smiling at him until the sun comes up. And Katsuki feels another sob rip through him as he forces himself to speak.

“I meant it when I told you to keep your eyes on me.” The desperation in his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. “I want you to know to look for me, and that I’ll be there. Even outside of heroing. I want you to expect me at every turn, forever. I don’t wanna be unexpected”

Deku leans forward and Katsuki thinks he’ll stop breathing all over again until their foreheads bump together. Deku’s looking right in his eyes, and he’s so close Katsuki's eyes can barely focus on him. They just stay like that for a small eternity while Katsuki’s heart beats wildly for entirely different reasons. One’s he’s not sure he’s ready to understand.

“Okay, Kacchan”

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship, swearing, past drug use, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes:

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Your injury, and consequential recovery time, couldn’t have come at a better time. The harvest was done and the apples had to rest before being pressed, which meant Frankie was now free to start working on your home. The work didn’t often require more than two hands so the days found you doing menial tasks being his gopher.

“You know,” Frankie had had to explain to you, “Go’fer this, go’fer that.”

This mainly consisted of you passing him tools while he was swearing under his breath in the attic, or groaning after rapping his knuckles under the sink, or white-faced and clinging to the weathervane on the roof. 

You had discovered Frankie’s sweet tooth on the first day of renovations, not noticing until after he’d left for the day that more than half the cookies you’d baked that morning were already gone. Making sure he was kept happy, you had a new treat ready for when he walked in the door. 

He was a coffee drinker though, and while you owned a coffee press you had never actually used it yourself, preferring tea leaves for your dose of caffeine. You’d tried, the first morning, to make a cup for him. You even googled How to Make a Cup of Coffee? to make sure you didn’t fuck it up. 

You could laugh about it now, but the look on Frankie’s face after he’d taken his first sip made you worry you had poisoned him. He had spat the black sludge out and handed you back the mug with a look of bewildered disgust. Apparently, you needed to grind the beans first, who knew?

An efficient, if not quite comfortable, rhythm had been forged between the two of you over the past week and a half. Frankie would arrive at nine in the morning, scarf down half a dozen treats while discussing the day’s projects. You would run to town in his truck (yours was still at the autobody shop awaiting parts) and buy any supplies that would be needed while he set up the worksites and organized the tools that would be required.

You had added popping into the local café for a large coffee for Frankie and a red rooibos latte with almond milk for yourself. The first couple of days you had bought him a brownie too but stopped after he’d only half-finished the first one and mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth that yours were better. It only took you three days before the owner had your order ready for you before you even walked in the door, five days before you noticed the sidelong glances the little old ladies were giving each other as you walked out.

Small towns, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes, had the unique benefit and downfall of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. They’d quit with the hardly-concealed smirks if they knew how awkward working with Frankie was becoming.

You had been sure, in the immediate aftermath of waking up in Frankie’s arms while his truck sat in your driveway, that he was never going to speak to you again. The two of you and hopped out and began explaining away whatever conclusions Jacquie and Mark had made. Then Frankie, without even looking in your general direction, told Jacquie to get you inside and have your wrist looked at. 

To his credit, he had taken care of everything regarding your truck for you. The tow truck came and hauled it to the yard, Frankie had commandeered the inspection report and, after calling them out on trying to swindle you into buying unnecessary parts, had ordered what was needed and paid. 

You had, naturally, argued against this but you both knew you weren’t in a position to afford it. Frankie shut down your arguments gracefully, and broke his apparent vow of silence, with a gruff “I’m just doing it so I can drive my damn truck without you changing the radio station.” The absolute charmer.

It was your damn house, though, so you decided you'd talk as much as you wanted and it would be up to him to interact. Either that or you had music blaring from the radio, never playing his favourite country station purely out of spite. 

Never quite sure if he was listening or not, you rambled on about anything and everything. You explained your vision for the house and the plans you had for a greenhouse in the yard. Memories from your childhood were described in great detail, as were embarrassing stories from your year in college. Baking tips, waxing poetic about your love for sunflowers, interesting animal facts, you'd even downloaded a Word of the Day App and made a game of fitting the words into your daily uninterrupted monologues.

It took three days for Frankie to break.

You had been reminiscing about your trip to Disneyland as a child when he abruptly cut in, voice muffled due to the nails being held between his lips.

"You never talk about it."

You assumed he was referring to the little all-day nap you’d shared in his truck, as it had yet to be spoken of, but were taken aback by the slight accusatory tone.

"Talk about what?"

He took so long to reply, you started to think that he had interrupted purely to shut you up. The silence demanded an explanation though, so you kept your mouth shut and waited.

Clambering down from the attic, where he had been strengthening the trusses throughout the sagging section of roof, Frankie pinned you with his gaze and softly repeated himself.

"You never talk about it. The time in your life when you were married." He must have seen your hackles rise because he quickly set down the hammer and held his hands up in a placating wave.

"You still haven't answered my question about being in the army," was your quick response, finished with an ever-so-mature, "so there."

With a resigned sigh, Frankie twisted his hat around backward and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Come on" -waving you towards the patio doors- "these kinds of conversations require fresh air and a drink."

Reluctantly you followed him outside but rather than sinking down onto the porch swing you opted to lean against the post facing it. Opening two ciders, which you now had free access to, you handed one to Frankie and watched him over the top of the bottle.

Half of your drink was gone and your mind had wandered to greenhouse and flower garden placement before Frankie spoke again. His voice low and quiet catching you by surprise.

"Yeah," he broke the silence with another ragged sigh, "I, uh, I served. Started in the Air Force, worked my way up to Special Tactics Squadron. Made enough noise there to get recruited to Delta Force."

"Oh, fuck," your exclamation was soft with shock "you've seen some shit then." Blast your runaway mouth and its inability to wait for your brain to catch up before blurting out your inner thoughts. "I'm sorry!-"

"No, it's okay" Frankie interrupted, trying to reassure you and remove the horrified look that had come across your face. 

"No, no, that was totally uncalled for. Brad, my um, my husband, he was a Marine. He hated talking about it, said no one liked talking about it. I should have known."

"It's not that," Frankie reassured you again, "You were the first person to ever ask me about it, in all the time I've lived here. Just took me by surprise."

Leaning over in the swing, Frankie pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a photo from inside it. Five men beamed up at you. You could recognize them from a few of the photos that had rested on Frankie's mantle, they looked older in this one.

"Tell me about them?" you asked, knowing that most of the request was due to curiosity but a small part of you hoped that if you kept him talking you could avoid the subject of your marriage.

The sun was beginning to set and you'd long moved inside to eat dinner by the time Frankie was done sharing. It must have been cathartic, you mused, for him to bare this much about himself. He had never looked more relaxed in all the time you'd known him, which wasn't saying much and it could just as easily been due to the amount of alcohol thrumming through his system.

The room fell into a companionable silence, each of you digesting the information that had been revealed. You were in awe of the fact that, despite the life of violence he had witnessed, Frankie still maintained his humanity. Even after a messy divorce and lost custody battle, Frankie continued to choose the path of healing. He was clean, was fighting for shared custody of his daughter again, running his own business, and still had found time to endear himself into the town's hearts.

Frankie was, for all his sharp edges and gruff words, a sweetheart.

It put into stark comparison how Brad had reacted to the lemons life had served him. Born into an upper-middle-class home, the only son, doted on by his parents, Brad had been raised into a life where every door was open to him. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he had grown hateful of those weaker than him. He was controlling but had just the right amount of charm to pass it off as caring.

"I've met men like that," 

You nearly jumped out of your skin from surprise. Looking at Frankie with wide-eyed shock you wondered again what the hell was in the cider. This was the second time you'd poured your heart out to a virtual stranger, but this time you hadn't even realized you'd started speaking your thoughts aloud. 

Squaring your shoulders and holding Frankie's gaze you continued, almost challenging him to find someone worse than Brad had been.

"He made me quit college because he said he wanted to start a family. Then berated me and acted like it was all my fault every time the pregnancy test came back negative. You know what that asshole did?" Tears were threatening to fall but you held on to Frankie's gaze, "He had gotten a vasectomy months earlier. I didn't find out about it until after he died; going through paperwork that had been stored in his desk."

Frankie was up on his feet now, pacing around the kitchen island, too distraught to keep still. How could anyone be so cruel? Let alone be so cruel to someone as sweet and pure as you. He hated seeing you cry but knowing you weren't receptive to people being in your personal space, wasn't sure how to comfort you. 

Acting on pure instinct he grabbed the kettle and started preparing you some tea, not allowing himself to ruminate how he knew which flavour you preferred. Setting your favourite pottery mug in front of you, along with the little honey pot, he also decided to grab the fluffy throw blanket off your couch. 

"I get it now," he thought to himself offhandedly, "why women have so many fuckin' blankets and pillows in every room."

Placing the throw around your shoulders he was preparing to say goodnight and let you have some peace but was stilled by your hand reaching up and covering his.

"Please. Stay."

Part SIX

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[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Sept. 29, 2020)

@eponymous-rose‘s internet is out tonight, so I’m here late and without coffee! Let’s see how many typos we can fit into an hour and a half episode.

Tonight’s guests: Ashley Williams JOHNSON, oops!! & Liam O’Brien!

We open with Brian in light-up vented sunglasses and Henry at his side, as always. Dani is very excited to be back and has fun-buns in her hair tonight. So cute! Everyone talks about how much they’re Zooming these days for work, and Liam mentions he and Matt & Marisha did a digital cocktail night. He and Dani arrange on camera to have a distanced, masked meetup in the park so Dani can see Liam’s dog again.

No announcements! Tonight, we’re discussin’ episodes 110 and 111.

Starting with the end, Brian jumps right to it by asking how they feel that Molly is alive. Liam 100% thought we’d be back to him, but still wasn’t ready when it happened. Caleb doubted he was alive. Both Liam & Ashley marvel at the numerology that keeps cropping up throughout the show. Brian hates not being able to see it at the same time the show happens live; Ashley was biting her tongue not telling him spoilers. (He doesn’t want to hear spoilers unless Yasha dies so he can be there for Ashley if needed.) Brian says he has a little reality trauma from the night Pike died in the pre-stream game; it was the first time he’d realized how much it affected the players.

Ashley’s realized how much she misses unpacking the game with Brian when they get home. She just has to sit with it until everyone else gets to see it. Brian: “Instead she comes home and I have to fill her in on the Real Housewives of Amarillo, Texas.”

Reunion dinner with Trent! Liam talks about how the way things unfolded with Trent is not at all how he imagined it in his pre-game creation; he’d expected more of a fracas, more of an unexpected clash. “Caleb might have been a different person if he’d run into these people earlier in the story. The M9 changed him before [Trent & co] came back and got to him.” He’d imagined Astrid & Eodwulf to be complicated encounters, but says what Matt’s designed has been even harder than that. A fight on a mountain is one thing, but walking into a room with “what Trent dropped, is impossible to cope with.” It also means that if what Trent said is true, anything Caleb does now is effectively of Trent’s design, even killing him.

He doesn’t think Caleb would have gone anywhere near Trent & co without the M9. “The Mighty Nein--it took a long time--but they cracked Caleb open like a walnut.”

He thinks what Matt has done is much more murky than the simplicity of murder, such as the Briarwood arc. He can’t just exact his revenge now.

Liam says that the tempation to tinker with time is no longer as all-consuming as it was. He might still be tempted if Matt dangles a bunch of carrots in front of him, but he thinks that now it might be better to make sure that that kind of thing doesn’t happen anymore for anyone else (!!!). “It’s still a nugget in his brain and it’s still possible he could be tempted by the drug, but what he wanted in the beginning was entirely selfish, but now that the M9 are involved he owes it to them, to the people of the country, even on the Dynasty side--is so complex that if Caleb were to get that carrot and chase it, he would be risking everything.”

Ashley agrees that most of their choices are no longer black and white. Many of the situations feel more like real life. Liam agrees and says he’ll sometimes make decisions that he’s both really happy with and regrets at the same time. They both look forward to what Matt will reveal in Act 3.

Brian feels it’s tough to gauge how deep they are into what Matt’s planned for the campaign. Liam says that thanks to Matt’s skill, he really doesn’t know what Caleb wants right now.

Ashley agrees, and talks about how she created Yasha to have more to overcome than Pike. She loves what Matt’s doing in terms of allowing each of them to overcome more emotional hurdles than physical ones in this campaign.

Going back to Molly’s grave was very exciting for Ashley since she wasn’t able to be there when he died in the game & wanted to do what she could to honor him. Yasha, however, was very hesitant but knew what needed to be done. She’s not very open with her emotions, but both she & Ashley were stressed. They all could feel the energy in the studio & knew Matt was about to do something mind-blowing. Liam: “You could feel all the dust in the air coalescing around Taliesin.”

Brian trips over Eodwulf. Liam tries to help him find some pronunciation shortcuts. Ashley: “You say it so beautifully.” Brian: “Thank you.” Ashley: “Not you.”

Caleb knows how wickedly intelligent & ambitious Astrid is, and was heartened by the wavering he saw in her at the dinner. However, he can’t trust her until he knows why she’s where she is.

He really feels that if they’d had this dinner 60 episodes ago, Caleb might have tilted back along the evil axis and he would have had to retire the character. He had a playlist entirely for if Caleb turned evil and left the party.

The vision of Zuala was a huge deal for Yasha, even along every other instance she’s had of being mind-controlled, etc. “That’s guilt I think she will always carry with her, but at least she’s starting to forgive herself.” Losing the chains, sprouting wings again--Ashley reiterates that she didn’t know that was even a possibility, she just picked the skeletal wings because they were dope--were huge moments in the character development. Ashley’s glad Beau was there at the moment of the first flight; Ashley thinks of the quotation “Happiness is only beautiful when it’s shared,” and because Yasha tends to keep things very much to herself, having someone there to share it made it more impactful. “That was a cool moment. There’s been a lot of healing for Yasha these last episodes.”d

Ashley also says sometimes in that moment, when all eyes are on you in a one-on-one with Matt, everything goes muffled like Saving Private Ryan. “Wub wub wub.”

Dani feels that the only way she could even have the conversation with Zuala was to let her go in the first place.

Liam thinks one of the things that Yasha & Cad share is that still waters run deep. He loves how much Yasha hangs back sometimes, only to then reveal some new moment like the fighting pit. Apparently Ashley also has a knife collection, and uses that metal side of herself when she wants to let that new side of Yasha show.

Cosplay of the Week: Crystal Armstead (@riyuski on twitter) in a Reani cosplay. Beautiful!

How does Liam feel about the return to Rexxentrum? Very, very complicated. Caleb loves magic and lights up when he sees it, which is wrapped in the Soltryce Academy; he brought folks to the dance hall for the same reason, which was wanting the M9 to see the things that he loved about the city.

Yasha felt the same way about visiting the Chantry of the Dawn. It was a memory of a very traumatic moment (almost killing Beau), but given everything that’s happened between then and now it was cathartic to see again. There’s been a lot of healing in the past few weeks. It also felt like a physical representation of Yasha’s growth, the last time she was controlled against her will like that (or at least, until she was mind-controlled by Vokodo. Ashley sighs, aggrieved.)

Brian: “The tower really feels like a love letter from Caleb to his friends.” Liam: “It is, and a love letter from Liam to his friends.” When he looked at Caleb’s spell list, he remembered how amazing the mansion was in Campaign One and how many role-playing moments it led to and knew he wanted to incorporate it. However, he knew it could never be the same as Scanlan’s mansion because Caleb doesn’t have the same improvisational genius as Scanlan does. Liam has been “tinkering with this machine” for over a year, waiting for the moment to reveal it. He loves that he got a chance to see Jester’s room in time to have her tower room reflect reality. He’d discussed the tower extensively with Dani & Matt. Brian: “Hey! What am I, chopped--what’s the saying?” Ashley: “Chopped cabbage?”

Ashley marvels at the design of the dome. Liam talks about how Caleb knowing Caleb has been abused has been slowly getting better, but he also loves now being able to juxtapose that healing with his innate love of magic and how beautiful he finds it, how he loves to use magic as his artistry. The Soltryce Academy wasn’t “Welcome to DEATH SCHOOL,” it was the Sorbonne. It was amazing, everything he wanted. It was only one bad apple within that recruited him and turned it all bad.

Liam also points out how much it means in real life to be able to express his love and care for his friends in person too.

Ashley talks about how much she loves Yasha’s armor in a meta sense because it’s so cool and useful, and great for her armor class, but struggles with what it represents in game. She might not be able to let it go due to its sheer utility, and she may have to find an in-game reason to justify keeping it.

Ashley segues a moment into talking about her velvet top which apparently has a matching velvet scrunchie. She’s asked to demonstrate the scrunchie and ties her hair up in a way that I have never in my life seen someone do with a scrunchie before, and my hair’s been waist-length most of my life. I watch it again in slow motion. How did she DO that??

Caleb’s been looking for the right time to tell Jester about his past for a long time. She’s a good person and makes him feel like he might be capable of becoming a good person at the end, because that’s how she saw him. Liam knew from Laura that Jester wouldn’t condemn him, but Caleb put it off as long as possible. He also wanted to take the time to make sure Caduceus & Yasha knew the whole story too before they went to dinner with Trent.

Liam was also relieved to get it out, because he could never remember who knew and who didn’t, and now he doesn’t have to track it anymore. “Now we can move forward. Now we can heal wounds, maybe.”

Ashley feels Cad picks up a lot, more than most people realize. Yasha was really affected by Cad’s line: “Patience can be good, but it can lead to apathy.” She really feels it opened her eyes, and she appreciated the simplicity of him pointing out her hair’s growing back white again. Having a friend notice “hey, you’re changing for the better” really means a lot. She’s interested in seeing how this means things might change with Beau.

Dani points out that it also reinforced for Yasha that she can want things too--she can be patient and just continue to be with the group, as she’s wanted, but it’s okay to want more than that too. Ashley remembers Veth asking her what her purpose is. There’s a part of her that knows Yasha is still figuring that out, and she’s interested to see how Yasha will continue to change. She’s always spent her life serving somebody--the Sky Spear, Obann--and then even after she joined the M9, it was very centered on “what do you need, what does the group need, how can I help with our next job?” She’s going to have to take some time to figure out what she wants.

Fanart of the Week! Lovely Yasha & Beau flight art by @JMNP7888. The wings look amazing!

Brian: “One of the things we want to talk to you about, Liam, is about the Vokodo fight and the FUCKING disintegrate spell.”

Liam: “That was one of the most insane 60-90 seconds of gameplay that ever existed for the table, and definitely for me, in the entire history of the show. A lot of people think I just went, oh man, just bet it all on black. But what if I told you that...I Larkin’d the first 20 seconds of that fight and then at a quarter to midnight, I forgot that the reflection was a thing? I just forgot it was a thing! I spent that whole battle thinking I’m just here to banish things. I might buff my friends a little bit, maybe I’ll counterspell, but I’m just here to banish. And it didn’t work and it didn’t work and then it did! Finally it did and Jester made it work and then he was GONE. And then everyone got greedy and it was done but we brought him BACK. And it was a quarter to midnight and I’m not an animatronic D&D lesson machine, I’m just a guy playing D&D at 11:45 at night, and he came back and everyone started Goodfellas circling him and kicking him, and Beau & Yasha are gonna kill him, and then it’s my turn? Disintegrate! And then the room was quiet, and then time passed, and Matt asked, you really cast Disintegrate? And I said yes, of course, and Matt started rolling dice, and in the back of my head I started wondering why he asked if I was rolling Disintegrate. Oh no. In the back of my brain, I was like, well, just tell him that’s not what you did. Tell him you didn’t remember the reflection thing. But he’s already rolling dice! You can’t take it back now. Hold on a second. I’m going to take you on the journey I went through. I was thinking: you have a spell save of 17. This thing wasn’t that fast. +1, +2, maybe? Anything under 14 is okay. That’s 70%. 70%. That’s okay, right? And still no one said anything to tip me off that I was in ELDRITCH MADNESS at that point, no one said anything about the reflection! And then I realize it can reflect back on us, and I realize this is...disintegrate. And then I started becoming morbidly, macabre-ly fascinated at the puppet dance of death I had created. Well, this is a mess. I have made a mess. Let’s just sit in it. And somehow, nonsensically, spectacularly, it worked out in my favor. I went home that night and I got in bed next to my wife, who was fast asleep, and I stared at the ceiling going, dude. Duuuuuuuude. Duuuuuuuuuude.”

He apparently also told his therapist about this and how terrible it was and how close he “danced myself to the precipice like a crazy person!” Marisha (as told by Liam): “Epic roll, though.”

Matt told Liam that night that if it had been reflected, it would have gone back on him. “If a player throws an M80 in the middle of a room, it would reflect on that player who threw it.”

Ashley talks about how interesting that Yasha is not performative, and yet has been doing these public performances with the harp. It’s a great experiment for Ashley--Yasha doesn’t like the attention, but feels like she is making something beautiful for the world.” She’s trying to change something about how she views herself & her place in the world. She was raised to be a weapon for the Sky Spear, but she’s also extremely gentle and loves flowers & beautiful music, and the further away she’s gotten from the tribe, she’s falling in love with gentle, beautiful things. 

Liam also points out it easy (real, but simplistic) to make an entire character centered around a single personality trait: “I’m angry all the time. I’m sad all the time.” He thinks it’s more realistic to see nuance in personality.

Liam can see some paths for Caleb to find peace & do good. He doesn’t know if Caleb is conscious of those. He thinks it’s a huge step forward to admit he was molded in this direction at all and that it wasn’t all his choice, but doesn’t know if this is the same possibility as redemption.

He also mentions Essek in this answer: there was/is attraction there, both intellectual and physical--the forehead kiss was a big marker of that--and he’s interested in seeing where that goes because he’s invested in Essek’s redemption arc on its own, but Essek is not as high on the list as other things Caleb/the M9 need to work on. He loved the “high spy times” of the Essek arc and the tangled-up-ness of feelings getting involved at the same time as intense commitment to duty.

Liam always felt Matt would bring Molly back in some aspect, even though Caleb always demurred because he doesn’t believe in fate. Dani and Brian agree that this is the start of a new act.

Ashley cried at the Vilya reunion. She thought that was an incredible moment and was so glad to see Keyleth. Liam: “Keyleth as part of our story is everything to me. That story is really important to me, so getting just a glimpse of her again was so important to me.” They could all see how that affected Marisha & how special it was to her. Liam: “It was such a great note in her song or color in her painting. She achieved magnificent things and was powerful and great, but had a very heartbreaking and sad ending, so to have this sliver of joy go back in is so complex and beautiful and masterfully done.”

Aaaaaaand that’s all for tonight! Remember, no Critical Role this week. Talks will be back in two weeks. As always, don’t forget to love each other. <3

[slythergirlimagines]

Don’t Call Me Princess Part 1- Zuko x Reader

Summary: Reader and Zuko can’t stand each other, so when they are forced to share a room, chaos ensues. Lots of angst and fluff! (GIF Not mine!! Please someone tag me in some Zuko gifs I’m struggling to find them) masterlist

  Words: 2,470              Requested: Yes. I combined the requests for enemies to lovers and bedsharing

          Don’t Call Me Princess- Part 1

  You were exhausted. The past three days had been hell for you. The Gaang had gone to try and free a village from Fire Nation occupation, but it hadn’t gone half as smoothly as you’d planned. You’d been kidnapped halfway through, but luckily you were rescued before any harm came to you. It was who rescued you that was the problem.

  Ever since he had switched sides and joined forces with Aang, Prince Zuko had been a thorn in your side. He was moody, antagonistic, and you were always fighting with him. He was so infuriating and always trying to get a rise out of you. Zuko had been the one to save you, and he hadn’t let you forget it.

   “You know if you wanted my attention Princess, you didn’t have to go and get yourself kidnapped. Coulda just said so.” He had smirked when he’d found you. You would’ve decked him if you could’ve, but of course he made sure to mess with you when you were tied up.

   “Get me out of here Zuko.” You’d demanded.

   “I don’t know... I kinda like where you are.” You hated how the look he gave you made your stomach flip. Obviously it was your body trying to vomit.

    “Get. Me. Out.” You had gritted your teeth.

   “Sure thing princess.”

   “Don’t. Call. Me. PRINCESS!” You had shrieked.

   Zuko had called you princess from the moment he joined the team. He was always degrading you like that, and it made you want to throttle him.

   You and Zuko managed to get out safely, and the Gaang freed the village. What should have been a victory for you was tainted by Zuko, who hadn’t shut up about saving you since it happened.

  Currently, you were discussing where to go from there. None of you particularly wanted to camp after this experience. It was Katara who brought up the idea of taking a break. Toph had managed to scam you guys some money, and you had just enough to afford to stay somewhere and relax for a few days.

   “Like a vacation?” Sokka asks excitedly, Toph nodding in agreement.

  “Yeah, I think it could do us all some good.” Katara says, fingers combing through her thick dark hair.

    Everyone sits digesting this idea for a while.

   “So where do we go?” Aang asks. It surprises you that Aang actually wants to take a few days off. In the beginning he had acted his age, but the longer you all had spent on the road, the more dedicated to the cause Aang had become.

  “We’re close enough to Hépíng.” Zuko says. “It’s a city of peace and relaxation. Maybe princess can avoid trouble there.”

   “Shut up Zuko!” You snap before you can control yourself. You know this is what he wants, but you can’t help it when he goads you like that.

  “I get it ok? You saved me. What do you want from me?” You cry.

   “How about some gratitude?” He snapped back. “I’m always having to save your ass from something, and all you do is sit around and pout.”

    “What?!” You demand. White hot rage flows through you. If you were a firebender you knew you’d be on fire.

    “Just last week the Sea Monster knocked you off the boat, and I had to go get you. Then a few weeks before that, you were being nice to that man who tried to take you. Had to get you out of that one. And then there was that time-“ Zuko counts on his fingers.

    “Enough!” You cut him off. He’s made you so mad that you’re shaking. “Newsflash Zuko, I didn’t need your help any of those times! I had them all handled. It’s not my fault you decide to prematurely step in!” You screech.

    “Didn’t need my help?!” He says back. His amber eyes flash defiantly, and he balls his hands into fists. “Princess, please tell me what you would have done if I hadn’t stepped in any of those times!”

    “What do you want an essay detailing my plans? I would have thought of something, you just never give me the chance!” You seethe.

    “Right. Ok, sure.” Zuko says.

   “What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re heaving now. Your fingers itch to slap him, maybe strangle him. You think that would feel really cathartic.

   “You want to know what I mean? You really want to know?” He snaps.

    So far everyone else has remained silent. They had learned early on to just let you and Zuko fight it out. If your fights were deadly against each other, you were even worse when you teamed up against one of them. Now they look uncomfortable, eyes darting between you two.

   “Guy, maybe you shouldn’t....” Aang starts.

   “No, let him say it Aang! I want to hear it.” You cross your arms and jut out your chin in defiance.

   “Guys really...”

  “Stay out of this Aang!” You both snap at the same time.

   Zuko whips his head angrily back at you, locks of raven hair falling into his eyes.

   “You know what I really think? I think you’re the most incapable person here!” Zuko snaps. “You’re always making stupid decisions that jeopardize not only yourself, but every one else on this team!”

    His words hurt a lot more than they should. You and Zuko had fought every day, but never before had he said something so cruel to you. Angry tears well up in your eyes.

   “You know what? Fine, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m incapable and incompetent, but at least I’ve never intentionally done anything to harm this team. At least my nation isn’t destroying everything it touches, and oh yeah, at least my father isn’t behind it all!”

   You’ve never said something so cruel either. You almost regret saying it, when you see hurt flash on Zuko’s face. Your eyes linger on his scar, the brutal reminder of his monster of a father. Zuko’s face falls, but then it solidifies into an even angrier expression. He opens his mouth to say something even worse, before Aang cuts him off.

   “ENOUGH!” He yells. “All you guys do is fight and I’ve had it! You guys are so unnecessarily mean to each other it’s ridiculous! We’re a team. We only work when we’re supporting each other. What is wrong with you two?!”

   Aang’s face is red and his chest is heaving. You’ve only ever seen him so torn up once. You clench your jaw and look away as you blink back the tears.

   “We’re taking a much needed break, ok? Can’t you guys just be civil for a few days. Please?” Aang pleads.

   Neither you nor Zuko says anything, and the silence hangs heavy for several moments. It feels like another challenge to see who folds first. Finally, you decide to be the mature one since Zuko clearly won’t

  “Fine.” You say. “I’ll be civil. As long as he says the hell away from me!” You stand up and stomp off to the furthest corner of Appa’s saddle.

  “Couldn’t agree more.” You hear him snark back.

   You hear Aang heave a long sigh, and Katara mutter something to him. Slowly, they resume a conversation about travel plans while you sit and mope.

   Zuko somehow always knew your biggest insecurities, and knew exactly how to strike at them. You had always felt like a burden to the team. You weren’t a bender, and truthfully you weren’t a skilled fighter either. You didn’t really know why they kept you around, and it haunted you enough without Zuko reminding you every five seconds.

   Subtly, you turn your head and watch the team interact. Even Zuko had rejoined the conversation. They were fine without you, you noted sadly. Maybe Zuko was right.

           ——————————————-

   Hépíng is a gorgeous city. It lives up to its reputation of peace. The city is flooded with tourists, and it makes it easier for you all to blend in. Zuko is vaguely familiar with this place, and leads you to the strip of land where all of the Inns are.

    Sokka and you are the least recognizable of the group, so you briefly play rock, paper, scissors to determine who has to go book your rooms. You know Sokka always picks rock, so you go with paper. Sokka grumbles all the way into the Inn.

   It takes him what feels like hours to come back out. He looks grim, and you feel your heart drop. You had just gotten excited about having a break from Zuko, you didn’t want to have to jump right back into saving the world.  

   “Ok so here’s the thing.” Sokka says, “I got us rooms, but there can only be two people in a room. So we’re going to have to split up.”

   “Ok so what?” You ask, shrugging. You didn’t get why this was such a big deal.

   “Because one of us is going to be unfortunate enough to share a room with you.” Zuko says, rolling his eyes. “Princess.” He narrows his amber eyes and smirks. 

  “That’s it!”

   You’re about to start throwing punches when Sokka ends it.

   “You know what?” He says. “I’ve made up my mind. Aang and I will share, and Katara and Toph will share. You two” he says pointing between you and Zuko, “are going to work out your problems. Now is the perfect time to do it.”

   You can feel the color draining from your face.

   “What?” Zuko asks at the same time you give an emphatic “No!”

   “Does anyone object to that arrangement?” Sokka asks.

   You and Zuko both raise your hands, but nobody else does.

   “Come on guys it’ll be good for you.” Katara says. “You all have never gotten to properly bond, and the fighting has got to stop.”

   “This is absolutely ridiculous!” You say, stamping your foot.

    “You think you got the bad deal, Princess?” Zuko huffs. “If you’re so miserable go sleep on Appa.”

     “Shut the fu-“

    “Alright!” Sokka says, slapping his hands over Aang’s ears. “Let’s go find our rooms.”

          ——————————————-

   The inn is nice and cozy inside, with a warm fire in the fire place. You used to love fire before you associated it with Zuko. Of course he had to ruin that for you.

   Sokka leads you past the tavern, and into a back hallway with five rooms. Katara and Toph take the first one. You manage to get a peek of the inside, a spacious room with two beds and what appeared to be a chair and tables. The room next to their is occupied, so Sokka leads you and Zuko to the end of the hall.

    “Our room is across from yours.” Sokka says, handing Zuko the key to your room. “Please don’t get us kicked out of here. We all need this.”

   “This was your brilliant idea, chief.” You snark at him, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Any casualties are on you.”

     Zuko snatches the key and nods his agreement.

    “You’ve brought this on yourself, buddy.” Zuko says.

    Sokka slumps against the door frame as Aang throws open the door to their room.

   “Sokka look! These beds are great for jumping!” Aang says, using his bending to propel himself higher.

    Sokka’s face falls even further.

   “Gotta go.” He says, and slams the door behind him.

     You and Zuko are left standing in the hallway in tense silence.

    “Well? Aren’t you going to let us in?” You huff.

   Zuko rolls his eyes but unlocks the door. You purposely knock into his shoulder as you enter the room, causing him to stumble. You smile vindictively to yourself as you walk inside until you notice something’s wrong.

    “Um Zuko?” You say slowly. “Now is the only time I’ll tolerate you calling me dense. Am I hallucinating?” You say taking in the room.

     Zuko stiffens beside you as he also examines the room.

    “I really, really wish I could say yes.” He says.

    There’s a notable difference between your room and the others’ rooms. Where they had two beds, you only have one large bed.

    It takes a moment for either one of you to say something. Your horror is reflected on Zuko’s face as you turn to look at each other.

   “Sokka!” You yell, going over to pound on his door.

    “Sokka open up right now or Zuko is going to fry your ass!” You yell.

    “I’ll do it, Sokka.” Zuko threatens. It sounds more dangerous coming out of his mouth than yours.

    A bleary-eyed Sokka pushes open the door.

    “What are you guys-“ but before he can finish his sentence, you and Zuko are hauling him to your room to show him the offending bed.

    “Oh.” He says when he sees the bed. “They didn’t tell me that.”

    “You and Aang have to switch us!” You beg. “We can’t do it Sokka. You’re asking way too much.”

   “Yeah what kind of vacation is this?” Zuko demands. “Just let us switch rooms, we’ll get over sharing if we have our own beds.”

    “Yeah! You won’t hear a peep out of us the rest of the week.” You add on.

    Sokka shakes his head.

   “Nuh uh. No way. You’re just going to have to deal with it. Share it, sleep on the floor, I don’t really care. I don’t want to hear from either of you for the rest of the day.” He says. He turns to leave and then stops. 

   “How about we make a deal?” Sokka says turning completely back around.

   “Anything!” You beg. 

   “Sokka please man.” Zuko says.

   A huge grin splits Sokka’s face nearly in two. You don’t like the expression on his face one bit.

  “Aang and I will switch you rooms, if you can go the first three days without fighting.” You open your mouth to protest, before Sokka shushes you. “Not one fight. You’re going to spend three days together. You are going to work out your issues, and then, if you manage to do that, Aang and I will switch for the remainder of our vacation. Can you do that?”

  You make eye contact with Zuko, and try to read his expression. Sokka is asking for a lot. Three whole days of dealing with Zuko just to have four days of your own bed. Zuko’s eyes narrow at the challenge, and you find yourself mirroring him,

  “Deal.”

A/N: Welcome to my new series;) I hope you all enjoy it. I think I got everyone who asked on my taglist, but if I missed you please let me know!

Taglist: @galacticamidala​ @a-random-queer-kid​ @taeeemin​ @realimbo​ @samsmultifandomblogs​ @fire1ordzuzu​ @shortmexicangirl​ @wingeddemonclub​ @mangoberry34​ @marvel-ing-at-it-all​

[lochsides]

Yellow Metal - cathartic Review

Here’s something I did not expect to be reviewing this week but when Zayn drops a 24 minute rap track, you fall in line. I had to listen to it a couple times through before I could even begin to make sense of my thoughts because my brain sort of malfunctioned. I have never been prouder to be a Zayn fan. He’s such a nuanced songwriter and there is so much to unpack here.

I think this is the most unfiltered version of Zayn that we have ever been exposed to (and possibly will ever be). I am grateful that he said his piece in this because it needed to be said. As a brown woman, I felt so seen by this and I cannot explain what that means to me. Thank you Z, for your unvarnished truth in addressing racism and various forms of discrimination.

I’m doing a short lyrical analysis below the cut, but the TLDR is that this is a fantastic piece of art that deserves to be heard.

I wish he had released this as an EP because that would be easier to review than a single 24 minute song, structurally speaking. So instead, I have picked out some key lyrics, going from top to bottom, that really spoke to me and decided to study the song that way. His lyricism is hard-hitting in this track. It is beyond anything he has ever released before.

“The planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving until we ascend so fuck the fence.” — I have not seen this lyric being talked about in the fandom, because the lyrics that follow this steal the show, rightly so, but I wanted to give this line a moment because it’s important too. To me, this lyric speaks to where Zayn is at with his relationship with the physical world. He’s out on the farm (about which he even goes to say “tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor”) and I believe he’s happy in his space and he feels connected to nature (also see River Road). So it is a poignant and slightly jaded, but valid perspective that he shares on climate change. It’s never leaving until we ascend. The damage human beings have done to the planet won’t be undone until there are no humans left to do damage. It’s a single sentence that says so much about the depth of the climate crisis. I’m doing my PhD on urban air quality so this is something I care really deeply about and I resonated with.

“And until they stop killing colour, it’s fuck the feds.” — Yeah, agreed Zayn. The systemic racism that he calls out here is echoed throughout the song, in equal parts anger and boldness. I love that he isn’t glossing over it with metaphors, which he could easily do and it would be beautiful in a totally different way, but this makes it harder for racists to overlook. There is so much power in calling it like it is.

“Never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a Benadryl, keeping it green in general.” — It frustrates me to no end to see Zayn painted as this drug-addicted lazy musician that doesn’t care about his work, because we know how untrue that is. This narrative is tired and simply boring too, and I won’t get into the racist connotations of it when you consider it against his white colleagues who smoke as much as him but that isn’t one of their defining traits in the media.

“I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work … it was hard work that got me heard” — I love the juxtaposition in this verse. The public/media perception on his career is that Zayn doesn’t put in effort or that he doesn’t want it. This obviously stems from his leaving the band. It goes back to what I was saying before about narrative, when in reality, as Zayn has said on various occasions, he fights to make his own choices. And that doesn’t have to look the way everyone else expects it to (“I beg you, don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt”), he has his own struggles that have helped forge his path, but it is his path that he paved, himself. He works hard to be heard. He has to. It reminds me of something my parents used to tell me when I was younger about being immigrants: you have to work 10 times harder for the same opportunities just because of the colour of your skin or your name on the cv. It’s a harsh truth to grow up with but it was my reality, as it is for most POC.

“This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm you. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here ‘til they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80…” — There is something about the simplicity of these lyrics are the messaging that I love. He isn’t trying too hard to sound poetic but he still manages it perfectly.

“All I've been achieving, clocking miles in this region, moving like a legion. Promise that I made to myself, an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving? Staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving. // I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy. It’s time I grew up, a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on the mike.” — This is the only 1D-related lyric I’ll make reference to because this song is about so much more than that. That said though, we cannot overlook Zayn’s experiences in the band because that is part of his story. The tongue-in-cheek of “I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving” is hilarious to me. The line about not wanting to be his own enemy anymore and growing up from 17 reminds me of that quote Taylor (Swift) mentioned in Miss Americana about celebrities getting stuck at the age they got famous. I think this verse is similar to that. None of them ever wanted to be in the band and I don’t care what anyone says, Zayn leaving and proving success outside the band gave the rest of them the courage to follow their own solo careers. Sure there was drama surrounding the split but he did it for himself, to tell his stories the way he is now. Whatever else you have to say about him, you cannot deny his authenticity.

“I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane.” — I think this line tells us 2 things, the first being that this song was not leaked. Z knew what he was doing and his twitter likes tell us as much. He didn’t release it for any sort of attention, otherwise it would be widely available on streaming platforms and for purchase. Which leads to my second point, he released this song to get everything he talks about on the track off his chest. Its referenced in other lyrics too, like “now you see where I come from, the world don’t.” This was for whoever cared to listen, not the world. It’s inaccessible for a reason. I love that he threw those lyrics in. It makes the song feel more like a private conversation or listening to a friend rant. It creates a different form of intimacy between himself and his fans.

“Lessons that I’ve learned, I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself. So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt.” — This one is for anyone that buys into conspiracy theories surrounding Zayn’s personal life. He surrounds himself with real people, real friendships, real connections. I have never bought into the bullshit that he has zero autonomy over his personal life. I love the use of plastic melting as a metaphor for ridding his life of fakeness.

“Feeling trapped. This industry is a cage.” — Zayn is obviously not the first person to say it. Many artists talk about how suffocating the industry is ( which he further comments on in the sung portion: “I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this”). Fame is such a wild and unnatural concept and the exploitation and politics of the music industry only feed further into it. The industry being a cage makes me think of zoos and how celebrities are animals on display, when they should be free in the wild. I also really like the musical interlude following this part.

“Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views.” — Zayn toes the line between keeping to himself and speaking out on important issues, sometimes not very well. I am his biggest cheerleader, but I’m not up his ass. There have been many occasions where he could’ve done better. But I cannot fault him for being offended by the State because same, Z, same. I love that he took this song as an opportunity to real speak out, no punches pulled.

“See I’ve been facing the racists from back when I were a kiddie. Born up in 93’. Living in Bradford City, they kicked me out of the school. Said they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p***, still sit in the classroom, chilling. I’m angry now that I’m older cause I see they treat us different. Got me thinking I’m the problem ‘cause they never dealt with these issues.” — See what I meant about no punches pulled. He said that! He said it like that too. There is so much in this verse that I relate to, it hits a little too deep. I grew up as a brown in predominantly white communities where the colour of my skin was the reason I was outcasted. We know when that’s happening, clear as day. The lyric “got me thinking that I’m the problem cause they never dealt with these issues” says it all. I have many racial traumas that I’m dealing with as an adult because the adults around me when I was a child didn’t deal with racism in the classroom. They do treat us different!

“20 years later, I’m still in the same boat. Tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for. Man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? // Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them. ‘Boy your skin is so light.’ Ok motherfucker, take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.” — Zayn talking his shit is my new favourite art form. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? Something that I will always be enraged by is that POC are expected to de-escalate situations of racism. We have to push our feelings down, as Zayn says in the verse, because the institution is against us. All of the institutions are against us. The fact that he takes it a step farther to say that his name makes him a target for racism, even though he is half-white just nails his point home. Also, can we please quit the whole ‘Zayn is white-passing’ bullshit. He alludes to it again later in the song (“asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define”). Its not a compliment to erase someone identity in favour of white-washing them.

“My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.” — Oh, the amount of times we have heard that age old (v. racist) saying ‘{celebrity of colour} is the new [insert white celebrity here]’ as if POC aren’t allowed to succeed in their own right. It is wild to me that Zayn has to deal with this given his level of success.

“Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening. I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine.” — There is a subtle nod to racism (and Islamaphobia) in this line, because of course the brown man is a threat, but I like the way Z turns it around. I also like the rhyme scheme.

“Raised on the benefit for whose benefit? They’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.” — Okay I might be reaching here, but this is just my interpretation. We all know the benefit system in the UK sucks. Being raised on benefit implies a lack of money growing up, but the benefits aren’t really all that beneficial to the families that rely upon them.

“Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause I hit the nerve.” — Well, okay then, just call me out. It’s fine. I seriously feel like he’s talking to me directly with this line. I imagine a lot of us do. Its one of those lyrics that are a bit too honest but that why we love them.

“Cathartic, I’m an artist. Trying to put my heart in” // “Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name.” — So do we have an alternate persona for Zayn now? Alright, I’m down. I think these two lines are tied together, because both are mentioned in the song title. (I think of the song as cathartic, by Yellow Metal, aka Zayn, or Yellow Metal as the name of the EP if this was officially released). The lyrics that accompany both title lyrics, along with the subject matter of the song as a whole, suggest that his heart is in standing up against injustices. I said it earlier, this is the most unvarnished version of Z that we have ever been exposed to. Almost like the complete picture to the puzzle pieces we’ve been putting together over the years.

“They’re tryna kill us with disease.” — Why did this line scream out ‘COVID-19 outbreaks in developing countries’ to me? Again, I might be reaching, but there is a disparity between how COVID is treated amongst minorities, along with many other diseases, and not to mention rich, primarily white countries hoarding vaccine supplies while places like India (and my beautiful Bangladesh and I’m sure Pakistan too) suffer needlessly.

“Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next. Just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around ’til I’m the best.” — I think this lyric shows off Zayn’s sentimental side more than it does his ambitious side, because we know he’s in this for the long haul. Others may doubt that but his fans never have. But hearing him talk openly about being a father on a song is something else. It’s like Khai added this whole other layer of meaning and purpose to his life and it’s beautiful to watch. I’ve been here since the X-Factor auditions guys!! It makes me so emotional to witness him like this.

“Aint many of me around, p***, I’m just different. Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil, fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto.” — God, we’ve been waiting for a fuck the label moment in this house, haven’t we? I won’t get into my theories on his label or his team, but none of us deny the fact that they should be doing more for him than they are. He has the potential to be the biggest thing with the right team and promo because he has a built-in fan base that would go the mile for him. Obviously, there’s also his aversion to promo to contend with and that’s his decision. Even without it, he could shatter every ceiling. Another thing I want to mention about this verse is the nod to the complete lack of South Asian representation in contemporary Western media.

“Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse.” — I’m just putting this in here because it made giggle. Also going to take this space to say how much I love his energy in this song. He knows he’s the shit, as he should!

“Can’t be louder … so free Gaza on my banner.” // “They’re hating on Palestine ways.” — I love that Zayn has always supported this movement, years ago, before being ‘woke’ was a thing. But now, he has a daughter that has Palestinian heritage and I’m sure that makes this hit that much deeper for him, personally. The apartheid in Palestine is heart-wrenching. It’s so strange to me to watch it happen, because I never thought I would witness something like this happening in 2021, yet here we are.

“Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing. We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route. Say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown. I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.” — This verse is straight up savage and I am living for it! I find it hilarious that he called Biden a snake. This verse addresses the truth about politics, that even electing a left-wing leader doesn’t fix the system.

“I’m Tony Stark, still embarking on a dream” // “Gone green like Bruce Banner” // “He taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten.” — And to tie it all off, I wanted to take a goofy moment to mention all the superhero lyrics Z added in this song, really showing his personality because I’m such a nerd when it comes to this stuff and it makes me wish that we were friends so I could annoy him to death about it.

[blue-mood-blue]

Maybe they were all just haunted by the footage of Hyperion.

It was exceedingly normal, and not. The people looked happy, and blank. The news stations still showed the outdated footage of mindless, sudden attacks, of reasonable voices calling out reasonable appeals to the better half of human nature, but what was worse was when they showed recent footage. It was a city alive and happy so abruptly that it set everyone on edge. There were still normal, flawed people in there, somewhere. Hiding.

Juno was still in there. Nureyev hadn’t seen him yet. He’d stopped looking, not sure he’d like what he’d see.

They took turns staying up in case Rita needed them. It was always just to talk, and Nureyev thought that was probably the most important thing they were actually doing about this whole mess, keeping one person sane while she tried to escape a nightmare on her own. He liked talking to Rita, mostly about elaborate plots and tidbits of her own history that her surroundings reminded her of.

But even Rita couldn’t stay lighthearted forever, especially at night. The honesty of what was happening around her came out in pieces. The details poked through her words like little shards of glass, unexpected and biting, and Nureyev learned to handle those stories gingerly if he didn’t want to get cut.

Rita was not careful about where she put that glass. To be fair to her, she had no idea that her words were anything but.

The comms next to him beeped, and Nureyev put down the remote - turned to some awful home-renovation show, he’ll never understand why someone living on an ocean-covered planet needed a home pool - in favor of answering the call. “Anybody out there,” was Rita’s immediate response. It was joke and, secretly, it was a plea.

“Good evening, Rita. How is Hyperion treating you tonight?”

“Can’t complain, Mistah Ransom, except that I can and I’m gonna.” The annoyed huff made him chuckle. “I know all these people are still actually people underneath all that brainwashing they’ve got going on, and that means I should play nice and stay out of their way, but I’d sure like to give a few of them a good kick in the shin, let me tell you. Acting like I ain’t got no right to be out in public in broad daylight, the nerve -”

And then silence. Several long seconds of silence, and Nureyev could swear he heard his own heartbeat pick up. “Rita? Are you still there?”

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the line, a held breath released. “I’m here. Thought someone was lookin’ in from a window or something but it’s just a leftover campaign poster.” Nureyev was about to make some kind of quip about the inevitability of politicians even in the middle of a citywide apocalypse when he was startled by the sound of paper tearing. And then tearing again, and again, in a slow and methodical way that could, in his mind, only mean careful and dedicated and shredding.

“Rita -”

“It’s fine, Mistah Ransom. Just givin’ someone’s face what it deserves.”

“The politician?”

“Mayor O’Flaherty.” There was a scuffling sound, and Nureyev could picture Rita kicking at paper scraps on the ground. “You ever heard one of his speeches? All about how he wants to clean things up, everything everyone wanted hear. Well he’s gone and made a pretty good mess of it now, hasn’t he? And him only in office for a few days, too.”

“Sounds like he’s going to have plenty of explaining to do.” Nureyev recognized the name from the news; reporters were a constant at city hall, and when city hall was too dangerous to stand outside of they were a constant over the phone lines. The answer was always the same: the mayor was not available to answer any questions about what was happening. “His office has done an excellent job of keeping him hidden so far, but that can only last so long.”

“He’s dead. Those people giving out excuses to everyone who asks, they just don’t know a nice way of sayin’ it yet.”

For a moment, Nureyev was certain he must have misheard her. If she’d decided to start talking conspiracy theories, there was none of her usual shift in tone from conversational to dramatic reveal. He opened his mouth to reply, and came up with nothing.

He hadn’t misheard anything, evidenced when Rita barreled ahead. “You’ll have to forgive me for sayin’ so, Mistah Ransom, but it’s not really any great loss. That man wasn’t any good, not for Hyperion and not for my boss.”

And suddenly he had nothing else to say, for a much different reason.

“Don’t know if you ever met my boss, Mistah Ransom - I guess just because he had a number to someone on the same ship doesn’t mean he knows everyone on the ship - but he’d been having a real rough go of it for a while. Got back from being missing for weeks with one less eye and stumbling around like something had been torn outta him -”

Nureyev didn’t want to hear this.

“But he’s tryin’ real hard, I think. Wanted to do something good, thought helping this O’Flaherty was how to do it, even let that guy put another eye in his head, you know? And for what?” She sighed. “Just a big mess of broken promises and a city full of brainwashing tech. I’d rip a dozen posters if I had ‘em.”

“Sounds like the ‘something good’ didn’t work out.” It was barely a murmur, and Nureyev didn’t want to hear this.

“The boss took that eye right back out the minute he got a chance, if that tells you anything. Same tech.”

He knew Juno well enough to connect those thoughts into a predictable whole. Nureyev wanted to be exasperated, to be angry - Juno Steel and his damn hero complex. Juno Steel, expendable for a good enough cause. Anger wasn’t the word for what he felt, though, and if it was there it was aimed at Ramses O’Flaherty.

Good thing O’Flaherty was already dead.

“Save a poster for me,” he finally said, voice barely louder than it had been a moment ago; he hoped Rita wouldn’t notice. “That sounds cathartic.”

[fridayfirefly]

Cowboy Like Me

Read Cowboy Like Me on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 5 - Last Time

Now I know, I'm never gonna love again

Marinette was a terrible sentimentalist. After such a bad breakup it might have been cathartic to tear up the pictures of them, but Marinette just couldn't do it. No, she could bring herself to destroy the evidence of her six-year relationship. Marinette kept all the pictures, all the movie tickets, all the handwritten notes and put them in a shoebox at the top of her closet, somewhere that she couldn't reach without the help of a stepstool. Maybe the pads of her fingers could brush against the smooth cardboard if she stood on her tiptoes. But Marinette could never open it again. Inside that shoebox were the memories of being in love, kept safe, locked away, just out of reach.

As Marinette boarded the plane, she looked back on everything that had gone wrong. Though the cause of all the destruction in her life was uncertain, Marinette could pinpoint the effects exactly. There were a few things Marinette knew for certain: Marinette would never fall in love again, the city Marinette once loved now only held bad memories, and once the plane took off, Marinette would say goodbye to Paris for the last time.

Never wanted love, just a fancy car

The socialite scene of Gotham was dreadfully boring in the winter, Marinette learned. The weather was so brutal that anyone who could afford a second house in Key West or Malibu left as soon as the first snow-fall hit. Marinette stayed inside her penthouse apartment for weeks, designing her wardrobe for the next few months. It had been so long since she had been able to design for herself, without input from anyone else. It was freeing, to work with the colors, the patterns, the styles that she wanted. Marinette had forgotten what freedom felt like. For so long, she had worked for the whims of others, crafting to someone else's design.

Marinette made her first friend two weeks after the move. Silver St. Cloud was Marinette's neighbor in the apartment to the left. Silver was a model and influencer, and a self-proclaimed expert on all of the rich single men in Gotham. Upon their first meeting, Silver offered to show Marinette around Gotham and introduce her to the socialite scene. Marinette, hesitant but hopeful, accepted.

"Bruce Wayne is the best that Gotham has to offer," said Silver as they leave Starbucks, lattes in hand. "But there are plenty of men who are worth your attention - women too, if that's what you prefer."

"Bruce Wayne is the best?"

Silver nodded. "The Waynes have owned this city for as long as Gotham has been on a map. I wouldn't set your sights on him completely, though. Bruce Wayne doesn't date anyone, not even a former member of Kitty Section."

Kitty Section was known around the world, the biggest band to come out of France in the last decade. Their songs topped charts. Their albums won awards. Their well-crafted image of reclusive, mysterious artists led to a media sensation over the members of Kitty Section. Everyone wanted to know them - Luka Couffaine and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the lead vocalists whose relationship enchanted their fans. Rose Lavillant, the backing vocalist and keyboardist, and Juleka Couffaine, the bass guitarist, who were unashamed of their love for each other. Ivan Bruel, the mysterious drummer who had the name Mylène carved into his drumsticks. They were famous. They were at the top of their game. They were unstoppable.

Marinette ruined it all when she left the band. Her split had been big news, exposing a dark side of Kitty Section that their fans were never supposed to see. But after their breakup, Marinette quickly realized that she never loved music. She loved Luka, and once that love faded away, she loved nothing.

"I guess I'll find someone else," said Marinette, but it was a lie. There was Luka Couffaine, and after that, there was no one else. She might be able to love fancy dresses and expensive cars, but Marinette would never love a person again, not the way she loved Luka. When it came to love (deep, true love, not just the infatuations of childhood) Luka was her first time, Luka was her only time, and Luka would be her last time.

Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Marinette quickly learned the art of charming everyone she met, either through her impressive resume (founding member of Kitty Section) or through her newfound ability to flirt. It turns out, once you turn off your feelings it becomes very easy to pretend that you can still love.

Marinette and Silver became thick as thieves. The girls became a popular pair, charming every birthday brunch and charity dinner. For Silver, it was all about networking. As she explained to Marinette, "I'm trying to create a brand. I'm trying to turn my own name into something that can be sold, and for that, I need connections.

For Marinette, it was something to do. As long as she used her money wisely, Marinette had enough saved to comfortably live out the rest of her days. The real problem came in finding something to pass the time. Marinette rarely felt joy in living her life, the way she used to back when she was a child, the bright-eyed girl who aspired to be a designer. Now, everything from charming a billionaire to designing a new dress felt like a chore.

"Come meet Bruce Wayne," urged Silver as she grabbed Marinette's hand. "He just got back from Nepal. It's his first time in Gotham in six months. He skipped his own New Year's Gala to go soul-searching in the Himalayas. It's my job tonight to convince him to stay in town for longer than a week."

There was a determination to Silver's voice. From everything she had heard about Bruce Wayne, Marinette doubted that Silver could make him change his ways. However, that wouldn't stop Marinette from helping her new-found friend.

Silver's whole body-language changed, shifting from a determined march to a delicate float as she made her way over to a dark-haired man in a well-fitted tux. "Hello, Bruce. It's so nice to see you again."

"Silver." Bruce acknowledged her, sounding bored. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was the lead singer of Kitty Section before the band split up a few months ago."

"Kitty Section... I might have heard of them before. The band was... French?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes. All the members were born and raised in Paris. Have you heard of any of our music?

"I'm certain now that I have. It was very... commercial."

Marinette ought to have slapped him across the face right then and there. Not only was commercial not a compliment, but it also wasn't even true. It was the biggest criticism of Kitty Section, their reticence to work with popular music trends. Despite her overwhelming desire to assault the most wealthy and influential man in the ballroom, Marinette instead steeled her face and gave Bruce a pleasant smile. "Thank you. So what do you do for a living, Mister Wayne."

"I travel."

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He spoke two words to her. The conversation was anything but interesting. "How interesting. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I'm not a tourist, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I travel to much more interesting places."

Marinette officially gave up on the conversation. She would let Silver (who looked to be itching to have her turn to talk to Bruce) try and fix the train-wreck of a conversation that Bruce created. "You sound like a man with a lot of stories to tell. I hope you can tell me them over lunch someday."

"Perhaps."

Marinette gave Bruce her politest smile. "I have to excuse myself. Silver, why don't you tell Bruce about your new sponsorship from Lululemon."

Silver lit up. "Oh, you have to hear about this email I got last week. It was amazing, it's so good for my brand..."

Marinette walked away, letting her distaste towards Bruce leave her. Secretly, a little part of her hoped that Bruce would leave Gotham, as he was well-known for doing. Though Silver was her friend, Marinette didn't think she could pretend to like Bruce.

"He's intolerable, isn't he?" joked a voice from beside Marinette.

Marinette turned to face the stranger, a beautiful woman, taller than Marinette by quite a few inches, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. She wore a dress of royal blue silk, so elegant it reminded Marinette of the sort of thing she always dreamed of making. "Who?"

"Bruce Wayne. Who else would it be?"

Marinette let out a quiet laugh. "He is quite unpleasant. I take it you know him."

"I accompanied him on some of his travels. Bruce is a good friend of mine, but these parties tend to bring out the worst in him. He hates this city and he especially hates the wealthy of this city." The woman grabbed a glass of wine off of a server's tray and handed it to Marinette, who gratefully took it.

"Then I doubt Silver will have any luck convincing him to stay." Marinette tried to keep the satisfaction out of her tone, but the woman laughed anyways, an indication that it didn't work.

"You're quite funny..." The woman paused for an introduction.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And you are?"

"Diana-"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted Diana's introduction. The crowd started to get frantic, and Marinette was pushed one way while Diana was pushed the other. The glass of wine was knocked out of Marinette's hand, staining the fabric of her dress. Marinette struggled to stay on her feet, desperate to not twist an ankle in her four-inch heels.

"Listen up!" shouted an oddly-dressed man. "You're all going to listen to me, and no one will get hurt."

Marinette had a very odd feeling that this would be a moment she remembered for the rest of her life.

Never thought I'd meet you here. It could be love

"They're calling him a supervillain. Apparently, his name is The Riddler," reported Marinette, looking up from her phone, where she was reading about the events of the night before.

Silver glanced up from her seat on the sofa across the room where she was painting her nails a delicate shade of pink. "It's about time Gotham got its own supervillain. Metropolis has had Superman and all the villains that follow him around for years."

Marinette snorted out a laugh. "You think that a supervillain is a good thing?"

"Sure. It means that Gotham will be getting a superhero of its own soon." Silver brightened up. "Plus, the hostage situation from last night meant that I got to spend a whole two hours with Bruce."

Marinette groaned. "I can't believe that you two are going on a date. Bruce Wayne is one of the most insufferable men I've ever met."

"It's not a date. Bruce specified it as just dinner between friends. You should come too, Marinette. I'm sure that once you spend some time with Bruce you'll warm up to him."

Marinette gave Silver a skeptical look. "You want me to come with you on your date with Bruce?"

"Again, it's not a date. Bruce said that he would be bringing one of his friends along as well."

Marinette finally understood Silver's intentions. "You want me to come with you so that I can partner up with Bruce's friend, and you can get some alone time with Bruce."

"Well it doesn't sound very nice when you put it that way," huffed Silver.

Marinette giggled. "I love devious plans. We'll just have to make it look natural."

It took a little time to get all the details, but Marinette and Silver got their plan in order. Silver would arrive first and meet Bruce and his friend. Marinette would arrive later, strike up a one-on-one conversation with Bruce's friend, and spend the night engaging Bruce's friend in conversation so that Silver could flirt with Bruce. Marinette's only concern about the evening was that Bruce's friend would be just as unbearable to talk to as Bruce himself.

The restaurant that Bruce picked out was very fancy, but Marinette didn't mind. It allowed her to wear her new dress, a pale blue and silver creation meant to mimic the shimmering quality of ice. Marinette thought it might be a little too experimental for the old-fashioned Gotham society, but Silver approved of it, and Marinette trusted her friend.

As soon as Marinette walked through the doors her eyes caught sight of Silver's white-blonde hair. Then she noticed Bruce sitting beside her friend, his eyes trained on Silver with an odd intensity. Finally, Marinette noticed Bruce's friend. She was shocked to see that it was Diana, the very woman that Marinette had met at yesterday's gala, the very woman whose introduction was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the Riddler. For a second, Marinette was shocked into stillness. The chaos of the night before had overshadowed her meeting with Diana to the extent that Marinette had forgotten how very charmed she had been by Diana. Now, it seemed Marinette had the perfect opportunity to get to know the charismatic woman from the night before.

"Marinette," the surprise in Diana's tone told Marinette that she was just as blind-sighted by their meeting.

"Hello, Diana. Fancy meeting you here," said Marinette with a smile.

Bruce raised one eyebrow. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We met last night," explained Diana. "I wanted to let her knew that you aren't usually so insufferable."

Bruce looked affronted. "I wasn't insufferable."

"You lied about having listened to Kitty Section," piped up Marinette. "There are a lot of valid criticisms of Kitty Section. However, our music being too commercial is not one of them."

Bruce had the decency to look guilty. "I apologize, then. I'll make sure to take the time to give your music a real listen."

For Silver's sake, Marinette was willing to forgive him. "Maybe next time you can give me some real criticism."

Bruce nodded graciously. "I'll do that."

Diana took that moment to bring back up their introduction the night before. "So Marinette, I don't believe we got the chance to finish our introductions last night. I'm Diana Prince, newly a curator at Gotham's Art and History Museum."

"I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former member of Kitty Section, currently taking a soul-searching sabbatical."

"Soul-searching for what?" asked Diana.

"I suppose I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. When I was younger I was so passionate about fashion. I made my own clothes, entered my creations into design contests, spent years creating a portfolio. I'm trying to rediscover that passion."

"Maybe you could show me your designs some time," offered Diana.

"I would like that," agreed Marinette.

"Actually," chimed in Silver, "Marinette made the dress she's wearing right now."

"Really? I would have assumed that it was professionally made. It's a gorgeous dress," praised Diana.

Marinette blushed, a warm fluttery feeling stirring deep within her. The rest of the night passed in a blur, with Marinette hanging on Diana's every word. It was easy to talk to Diana. She was so naturally charming that Marinette couldn't help but enjoy herself. As the evening winded down, Marinette felt only regret that they would have to part so soon.

As Marinette stood outside the restaurant, waiting for a taxi, she felt Diana's hand settle on her shoulder. It had been a while since Marinette had felt such an intimate touch. "I had a nice time talking to you tonight." The feel of Diana's fingers gently trailing down Marinette's arms was almost more than Marinette, touch-starved and hungry for more, could bear.

Marinette smiled. "I did too. I hope to see more of you."

"I'm sure you will." Marinette took comfort in the certainty in Diana's voice.

And in the back of her mind, Marinette began to rethink her policy of never falling in love again. Something about Diana made Marinette think that Luka wouldn't be her last time after all.

And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

Marinette could not believe he did this. After everything they had been through together, Marinette's one final request to Luka was that he not release a song about their breakup. But there it was, top of the charts, the lead single of Luka's new solo album, Different Cities. And if it wasn't bad enough that Luka broke the only promise she asked him to keep, included in the song was a snippet of the last voicemail she sent to him. She left it for him weeks after they broke up, as an explanation to him, to let him know she was leaving Gotham.

In the last few seconds of the song, Marinette's voice is hesitant as she speaks. "I know that you wanted me to stay so that we could work things out, but I don't think that our relationship is fixable. So I guess I'm calling to tell you that I give up. I'm leaving Paris next Friday. I've already bought the plane ticket. You can't change my mind. Goodbye, Luka."

It was the rawest emotion Marinette had shown since the breakup, and Luka exploited it for his own gain.

Marinette spent the day joylessly deleting emails from various news outlets begging her to tell her side of the story. As if she would give Luka the satisfaction of giving free publicity. Everyone loved drama, so Marinette was going to make her reaction - or lack of reaction, in this case - as boring as possible.

Every time her phone rang, Marinette ignored it. The voicemails started to stack up, and eventually, Marinette found herself going through them one-by-one. One from Alya, letting Marinette know that she was there for her when she wanted to talk. One from Adrien, more joking in tone, trying to cheer Marinette up. One from Ivan, directly threatening to punch Luka in the face if Marinette wanted it (and that was the only voicemail that actually brought her spirits up). One from Juleka, an apology.

In the voicemail, Juleka's voice was rough, like she had been crying. "I'm so sorry, Marinette. I begged Luka not to release it, but he wouldn't listen to me. He said- he- he said-" Juleka broke off into a sob, and Marinette couldn't help but sniffle along with her. "I can hardly recognize him anymore. Rose and I aren't on speaking terms with him now. He's no longer my brother."

Marinette wished that she could pick up the phone and tell Juleka that it was okay to forgive Luka, but Marinette couldn't. The wound was still fresh, still bleeding out.

One step forward, one steps back. Two days after Marinette considered the idea of loving again, and she was right back where she started - in too much pain to even consider friendship, let alone love.

Speak of the devil, Marinette's phone rang, Diana's name lighting up on the screen. Part of her wanted to throw her phone across the room and curl up under her blankets. The other parts of her answered the call. "Hello?" spoke Marinette, wiping away the moisture at the corner of her eyes.

"Marinette, are you okay?" Diana's voice was soft. It was the most comforting thing Marinette had ever heard.

"Not really. I can't decide if I want to punch Luka in the face or if it would hurt too much to ever see him again."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Marinette sighed. "I met Luka when I was fourteen. He was my classmate Juleka's older brother. Luka had his own band, so all the girls in our class thought that Luka was so cool, but he mostly ignored us. Then one day his backing vocalist got bronchitis and he needed someone to fill in. I was a soloist for the school chorus, so I volunteered. Luka was hesitant to let me join his band until he heard me sing. He told me I had the voice of an angel. Two days later he kissed me, and I fell in love with him so hard and so fast I didn't have a chance to consider if he was really the one."

Marinette took a deep breath, then continued, "It was a whirlwind after that. We started dating. We started a new band and named it Kitty Section. We started writing songs together. The weird part was, he never asked how I felt about any of it. He never asked me if I wanted to date him, he never asked if I wanted to join the band, he always assumed that I wanted what he wanted."

"And what did you want?" asked Diana.

"Back then, I thought I wanted a future with Luka. Now, I guess I just want to feel passion again. I've felt so empty since I left him."

"You might feel better with some company. Do you want me to come over to your place?"

Marinette looked around at her empty apartment, at the way the shadows filled the room, at the way seemed to lurk in every corner. "Sure."

"You could show me some of those designs you were telling me about the other day," suggested Diana.

Marinette glanced over at her sketchbook, which had laid empty for months. "That sounds good."

As she hung up the phone, Marinette realized that talking to Diana had made her feel a bit better. The knife wound that Luka had left in her heart had begun to close up at the edges. Marinette took a deep breath and picked up her sketchbook. If she wanted to rediscover her passion, she needed to work for it.

Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon

Marinette let out an appreciative noise as Diana re-entered the room, modeling one of Marinette's creations. "Give me a little spin."

Diana turned herself around, letting the red fabric swirl around her legs. Something about the way that the dress looked on Diana made it so much prettier in Marinette's eyes. Suddenly the fabric wasn't just red, it was carmine. The dress wasn't just being worn, it was being modeled. It didn't just move, it flowed. "It's a gorgeous dress," complimented Diana as she looked over her shoulder at the mirror behind her to admire it.

"It is nice, isn't it." Marinette had been so caught up in her head she had forgotten to truly admire her creation. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. "You should keep it. One of Bruce's charity galas is coming up in a few weeks. You could wear it there."

"I couldn't," protested Diana.

Marinette shook her head. "It looks best on you. I could never pull off such a vibrant shade of red." There was a second part to the sentence that was left unspoken. If Marinette made the dress knowing that it wouldn't look good on her, she must have made it for another reason. She must have made it with Diana in mind.

Diana smiled, seeming to have caught those unspoken words. "Well if I'm going to wear the dress, you'll have to put up with me gushing about how talented you are all night long."

Marinette flushed. "It's no big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's not just a dress. It's your passion." There was truth in Diana's words that Marinette couldn't deny. It was so much more than a dress. It was the passion for design that Diana had helped her rediscover. It was the newfound friendship with Diana that chased away the loneliness and despair that had taken over her life. It was the glimmer of hope for a future with Diana.

Takes one to know one, you're a cowboy like me

Diana looked beyond gorgeous in that carmine dress. Marinette could keep her eyes off of her as they mingled around the ballroom. Marinette's dress was nice, made with the same passion that Marinette had in her younger years, but it paled in comparison to Diana. However, Diana made up for this disparity by gleefully explaining that Marinette was the creator of the dress every time it was complimented. By the end of the night, Marinette had spent so much time blushing over compliments that she worried her face would become permanently flushed.

The gala was a complete success for everyone involved. The charity, which happened to benefit Gotham Child Protective Services, raised twice their goal amount. Marinette got to spend time with Diana. Even Silver had spent the night looking very pleased with herself, her hand resting on Bruce's forearm as they walked through the ballroom together.

As the night winded down, Marinette and Diana found themselves walking out of Wayne Manor towards Diana's car. Diana had offered to drive Marinette there and back, and Marinette had eagerly accepted. Marinette hated driving in Gotham, as Gotham was known for its aggressive drivers and high rates of automobile accidents.

Marinette sat down in the passenger seat with a sigh, kicking off her heels. "Tonight was nice."

"It was nice," Diana agreed. "We'll have to attend galas together more often."

"You just want an excuse to get your hands on another one of my dresses," teased Marinette.

Diana laughed. "I wouldn't say no to another dress. But really, Bruce's rich friends are much more bearable when I have someone to make fun of them afterward with."

Marinette shuddered. "And to think I thought that Bruce was bad. His friends are intolerable. I never want to talk about golf again in my life."

The two women chatted as they drove through the dark streets of Gotham, back to Marinette's apartment.

"Thanks for driving me home," said Marinette as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"It was no problem." Diana hesitated, before continuing. "I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Dinner sounds good," Marinette replied, strapping her shoes back on.

"I'm asking for this to be a date." Diana finished.

Marinette looked up at her, surprised. Her friendship with Diana had been so easy that Marinette had forgotten that it could be anything else. She had half a mind to decline, to stay in the familiar, but that little bit of hope in her heart urged Marinette to take a leap of faith and accept. "I would like that. What time will you pick me up?"

Diana smiled, her whole face lighting up. "How does six sound?"

Marinette smiled back, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. "Sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow."

And as Marinette got ready for bed, she realized that all of the sadness that lingered in her heart since the breakup had gone away. All that was left for her to feel was hope for the future.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[ironwoman359]

Okay smart ass. How come you and the other big blogs aren't saying shit about the racism and other problematic things happening in the fandom? Specially when almost all of you were always ready to put your opinions on something as petty as fans criticizing Thomas for how he wears a skirt.

Well, I cannot speak for other ‘big blogs’ because, while I am friends with some of the people who run the blogs that you’re lumping into the ‘big’ cateogory, we are not a monolith. We don’t have a secret group chat where we all decide “today we shall talk about Thomas wearing a skirt and ignore racism on purpose.” I can offer speculation that perhaps more people quickly added their own two cents on the skirt thing because when compared to everything else that was going on in the world, both on tumblr and off it, it was such a simple thing to digest. Everyone was craving something simple at that time, so it was an easy, cathartic thing to jump in and say “hey, don’t be mean in people’s inboxes” and proceed to stop thinking about almost just as fast. Anyway, like I said, I can’t speak for other people, only for myself. So since you apparently want me to, I’ll speak for myself. 

“How come you and the other big blogs aren’t saying shit about the racism...”

I am white. It is not my place to speak over poc about racism. It is my place to reblog their posts, elevating their voices without commentary. That is something that I learned this year, and it is something I intend to continue to practice. I do recall making one post in early June, about not using the b/l.m tag on fanart posts, but after seeing several poc express that they wanted white people to talk less and listen more, I elected to make no more original posts about the subject and stick to reblogging without comment. If you’re looking for some good posts about racism in the sanders sides fandom, here are a few good ones. Though most of the posts about racism that make their way across my dash and subsequently onto my blog are less fandom focused and more broad. 

“...and other problematic things happening in the fandom?”

This is where I must repeat what I said the other day; this could relate to any NUMBER of things, and unless you are more specific I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you talking about callouts for specific creators? There were two that happened over the summer that I know about, but A) again, those were about racism, so I chose not to muddle the conversation with my voice, and B) the works being discussed in those situations were works I was personally unfamiliar with, and thus did not feel like I had enough information to state an opinion publically (which again, as I understand it, would have been unneccessary additions to an issue I have no authority to speak on). 

So maybe you’re talking about the Twitter callouts, or the situation with the artists for the Storytime Madlibs video? Again, I felt as though I lacked sufficient need/information to make any statements about those issues. I have a twitter, but I barely use it, and don’t use it for the fander community at all. I had NO IDEA what any of that stuff people were talking about was, and still don’t, and since I don’t use Twitter and am not in that community, it seemed pointless to speak about. That is not to trivialize any hurt or harm that was caused or experienced during those events, just to say that I have nothing to do with them, which is why there’s nothing about it on my blog. (The joke I made about fandom twitter was supposed to be universal and relate to how all the twitter discourse these days seems to be a rehash of tumblr discourse from five years ago. Bad timing on my part I guess, oh well.) And, being 100% honest here, I don’t think I even watched the Storytime Madlibs video. If i did, I don’t remember much about it. I know that when it came out that the artists were underpaid, I reblogged one or two posts about how content creators should not be put on pedestals and are not perfect, but the rest of that situation was centered around the artists involved in that video, and since I was not one of them nor did I know any of them personally, it seemed like something that again, I shouldn’t bring up because I didn’t know anything about it. From what I understand, a solution is/was being worked out, but I haven’t heard anything recently. 

Or by ‘problematic things’ do you mean the existence of remrom, or unsympathetic sides, or how I’ve been in this fandom for over 3 years and our anon hate problem has never gone away, or the rampant purity culture, or the pervasive ageism, or literally a dozen other things, some of which are genuine issues and some of which are simply differing opinions being handled with all the grace of an elephant on roller skates? I’ve said it over and over again on this blog, but this fandom is not perfect. No fandom is perfect, but this one in particular has a reputation for being ‘pure’ and ‘wholesome’ for some reason; a reputation that it has never upheld by the way, because, shocker, fandoms are made of humans, and humans are not flawless porcelein dolls. We’re incredibly flawed creatures, and mistakes are inevitable. The sooner we all accept that and start treating our mistakes as an opportunity to learn and grow and do better next time instead of a signal that we were always worthless pieces of garbage that had no chance to do anything other than fuck up, the better off we’ll all be. 

And may I reiterate: look outside this website for a minute. There is SO MUCH going on in the world right now, every single one of us is utterly exhausted, we are suffering from a massive traumatic event, several massive traumatic events at once, actually, forgive me if my attention is spread a little thin at the moment. 

I’ll readily admit, there have been posts in the past several months that I’ve seen, read, and then not reblogged. Often this is because I feel as though the post that I am seeing does not have the full picture, and that it would be irresponsible to reblog only that part of the ‘discourse.’ And most of the time, I just don’t have the mental energy to go looking for the full story on whatever the Issue of the Week is. And I shouldn’t have to. Because at the end of the day, what I put on my own blog is my business, and no one else’s. There’s not some rule list that magically appears once you pass 1,000 followers that tells you what you must and must not do as a blogger. I am not required to weigh in on every little thing that happens in this fandom just because a lot of people in it follow me, and in fact, NO ONE is obligated to reblog something regardless of how many followers they have. If you are dissatisfied with the posts I make and/or reblog, you’re welcome to unfollow, there’s no rule that says you have to stay. But my energy is so limited these days, and I’m not going to devote what little free time and headspace I have to figuring out the ‘Correct’ take on fandom discourse.

I’d like to end by once again reiterating what many have said beffore, that racism is not the same thing as fandom discourse. It is always my goal to not speak over the voices of poc, and if in this post I have done that in any way, I’d like to apologize. Poc are welcome to DM me so that we can discuss it in any such instance, whether on this post or any other from the past or that comes up in the future. I am still working on unlearning racism, and know I am likely to make many more missteps on that journey. Stay safe out there everyone. 

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 9

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, allusions to smut (but nothing graphic), discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Word Count: 2,655

A/N: Before I dive in, a little bit of unpleasant business to address. As you may know, there is another writer that is also working on a Via Imperii themed fic. We had been working together to make sure our stories didn’t overlap to the point of plagiarism, sharing ideas and pre-reading each others work. That partnership was abruptly, and unbeknownst to me, put to a halt this week (3/28/21). She has not read this chapter, and I have not read any of hers past her chapter 9 (which I don’t think I ever saw the final version of, so let’s safely say chapter 8). I just wanted to put that out there in the universe, I don’t want any previous approvals or conversations to be implied or carried over into work I have not, and will not, see. No ill will, it is what it is, I just want to make sure that nobody is misrepresenting anyone’s involvement in anything. 

HUGE shout out to my hype squad, @jessiembruno & @txemrn. It’s no secret that I haven’t been feeling to great about myself lately, and they’ve been so great about talking me through it and encouraging me to keep going. 

As always, shout out to @twinkleallnight for my amazing, and updated, moodboard!

Tags: I think my tags actually got figured out, so tags are below, but not in the comments as I usually do. If you don’t get the tag, let me know (which is a weird thing to say, because you might not even be seeing this).

Riley stood at the stove, scrambling eggs, when she suddenly felt Liam’s arms wrap around her as he kissed her neck. “Good morning, love. You’re up early.” He said in between kisses. 

“Hey you.” She shut off the burner and turned in his arms, reaching up to cup his cheek. “How are you feeling?” She looked at him with worry in her eyes. 

“I’m...past the worst of it, thanks to you.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “I’m just ready to move forward and come up with a plan to end all of this. Then I can deal with everything else.”

“You don’t have to bottle it all up until this is over, Liam. You can talk to me.”

“I know, you’ve more than proven that to me.” He winked, a slight smirk on his face. “Taking them down is how I need to work through it. It seems as though a majority of the struggles we have faced have been at the hands of the Via Imperii. Getting my revenge and eliminating them will be a cathartic, healing experience. It needs to happen for the country, and for my own piece of mind.”  

She nodded and pulled out of his embrace, taking his hand and walking him toward the island. “Good, that’s what we’ll do then. Sit and I’ll get a plate together for you. I need to fill you in on the rest before everyone gets here.”

“Everyone?” He asked as he watched her walk back to the stove and put two plates together. 

“I texted Maxwell this morning, he’s going to come back with Drake so that he can work with us on a plan. He’s already had time to process his dad’s shittyness, so you and Drake won’t have to do all the heavy lifting while dealing with your news.” She placed a plate down in front of him and sat down.

Liam looked at her confused, “Why would Drake still be processing my news? You told him the other day, didn’t you?”

Riley took a deep breath, there was so much she didn’t get a chance to tell Liam the night before. She would have to get through it all now. He had to be completely filled in before Drake and Maxwell arrived. “Not your news, Liam. I had some for him too.”

Riley filled Liam in on the rest of the information she had learned that weekend. Treading lightly when he spoke about Eleanor, making sure not to refer to as his mother, she would simply say ‘she’ and Liam understood. Liam sat there, pushing his own pain aside so he could focus on the task at hand, while also being there for Drake. He knew Drake, and he knew that he was likely feeling a similar storm of emotions, but being the selfless kind hearted soul Liam knew he was, he wasn’t dealing with any of that. Instead, Drake was keeping himself busy by taking care of his friends, just like he had his whole life.

After breakfast, Liam rescheduled his and Riley’s meetings and commitments for the day so that they could focus on the task at hand. Eleanor had her lessons, Drake planned on dropping her off in the Great Room when they arrived at the palace, giving them a couple of hours to talk. Liam and Riley finished getting ready for the day, and headed into the living room just in time to hear the knock on the door. Liam answered. 

Maxwell was the first to enter, bounding in and raising his arms over his head “The party is here.” He walked up to Riley and gave her their secret handshake before pulling her into a hug. 

Drake entered and Liam shut the door behind him. They turned to face each other, and nodded in silent understanding. Liam extended his hand and Drake took it in a handshake that was quickly, and mutually, pulled into a hug. They stayed like that for several moments speaking to each other in hushed tones that only the two of them could hear. 

After a few moments, Maxwell spoke up. “Hey, how come you guys never hug me like that?”

“Maxwell!” Riley yelled in a hushed tone as she elbowed him in the side, making a rapid throat cutting gesture when he looked at her, signaling that he should leave it alone. 

They finally pulled away, clearing their throats as they separated. Drake walked up to Riley, giving her a hug, as Liam approached Maxwell and shook his hand.

“Let’s sit, there’s a lot to go over.” Liam signaled toward the couch as he approached Riley, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Riley gave Liam a reassuring look. “Should we get Bastien in here as well? He should be a part of this.” She suggested. 

“Absolutely. You sit, love. I’ll go get him.” Liam walked her to the couch and kissed the top of her head as she sat, before going back to the front door to retrieve Bastien. 

Once everyone was there, Riley looked to Liam for the next move. She wasn’t sure which of them would take the lead on this conversation, not knowing if Liam would be able to get through the parts of the story that he had learned the night before. He took her hand in his and nodded at her as a signal to begin the conversation. 

“Ok, so we have a new threat. Well, an old threat, but in a new and soul crushing package.” She paused for a moment and looked around the room. Liam and Drake were fully filled in, Bastien was partially aware of the situation, and Maxwell was completely in the dark. The best thing to do would be to start at the beginning. 

With that, Riley explained everything, her conversation with Eirik at Applewood, the meeting in Portavira, and of course everything that had happened during her Valtoria trip. She made sure to grip Liam’s hand a little tighter when she got to the part about Eleanor, when Drake also reached over and placed a comforting hand on his friend’s back. The news of Eleanor and Jackson’s involvement, on top of Eleanor not being quite as dead as everyone thought, obviously, a total shock to those in the room hearing it for the first time. Maxwell’s jaw dropped, his hand quickly moving to cover it as tears welled up in his eyes. For the first time in his life, Maxwell was speechless.

Riley looked over to Bastien, who was standing by Drake’s chair. She was surprised by the emotion etched in his typically stoic face. Then she realized, she had been so worried about everyone else, that she didn’t consider how difficult this news may be for Bastien. Jackson Walker had taken a young, fresh-faced Bastien under his wing when he first joined the King’s guard, and invited him into his family. Bastien had been alone most of his life, so becoming an unofficial Walker gave him a sense of belonging and home that he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy. He had known Jackson was a member of the Via Imperii, he was trying to recruit Bastien prior to his death, but the way Jackson talked about it didn’t line up with what he had learned in the last couple of weeks. Suddenly it all made sense, the information he was getting was based off of the original plan that Jackson had been working on. If he was killed for going against them, it would explain why they stopped pursuing Bastien after his death. He always found something a little suspicious about Jackson’s death, this just confirmed it, and made him want to exact his revenge for the man that had given him everything. 

The room was silent as everyone continued to process the information. Maxwell was the first to speak up. “You guys, I don’t even know what to say. I mean my dad was bad news, but this is a whole other level.” He looked at Liam, “I mean, a coma is one thing, but to pretend to actually be dead? And then to find out you have a brother?!” 

“Thank you Maxwell. It has been a...trying few hours to say the least.” Liam squeezed Riley’s hand a little tighter to keep himself calm. “But that is why you are here. We need to work together to remove them once and for all.” 

“So, what do we do?” Drake chimed in. 

“That’s what we need to figure out. How do you take down a group that nobody even knows exists?” Riley looked around the room, hoping one of the men might have a suggestion. 

Bastien cleared his throat to get the room’s attention. “Perhaps we start by getting some form of hard evidence against them. Something tangible, and undeniable.”

“Yea, we could release it publicly. If everyone knows they exist, and what they’re up to, they won’t have any power.” Maxwell agreed.

Riley nodded. “Ok, that could work. How do we do that? I mean, I’m a member or whatever, but I don’t think you can just borrow membership records, or like walk in taking pictures.” 

‘We could send you in with a hidden camera or recorder of some kind.” Liam suggested. “I don’t want to get Amalas involved, we can’t be certain where her loyalties lie, but Olivia could be of help to us on that front.”

Drake interjected, skepticism in his tone. “Yea, but can we trust her? Her family isn’t really known for their loyalty to the crown.”

Liam stood from his seat. “Historically, you are correct Drake. The Nevrakis family has never been particularly with their standing within the monarchy, but I think that Olivia has more than proven herself. Not only in her loyalty to the crown, but in her loyalty to me personally.”

“Yea Drake, she’s had our backs through everything.” Riley also stood, linking her arm with Liam’s in a show of support. “Besides, in the few conversations I’ve had with these people, they don’t speak too highly of the Nevrakis line, they don’t seem like they would have much interest in bringing her onboard.” 

“Alright, let’s get her involved.” Drake ran a hand through his hair, still not fully convinced, but knowing he was outnumbered. 

“Great. Liam, you and Drake should work with Olivia to get it set up. I’ll talk to Mara and see when I will be meeting with them next, so that we know our timeline.” Riley turned to Bastien, “Bastien, since Hana is in Shanghai, I guess you’ll be taking her place in this mission.”

“Of course, your majesty. Should we make our way to the boutique so I can assist you in finding something to wear?”

Everyone stared blankly at Bastien, the corners of Riley’s mouth slowly turned upward. “Bastien, did you just make a joke?”

“Yes your majesty, I know you all tend to try to add a little levity to situations such as these.”

“Correction…” Maxwell stood up and positioned himself in front of Bastien, “I add levity. I’m the funny one, not Hana. Know your role.”

“My apologies, Lord Beaumont.” Bastien bowed out of respect, but mostly to hide the grin that started to spread across his face.

As the group continued to chat, there was a knock at the door. Soon after, Eleanor came barrelling into the room. “Mommy, daddy, I’m home!” She ran straight for her parents who knelt down to greet her. 

“Hello princess, we missed you so much.” Liam wrapped Eleanor in a hug. 

As he held his daughter, Riley noticed Thomas entering the room. She stood, giving Drake, Maxwell, and Batien a concerned look. This would be the first time Liam would be face to face with him, knowing who he was. 

Bastien rushed over to him, trying to usher him out of the room before Liam noticed. Just as he reached Thomas, the King stood up and looked directly at Thomas, his eyes going wide at the sight of his brother. He quickly shook his head and put his most stoic expression in place. Everyone exchanged worried glances. Riley turned to Liam and linked her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure him that he wasn’t alone. 

“Your majesties, Eleanor did wonderfully today. I was very impressed with how much she learned today.” Thomas bowed as he addressed the King and Queen. 

Liam gripped Riley’s hand tightly, as if he were falling from a building and she was the ledge preventing him from plummeting to his death. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t manage to get any words out. It didn’t matter, even if he could find his voice, he had no idea what he would say. 

“Thank you Thomas, that will be all for today.” Riley jumped in to break the silence. 

Thomas bowed and exited the room. Bastien gave the group a sad smile before bowing and following him out of the room. 

“Hey Eleanor, weren’t you telling me about a new dress you were excited about? Want to do a fashion show for Uncle Max?” Maxwell held his hand out to Eleanor, knowing that he needed to give Liam a moment. 

“Fashion show! Fashion show!” Eleanor grabbed Maxwell by the hand and pulled him down the hall. He looked back and nodded at his friends. Riley mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to him as he rounded the corner. 

“Liam?” Riley turned to face Liam, placing a hand on his cheek. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him, burying his face in her hair. “I know Liam. It’s ok, we’ll get through this.” She peered over his shoulder, giving Drake a sad look. 

Drake approached the pair and patted Liam on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth, you handled it better than I would have.”

Liam pulled himself from Riley’s arms, and scrubbed his hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh. “Thank you both. That was...difficult.” 

“Should we talk to Bastien about having him reassigned?” Riley looked up at her husband.

Liam shook his head. “No, the timing will make it too obvious, they will know you told me. I won’t put you in danger like that.” His face had a slight look of panic. 

Riley was reminded of the conversation they had much earlier that morning, and Liam expressing his fear of losing her. She knew she had to do something to bring him back from that place. She gently placed one hand on his cheek and drew his face down to hers. As their foreheads met, she whispered “I’m right here. Always.” Before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“All we can do right now is get to work so that we can put all this behind us. We’ll deal with Thomas, and everyone else, after that.” The sound of Drake’s voice brought Riley and Liam out of the moment. 

Liam cleared his throat before turning to address his friend. “Right. Olivia will be here in a couple of days for the council meeting. We will speak with her then.”

Drake nodded. “I’ll go grab Maxwell and we’ll get out of your hair.” He approached Liam and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll reach out if you need me?”

“I should be asking you that question.” Liam arched an eyebrow in response. “One of us is significantly more forthcoming with our emotions than the other.” 

“Touché.” Drake laughed as he clapped Liam on the shoulder. 

Maxwell and Drake said their goodbyes, and headed out leaving the royal family to themselves. They had a big fight ahead of them, but in this moment, Riley and Liam just wanted to be a family. Not a King and Queen with the heir, not warriors preparing for battle, a husband and wife spending time with their daughter. 

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[maydaymadier]

Time

[Disclaimer: I’m currently slightly more than halfway through the c2 finale and I’m going to try and avoid spoilers since well, there’s still like 3hrs of content to get spoiled on.  Will likely crosspost to my ao3]

“Time, it takes time, not days or weeks or years.  Time.”

Caleb Widogast was right, though to be precise it takes 100 consecutive days of inscribing a teleportation circle in the same place to make it permanent.  Nicodranas was the first teleportation circle Essek Thelyss finished.  100 days of pounding sun and coastal heat felt fitting to start his time.  He had his trepidations about better acquainting himself with Yussa, less so with Ms. Lavorre.  The Nein asked why he needed to make a teleportation circle in Nicodranas, they already had access to Tidepeak Tower’s.  ‘Yes, however, we will not have to give anyone advance notice to use our own.’  

Jester made something of a habit of bringing him a new parasol or sunhat each time she visited, even brought him tinted glasses she found once.  If he knew she was coming he’d make sure to wear one of them.  

Each time he ran out of chalk he’d wrap himself in illusion and teleport himself to Zadash.  Meanwhile, the stores in his towers grew dust-laden, his absence from the Dynasty more suspicious, and he bought his chalk from Enchanter Sol.  The Mighty Nein were a family, regardless of any distance, and he had the means to make distance mean nothing.  So Essek Thelyss carried on.  And on the hundredth day, he stepped into a circle in Nicodranas and stepped out in the Blooming Grove.

He was invited in for tea, as expected, and accepted as was polite.  The next day he found the spot behind the temple where the grass had been flattened by the circle delivering him and started his next hundred days.  He ‘compensated’ for his intrusion with his floating meditative guard each night.  Caduceus seemed to pick up on what he was doing faster than Jester had, by a thin margin.  The remaining Clay children would poke their noses in once and a while, curious about their drow visitor they’d only met briefly before but they remembered him helping garden after Ikithon set the temple ablaze.  They would offer him a plate at meals, he insisted on using his own rations in a strange dance of hospitality and being a polite guest.  

At one point, after finishing the day’s circle he considered venturing through the Savalirwood to Glory Run Road, find Mollymauk’s grave.  But it felt disrespectful to Kingsley somehow in a way he couldn’t articulate.  If he were to be more dramatic it felt like an invasion of privacy to the rest of the Nein as a whole, intruding on a moment on a place where they were unknowing adversaries.  So he kept inscribing circles in the grass and sometimes he found fresh chalk in his component pouch.  On occasion, Caduceus found saplings and cuttings of Xorhasian plants on his windowsill.

On the hundredth day he stepped into the circle in the Blooming Grove and came out under Caduceus’s tree in the Xorhaus.  He was far more careful with this one.  The Xorhaus was sparsely used, bordering on abandoned at this point, more than ready for the Nein to inhabit it once again.  Beauregard, oft accompanied by Yasha, used it the most for when they visited Rosohna on Cobalt Soul business.  The Bright Queen had been more than amenable to working with the Soul once she knew they were dismantling the organization that had stolen the beacons.  

Though it took three days before Beau realized he was working on making a circle on the roof, pruning away his extra time by trying to tame the garden, clad in his rose-patterned gardening gloves, what with his lackluster previous experience.  She offered to go bring him chalk from his towers, anything else he might need that he’d left behind when he was posted in Eiselcross.  He accepted the offer, to eschew suspicion, asking for some simple components that filled any wizard’s pouch.  Sooner than later, soon enough Beau couldn’t knock the truth out of him (not that she needed to do that or would, he was growing increasingly susceptible to disappointed stares from his friends) he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out in Rexxentrum.

His skin crawled and felt like it would slough off with each passing day.  He wasn’t so bold at this point to attempt and make a circle on Soltryce’s grounds but he did take pleasure in chipping away the next hundred days in the courtyard of Trent Ikithon’s now abandoned tower.  It was a joy, absolutely cathartic tearing apart what little remained hidden away of the bastard’s stores.  The most valuable and precious artifacts and components were hidden in ways only an archmage would even know about or know how to unlock.  Malicious clumsiness might have gotten him to break an important, now inert, magical tool or two as he rummaged through the tower for chalk.  

Though one day, he noticed an owl perched in a tree, watch him for an hour, disappear for a few minutes, reappear, so on and so forth for the whole day.  He had a good idea who the owl was but she never watched him again after that.  If she wanted to know what he was doing here, fine.  It wasn’t like either could rat out the other without drawing unwanted attention to them both.  So on the hundredth day, what little remained of Trent Ikithon’s personal study even more thoroughly destroyed, he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out.

Essek chipped away at the for now final circle under the watchful light of Pelor.  Passively, the part of him that absorbed every ounce of knowledge, regardless if he cared or not, wondered what the connection may be between whatever the Luxon is and the Dawnfather.  Just a fun little thought experiment to occupy him while he worked through the next hundred days.

By the end of Brussendar, with Highsummer fast approaching, he’d decided that he ought to have brought at least one of Jester’s hats.  Though more importantly he’d decided that the thought was silly and any connection between the two deities must be entirely aesthetic.  Nothing he didn’t already know but what else can a wizard do but overthink?

It wasn’t the same level of festivities he’d heard about with Harvest’s Close but Highsummer seemed to be the close second in Blumenthal.  He sat, disguised in the shade of an oak probably as old as he was and simply watched from afar.  Somewhere in the crowd, he saw a flash of copper.  Tried not to think to much of it.  Red hair seemed slightly more common in this corner of the empire.  He caught the sweeping arc of a long, striped scarf being tossed over a shoulder.  A leather coat dusting at the ground (though he had looked so good in purple).

Caleb Widogast stepped out of the crowd and sat under the oak with him, “I suppose a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.” “I suppose I have,” Essek stared at his feet. Caleb offered him some sort of sweet roll wrapped in paper, “I was not talking about you.” He ignored the comment, “How long has it been?  Since we last spoke.” “Four hundred and eighty-six days.  About a year and a half to be informal,” he just set down the roll next to his hand when he didn’t move to take it. “I keep thinking one day it will have been enough time.” “Looking for the specific number will drive you mad.  Are you just going to keep making circles across Wildemount until you feel that you’ve atoned?” Essek took the roll but only held it,  “I know that I cannot make up for everything.  What are you doing here, anyways?” “I have been trying to convince myself to visit.  Maybe try to pay my respects if I can stomach it.  The others had already told me what you were doing, but Astrid told me where you were going.  Figured now was good a time as any,” his expression darkened, the reality beyond the afterglow of a hard-won victory whispering into both their ears. “I-,” Essek started. “Did you know I was from here before you picked it or did you just want to taunt Rexxentrum by hiding in their breadbasket for a while?” Caleb stared him down. “I knew.” “Alright then.” “I hope I have not intruded in some way by coming here.” “I suppose we were both curious about the echo.  It’s right up your alley, prodigious dunamancer and whatnot,” Caleb glanced back up at the revelers before turning his attention back to him “I would not discount your own skill, you’ve picked up dunamancy quite quickly and with a level of skill I have rarely seen.”  Maybe they can just talk about magic. “Danke.” There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.

“When do you think-?” Essek tried asking. “I don’t.  I will not pretend to know when enough time will have passed for the past not to hurt us anymore, Essek.  And counting it in teleportation circles will not make it go any faster,” he said, though with the crushing sadness to his eyes of a man who wished he were wrong. “I am trying to make it easier for us to see each other,” he said with easy authority. “It is much easier to see each other when we don’t run off to the four corners,” Caleb added on with a tired chuckle. “What are you implying?”  Something caught between excitement and unease hit him. “I can stay.  Help you finish the circle here, we can leave, make another.  As many circles as we want.  We can have the continent at our fingertips.  Maybe even go back to what remains of Aeor in Eiselcross.  Devexian couldn’t have been the only mechanical inhabitant.  For all we know there is a city of automatons underneath the ice now,” Caleb got more excited and dreamy as he went on, the unbridled excitement of a mage faced with knowledge. “That sounds...nice...,” Essek trailed off, trying to sound as neutral as he could manage. “Do you want that, Essek?”

It felt like the word was tearing its way out of him, “Yes.”

[wylanvnneck]

Hi hi! Congratulations! Can I ask for a Jurdan shot with the prompt in miscellaneous, *kiss post break up*? Thank you 💖

Miscellaneous Prompt #4:  *A kiss post break-up that neither was expecting but both needed* (action prompt)

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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Jude relished the burning sensation in her thighs as she completed her third round of the massive fountain at the center of the park. The early morning air was cool and the sunshine was just starting to heat up the place, creating the perfect setting for her usual morning jog. This particular spot was practically deserted, the only sound to be heard was the chirping of the birds and the light rustle of the trees and this type of peace was precisely what she needed before yet another tough day at work where she’d have to deal with her asshole colleagues. Well, just the one colleague. Cardan Effin’ Greenbriar.

The thought of his smug face and ludicrous cheekbones was enough to make her quicken her pace, a bead of sweat making its way down the side of her flushed face. Thoughts of his betrayal flood her mind and she wonders how she could ever have thought of him as roguishly charming. The man was a scoundrel, a blackguard. He was also not worth thinking about. She pushes the image of his floppy black locks and dark eyes away from her mind and runs even faster, leaving all her problems behind. This moment is cathartic, it was escaping all her turmoil, it was freedom and she relishes it.

Suddenly, she picks up on the sound of a twig snapping nearby. Out of the corner of her eye she spots a figure moving behind her, walking slowly and close to the trees lining the pathway, as if they didn’t wish to be seen. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and her mind whirs, defensive martial art positions running through her head. From a young age her father had instilled in her the dangers of being out alone in deserted spots and the importance of always watching her back and she’s now on high alert as the figure behind her seems to be trying to move even further into the trees, still only a few feet behind her.

Thinking fast, she turns at the next corner and ducks behind a thick tree to the side, crouching her body behind it. The wood is scratchy under her sweaty palms and her heartbeat is racing at a mile a minute, the tension cutting through her body like a sword. Her surroundings seem sharper, more vibrant in her anxiety and soon enough she hears the light footfalls of someone approaching the turn. Seconds later, the figure is almost right in front of her, stopping when he realises that she’s no longer on the path. Finally she manages to get a good look at him and when she does she can’t help but let out a shocked gasp.

“Jude?” Standing right there in front of her with a bemused expression is Cardan Greenbriar, her colleague and ex-fling. She refused to think of him as anything else. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“What am I doing? You’re the one who’s been following me like some perverted creep.” Stretching herself back to her full height she steps away from the tree and onto the path to face him, her eyes narrowing and her blood pounding. How dare he act as if she were the one acting bizarrely.

“I-” The tips of his ears turn red and his hands wring together, “That’s fair I suppose. I was just umm…”

“Yes?” His blundering manner is uncharacteristic and confusing. Usually, he was the most overly confident bastard out there. Cardan Greenbriar was the suave type of guy who always knew exactly what to say and when, a talent that made him extremely useful as Head of Sales for Elfhame Enterprises, the company owned by his father Eldred Greenbriar, where they both worked.

“I simply wanted to talk to you alone for a bit but I figured that you’d avoid me at work and avoid any calls and texts from me too so I thought I’d come meet you at the park on your daily jog instead.” The words come out in a fast-paced stream, nearly unintelligible, his cheeks now red as well.

“Let me get this straight, you wanted to talk to me alone so you decided to stalk me at the park on my morning run and nearly give me a panic attack in the process?” She almost can’t believe her ears.

“When you put it like that it sounds wrong!” He huffs.

“How exactly am I supposed to put it, Cardan, that’s exactly what you did!”

“Alright so I may have lost my nerve and decided to trail you for a bit before approaching you. I realise now that that was a dumb idea.”

She resists the age to facepalm. “You think?”

“Look can’t we just put this all behind us?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh whilst bringing her hands up to lightly massage at her now throbbing temples. “Okay, you said you wanted to talk? About what?”

The entire time that they'd been talking his stare had been trained somewhere near her chin, but now he raises his gaze to directly meet hers. “About us.”

“There is no us.” He’d made certain of that.

He takes a step forward, eyes blazing and she takes a larger step backwards, determined to keep her distance.

“Jude, you have to give me a chance to explain, you owe me that at least.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

There was no possible explanation that he could give for what he’d done. They hadn't always been at loggerheads, her and Cardan. At least, they hadn’t been for some time until the last week. When Jude had first joined the company last year, she’d despised the overly arrogant son of Eldred Greenbriar, thinking of him as the rich, self-entitled jerk that she was forced to work with.

Then a couple months in, he managed to persuade her to go on a date with him, one date and then if she didn’t want to agree to another he’d get the message and move on. So she’d gone, expecting to hate every minute of it, except that she hadn’t. They’d actually gotten along surprisingly well, he’d taken her to a chill little Diner, not the over-the-top fancy restaurant that she thought he’d pick and he’d opened the car door for her like a gentleman. They had chatted for hours about their multitude of shared interests and drank Carlton beer and drunkenly waltzed together along the floor and it was perfect and wonderful and crazy.

After that they became an item, they would share heated interludes by the otherwise deserted office printing machine in true cliché Office Romance fashion and they’d even kissed under the mistletoe at the office Christmas party and things were going great, until one day, Jude overheard a conversation between him and his brother, Balekin Greenbriar, Eldred’s right hand man and future heir of the company.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, she was only coming into Balekin’s office to hand over a file when she’d recognised Cardan’s voice saying her name. She would never forget the words that she had heard him say. ‘She’s a distraction...only a pointless fling....thought it would be fun to get under her skin....you know I like a challenge’.

The memory of those words alone are enough to bring back the hurt that had ripped through her when she had stood motionless on the other side of Balekin’s door, desperate to get away but trapped by her own denial and desire for self destruction.

Now she watches as he agitatedly ruffles his unruly black locks in front of her. “I swear to you, what you heard me say to Balekin, I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“Then why would you say it?” She’s torn between turning tail and leaving him there, turning her back on him for good or staying and waiting for his explanation, waiting to hear his reasons, why he’d done this to her, to them.

“You don’t know my brother, Jude.” His voice, his expression, his everything is bleak and open and vulnerable, begging for understanding. “He takes pleasure in destroying the things I love. It’s a game to him, one he’s been playing all my life, taking away what stops me from being miserable, and I couldn’t let him do that with you.

“Not with you,” he repeats, stronger. “You’re too important. So I knew I had to convince him that you meant nothing to me.”

Everything about his demeanour suggests sincerity and it definitely seems like he’s telling the truth and she wants to believe him, to trust him, she really does.

But she’s been hurt before and she doesn’t think she could chance being so again.

“I can’t trust you.”

“Yes, you can. You can choose to.” He steps forward now, close, so close, unrelenting.

She rises to the occasion and raises her face to meet his, a scant inch between them. “No, I can’t. I won’t.”

It’s a standoff now, neither willing to back down. The sun has made it’s way much higher in the sky and the yellow sunlight is beating down on them, the heat adding to the fire that has ignited between them.

“Stop being so stubborn, dammit,” he bites out, frustrated.

“Make me,” she sneers.

She doesn’t know how it happened, nor how she didn’t see it coming, but in the very next second Cardan’s lips are on hers, moving furiously and his arms are on her waist, holding her against him in an almost punishing grip.

It appears that he hadn’t quite seen it coming either because he pulls away from her before she has time to process more than a tingle running up her arms, his dark eyes wide and pupils dilated. They’re both breathing fast now, so close that they share breaths. They stare for a moment.

Then, with lightning speed she throws caution to the winds and wraps her arm around his neck, crashing her lips to his once more and this time she registers that his lips are soft under hers and he tastes like hot chocolate and breath mint and it feels glorious. It’s only been a little more than a week since they’d last kissed, but it felt like an eternity.

Minutes, hours, or days later they break apart, gasping for air and clutching at each other, neither one willing to relinquish their grip. Cardan rests his forehead on hers and looks at her with a startling amount of adoration and she knows right then and there that, scary as the thought is, she would forgive him anything, including this.

“Give me another chance?” He asks, pleading.

“Yes,” she breathes before reaching up to lose herself in kisses once more.

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I’m not entirely happy with this one tbh, but anyways here you go @franktastic-fangirl, thank you for sending in the prompt and for the congrats!🌻

Tagging my taglist (although I’m not entirely sure that I want y’all to read this, lol)- @cupcakesandkittens ​, @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln ​, @thewickedkings ​ and @kittkatandbooboo ​💕

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my TFOTA taglist :)