#I managed to get three on the table and boom gone

[its-a-beautful-day]

Wednesday - Antonio the Anteater

Hmmm these ants are suspiciouly cranberry flavored 🤔🐜

[sansaorgana]

— BLESSED (II)

PART ONE || PART THREE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You find out your husband's true identity when Eregion is under attack. It is hard to tell which one is worse – the betrayal that you feel or witnessing how influenced by his evil your daughter already is.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I said there would be a second part, so here it is. But as usual, I could not stop writing and... there will be a third part, too! 🤣 Basically, in this part, Sauron is walking inside the rooms rapidly nearly all the time, which is something I realised later while re-reading the fic but I couldn't edit it since it made sense for the plot (and he was doing that a lot in canon, too).

WARNINGS — Reader's father is dead (he was human, so she outlived him), manipulating, gaslighting, lowkey toxic and abusive marriage between the Reader and Annatar Sauron, he gets angry at his daughter once or twice but he is not violent towards her (should not trigger anyone but I wanted to mention it just in case) + he is manipulating his daughter a lot, Celebrimbor has gone mad-mad, Reader being put to sleep against her will, trigger warnings from S02E07 (Sauron murdering the guards etc.)

WORD COUNT — 5,240

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BLESSED (II)

You were sitting inside your chambers in the evening all alone and embroidering for your daughter. Your only company was a slowly burning candle as you focused on the beautiful gemstones that were appearing thanks to your needle. Almárea had always been interested in the craft of smithery and it was no surprise. Her grandfather had been an excellent smith and so was her father. Uncle Celebrimbor perhaps was not related to her but she had been growing up around him. And, recently, her new favourite thing to do was to spend time with him in the forge, learning everything she could about the craft. She was there at the moment, too.

And where Annatar was, you had no idea. Most likely with them or helping to run the city. Ever since Celebrimbor’s health had been getting worse, your husband was helping you with the administration matters around Eregion, for which you were the most grateful. He did not wish you to overwork yourself.

You heard a booming sound from the distance, which startled you slightly. However, you gave it no second thought. But when the sound began to repeat itself, you stood up and approached the window worryingly. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the fire burning in the distance and you spotted a cannonball coming closer and closer to Eregion.

You could see it all in slow-motion how it hit one of the towers of your city. You let out a scream and covered your mouth with a trembling hand. The very foundations of the tower you were in shook and made you hurry for the doors, desperate to find the ones you loved the most.

But before you could reach them, they opened widely and Annatar stood in them. He was oddly calm but oh, of course he was – an emissary of The Valar would not be ever scared and his calmness would bring nothing but peace in the times of trouble.

“We are under attack,” he announced and you grabbed his sleeve to squeeze the fabric and pull on it, holding onto him like a child. “Stay here.”

“But… Almárea… She’s in the forge with Celebrimbor…” You sobbed and yelped at the sound of another cannonball hitting Eregion.

“Do not be afraid,” Annatar put his arm around you and walked you back to your chair where he was trying to sit you down but you refused.

“Almárea and uncle Celebrimbor… I must go for them…”

“I shall go,” Annatar assured you and finally managed to sit you down by the table. “My love, stay here.”

“Should we not evacuate?” You asked, looking up at him with glistening eyes. Whatever he would say, you would listen, do and follow. You trusted him with your whole life.

“When the right time comes. Until then, stay here, so I do not lose you in the crowd,” Annatar instructed and left your chambers.

You wiped your tears with a shaky hand and felt the ground under your feet shaking once more. A while after his departure, you realised that his request was deeply concerning. Staying inside this tower could mean death to you, after all. There was no guarantee that the next cannonball would not hit your tower.

You moved up once more and ran to the doors but they were locked, which made you furrow your brows. You kept pulling the handle but without any success. Even when you used all of your force, they did not move an inch.

The sounds of cannonballs and people screaming in terror were reaching your ears from afar as your anxiety grew. How could your husband ask you to stay inside in a moment like this – especially with your daughter being far away from you? Your heart could not rest until you were sure that Almárea was safe.

You hurried to the balcony and looked up at the tower next to yours. The fire inside the forge was still on, you noticed. But you kept waiting and waiting for your husband’s return and there was nobody coming.

You were circling around the room nervously, trying to think of a way out. Almárea was all you could think of – your sweet daughter, your purpose in life, your little blessing. You had to be with her, you had to protect her.

And as you nearly broke down in tears of helplessness, you felt another cannonball hitting nearby. The force of that hit was so strong that you fell over, feeling the floor underneath you tilting slightly. When you dared to open your eyes, fearing what you would witness, you realised that half of the tower you were locked inside was in ruins now. Including the wall in front of you, which allowed you to run out without using the locked doors.

You did not think of anything else, leaving all your properties behind as you gathered your skirts and managed to get to the corridor, coughing heavily from all the dust.

The staircase was wobbly and you knew each step could cause you to fall down but you were too determined to overthink that. Step by step, as fast as you could, you ran downstairs and hurried across the courtyard, bumping into other screaming and terrified people, until you reached the doors to Celebrimbor’s forge.

What you witnessed, shocked you dearly. Because despite the siege around you, you spotted your uncle and daughter working on some design cheerfully.

“Almárea!” You called out for her, making them both turn around with widened eyes. “Uncle! What are you doing?!” You hurried to their side and put your arms around your daughter protectively. “Can’t you see and hear what is happening outside?! We must leave, this very moment!”

“What are you talking about, child?” Celebrimbor chuckled at you as if you were the crazy one. His eyes were full of joy but you also spotted a haze in them, a deep fog as if he had lost his mind. Your heart ached for him because his state had been worsening for weeks now.

“Uncle… Please, we must go,” you reached out to hold his wrists but he winced and pushed you away.

“No! I must not stop my work. What are you talking about, (Y/N)? Look at the state of you, you look like a slattern,” he pointed out and his words hurt you deeply. Of course you looked like a slattern. There was a siege happening and you crawled yourself out of the tower’s ruins to get here. “Almárea, your mother must be feverish,” he addressed your daughter.

“Almárea, my darling, we have to go and we have to take uncle with us,” you tried to explain it to her in the simplest way but she took a step back from you as she shook her head and the bow in her head bounced slightly.

“No. Daddy asked me to stay here and watch over uncle Celebrimbor,” she explained.

“Almárea, that is very noble but we are under attack,” you were trying to remain calm despite the noises reaching your ears from the outside. You knew that you had no time to argue. “Whatever your daddy asked you to do, it has no significance now.”

“But he has been here only recently,” she answered and you opened your mouth slightly, surprised. “He told me to keep up my work,” she added, proudly. “Uncle, go back to your craft. Mummy is sick indeed,” she addressed Celebrimbor and he nodded at her before giving you a dirty look and going back to his designs of the Rings.

“Almárea, it is not safe, we must leave. What are you doing to him?” You asked her, unsurely. You were scared to hear the answer as you crouched down to be on her level.

Your sweet, little daughter. Your blessing. Why was there so much malice in her eyes now?

The doors of the forge opened rapidly and you stood up at the sight of Annatar rushing inside. At first, you did not recognise him because his kind and loving face was twisted in anger as his soft eyes reminded you of nothing but black, empty abysses.

“What are you doing here?!” He barked at you. “I saw the cannonball hitting our tower, I rushed there and it was empty. Do you have any idea how worried I was?!” He raised his voice at you but you could not hear any concern in it – only fury.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and put your hands on Almárea’s shoulders.

“It is you who should explain yourself to me,” you tried to sound harshly but it was coming to you with great difficulty. After all, it was your husband, whom you loved and respected greatly. “Why is Almárea here and what is she doing to my uncle? You promised me you would come for them and we would evacuate together,” you pointed out.

“Not until the Rings are finished,” Annatar answered. “Almárea, are you keeping up the good work?” He addressed her softly.

“Yes, daddy,” she nodded her head with a grin and Annatar smiled before approaching Celebrimbor.

“How fares your progress?” He asked him.

“It would be better if your wife was not distracting me. She is feverish, you should take her back to your chambers and put her to bed. Call for a medic if you must,” Celebrimbor mumbled out.

“Is everyone going insane here?! We are under attack!” You exclaimed out of desperation.

“Almárea,” was all your husband said before she nodded and tilted her head

Suddenly, you felt dizzy. You let go of her arms and stumbled, grabbing the edge of Celebrimbor’s desk. You laid your free hand on your forehead and felt how hot the skin was.

“Oh, I… I… I do not feel well,” you whispered.

Annatar hurried to your side and slowly wrapped his arms around yours to help you move away.

“My gentle darling, you have a fever. You must have had a nightmare,” he told you sweetly. “I told you to stay in bed.”

“You… You did?” You asked but your mind was in a haze.

“Please, lay down,” Annatar helped you to get comfortable on a chaise longue in Celebrimbor’s study. He caressed your forehead and you could hear him walk away since your vision was too blurry to see anything. “Almárea, your mummy needs to rest,” you heard him whisper before your eyelids got too heavy to keep them open and you drifted off to the land of dreams.

You had no idea for how long you had been sleeping. Could be hours and could be days. When you opened your eyes again, you realised with terror that the forge was a mere shadow of its own glory. It was in ruins now and everything was dull, grey and full of dust. You stood up rapidly with your heart pounding inside your chest from the anxiety – Almárea and her safety were all you could think of.

And there she was, sitting boredly on top of Celebrimbor’s desk. They both had clothes and faces dirty from the ashes but he kept working cheerfully as your daughter was looking down at him and swinging her legs.

“Oh, mummy,” she smiled at the sight of you. “I am glad you woke up. I am so bored here and daddy keeps saying I must go on until uncle’s work is finished,” she sighed and jumped down onto the floor.

“What… What are you doing? What are you doing exactly?” You asked her, carefully. Your head was still heavy from the sleep induced upon you and your memories of what had happened were foggy.

“Daddy says uncle Celebrimbor must finish the Rings for men but he would be scared of what is going on outside, so while daddy helps to run Eregion, I am here, making sure uncle Celebrimbor has no idea about anything,” she revealed and you gasped.

At that moment, the doors opened and Annatar walked inside. His skin and robes were not dirty at all as if he was above the siege. For the first time in your life, you were scared at the sight of him as you swallowed thickly, so deeply confused.

“The Rings. Are they finished?” He asked and closed the doors behind him. Then, he spotted you being awake and turned around slowly with a puzzled expression. “Almárea, why is your mother awake?”

“I was bored, daddy,” Almárea whined and you watched Annatar’s face muscles twitching as he clenched his jaw and gave your daughter a look so scolding that she approached you to seek safety.

“She is only a child, what do you expect?” You asked him. “You have burdened her with a task that is too heavy for her. It would be too heavy for anyone. The measures you are taking to finish the creation are unholy,” you took a deep breath in and moved a little closer to your uncle with Almárea still clinging to you. You were trying to shield poor Celebrimbor from your husband. “Make it stop. Let us flee.”

Celebrimbor looked up at you, his eyes so full of fog and mist that it made you shed a tear of compassion as he smiled adoringly at you with nothing but pure joy. He had completely lost his mind now.

“No emissary of The Valar would do this,” you turned your face around to lay your eyes on your husband again as more tears streamed down your cheeks. He looked both – hurt to be accused and angry to be caught at the same time. The most confusing reaction you could expect. “My husband would not do this,” you added, nearly inaudibly.

At that, he snorted. And you only sobbed some more.

“Free my uncle’s mind, I beg of you,” you shook your head.

“He is not under my control,” Annatar smirked and looked down to meet your daughter’s gaze. He nodded and she squeezed her eyes tightly as she focused on something. When her eyes opened again, you looked back at your uncle but he remained working. “Her powers are too strong. He might be forever broken now,” Annatar pointed out with a glimpse of… pride. “Come to me, my child,” he opened his arms and Almárea tried to move but you tightened your grip around her.

“No. You will not go near that man ever again,” you said to her, harshly. Each word caused a pain, like a knife cutting your heart into pieces.

You loved Annatar but you had to protect your daughter from him because the man in front of you was… Was simply not the man you had married. Perhaps the burden of the Valar was too heavy for him. The task they had given to him had driven him and your uncle to madness.

Perhaps it was all your fault – by choosing to stay with you as your husband, he had to choose this form and stay in it, losing some of his godly powers. And his new flesh was simply too weak to handle all the power he had been blessed with by the gods.

His empty eyes glanced at you with so much hatred and fury that you felt smaller than a mouse at the moment.

“I am her father,” he reminded you, coldly. “Almárea, come here,” he ordered.

And you were simply too weak to fight it. Your limbs rebelled against your will as you felt your daughter leaving your grasp and running up to her father. You could only watch as your whole life was crumbling down just like Eregion around it.

“You are her father. But you are not my husband,” you said. “Who are you… truly?”

“I am the one keeping the storm at bay,” he answered, putting his hands on Almárea’s shoulders as she kept looking up at him with admiration. “Balancing the very sun above your head. All to heal Middle-earth and give your weak and pathetic uncle one chance to prove his worth. I want the Nine!” He yelled, making you flinch.

Celebrimbor did not, however. He only looked up at the mention of his name and smiled kindly at the monster you had to call your husband.

“I am working, my friend,” he assured him before going back to work.

You moved slightly to cover him from Annatar’s stare. But you were not sure if Annatar was truly his name.

To heal Middle-earth. You knew that story. You knew who had been the man with such a dream. Annatar had been mentioning it before but never in this way. But now it all made sense. It all made a terrible sense and you had been nothing but a blind fool. It should had alarmed you the very first time Annatar had used this phrase. But the tone of his voice had been sweet then; concerned. Now, he had revealed his true intentions.

“You are He,” you realised out loud with a trembling voice. In fact, your whole body was trembling. The waves of aftershocks coming over your body after finding out such a dreadful thing about the person with whom you had shared your chambers, your bed, your body, your heart and your soul… Your bloodline. “You are Sauron,” the name rolled off of your tongue like something filthy and dirty – the most disgusting. The Abhorred.

All those I love yous you had whispered to him, all those nights you had spent on whimpering his name lost in pleasure, all those breakfasts you had served him, all those hours spent on brushing his hair with your fingers and peppering his face with tiny kisses. All this time you had been doing nothing but pampering the monster. And all this time you had been living in an illusion – not much better than the one your uncle was living in at the moment.

“I have many names,” Annatar smirked at your question as if it was bringing him satisfaction that his silly and naive wife had finally realised the dreadful truth.

“But you are my daddy,” Almárea tugged on his robe, waiting for confirmation.

“For all eternity, my darling one,” he caressed her hair lovingly and an empty hole in your chest grew and grew as it began to sink into your heart.

You had married Annatar but you had a child with Sauron.

You were sitting on the floor, with your back pressed to the wall and your knees brought all the way up to be able to rest your head on them. You had no chains but you did not have to. Annatar – or rather Sauron – knew very well that you would not leave Celebrimbor’s forge as long as Almárea was inside.

So, you just kept sitting there and staring at her as she was standing above your uncle and watching carefully as he crafted the Rings. She was studying him and you smiled sadly at that because under different circumstances it would be lovely to watch her learning from Celebrimbor.

His mind was far too gone to know anything happening around him. The only thing he could focus on was forging the Rings as you kept overthinking your whole marriage.

All those little things you had been ignoring about Annatar until now – all those excuses you had been making up for him. Gods, you were such a fool. And you loved your daughter more than anything but you could not help a feeling that your womb had borne a seed of Middle-earth’s demise.

Why had Annatar chosen you? Now it all made sense – you were the most useful in his schemes. You were close to the man he had wanted wrapped around his finger. And you were half-human, which could push Celebrimbor into agreeing to craft such powerful items even for the kin considered to be weak and unworthy by many Elves.

You sobbed silently. Was it possible that this was the only kind of love you could ever count on? This twisted illusion, this mockery? You had been nothing but kind and gentle to him, giving him everything you had and more. And all you had ever wanted in return was to be loved back. To have a family.

“You are done now! Daddy will be so proud, uncle!” Almárea clapped her hands and it made you look up. She kissed Celebrimbor’s cheek and he smiled at her, watching her put the rings inside a pouch.

“Almárea,” you called out for her and she laid her eyes on you. “Give them to me,” you ordered.

“But daddy–” She started, unsurely.

“I just want to see,” you extended your hand and she walked up to you, hesitantly. She handed you the pouch and you grabbed it from her. “Mummy!” She whined.

“Undo what you have done to uncle Celebrimbor’s mind. Right now,” your voice was harsh but not too much because she was still your daughter and you could never hurt or abandon her even if the darkness was the path she would descend into.

She was still a child, though. And she was half you – there was the same amount of light inside of her as of darkness.

“I can only try,” Almárea told you and you nodded at her, encouragingly. 

You held her hands to help her and she squeezed them, closing her eyes and tilting her head as she furrowed her brows, causing a small wrinkle to appear on her smooth forehead.

When she was done, you knew that it had thankfully worked. Because Celebrimbor yelped out of fear as you kissed the top of your daughter’s head and ran up to him immediately.

“Uncle… Uncle, calm down, please, shh, you are alright now,” you put your hands on his arms and his scared eyes found yours with relief.

“Oh, my darling (Y/N), I have been in such a haze… He… He made me…” Celebrimbor tried to find the right words.

“I know, I am so sorry…” You whispered, your voice full of pain and regret.

“No. It is me who is sorry, my sweet child. I have given you to him so easily, so freely,” he caressed your face with his trembling hands.

“And I am glad that you did,” you sobbed and he furrowed his brows. “And I cannot ever say that I regret it for he has given me my daughter,” you confessed.

“He might never get The Nine,” Celebrimbor changed the subject and you nodded, agreeing with him as you sniffed your tears back. You handed him the pouch with the Rings and glanced upon the doors.

“Go,” you pressed your forehead to his. “Take them away from him,” you whispered. “As far away as you can. Quick, we do not have much time. Use the opportunity that he still thinks you are under Almárea’s control.”

Your uncle nodded at you sadly. He kissed your forehead and squeezed the pouch inside his hand before looking at your daughter with a sigh. There was no hatred in his eyes but a glimpse of sadness, disappointment and fear mixed altogether. 

You watched him leave and Almárea reached her hand out after him but you stopped her.

“Daddy will get angry,” she looked up at you, surprised to witness what you had just done.

“Believe me, it is for the better,” you told her and held her hand. “We must leave now, too.”

“No,” she stood still and shook her head. “Not without daddy.”

“Almárea, we must go. We must leave, far away from here. We must go to your grandmother in Mithlond,” you tried to lure her in by the mention of your mother.

But she had seen her once in her life and the meeting had been brief. They shared no bond, therefore Almárea was not easily convinced.

“Not without daddy,�� she repeated.

“Almárea, I beg of you…” Your eyes filled with tears again. You knew Sauron would be back any moment to check on Celebrimbor’s progress and you did not want to be there when he would see that your uncle was gone with The Rings.

But what you did not want even more was to abandon your daughter.

So, you stayed with her and waited. You did not even know what you were waiting for – was it your death? Would he get rid of you now when you were not useful to him anymore and after you had betrayed him in such a way; convincing your daughter to release Celebrimbor from her control and letting him flee?

You would find out very soon because the doors of the forge opened and there he was, walking confidently inside with a smirk upon his face.

“Daddy, I am so sorry!” Almárea cried out immediately and ran up to him while you looked away, wincing from the ache you felt in your heart. Your eyes filled tears at her words. You only hoped he would not lash out at her. “I trusted mummy and she tricked me! She gave The Rings back to uncle Celebrimbor and let him go!” Almárea explained and cried.

Long silence occurred and even though you were not looking in their direction, you could feel the atmosphere changing in an instant. Thickening.

“Mummy is a twisted, treacherous little witch, so it seems,” Sauron drawled out and you turned your head around to lay your angry eyes upon him with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“How dare you!” You snapped. Who was he to call you twisted or treacherous? “I swore no loyalty to you, shadow of Morgoth!”

“Yes, you have!” He yelled at you and Almárea flinched, taking a step back. He walked past her to approach you angrily but you could not move away because there was a wall behind you. “You bound yourself to me on the day of our wedding!” Sauron pushed you, causing your back to hit the wall. “Where is he?! Where are The Rings?!”

“Daddy, we do not know!” Almárea ran up to you two and tugged on his robe. You avoided her gaze because you did not want her to see the fear and pain in your eyes. It would only scare her more. “Daddy, it is not mummy’s fault that she is weak. You told me that yourself!”

Sauron’s face was so close to yours that your noses nearly brushed against each other. His breath was heavy and hot, full of anger. You remained cold and still with tears streaming down your cheeks. And even though you did not recognise your husband and his eyes were dark and empty now, you dared to reach out to his cheeks gently. You cupped his face delicately, which caused his brows to furrow and his eyes to widen slightly out of surprise.

“Annatar,” you whispered softly. “Annatar, my love, come back to me. You bound yourself to me, too, dark spirit. Obey me. Release me,” you pleaded, desperately, feeling as if you were losing your sanity.

There was pure confusion on Sauron’s face at that moment. He took a step back, away from you and away from your hands but as they were falling down, you tried to extend them further and reach him once more.

“You are pathetic,” he pointed out, coldly. “I shall find those Rings sooner or later. The only thing you did was to slow me down but you will never stop me.”

“Let it be then… Whatever I can do, I shall,” you whispered.

He opened his mouth to say something but you were interrupted by a group of people walking inside the forge. It was Celebrimbor with a few guards. For one, foolish moment, you sighed with relief, expecting rescue.

He nodded at you softly to let you know that The Rings were safe and far away from your husband. You reached your hands out to grab Almárea and pull her closer to you. She let you and wrapped her arms around you to comfort you after her father’s anger.

“Where are The Rings?!” Sauron abandoned your side to walk down the stairs from Celebrimbor’s study into the ruins of the forge.

“Far from your reach by now,” your uncle answered.

“Then you are going to bring them to me and place them in my hand,” Sauron said, trying to remain calm. 

“Your hand will never touch another Ring again,” Celebrimbor assured him.

You moved closer to the railing with Almárea still clinging to you, so you both could see better whatever was happening downstairs.

The Commander of the City Guard ordered the rest to arrest your husband. Almárea sobbed and hid her face in the fabric of your gown as you caressed her back, soothingly.

You watched the soldiers stand in a circle around Sauron and point their swords at him. You put your hand on the back of your daughter’s head, making sure to press her face a bit deeper into your gown to avoid her seeing any glimpse of the scene underneath you by accident.

“By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you, Sauron, are hereby–” the Commander began before freezing.

In fact, they all froze. They all froze and trembled, whimpering slightly because they had absolutely no idea what was happening to them.

“You think it was only you and your weak fosterling who put themselves in my power?” Sauron asked with contempt as he addressed your uncle.

He raised his hands slightly and all the soldiers surrounding him killed one another instead of him. You watched in terror as their blades cut through their bodies and then they fell down, lifeless, onto the ground.

Almárea sobbed and yelped, managing to get out of your grasp due to your moment of weakness.

“Daddy!” She cried out for him. She was scared that the sound she had heard was of their blades cutting through him.

But it was not. And you watched her run down the stairs and ignore the lifeless bodies, as if they meant nothing to her, only to cling to Sauron’s waist. He wrapped one of his hands around her to pull her closer as he raised an eyebrow at Celebrimbor in a challenging manner.

The Commander tried to approach your husband carefully, extending his sword.

“Do not hurt the child,” your uncle ordered but there was no need.

Sauron did what you had done a while earlier and pressed Almárea’s face deeper into his robe as she was clinging to him. And when there was a guarantee she could not see anything, he twisted the wrist of his free hand and the Commander froze before turning the blade around and killing himself with it.

Only when his body hit the floor, Sauron let go of your daughter and allowed her to move. She looked up at him as if she was waiting for an order or a task to be given.

“You shall take control over him again and tell me where The Nine are,” your husband said.

“Almárea, no!” You screamed from the top of the stairs. “Almárea, please!”

“Are you sleepy again, my love?” Sauron looked up to ask you with irony.

You chose to be silent. To be put to sleep for gods know how long, to lose control of your own body and to be unaware of your surroundings was not what you wanted to happen once again.

MASTERLIST

[nolita-fairytale]

don’t want to walk alone | carmen ‘carmy' berzatto | chapter three: september

summary: the moment we've all be waiting for: you and carmy get married.

warnings: swearing, eventual smut, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov, she/her pronouns

wc: 7.1k

listen to: the official don't want to walk alone playlist. there is SO much music in this chapter, so per the playlist, it starts with 'it takes two' and ends with 'love story.'

a/n: ok so this chapter was a behemoth to write and i am in fact in love with it. it's taken me days, really weeks, to get what i wanted out of it and i still feel like i could've gone deeper. however, i'm also kind of just happy to have this out in the world and give these two the wedding they wanted me to give them. each moment was curated and thought out, down to the music selection so this chapter is really just a product of me stewing on this idea for quite a bit of time. this is a part of my make my heart surrender universe so check out the masterlist if you haven't read the series! next up? their long weekend at the langham where we really get carmy x reader and moments for just them. please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

part two | masterlist | part four

“It takes two to make a thing go riiiiight.”

You never pictured the night before your wedding like this, you think to yourself, as you listen to Fak sing, to the best of his ability in a somewhat-decent falsetto, along to the 90s hip hop classic. 

Hell, you’re not sure you really ever pictured your wedding, but as you sit, surrounded by the people you love, you can’t see it going any other way than this. You watch as Richie rallies up as many people as he can for shots of Mallort, recounting that infamous morning at Ceres – a story he’s told over and over again, yet still manages to tell as animated and boisterously as the first time you heard it. 

You groan as you watch Richie successfully convince Gary to take a shot with him, Gary’s face twisting into a look of disgust in response to the foul taste of the Chicago liquor, as Sugar reminds him that he should know better by now. 

Carmy gives your knee a squeeze while simultaneously brushing off Richie’s attempt at shoving a shot in his direction. You laugh, a warm feeling filling you to the brim (could be the beer, could be being surrounded by your people), while Sydney jumps right into her best Rob Base impression. 

It just so happens that your continuously put-off ‘let’s shoot for next month’ karaoke plans with a few staff members from The Bear coincided with plans to go out with friends before the wedding, which is how you’ve found yourself here. 

After a lovely dinner at The Bear, your parents went back to the hotel for the night, insisting that you two go and have your fun. And as much as you would’ve loved to have brought your mother-who-has-a-doctorate-in-music-theory to karaoke night, she much preferred a good night’s sleep. 

The crowded bar claps enthusiastically as Fak and Sydney wrap up their song, finishing their truly-made-up-only-for-comedy dance moves. You giggle, exchanging another glance with Carmy, as your friends take their bows, before shuffling off of the stage. 

You hear the loud boom of the emcee’s voice through the microphone as he says:

“And up next we got… Tina!”

“Let’s go, T!” you shout through hands crowded around your mouth, in an effort to increase your volume of sound. 

Carmy cheers, clapping his hands together as Richie enthusiastically chants Tina’s name while Tina makes her way to the stage. 

“This is gonna be good,” Sugar nudges you, from where you are, seated in between the Berzatto siblings. 

You nod your head in agreement before settling in a little closer to Carmy. 

“The queen, herself,” Sydney remarks, gesturing towards the stage as she and Fak both return to your table. Sydney pulls up a chair next to where you and Carmy sit while Fak joins Richie on the other side of it. “And the ONLY act that could follow our exceptional performance.” 

“Well, exactly,” you agree, playfully. 

You exchange a laugh with Syd, while Carmy playfully rolls his eyes at the two of you. 

The crowded bar room goes quiet as soon as Tina reaches the stage, smiling nervously as she grabs the mic. 

“This one goes out to our favorite Jeffrey. And his lady Jeff,” she begins, earning a round of cheers and hollers from the group you’re with. Tina blows a kiss you and Carmy’s way, before nodding at the emcee to begin. 

“I love you guys.”

You hear the beginning notes of the iconic Etta James tune, gasping in anticipation of her song:

“at last my love has come along my lonely days are over and life is like a song.”

You sigh in admiration, a hand over your heart as Tina continues to sing. Her voice is powerful, soulful – perfect for the song, really – as she continues into the second verse. 

“at last the skies above are blue my heart was wrapped up in clover the night I looked at you.”

This time, it’s Carmy who steals a glance your way, his mind taken back to that fateful night at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen, when he spilled his drink on you so many years ago. You’re entranced, enchanted, with Tina’s performance, and he thinks to himself, that maybe this is the best it’s ever going to get: being here with you, getting to love you, on the cusp of promising you ‘forever’ tomorrow. 

Never had he expected that you’d make it this far. You’d always been so much cooler than him – well-liked, talented, funny – in and out of the kitchen, that he had no idea how the hell he was supposed to talk to you without vomiting all over your shoes out of nerves. 

He can remember that night so vividly: standing there in the restroom of the bar he can barely remember the name of, while you stood across from him with the kind of glare on your face he swore could kill him. But you didn’t, and after many attempts to push you away, you asked him to be your friend, deeming it the day that started it all – a friendship that would teeter the line of friendship and something more, one that would bloom into the greatest love he’s ever known. As much as he hates to give Nate fucking Walker any kind of credit, he’ll the be first in line to say he’s glad the jagoff pushed him into you, setting it all in motion. 

You can see that Carmy’s become distracted, lost in thought as the song finishes, something behind your favorite pair of blue eyes as the entire bar ignites into a huge round of celebratory claps for Tina’s performance. 

You look up over at him, setting your beer bottle down on the table before leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“I can hear you thinkin’ over there, Berzatto,” you tease him quietly, pulling him from his trip down memory lane. “It’s only the night before the biggest day of your life. Relax.”

Carmy rolls his eyes playfully in response, but before he can properly respond to your jab, the emcee has begun introducing the next karaoke singers to the stage. 

“Alright. Looks like I’ve got uh… three singers here this time,” the emcee says, his voice cutting sharply through the crowd of remaining cheers. “Let’s welcome Sydney back to the stage with… Sugar and… the bride to be!” 

“What!?” you exclaim, your eyes wide with surprise as Sydney jumps to her feet.  

“But I didn’t-,” you begin to protest, as Sugar pulls you to your feet, tugging on your arm. 

“Oh there’s no way in hell we’re letting you sit this one out,” Sugar orders you, as Sydney rushes to your side, ushering you towards the stage. 

“Yeah this was your idea!” Sydney simultaneously reminds you. 

“Babe! Help!” you call out to Carmy, only to be met with a shrug and a look that says ‘don’t think I could if I tried.’ 

“Oh, he’s in on this,” Sydney adds, which does explain why he didn’t even attempt to help you when your friends began dragging you out of your chair. “So don’t even think about asking him for help.”

“Wh-? But I don’t even know what we’re singing!” you continue to protest, looking from Sugar to Sydney as they push you onto the stage with them. 

“Trust,” Sydney reassures you, her face serious, while Nat slides a sash over you (one you’ve refused to wear all night) that has the word, ‘BRIDE’ printed over it in huge gold lettering. You groan, sending a glare in Nat’s direction, even though you know it’s all in good fun. 

You hear Richie shout, while Fak and Marcus clap loudly, and Carmy laughs, shouting words of encouragement your way. 

You know there’s no use in putting up a fight, especially since this was your idea anyways, as you begrudgingly take one of the three wireless mics. Before you can ask once more, what the hell Syd and Nat signed the three of you up to sing, a distinct slide of piano keys comes in, lighting up the karaoke screen in front of you. 

You grin immediately, in recognition, and to your two best friend’s delight, as they smile too, raising the mics to your lips to sing:

“friday night and the lights are low looking out for a place to go where they play the right music getting in the swing you come to look for a king.”

You laugh as your friends point towards Carmy on the last line. The three of you continue to sing the next part with reckless abandon, and all is forgiven. 

You could care less about how the three of them conspired against you to get you up here. All that matters now is that you’re here, singing one of your favorite songs with your best friends, grooving and dancing to the ABBA classic, as you prepare to marry your best friend. 

“you can dance you can jive having the time of your life ooh, see that girl watch that scene digging the dancing queen.”

"what good is love without any strings?" dayglow, 'close to me'

“Baby.”

Carmy groans in response, as soon as he hears the low hum of your voice. 

“Good morning,” you say, a soft smile on your face as you watch him begin to blink his eyes open. 

Carmy turns his head towards you, and he can’t believe he gets to wake up to this – to you – every single day. 

“Hey,” he says back, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Good Morning, sweetheart.” 

“Guess what?” you ask him with the kind of glee and anticipation as a kid on Christmas morning. 

“Hmm?” he hums, as you smooth a hand over his chest, your body pressed against his side as you look at your soon-to-be husband. 

“We’re getting married today,” you grin, a giddiness that bubbles inside of you. 

“‘S that so?” he mumbles, playfully. 

“Uh huh,” you nod with a chuckle, this time playing along. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Instead of replying with words, Carmy swiftly wraps an arm around you, before flipping you so that you’re the one on your back this time. You let out of a shriek and a laugh as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before adding:

“How could I ever?”

You shrug casually, “Weeeelll…. you just have so much going on up there.” You reach up to where Carmy hovers above you, brushing a golden curl out of his eyes as you continue your little dance. 

“You know, between the restaurant and all that time spent being a genius,” you joke, bantering with Carmy. “Don’t know how you have the time to remember silly little things like wedding dates and what not.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Carmy laughs, shaking his head incredulously, before pressing another kiss, this one much deeper to your lips again. 

And this time, as he pulls away, he gives you one of those languid looks that pierces right through your soul replying much more seriously this time with:

“I could never forget you.”

The way he says it with such conviction takes your breath away, and you know that Carmy means it. The double meaning isn’t lost on him either. 

It’s one of the reasons he called you all those years ago to come teach Marcus; it’s why you ended up in Chicago:

Because as much as he tried, as damn good at compartmentalizing as he’d always been, he really could never forget you. Carmy shakes his head once more, a playful smile on his face as he leans down to kiss you again, wondering when the hell he got this fuckin’ sentimental. As he places his mouth over yours, you’re more than happy to switch gears into doing this dance for a little longer. 

 Carmy traces light shapes against your skin, his mouth pouring love into yours with every kiss, with every drag of his tongue. You gasp as he grinds his hips into yours, making it clear where he’d like this all to go. You pull away, only for a moment, giggling cheekily. 

“Babe, I-,” you begin to protest, as Carmy chuckles, continuing to kiss you with zero intention of stopping “We… we’re going to be late.” This time, you feel his hands snake underneath the t-shirt you’ve been sleeping in, sending chills down your spine. 

“And-, Carm-, I-, I have to do my hair for-, … and what about-, my parents, they’ll-,” you stammer through, your thoughts becoming all kinds of disorganized with the way Carmy’s lips move against your neck this time. 

“I’ll be quick,” he answers with an aplomb you didn’t know he had in him. 

“I don’t know if that’s the flex you think it is,” you tease him as his hands begin to cup your breasts, your body responding with an involuntary arch of your back. 

“How fast I can make you come? I think it might be?” he murmurs against your lips, cockily.  

“Carmy,” you moan, as he begins to pull your t-shirt up higher, making it incredibly difficult to think of your to-do list for much longer. 

“Oh fuck it,” you sigh, deciding that, perhaps there’s no harm in getting the honeymoon started a little early anyways. 

“That’s my girl,” Carmy whispers against you, grinning like a Cheshire cat as you surrender to him. 

And he’s right about this too. 

How fast he can make you cum deserves all kinds of bragging rights, awards – a Nobel Peace prize, even – and you’re not sure why you thought getting a head start on doing your hair would’ve been the better idea in the first place. You spend the morning in the arms of the man you plan to spend forever with as he writes love letters, promises to give you the world, declarations of adoration with the pleasure he brings you. And besides, you’re not running all that behind on time anyways – something you realize, as the two of you get out of the shower (a round two, really). 

It takes a little longer than expected – mostly due to the fact that you and Carmy can’t seem to keep your hands off of each other – but against all odds, the two of you pull up to the courthouse right on time. 

It’s a sight for sore eyes: you, running hand in hand with your husband-to-be in a white, halter-cut wedding dress while Carmy follows along, in a classic black suit – no tie around the neck – as the two of you hurry into the courthouse. 

Sure, you could’ve tried to get here early – saved a little time and stress – but where’s the fun in that?

The two of you approach your families, hand in hand, to the sounds of your heels clicking against the marble floors of City Hall. The actual ceremony at City Hall, you’d both decided, would be family only. 

Since you weren’t making a huge deal of it, you viewed this part as necessary paperwork, while the party itself could function as the ceremony and reception. But as soon as you see the look on your parents’ faces, you know this is more than just a few signed papers. You watch as their faces change, from impatient, waiting, eager, to in awe and emotional as you walk towards them. 

You hear Ava shout your name, immediately dropping her dad’s hand as she runs towards you. 

“Ava!!” you exclaim, bending down in your heels and white dress to scoop her up into a hug. You spin her around, just for a moment, before setting her back down on the floor. 

“You look like a princess,” she says, completely in awe, her eyes wide as she looks up at you. 

“You look like a princess, sweetie,” you reply, before giving her another hug. “And you know I can’t wait to hear your song, right?” 

“I picked the best one,” she grins, proudly. 

“I’m sure you did,” you reply confidently, with a playful wink. 

“Oh-ho! Pay up, Rick,” Sugar mutters smugly, to Richie, as Carmy busies himself with greeting both of your parents.

Richie groans, muttering something profane as he not-so-discreetly hands Nat a $20 bill, earning a quizzical look from both of your parents that travels from Carmy and then to you. 

“Sorry,” Richie apologizes, this time directing this one towards your parents as he holds up both hands, respectfully bowing his head. 

You send a playful glare Richie’s way, earning a sardonic laugh from Natalie, as you push right past him and over to your parents. 

“Oh sweetie,” your mom gasps, pulling you in for a tight squeeze. 

“Hi, Mom,” you grin, as you hug her. “Dad!”

“My God, honey, you look beautiful,” your dad says, as it’s his turn next. You hug your dad, exchanging a few words about the morning, asking how they slept, how the hotel is, as your mom and Carmy hug it out. 

This time, he turns his attention towards Carmy, so you release him, letting the two of them have their moment. 

Taking your chance, while your parents are otherwise distracted, you make your way over to where Sugar and Richie stand. 

“What? You guys were betting on whether or not we’d be late?” you ask Sugar, an eyebrow quirked in Richie’s direction. 

“Listen,” Sugar sighs, cupping your face in her hands, endearingly. “You and Carm are nothing if not consistent.” You exchange a laugh with your almost-sister-in-law because you know she’s right. “And for the record, I bet that you’d be-.”

“Just in time!” the judge says, as he approaches the six of you, slipping his judge robe over his shoulders, black leather fold pressed against his chest. “You guys ready to get started?”

Carmy looks over at you, as if he’s waiting for you to take the lead here, and you nod, before the both of you turn back to the judge. 

“Yes.” 

“Great,” he smiles, clapping his hands together once. “Then let’s get you two married!”

"sooner or later, you'll find yourself right where you were, on the corner went looking for her, she had somethin' to tell you, she can't quite remember, but wait for a second, it always comes back to her, you always come back to her." -- the japanese house, 'morning pages'

And after dotting all appropriate i’s and crossing all necessary t’s, with one signed marriage license later, you, Carmy, your parents, Richie and Ava, Sugar, and Judge Thompson find yourself on the green roof of City Hall. 

Carmy stands across you, his hands in yours, offering you a lifetime with one look from the most expressive blue orbs you’ve ever found yourself in. 

“If you’d like to say something, if you prepared any vows… now would be the time,” Judge Thompson says, offering you and Carmy both the space to do so. 

“Oh I think we-,” you begin, ready to decline the opportunity since you figured you’d save it for the reception. 

“Actually uh, yeah. Can we?” Carmen interjects, sending you a look of reassurance. 

“Of course,” Judge Thompson nods, giving you and Carmy the floor. 

“Carm, I didn’t prepare anything for-,” you begin, but he’s quick to put your mind and heart at ease and he interjects with:

“It’s okay. I did.”

“Oh.”

You hadn’t expected this, since you both agreed you’d save any kind of speeches that may or may not happen today during the reception. But as Carmy’s palms grow clammier, a nervous look in his eyes as he searches for the words he’s practiced over the last few days, it becomes clear that he’s been planning this. 

“As you know… I’m not always great with words,” he begins, almost apologetically, letting out a small laugh as he looks to Richie for reassurance. In turn, Richie gives Carmy a sympathetic nod, and you’re practically melting over the fact that he probably asked Richie for help with this. 

Let it rip.

 “I just uh-,” Carmy stammers, because he really, really wants to get this right. “Well, I’ll keep it brief.” He takes a breath, letting all of his nerves out on the exhale before beginning again. 

Let it rip, buddy.

“I have loved you for so long – I think maybe since the day you brought me soup after I uh… you know, spilled my drink on you,” he states, earning the sweetest laugh from you, your friends, and family that came to witness. 

“-- so I promise to love you for even longer, for forever. You changed my life.”

You exhale, trying your best not to cry right here and now, thankful for the mysterious powers of waterproof mascara. 

“Jeez, no pressure,” you joke, dryly, before taking another breath, this time approaching your words with much more seriousness.

“Carmen. I’m so happy… that I changed your life,” you begin, cheekily, earning a laugh from your witnesses once more. “Because you changed mine. And I promise to love you forever.” 

‘I love you,’ Carmy mouths to you, before nodding towards the judge to signal that you’re both done with your vows. 

“Alright then,” Judge Thompson smiles, looking from you and then to Carmen, before uttering the question that will change the course of your life forever. 

“I do,” Carmy replies, his voice even, sure, ready. 

Natalie steps up this time, handing Carmy your ring, and you watch, teary eyed and full hearted as he slides it onto your left ring finger. 

“And do you take Carmen Anthony Berzatto to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Judge Thompson repeats the question, this time for you to answer. 

“Yeah, why the hell not?” you reply, earning a groan from your mother and a playful chuckle from your father. 

“Yes. I do.” 

At Richie’s encouragement, it’s Ava this time who steps up, handing you Carmy’s ring, with the sweetest most excited smile on her face as she looks from you to Carmy. You thank her, before returning your attention to Carmy once more. His eyes search your face, and there’s something so soft, so genuine in them that you think you’re going to cry as you help him put on his new piece of jewelry as well. 

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Illinois, I now pronounce you, husband and wife,” Judge Thompson concludes, contently.

“Should we-, do we kiss?” Carmy asks, looking from you to Judge Thompson. 

“I’m just a civil servant but you may, yes,” he answers lightheartedly. 

“Let’s go for it,” you shrug, taking a step towards Carmy. 

Instead of answering, he smiles, stepping towards you before planting one on you in front of your friends and family that were invited to this brief ceremony. 

While Sugar claps gleefully, Richie claps along muttering a ‘get a room,’ while you remind Carmy to keep it PG enough for your parents. You giggle, slowly pulling away from the kiss that begins the rest of your life with the man that you love. 

“We did it, baby. We’re married,” you chuckle, in disbelief. 

“Finally,” Carmy sighs, and you can see his smile from his lips to the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. 

It doesn’t take long for your mom to usher both you and Carmy over to a spot in the garden she thinks will be best for pictures, just as the photographer arrives. She wasn’t wrong when she insisted you hire one, that you’d want to remember this day for the rest of your life. The photographer, who is incredibly talented, gets the shots needed up here in the garden, then downstairs, and outside, before you’re all off to Sugar’s place for the reception. 

As you and Carmy sit in the car, having taken a separate one than your parents, you’re giddy with anticipation. 

It’s all so surreal. 

Never in his life did Carmy picture it ever getting this good, but as he looks over at you, your head resting on his shoulder, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, smiling to himself. 

“We did it, sweet girl. We’re married,” he says, repeating your words from earlier. 

“Yeah,” you grin, lifting your head off of his shoulder. 

“We are, Bear.”

"give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be la vie en rose."

“No, Sugar! That’s not supposed to go out yet. Everything’s goin’ out family style. Let’s just take out the apps for-,” Carmy exclaims, stressed over the execution of your wedding reception-slash-brunch, because he just can’t help himself. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, Bear!” she snaps at her brother. “Will you calm down and let us handle this?” 

“I just want everything to-,” Carmy begins, his face blushing a shade darker. 

“To go right. We know. And we know we’re just taking out apps, alright? Everyone else is outside, and everyone’s having a good time so just… relax,” she suggests, her tone serious because she’s just about to kick Carmy out of the kitchen. 

Carmy shifts nervously, hyper-fixating on the happenings of the kitchen, his eyes tracking the movements of one of his caterer, Derek’s, sous chefs. It’s almost as if he needs to give himself a distraction as he asks, blankly:

“Do you uh… you think Mom is actually gonna show?”

Sugar pauses, the question throwing her. 

“I… I don’t know. I called her yesterday. She never picked up. What do you think?” she replies, her voice quiet. 

With your encouragement, you and Carmy had sent his mother an invitation to the brunch, only it’s been Sugar who’s followed up with her. 

“We did what we needed to and if she doesn’t come, then she doesn’t come. I’m not pushin’ it,” Carmy had explained, justifying his actions, or rather, lack there of, to you. 

She’s doubtful, but Nat can’t help the tiny glimmer of hope she has in her heart that Donna might show, even if she knows it’s unrealistic. In fact, her mom had barely been interested in stopping by as of late, ever since she’d told the Berzatto matriarch that she was pregnant. She keeps telling herself that it doesn’t matter – that it’s probably better if Donna doesn’t show – but it doesn’t help ease the disappointment she feels about the situation as a whole. 

“Doubt it, honestly. Never even got an RSVP so,” Carmy shrugs, his eyes following one of the caterers as the woman plates a few Hors d'oeuvres on a large serving platter. 

Before Sugar can say anything else about their mom, Carmy’s impulse takes over as he opens his mouth to give feedback to one of Derek’s assistants. 

“Carmy!” she snaps, blocking his pathway with her body, before repeating one more time:

“Let. Us. Handle this.”

“I mean, are any of us actually surprised, Nat?” Sydney adds, as soon as she enters the kitchen from where she’s been outside in the backyard, in search of another plate to bring out. “He’s a control freak! We know this!”

“I-,” Carmy starts, knowing it’s no use protesting, as both Sugar and Syd begin guiding him out of the kitchen and into the living room. 

“C’mon, Carm. Why don’t you go see what your wife is up to?” Sydney suggests, emphasizing your new title, earning a snicker from Natalie. 

“Who’s wife? This wife?” you ask, as soon as your feet hit the bottom of the staircase. 

“Woah,” is all Carmy says. He can’t help but stare, gawking at you in your new dress. 

You’ve changed out of your near-floor length wedding dress into a sleeveless white blazer dress that’s much more friendly to hanging out with your friends and family outside, kept your hair the same, and put on one of those super stay red lipsticks that you’re eager to put through its paces. 

It’s as if time stops when he sees you, and Sugar and Syd both notice, using this time to retreat back to their duties. The only thing that can break his focus right now is the way that you let a carefree laugh fly from your lips, as soon as you see that Natalie’s using the future baby’s baby gate that Nat must’ve purchased early, to officially block Carmy from coming back to the kitchen. 

“What?” Carmy asks, only to be met with a gesture towards what Natalie is doing. 

He frowns, immediately seeing the baby gate his sister has put up. 

“You know, I’m not a baby,” he pouts at his sister. 

“Then stop acting like one!” she parries right back, before disappearing into the kitchen to help out your caterer. 

Quick to console your husband, you wrap your arms around your neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“They’re only trying to make sure we have a good time, Bear,” you offer, sympathetically, only to be met with a heavy sigh because you know it feels near-impossible for him not to be in the kitchen. 

“You trust Derek right?” you ask this time, referring to the caterer that Carmy hand-picked for your wedding. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

“Okay. Then let’s go out there. Make our grand entrance,” you suggest, a playful smile on your lips. 

“Yeah,” Carmy nods again, this time a little more sure about taking a step away from what’s happening inside the kitchen. You take his hand, leading him towards the back door that opens up to the backyard. 

You’re truly amazed at what everyone involved has been able to do this morning, while you and Carmy were off at the courthouse getting married. Long tables pushed together and covered with tablecloths function as the main attraction of the you-and-Carmy-wedding-reception-brunch, filled with ceramic plates, printed menus, apps on serving platters, taper candles and flowers in all kinds of little to big vases. 

The minute the two of you enter the backyard area that’s been transformed into a wedding venue, you’re met with cheers, ooo’s and aaaaah’s, claps, and congratulations by your friends and family. 

“Sugar really knocked this out of the park,” Carmy says, in awe as he takes in the scene. “Okay, fine. I’ll just have to trust, I guess.”

You nod, happy to hear the confidence in his voice as you agree, “That’s my guy!”

There’s a banner that hangs across a much smaller table, the one that holds the stunning wedding cake Marcus has made for you that reads, Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Berzatto.

“See? I told you I couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Berzatto,” you joke with Carmy, as the two of you walk hand in hand towards the table. 

“I think I like the sound of that more than I should,” Carmy smirks, a glimmer in his eyes that says ‘I can’t wait to get you alone.’

“Can’t wait for you to show me later,” you wink, referring to the long weekend you plan on spending with Carmy as a pre-honeymoon. “C’mon. We should probably go say hello.” 

“So… you two married now or what?” Marcus asks, as soon as the two of you approach the table. 

You hold up your left hand, showing off your new ring, earning grins and more cheers from your friends and family. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he celebrates, while Tina simultaneously and enthusiastically cries out: “Congratulations, babies!”

The plan is to divine and conquer. While you chat with Gary, Carmy lets himself become enveloped in Tina’s arms and praise, as the two of you make your way down the table saying hello to your guests: your parents, Marcus, Tina, Ebra, Fak, Gary, a few others from the restaurant, while. 

Carmy’s glad you decided to keep this wedding small: close friends and family only, because he’s not sure he could’ve done any more of this. It’s just close friends from the restaurant and your parents. You’d even decided earlier that this weekend would be chill enough that you’d celebrate with Maya and Liz a few months later when you and Carmy stop in New York before the official honeymoon, planning another celebration with your New York people for later. 

Besides, you don’t mind celebrating you and Carmy a few more times, after all. 

Finally, you’re both able to settle into the empty chairs seated right next to your parents in the middle of the table labeled ‘bride’ and ‘groom.’ It’s a Saturday well spent, being celebrated by some of your favorite people in the world on a day you made a promise to your favorite person in the world. It doesn’t take long for everyone in the kitchen to join you at the table: Sugar, Richie, Sydney, and Pete, and once the meal is served, family style, you’re pulling up chairs and insisting that Derek and his team join you as well. 

The menu is perfect, and you can see why Carmy’s been trying to get this guy to come work for him for so long. Next to Carmy’s, this carbonara might be your second favorite carbonara on the planet. After all the eating, drinking, and merry-making, it’s Richie who steps up to start the speeches, gently tapping a butter knife against a champagne glass as he stands at the table. 

“Can I get everyone’s attention?” he asks, his voice loud. Richie raises his champagne glass as he begins his speech with:

“Now as the best man and this Bobby Flay-motherfucker's cousin, I think I earn the right to kick this thing off, eh?” earning a laugh from everyone around the table. 

“To Carmy and his much, much better half,” he continues, earning a laugh from everyone around the table. Your mom squeezes your hand under the table, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Sydney nudging Carmy softly as Richie addresses you. 

“You once made me $150 richer.” You laugh, exchanging a look with your now-husband, as you fondly remember the day you returned to Chicago, only to learn that the entire restaurant staff of The Bear had been betting, not on if, but on when you’d return.

“You see, we all took bets – all of us – that you were comin’ back after that first week you spent here in Chicago, and you know why? I think it was obvious to any jagoff with a pair of eyes that what you and Cousin had was something special – something not to be missed, or overlooked, or skipped over. And thank God you two idiots woke up and figured it out yourselves. You did good, cousin. And I know your brother would’ve wanted to be here for this. I love you, man. I love you both.”

“To this very special day, and to the rest of your lives. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” everyone repeats, raising their glasses, clinking in celebration. 

The upside to having a small wedding party is having a small wedding party, and the downside is that everyone who feels the need to get in a word does so. While Ebraheim waxes on about love as a metaphor, Marcus keeps his toast short, leading to the cutting of your wedding cake:

Vanilla bean cake, with a clementine curd, a swiss meringue buttercream, decorated with delicate flowers, citrus, and dollops of curd to finish. 

Richie slips out with Pete momentarily, earning a few quizzical looks from both Carmy and Nat as she gets up from the table to make sure they’re not trading punches in the driveway. It’s not till Richie returns with Pete, carrying a rented little karaoke machine for Ava. Hand in hand, you watch as Natalie guides Ava up and out of her chair, and over to the head of the table, handing her the microphone. 

“You ready, sweetheart?” she asks, earning a confident nod from Ava. 

The beginning of the famous Taylor Swift begins to play, and you and Carmy exchange a knowing look as she begins to sing along. 

“we were both young when i first saw you i close my eyes and the flashback starts i'm standin' there on a balcony in summer air.”

As Natalie and Pete watch on, Pete hugs his wife close to her, tears in his eyes as he whispers: 

“This is going to be us very, very soon.” 

“Yeah,” Nat nods, holding back her own tears as she notices how proud Richie looks, and how happy Ava seems to be. 

It’s not that she wants Donna here. Realistically, she knows that it would be a nightmare, most likely descending into drama and chaos from the minute she walked in, but she can’t believe that her own mother didn’t come to her son’s wedding. She shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurts more than she imagined, doing this, watching Carmy get married, having this baby with Pete, all without her. 

Ava finishes her Taylor Swing song to a resounding and enthusiastic round of applause. Marcus cheers her on while you and Carmy share a soft, chaste kiss, welcoming Ava with open arms as she runs towards you. 

“That was so good, baby,” Richie exclaims, when it’s his turn to scoop Ava up into his arms as you get out of your seat. Allowing Richie to sit next to Carmy while the two gush over her performance, you get up, eager to help put the karaoke machine away. 

As she watches, Nat reminds herself that this is what family looks like – this is the family she wants for her baby – even if it means something, someones, are missing.

And it’s as if she can’t hold back her tears anymore, excusing herself as she jerks her body away from Pete’s grasp, hurrying back inside so as not to cause a scene. 

“What just-?” Pete begins. 

“I’ll go,” you assure him, having witnessed the whole interaction. “I-, it’s not you, Pete. I’ll go.”

It doesn’t take you long to find Nat, though she’s not where you expected her to be, having run all the way upstairs when you find her sitting on the floor of the baby’s nursery – one you helped paint and get ready over a month ago. 

“Hey, everything alright?” you ask, as you gently push the door open. 

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” she sniffles, wiping tears out of her eyes as she realizes she’s no longer alone. 

“Nat, what… what’s going on?” you ask her, joining her on the floor. 

But it seems as if your question only makes it worse as her face crumbles once more, beginning to cry. 

“Oh no! I-, Nat, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it even worse.”

“No, no, you didn’t. It’s just these… stupid pregnancy hormones!” she exclaims, frustratedly, earning a small laugh from the both of you. 

She takes a beat, and then a breath, and then finally, she feels ready to tell you. 

“It’s Mom,” she admits, even though she really doesn’t want it to be. “I just can’t believe she didn’t show. It’s stupid, I know.” 

You nod in understanding, before scooting a little closer to her, “It’s not stupid! And I’m sorry. For the both of you, really. Carmy doesn’t want to talk about it but, I know he’s some combination of relieved and disappointed too.” 

Sugar sighs, “Yeah that uh, that sums it up pretty well. About anything involving Mom these days.” 

Nat takes another breath, and another beat, because she knows she’s safe to share this with you. 

“I just… I’ve just been thinking a lot… with the baby and everything. About family. About motherhood. I mean, your parents are so great and I-. I’m just sad for us, you know?”

“I’m sad for you too,” you empathize, rubbing soothing circles on her back, before leaning back on both of your hands instead. 

“God, I’m so sorry. It’s your wedding day and I’m causing all the drama,” Nat begins to apologize. 

“Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for!” you interrupt her, quick to dismiss any notion of that. “You lent us your house and put together all of this in your backyard on top of accompanying us to the courthouse! You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sugar nods slowly, processing what you’ve just said, realizing that you and Pete have been such big role models of unconditional love for her. 

“Wanna know what I think?” you ask, your voice a little more optimistic this time. 

“What’s up?” she asks back, stealing a glance your way. 

“I think… that now that I’m a Berzatto… and with your little Bear on the way,” you begin, painting her the picture. “We’ve got a whole new chance to write a new chapter for the Berzattos.” 

She looks your way once more, because these are the words she didn’t know she needed to hear. 

“And with that… we can make this… make our families anything we want them to be filled with love, and joy, and-, well, only a little drama because you know, you guys are… you. But… Sug. This can all start with us, you know?”

“You really think so?” she asks you, a hopeful look in her eyes. 

“Yeah,” you answer, confidently. 

She nods slowly once more, almost as if she’s letting herself believe them. 

“Thank you. For checking in on me. For… this,” she says softly, sniffling again. 

“That’s what sisters are for,” you repeat her words back to her, one’s that she’s said to you time and time again. 

“We should probably get back out there,” Sugar suggests, sitting up a little taller this time. 

“Yeeeaaaaahhhhh,” you sigh, disappointedly, this time making a joke as you continue with: “We don’t want to start any rumors about us running away together. 

Nat snorts with laughter, thanking you for always making her laugh, as you stand up, making your way to your feet. You hold out your hands, helping Nat up to hers this time, before the two of you head back downstairs. 

“Hey,” Carmy says, as soon as he sees the two of you. “Pete said you disappeared.”

“We were just talking about some stuff,” you reply, sharing a look with Sugar before releasing her hand. 

“I’ll leave the two of you to it,” she says, before slipping out through the back door. 

“Everything okay?” Carmy asks, his brow knitted together in concern. 

You nod, “Yeah, she’s alright. How’re you doing?”

“Today? I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he replies, a smile on his lips that makes you melt. 

“Damn right you are,” you reply, pressing your lips against his. 

It’s a private moment for just you two, where you can kiss him like you want to, and you have to admit that the lipstick holds up. Wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands go to your waist, you propose a grand idea to your husband:

“Now that cake has been cut… what do you say… we spend a little more time with our guests, say our goodbyes… then we get our honeymoon started early? Think uh… our room at the Langham should be ready by now.”

“Thought we already did that this morning,” Carmy smirks, kissing you again. 

You giggle, leaning your forehead against his, “You know what I mean, jerk.” 

Carmy scoffs, shaking his head incredulously as he feigns hurt, “Married for a few hours and you’re already insulting me.” Instead of adding anything else, he simply pulls you in closer by your hips murmuring against your lips:

“Alright then, Mrs. Berzatto. Then let’s go say goodbye to our guests.”

“it's a love story, baby, just say, "yes" – taylor swift, ‘love story’

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 7)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 (Not Required) Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

When Nanami goes on a work trip, his cute little housewife can’t help but miss him…

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, lightly suggestive, wearing Nanami's shirt...

A/n: I was feeling like writing something cute... hope you enjoy!

“Goodbye, my darling, stay safe,” were the last words you muttered to your husband, Nanami, before giving him a kiss as he left the house. Even to him, going on a trip without you was unfathomable, though it had only been three months since your marriage.

It was a work trip for three days, more or less to entertain the heads of a business Nanami’s company was hoping to partner with. It was not his intention to get chosen, there were plenty of other employees, but his standout reputation as a professional, down to business senior manager made him an easy candidate. 

Nanami wiped his forehead with the cloth you had packed with his lunch, something that he appreciated after hearing the news. His boss’s booming enthusiasm had him somewhat hesitant to downright decline the offer, especially the part about him being on the only one who could do the job. 

Maybe he was starting to like doing the bare minimum to keep on top of his work. Being a slacker wasn’t something to be proud of, but it sure was easier than caring in his case. His demeanor was far more dignified than the younger employees, and it’s not like he didn’t produce good results for the company. But the one thing he didn’t want, was for it to take away from his time with you, and any more attention on him from the higher-ups would do just that.

Instead, it was you who inspired him to go. Something about being able to plan a surprise for him for when he got back, the encouragement for him to do something that would hopefully make him get to know his coworkers better.

While you were happy to know your husband was doing well at work, you still got that sinking feeling when he brought the topic up. “Of course you should go, we don’t have anything planned this week and it isn’t that far away,” you fake smiled your way through the conversation, trying to come up with a reason. It would be the first time you were alone in the house for that long without him, you hadn’t gone on a trip since your honeymoon together. 

“Since this one is short, it could help you make up your mind on doing other ones…” you mumbled, carefully stacking the plates on top of each other and carrying them to the kitchen. “I know, but I still don’t want to leave you alone,” Nanami groaned, “Besides, I would rather not spend more time working than I have to.” You sat back down at the table. 

“Don’t you also get a few days off afterwords? We could do something together. I have been meaning to get some things done anyways…” you muttered, giving him a look. “Some things… do indulge me, my love,” he smirked back at you. “A surprise,” you shook your head as he laughed. “Fine, I’ll contact my department,” he stood up, sighing in exhaustion. 

Nanami left for his three day long trip, though not without a yellow scarf carefully tied around his neck, and a neatly ironed jacket. The weather had said it would be windy where he was going. After loading up his bags in the car, he was being picked up by a coworker, the two of you said your final goodbyes, and then he was gone. 

That was in the early morning when it still felt like a normal day. You went about your morning and afternoon routine, you had still packed him a lunchbox to take with him. The sun was shining, and aside from the absent-minded glances at your wedding photo on the table next to the couch, it seemed the same. 

Inevitably, the evening came, and by the usual 5:35 Nanami still wasn’t home. Of course he wouldn’t be, he was hours away. You tried to entertain yourself, first eating a dinner consisting of leftovers, and then sitting down on the couch to do the final touches on the new suit jacket you were making for him.

It wasn’t your best work, as you were more used to sewing simple dresses, aprons, and occasionally mending things, so it was the first undertaking of a challenge like that. Getting your husband’s measurements in an inconspicuous manor was a struggle as well, leafing through his closet in hopes of finding a note from the tailors. 

A light gray suit jacket, something functional he might be able to wear to work if it was taken to an actual tailors and fixed, but after two months of work in your free time, you were quite proud of what you had created. It was something Nanami could hold onto as a gift from his lovely wife. 

The next day was the first without him there at all. As you washed the dishes, all you could think about was calling him, though you knew he would be in meetings all day and would call you when he had the chance. But finally that day passed and it became the third, and you were truly grateful he would be home in the morning. 

You dressed yourself in a light pink nightgown, it was Nanami’s favorite. The two nights before had been the worst sleep you’d gotten in a very long time, missing Nanami’s weight behind you while he wrapped his arms around your waist. You sighed, pulling it off and hanging it up again, instead opting for one of Nanami’s sleeping shirts, one that was just worn by him briefly before he left. He would be home soon afterall, it would be a waste to wear it just for yourself. 

You put your hair up, sinking into bed. It only reminded you of that conversation the two of you had right after your marriage, trying to decide where the two of you would sleep. However, cuddling always seemed to dictate your spot on the bed, so neither the left nor the right side felt correct to lay on after all those months. You sprawled yourself out in the middle laying on your side, pushing a few pillows next to your back and taking Nanami’s to your face, and coupled with the shirt, it smelled just like him. 

Just as you were about to fall asleep, the phone finally rang, and you hurriedly picked it up. “Hello? Kento?” you asked, waiting to hear his voice. “Y/n, I’m sorry I couldn’t call earlier,” he spoke, you could hear his heavy breaths through the speaker. “We were with the clients all day, I don’t think I’ll be doing this again  if I can avoid it,” he voice was scratchy and tired. “I missed you, Kento,” you tried to speak quietly yourself, focusing on the sound coming from him. “I miss you too, my love,” he smiled hearing your words, even if he couldn’t see your face. “They had us turn in our phones, for confidentiality reasons,” he explained. “Makes sense, you’ll be back tomorrow?” you turned to lay on your back, holding the phone to your ear. “Yes, probably around 10:30,” he let out a long sigh. “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” you smiled, knowing your husband and you were tired. “I’ll stay on the phone until you fall asleep, how about that?” he asked as you put the phone on speaker mode and set it on the nightstand.

He started talking about his plane trip, and the struggle the group had when trying to find the hotel, they barely made it to the first meeting with the business representatives. By the third time he asked if you were still awake, you were sound asleep, he could hear your soft breathing through the phone. “Goodnight, my love, I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered, before hanging up. Smiling to himself in the hotel room, he finished packing up his things for the early flight out, including the picture of the two of you he brought with and sat on his desk. 

When he finally got home, it was Saturday. Your gift was already wrapped and set on the table in the living room, and the house was already clean from the day before. Of course with the combination of your tiredness, and being used to sleeping in late on the weekends, it  almost lead to your absence at the door when Nanami walked in.

You ran to the door, Nanami walking in promptly at 10:30, and assisted him with his bags as if nothing was unusual. His smile remained as he eyed you, having not seen his cute little housewife in three whole days. More specifically, though, was the way you stood there, wearing his shirt. It was long enough to be a short dress for you, loosely covering your body as you greeted him with a soft smile and quick apology. “I’m so glad you’re back, Kento,” you helped him with his things as he hung up his coat. Nanami smirked, moving his hand to your cheek as he leaned down. “What a perfect surprise, my love,” he motioned to your outfit. Your face flushed bright red as you avoided his eyes, about to speak, though that was shortly cut off with a kiss. “I’m sorry, I slept in on accident,” you started, “your gift is on the table, I’ll go change,” he stopped you from moving. 

“I quite like it, actually,” his hand moved down to intertwine with yours. “I’ve never seen you wear my shirts before,” he opened the box on the table, moving the paper from on top of the jacket. 

“It’s not perfect, but I tried to make it to your measurements,” you muttered shyly, as he held it in his hands. “To think you’ve been working on this all this time,” he put the jacket on over his usual button up. “It fits quite well,” you always loved how your husband looked in a suit, and it was no different wearing this. “Should I take it to the tailors?” you asked, as he stared at the embroidery on the inside of the jacket. “I think it’s perfect, thank you, my love,” he pulled you against his chest. 

“I’m glad you like it,” you smiled. “I seem to have a new favorite garment, it came just in time,” he remarked, loosening his tie and folding the jacket back up. “Since I have that time off, we should go somewhere and show this off,” Nanami grabbed your hand, starting to walk towards the bedroom. “Though, right now, I’d just like to spend time with you, my love.” 

“I’m curious, why the change in outfit?” he asked once you entered the room. “Because… I missed you,” you mumbled, “and it smells good, like you.” Nanami gave you a smirk, picking up his pillow from where it laid in the middle of the bed. “And my pillow too, hmm?” you covered your face with your hand, embarrassed. “Well if you like my scent so much, I can certainly do something about that,” he chuckled, pulling you into a hug.

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy | chapter three

check out the hockey glossary here (updated for chapter two)

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two

read Chapter Three on ao3

Tommy's got a plan for the break. It's the same plan as he has every year: spend six days losing every bit of conditioning he's managed to gain over the course of the season by slowly becoming one with his couch, catch up on all the shitty shows he's been neglecting, eat his weight in potato chips and ice cream. Then he'll have one day before practice starts up again where he does weight training so long he wants to throw up, and back to the grind. The usual.

He gets the text as he's rebuilding his nest on the couch, three quarters of the way through day three, and for a long long moment he considers ignoring it.

His phone vibrates on the table again, and Tommy stares apologetically at the movie already queued up to play.

Drinks at Rare Bird tonight. says the text from Chimney, and then, below it, See you at eight. Love Actually can wait

Not a question mark to be found, and he's about to point that out when another text comes in, this time from Ravi.

You have to come tonight

No additional context, again. He's - not exactly unfamiliar with becoming the anchor for an anxious kid trying to find his place - a little mentorship, a little wing-manning, a lot like the guy who'll sit there and just be steady and quiet when someone is overwhelmed and needs a focus point. Panikkar is calm on the surface and an absolute nightmare right under it, a stunning swan with little webbed feet kicking up a storm underneath where all his vulnerabilities are laid bare. Tommy's used to cracking a terrible joke just to force someone so breathless with laughter they forget they'd been holding it, and he's used to that person immediately finding themselves at ease around him.

He has no fucking clue how the front office had known to look for someone to fill that role on the team, but it's become very clear over the course of the last month or so that this in one of the hand-wavey intangibles he's been brought in for.

And Greenway getting traded two days before the All-Star break had fundamentally changed something in the locker room.

There’s always a clique situation in a league like this — D-Pairs like Buckley and Diaz spending so much time together they have their own language that’s incomprehensible to anyone who hasn’t known them as long as they’ve known each other; stars like McKinley and all the guys he’s convinced the front office to sign because he can make them fit the play style they’re going for; the group of guys that jump between third and fourth lines with their heads on a swivel for the first opportunity to take a stab at more minutes; the boys living in their buddies basement apartment and the ones who own a McMansion somewhere in a gated community half an hour away from the rink.

Greenway had made the cliques circle in, shore up for the storm. And Tommy’s an easy-going guy, gets along well with everyone, but — something had lifted, the day they got the news, some tension easing, the groups getting a little less exclusive even just in the single game they’d played after he was gone. There’s no one for Tommy to say “I told you so” to, but he’d patted himself on the back for knowing it, anyway.

Tommy's trying to convince himself not to cave to Ravi and Chim when another text comes in, this one from Diaz.

We're taking bets on which turn Buck's gonna eat shit on this year, you in?

Christ, they live eat and breathe the game.

Tommy's not any better.

Twenty bucks says he beefs it on the third turn, Tommy sends back, before turning off the television and heading towards the shower.

---

There’s a certain artistry to meeting up for drinks with teammates. The dynamics of running into fans has changed, over the years. The social media boom had made it a nightmare for a few years, and Tommy’d spent about five of them walking and talking the faces of the league through panic attacks and generalized anxiety like he was a damn therapist, before he’d discovered that just telling them to go to fucking therapy was enough.

He’d seen a switch after finally escaping the Edmonton bubble, in a world that had spent eight months dialed in to social issues and gained a startling awareness of personal space, so it was a little easier, now, to roll into a bar and meet up with three or four guys without crowds of people demanding selfies. Tommy wasn’t likely to be on anyone’s radar, but he tended to be noticed out in public when he was out with everyone’s favorite.

Today he rolls up with Eddie Diaz in the passenger seat of his truck and hands his keys to the valet. The kid is still sporting a face full of acne, a foot shorter than Tommy and eyeing Diaz curiously as he swivels out of his seat, and Tommy has a moment where he’s sure the kid is gonna forget himself and gush about everyone’s second-favorite d-man in this town, but when his eyes go wide his gaze flicks from Diaz back to Tommy, and Tommy feels completely out of his depth.

“I — sorry, this is so rude, dude, but — you’re my sisters favorite player, man. She’s like, obsessed with you.”

Tommy’s brows go up, and he can feel Eddie’s eyes on the back of his neck as he points at his own chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, man — I mean she sorta hated you when you were with the Kings, but in a weird, like, ero —.” He pauses, and Tommy is grateful for the both of them. “Anyway. She was super excited when we signed you. We were at the St. Louis game. Fucking epic, man.”

Tommy — flounders. It’s been years since he’s gotten anything more than a look of recognition and a glance behind him to see if anyone else has tagged along with him. When Diaz rounds the hood of the truck and smacks a hand firmly down on Tommy’s shoulder, the kid smiles and redirects his gaze straight to Tommy. Which is weird as fuck. What the hell is in the water in this state?

“Thanks,” Tommy says, and Eddie grins charmingly at the kid.

“That’s Kinard, for you. Fuckin’ epic.”

The kid does something complicated with his face, like he’s realized some sort of gaffe, and turns an apologetic look on Eddie. “You’re also, like — I mean you’re great, Mr. Diaz.”

Tommy can’t hide the snort that escapes when Diaz’s face twitches, like he’s trying his very hardest not to react to the name. The kid looks like he’d like the ground to open him up and swallow him whole, so Tommy reaches into his back pocket, pulls a twenty from his wallet, and slaps it in the kids hand before he can say anything else. “Just in case your shift ends before we’re back,” he says, when the kid opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, and Tommy makes a mental note to ask the manager for his name, maybe send the kid a couple tickets to their next home game. Not that the seats need filling, in Denver, but — yeah, he’s a little flattered and it’s always fun to make someone’s day with shit like that.

Tommy shoots the kid finger guns as they say their goodbyes, about half to make the kid feel less self-conscious and half because he’s never been able to break the habit when he’s feeling a little overwhelmed himself. “Tell your sister I said hi,” Tommy says, and it’s Eddie’s turn to snort as they swing through the doors in search of the rest of their party.

---

Ravi’s hands go up the moment he spots them being led through the crowd by the hostess, and he does a celebratory little dance in his seat before he seems to realize his fingers are covered in nacho cheese. Chimney rolls his eyes from Ravi’s left as he reaches for one of the linen napkins on the table, and the woman sitting next to Chimney smiles.

He’d forgotten Chimney was engaged. The last time he’d spent any length of time with Chim, he’d been seeing a girl who didn’t know a single true thing about him.

She’s pretty — long dark hair and deep brown eyes, a quirk to her lips as she smiles at him that feels vaguely familiar, though he can’t quite place it. When he leans in to shake her hand, she introduces herself as Maddie Buckley.

Which he’d known, in the abstract. Of course he’d known, he’s heard Chim and Buck chirping at each other good naturedly for weeks now, really leaning into the idea that they’re soon to be brothers.

She tilts her head to the side, eyes on him as he settles in next to Ravi, Eddie pulling out the chair to his left, and Tommy recognizes that mannerism too — sitting in the locker room after optionals, Buckley already done with his after-practice workout and parked on the bench a few feet away from Tommy (who’d spent the same half hour on the ice taking passes on the move, trying like hell to find a rhythm that could help him keep up with Panikkar) plying him for stories about the year he’d played for the Hershey Bears.

They’re well situated to watch the skills competition, tucked into a corner with a television hanging overhead in every direction, all of them tuned into the pre-show, and as a server comes by to grab their drink orders Tommy stares around the table at the piles and piles of starters laid out and covering most of the available surface area. Chimney clocks his raised brow.

“Listen, there are only so many times a year I’m not under constant threat of death and dismemberment from my future brother-in-law if I so much as think of junk food. Ravi and I are going to enjoy this while we can.”

Maddie tsks. “He’s not that bad,” she intones, although she’s smiling like she’s conjuring a fond memory of her brother being an absolute terror. And it’s not that he hasn’t heard these stories before — Buckley’s sort of renowned for the health-nut thing around the league — but Tommy had also downed three cream cheese pastries with his coffee on the walk back to their hotel rooms, back in Utah, and Buckley hadn’t said a word.

“It’s the silent judging that really gets to you,” Eddie throws in, head tilted up towards one of the TV’s, where they’re showing highlights from the last few All Star competitions.

“He’s never silently judged me in his life,” Ravi contradicts, digging deep into the nachos in search of the strip of chicken buried under the pile. “He’s very loud about it. Whoever gave that man an iPad and Karen Wilson’s spreadsheets should be drawn and quartered.”

“Oooh, are we talking shit about Buckley?” comes a voice from his left, and Lucy Donato sneaks past him to snag a chip from Ravi’s plate.

Donato is technically the most decorated athlete of the lot of them — three golds and a bronze in women’s hockey, Tommy doesn’t have a fucking clue why she’s been an equipment manager for the team for going on four years now but the team loves her, and she seems to enjoy the work. Maybe it’s the roar of the crowd, maybe it’s the camaraderie, maybe the fact that she’d grown up with four brothers factors into it and she���s just happy to have that lovingly antagonistic relationship with the boys again.

“Is this is a safe space to remind everyone that it is not my fault Taylor Kelly wrote that tell-all article for the Athletic?”

At Tommy’s side, Eddie makes a face. “We don’t have to talk about her.”

He’s used to being a little out of the loop, when it comes to the intricacies of team dynamics — every team has groupings of people who live in each others pockets for eight to ten months out of the year, and know a little too much about one another. Tommy’s used to being a witness to it from the outside, to being the aloof mysterious one someone is always bound and determined to crack.

“We could talk about Marisol, if you want,” Lucy says, licking cheese off her finger as she settles into the seat to Ravi’s right, and Eddie shoots her a warning look. “How about Kim?”

“Okay,” Chim interrupts when Eddie opens his mouth to retort. “Hen’s late, but we are still taking bets. Tommy’s got the third turn, my lovely future wife and Eddie are both naïve optimists who think he’s going to learn from last years embarrassment and make it all the way to the end without letting the pressure get to him, I’m going first turn when he tries to build momentum. Ravi, Donato?”

Tommy lets the conversation wash over him. When his drink comes, he doesn’t even get a chance to sip at it before Donato is leaning over the table to steal his spear of cherries. Hen gives the bar-food laden table a raised brow when she arrives with her wife and jumps right into giving Panikkar shit about the condo he’s trying to purchase in one of the nearly-gentrified neighborhoods downtown. When the pre-show ends fifteen minutes later they all turn their attention to the televisions overhead, and Tommy sips at his Old Fashioned, wishing he’d ordered a beer instead.

There’s an element to nights like these that always make Tommy a little wistful. There’s so much history between them all, so much love. Tommy’s not lacking for friends, but he’s never really been a part of something like this. Like family.

When the server comes around to check in about another round, Tommy asks for the beer menu and orders himself an IPA. Anything to keep him from getting too loose-lipped as they cheer on Buckley and McKinley in their skills events.

Buckley eats shit around the third turn in the speed skate, and in his pocket Tommy’s phone buzzes with Venmo notifications as rest of the table grumbles and pays up.

He’s halfway through his second beer, two rounds into the precision shot competition, when Donato rounds on him.

“So. Kinard.”

“Donato.”

Her gaze is assessing, like she’s trying to pin him down, and Tommy has played this game for too many years to do anything but take a steady sip of his beer. “Thoughts on upcoming theme nights?”

Tommy doesn’t particularly pay attention to those. After the shitstorm of the commissioner banning Pride gear, confirming to Tommy that he’d been right, all those years ago, to lean into the toxicity, he’d stopped caring what sweater the equipment team left in his locker for warmups and just tried his best to keep his head down. He spends a long moment holding eye contact, unsure what exactly the line of questioning is about, before Eddie chimes in on his left.

“You do this every time,” he says, finger out, head tipped warningly, and Lucy shrugs, arms up in a gesture of surrender.

“Just trying to take the pulse of things, Jesus. I’m the one that has to deal with it if one of you fucknuts gets too enthusiastic and tapes his stick up in rainbow colors and he throws a tantrum about it.”

Hen and Karen both swivel their eyes to meet his, and the table goes uncomfortably still. He’d been leaning into the misogyny, the last time he’d played for a team Hen worked for, and he’s still not sure if she’d ever noticed how lackluster the comments had been, how close he’d been to finally breaking free of a truly mindbogglingly shitty coaching staff. They’d ended on friendly terms, but other than a few polite questions about her wife, they’ve never really talked about any of that.

Maddie, shockingly, is the one who breaks through the tension. “You went to the Pride parade in Nashville last summer, didn’t you? Buck always makes a note of the guys that do.”

He’d been terrified out of his fucking mind that someone would come to the outlandish (correct) conclusion that he was there as more than an ally, but Tommy didn’t shit where he ate, and Josi drew plenty more attention than he did, anyway.

Tommy nods. “I can tape my own stick and everything,” he says to Donato, brow raised, and she just nods back, apparently satisfied. It’s a relief, even if Karen Wilson has a curious eye on the finger he’s been nervously tapping against his beer since the original question had been posed. He keeps up the tapping for a few more beats.

“Always good to have another ally in the mix,” Hen says, doing something under the table that makes Karen glance away, and Tommy shifts the nerves into pressing his heel firmly into the floor beneath him. He feels like they’re all talking in riddles, trying to piece him together with faulty information, and for a moment, in this little bubble with people who seem to genuinely care for each other, he thinks it’d be easy to just let the cat out of the bag, say the words he’s had on the tip of his tongue for a decade, and in his heart for at least three.

Beside him, Eddie takes another pull off his beer, leans in to Tommy’s side. “Come watch the game at my place tomorrow? Just me and Chris, the rest of these idiots are doing brunch before coaches shindig.”

Tommy sort of desperately wants to tell him that he has a date with his television that he’s already skipped once, but — well, he likes Eddie, and it’d be nice to finally meet his kid. “Will Christopher snitch on us if I bring pizza?”

Eddie grins. “He absolutely will, but Buck’s wrath isn’t enough to stop me. Is it enough to stop you?”

Possibly, Tommy thinks, but instead of admitting that he just asks Eddie to text him his son’s toppings preferences.

---

On the bedside table, his phone lights up, and Tommy turns to grab it, keying in his passcode and frowning at the name on his notifications.

He swipes into his messages and stares at the text for a long, long minute.

Tommy’s never actually come out to anyone in his life. Never said the words, never had them asked — but there are a few people that have figured it out on their own, a few people who have done the work of supporting him while keeping it under wraps.

Sid’s sent him a picture. Not the usual one where it’s mostly his ass in a mirror followed by the number of squats he’s been doing daily. This is a terrible quality photo, shitty lighting in a dark bar, half the screen taken over by a hairy arm because of the angle the camera is tipped at. It’s four in the morning in Tampa, and Sidney motherfucking Crosby has just sent him a selfie of himself with his arm tossed over Evan Buckley’s shoulders.

Both of them are grinning, faces cast in shadow, eyes towards the camera, and Tommy taps into the picture so he can zoom in, stare at the smile lines around his eyes, the edges of a grin — Sid’s smug look like he knows exactly what Tommy had been thinking when he’d asked him to reach out to Buck.

He stares at it until another text comes in.

You should reconsider how off-limits this one is, he won’t shut up about you. Your name has lost all meaning to me.

Tommy swallows. Breathes through his nose, in-out-in-out. Slides his gaze back to the wide smile and rosy cheeks of Evan Buckley, one more time.

Go to bed, old man, he shoots back and closes out the thread.

He stares at the background on his phone: the crest of the hiking trail he’d found, two weeks ago, on a recommendation from Diaz, which he’d hit right at sunset, pinks and oranges and purples bleeding in to the chilly grey-blue sky.

His phone buzzes with another notification, this time from Buck. Tommy considers ignoring it, letting it sit unread at the very least until the morning. His phone buzzes a second time, and then a third.

The first is another picture — better angle, better lighting, better quality in general, exact same pose, including Sid’s knowing eyebrow and the soft sparkle of Buck’s eyes.

You can fly a helicopter? the first text reads, and then, all caps, YOU FLEW CROSBY IN A HELICOPTER ONCE????

Like an idiot, Tommy taps into the picture, presses down, saves it to his phone, and flips back into the thread just in time for another text.

You bet on me falling :(

You WON on me falling :( :(

He should absolutely put his phone down and go the fuck to sleep, but on the off chance that Buckley is stlll hanging out with Crosby, he doesn’t want to ignore Buck. That’d just be rude.

Used the winnings to buy a kid and his sister a suite for the next home game, he shoots back, and ignores the little thrill that shoots down his spine when three dots immediately appear right beneath his text.

That’s annoyingly sweet

Tommy breathes deep. Four-o-nine AM in Tampa. They’ve got a game that starts in less than twelve hours, there. He sends back: Selfish. The sister is apparently my biggest fan.

I’M your biggest fan, comes the text, followed by typing dots. They disappear, then reappear, then disappear again. Tommy doesn’t mean to time it, but thirty seven seconds later they appear again.

Let me know where they’re sitting. I’ll have someone send them your sweater.

then

You wanna sign it first?

Tommy takes a deep breath, and presses the call button.

[msbarrybeeson]

Princess and Her Matra | Cyno X (F) Reader (Part IV) (Royal AU)

Summary: Sanity slipped from Scaramouche as you, kneeling on the floor, retaliated against his desire to enter the Eternal Oasis. You, carried in the arms of your loyal General Mahamatra, must put an end to the Prince's enraged assault on Setekh.

Relationship: (Bodyguard) Cyno X (Desert Princess) Female Reader

Characters: General Mahamatra Cyno • Matra Dehya (Lionness) • Matra Candace (Priestess) • Prince of Avidya Scaramouche • Avidyan Advisor Il Dottore • Liloupar the Jinni.

Warnings: Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 3070

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five

➵ ➵ ➵

"You're telling us in the one time we were tasked with not watching over you, the Prince held our General Mahamatra hostage, nearly killed him, and coerced you to call this 'magical spirit' to enter some kind of Oasis?"

Dehya gaped in utter shock, while Candace, concerned. Before the latter inquired, you interjected while flipping through pages of a book.

"No, I have not informed my Father yet."

"With all due respect, Your Highness, you should. For one, you have a good reason to get your wedding called off. Two, send them away!" Dehya cracked her knuckles. "I've been waiting to get rid of those numbskulls. Did you see how they've been treating us? We Matra may be soldiers, but calling us 'dogs' is low." She turned to Candace for validation of her point.

The latter, however, noticed your reservation. "Your Highness?"

In your thoughtful silence, Cyno answered, "Her Highness is worried about her people. The whole point of our King agreeing to the arrangement is to save Setekh from dehydration. Knowing the Avidya's malicious intention now, the Prince himself threatened to harm the Setekh if anyone hears of this."

He crossed his arms. "And knowing how he managed to have me tied up so easily, I doubt he was bluffing."

"Don't think we should be giving into his egotism though," Dehya remarked. "He's probably going to assume control of Setekh regardless of whether he enters the Eternal Oasis."

"Do not worry," you assured, speaking up again. "I have a plan."

"I believe it has something to do with that book?"

You nodded. "I have read about the legend of the Eternal Oasis. I do not remember ever it saying the realm grants a God's power." Flipping through the pages. "Though, I do recall reading this Jinni shares a notable power of its own."

"I am guessing that's the 'magical spirit' you were talking about," said Dehya.

"The Jinni had served under the Goddess of Flowers, or Nabu Malikata. Only listens to those worthy, which I assume is whoever is blessed by the Goddess herself." You finally reached the page.

Scanning the words, your fingers paused on an interesting detail. "Just as the Jinni is cautious with its master, the gateway to the Eternal Oasis opens only to those whose heart is deemed worthy," you murmured to yourself.

Suddenly.

You heard loud thuds beyond the library doors, hurrying down the corridor, as if panicked.

You recognized them as footsteps.

"Did something happen outs–?"

A voice boomed, muffled through the door. "The Prince has gone mad!" You also recognized that sound as one of the Matra.

"Defend our King!" shouted another.

Blood ran cold as you picked yourself from the seat, hands on the table. "Father? What's going on?" Your breath became shallow.

All four of you bolted out the library, straight to the throne room. It had not been three days since his arrival, yet somehow, your fiancé had caused unnerving trouble.

There was a dispute. Your eyes darted from the crumbling sandstone pillars to the shredded banners on the walls. Then to the Avidyan Prince, surrounded by his angry Rangers. "You're no Prince of ours!" one Ranger screamed, directing their spear at the young man. "You must be the reason why Lady Rukkhadevata, went missing! You monster!" yelled another.

Dehya was bewildered. "Rangers rebelling against their own Prince?"

"Fools!" Scaramouche seethed, tying up the Avidyan soldiers in his strings. "Completely absurd. You dare disrespect your one and true Prince!? You should be bowing to me!"

One Ranger prepared his bow, his brows furrowed and tall black ears folding back. "As if! You're no Prince of ours if you wanted nothing to do with our forests! We have always taken pride in keeping Avidya alive, yet you are bold enough to tell us to let it wither!" The arrow shot through, but Scaramouche cut it up into pieces with his strings.

Another Ranger leaped up behind him and threw her boomerang.

"Silence!" However, his hand sent her flying back onto the ground with a loud thump. The Prince pulled a set of strings around the Fennec, strangling his throat.

"Your Highness!" Your head turned to find one of your Matra running to you. "You must leave! Run away for your own sake–." His sentence barely finished as Scaramouche cut his body up. The pieces dissipating to blood-red dust. Your eyes widened in horror. Cyno, Dehya, and Candace attempted to retreat you, but Scaramouche sensed your presence.

He eyed you with a crazed smile. "Looks like you're on time, Princess." A sudden movement of his wrist and the strings were attached to you. He yanked you to him.

This prompted the General Mahamatra to shout, leaping to grab ahold of you. "Your Highness!" But more cutting strings appeared, caging he and the other two outside.

"I demand to see my Father! Where is he!?"

"Under close care of my advisor. So there is no need to worry, dear." He held your chin, mocking you.

"Do not lay a finger on him. Or anyone!" You gritted. "What have my people done to you? What have your own done to you?"

"What have they done?" he laughed, turning his back to you. "They failed to know their place." The strings pulled everyone in the throne room up, hanging them on the walls like flies trapped in a web. "I am your true King. Your true God with powers beyond your understanding."

All except you.

"But not enough for you fools to respect me, is that right?" His head snapped back to you, stomping back to your kneeling figure. The Prince snarled. "So you better call that Jinni of yours, or one snap will kill them all."

"You're wasting precious time, Scaramouche." Il Dottore scoffed, stepping in the perimeter. "Slice their heads off them all already. We only require the girl for the Oasis."

"If you choose to kill them all," you picked up a fallen arrow and brought it up to your neck, "I shall end myself as well!"

"(Name)!" Cyno yelled. "What are you doing, (Name)?!"

"Your Highness, our lives are not worth it!"

"We Rangers are not worth your sacrifice!"

"The Setekh needs you!"

Yet your resolve remained.

"Do you dare to gamble with my death, your only chance of reaching the Eternal Oasis?"

"You." Scaramouche's form shuddered as he laughed maniacally.

He laughed.

And laughed.

To the point even you were concerned.

"Haha! You truly are bold, Princess!" He laughed. "To think that these pathetic subjects cared about you so so," Scaramouche swung his hand across your face, "much!" His expression went from laughter to a dangerous scowl.

"How could they worship such a pathetic weakling like you?!" he screamed, slapping your face once more.

This time, you had enough. You etched the arrowhead into your skin, drawing a trickle of blood.

"Enough, Scaramouche!" Il Dottore interjected.

The Prince stopped his hand from throwing another hit.

"Do you, or do you not want to become a God." The question, or more so statement, made the Prince falter. "Hit the girl again," Il Dottore's tone dripped with venom, "and I shall cast you aside as your Creator had done before."

His hand dropped to his side. His knees onto the floor.

And suddenly, the strings on everyone were released.

You closed your eyes, lowering the arrowhead. You heaved, releasing some pressure on your lungs. "I command everyone to leave the palace grounds... Matra, evacuate all Setekhans to Avidya. I urge for the Rangers to provide temporary shelter."

You added, "..Immediately."

Although the named and injured councilmen passed a worrisome glance in your direction, everyone opted to follow your word and flee the throne room.

"General," the Lionness called out.

"Leave me be. Whatever the circumstances, I cannot abandon Her Highness."

The Priestess intercepted, "Then, we shall help you as well."

"No, I have always served as her protector. You two heard her: evacuate the people."

Candace bit her lip and nodded. "Defend our Princess."

"We have released your people. Time is ticking, so you better do what you must, girl." You glared upon Il Dottore's sharp-toothed sneer, carnivorous and predatory. You wanted to fling your hand to his nose.

One glimpse to the side and you found your General. His hand gripping his partisan while positioned defensively. You showed him a weak smile, a sign you knew more than you led on.

You faced forth the thrones, worn away from the chaos ensued while standing tall. You slowly clasped your hands and closed your eyes once again. "Strewing flowers along a path, that which is blessed by the gentle Nabu Malikata herself," you recalled from the book. "I call upon thee, Jinni, to seek my heart's wealth."

All of a sudden...

A blinding light illuminated the throne room, capturing the insatiable eyes of Il Dottore and Scaramouche. A spiral of brilliance glowed before halting in front of you. A brighter flash prompted you to cover your eyes until it dimmed into a bottle. Or perhaps, a bulb made from glass. There was a violet cap on top and a distinguished golden glow inside. For a moment, it trembled, danced frantically until a voice echoed.

"Who has called upon the powers of a Jinni?"

You prayed you were aware of whatever fate you were pulling yourself into. There was a sense of hesitation: "It is I, Princess (Name) of Setekh."

It audibly gasped. "It is a great honor to encounter another member of the Setekhan Royal Family. I shall introduce myself, Your Highness. It is I, Liloupar."

"Enough stalling," Il Dottore interrupted. "I demand you Jinni to bring forth the Eternal Oasis."

In a shade of red, the bottle shook violently. "How audacious of you. I only listen to the commands of those who are worthy and one alone. Who are you to dare order me in front of Setekh's Princess? Oh, I understand. Indeed, you are nothing more but an outlander."

Il Dottore scowled. "Hold your end of the bargain up, Princess."

You rolled your eyes, before facing the Jinni. "Liloupar," you spoke in a gentle voice. "I request of you to show us the entrance to the Eternal Oasis. I entrust you to reveal a heart's truth." For a minute, Liloupar only appeared to stare at you. You felt as if the Jinni was pondering. "Very well," Liloupar hummed. "As you wish, Master."

As the bottle danced in the air, a gateway appeared before them. This garnered a malicious smile from Il Dottore. Scaramouche wasted no time pushing you aside as he hurried to the entrance, only to learn:

He could not pass through.

Stunned, his breathing quickened.

"What is this?"

Panicked.

"Why can I not enter?"

His hands began slamming onto the gateway, like an invisible wall existed there. Liloupar lowered itself into your arms' embrace, vibrating in prideful satisfaction.

"What is going on, Scaramouche? Move along!" Il Dottore reprimanded. "After every resource poured into this project, not another second should be wasted. The Prodigal cannot obtain its full potential without a God's power!"

Enraged.

"Open your eyes! Are you so blind to not see what I am doing?" snarled the Prince. His eyes flickered to yours, violent and crazed. He seethed, "You find this amusing, do you not? Daring to play your absurd games and tricks against me, Princess?" Electricity began to conduct as the floors shook. Sand from the ceilings themselves fell. You tried standing to your feet, but your balance faltered. A voice bellowed:

"I am going to end you all!"

"(Name)!" Cyno grabbed you by your wrist and yanked, ushering you away from the palace. "The palace is no longer safe. We must retreat to the Avidya!"

"Archons!" you cursed. "Is there no end to this tantrum of his?!"

The second you and Cyno touched the final flight of steps, a deafening and thunderous sound quaked the Setekh. You peeked behind to discover that Scaramouche had transformed into an enormous mechanical puppet, demolishing half of your palace in the process. His height as tall as thrice the palace.

Sandstone debris and boulder-like chunks toppled down, nearly colliding into you if it were not for your General wrapping an arm around your waist, picking and carrying you up in his arms. "Hold onto me, Your Highness!"

You yelped, panicking as the Prodigal swung a hand down in your direction. "Cyno! Above us!"

Cyno leapt out of the way as the hand smashed right into many homes and buildings, crumbling them all to dust. Your stomach churned in a sickening feeling, and you prayed to Deshret the Matra evacuated everyone on time.

"Never in my years of serving my masters have I experienced such troublesome events," Liloupar trembled.

"From your right!"

Cyno jumped to the left, avoiding a scorching beam from obliterating you. "Not only his hands!?" You grimaced upon how the Prodigal occupied a wide range of offense. "You cannot outrun him, even if we reach the Avidya!"

"I have my duty to protect you. Until I entrust you under the care of the other Matra, I cannot simply stop when your life is endangered!" he yelled. His amber eyes gazed down into yours. For a brief moment, his features softened up.

You instantly broke contact when a shadow overcasted his features.

"Cyno!" you screamed, tugging on his shoulder. "Above you!"

The Prodigal's hand began to fall with a heavy force. Your General gritted his teeth. His mind came to terms with the unlikeliness of outrunning the strike area, yet his legs pushed further. A booming sound echoed as the edge of the hand pounded into the sand. Your fingertips dug into your palms as you urged, "Cyn–!"

The Prodigal's fingertips were right above you. You felt the wind knocked out of your lungs as your General hurled you tumbling forward. You fell with a weighted thud. The impact casting sand and spinning your head into a migraine.

"Urgh."

Accompanied with a terrible high-pitched ringing in your ears.

"Aurgh."

An awful groan left your throat, leaving you to cough up some sand. Your throat had gone dry when you realized. "No." You screamed his name, "Cyno! You did not dare–."

You witnessed his figure vanish as the Prodigal's hand made full contact with the ground. A disastrous earthquake rumbled Setekh from the force, and a huge gust of wind nearly blinded you with sand.

You found yourself hyperventilating.

Your blood ran cold.

Practically gasping in and out.

You could not move.

Dread painted your eyes.

"This cannot be happening."

You faced down, vision blurry by the second as hot tears trickled down. "Cyno. Cyno." You tried running to him, but your legs were too weak. "Cyno. No. This cannot be happening. Please. Please!" Your hands clenched tightly and you shut your eyes. Voice caught in your throat, feeling like you were going to choke. "Please! No. You said you would protect me no matter what."

Liloupar left your arms, glowing brighter. "Master!"

You slowly opened your eyes again.

And trailed up front.

Your General.

A breath heaved out. More tears fell over your smile. You sighed again out of pure relief, shutting your eyes, "Thank Deshret." Opening up again, confusion soon overtook your features instead.

"Cyno?"

A violet hue shone from the electricity crackling underneath the puppet hand. As the murky fog began to fade, you distinguished another figure, large as the hand trying to crumble them. Only this time, you discovered a pair of claws and tall ears. All in violet and gold.

Your eyes widened.

"Hermanubis?"

The figure's claws shoved the Prodigal's hand off them, another gust of sand hitting your way. Cyno was still there, but the colors around his headdress– which enlarged into some form of a hood or mask– lit up in synchronization with the figure that seemed to possess him.

"Cyno is Hermanubis?"

"No, not himself," Liloupar corrected. "It appears he is a current holder of the Great Priest Hermanubis' power. 'How' he obtained such power is beyond my knowledge." You pursed your lip and huffed, your strength returning to pick yourself up. "There is no time to ponder now. I must help him."

This had the bottle frantically shaking. "But Master! Your own safety comes before his!"

"Liloupar." Your resolve remained strong. "I wish to help him."

The Jinni merely sighed. "Perhaps it is time for me to conduct use of my other assets."

A voice reverberated from inside the Prodigal.

"Unsightly insects!" His hand swung at Hermanubis, who leapt onto the arm and bolted up to strike the head. Scaramouche seethed, "Keep your claws off of me, animal!"

He attempted to snatch Hermanubis off, but the latter jumped to the shoulder and landed another heavy strike to the puppet's spine. Catching him off guard, the Prodigal nearly fell forward.

Another to the head.

Across the face.

Until Scaramouche screamed, enraged.

"Worthless humans should be bowing down to your God!"

He hurled Hermanubis down onto the sand. Giving no time to recover from the impact, the Prodigal ignited a blast. The energy revving from within.

SHATTERS!

Scaramouche audibly hitched his breath as a needle practically stabbed him through the heart. His sights fell to the very Princess he despised, standing in his way. You smirked.

"There's more to me than smile-and-waves!"

You aimed another arrow to the chest. The bow you carried being a metamorphosed Liloupar. "Leave Setekh alone!" Releasing in an instant, the arrowhead struck the heart, pieces of glass breaking off from its outer casing. His emanating power briefly faltered. The Hermanubis figure picked themselves from the sand, their glowing white eyes staring upon you.

"Cyno! Strike the heart!"

The figure silently nodded, leaping back onto the puppet's arm again.

Scaramouche became more agitated. "No!" The Prodigal tried to swing him off, but Hermanubis clutched on, who propelled himself up to thrust a powerful lightning bolt to the puppet's chest. The entirety of the heart case shattered into thousands of pieces.

An energy wave bursted in response.

The puppet began to collapse, but Scaramouche, in his final chance of retaliation, shot a beam in your direction. "I refuse to be brought down alone!" he yelled.

Hermanubis, or rather Cyno, darted to you. Their glowing eyes widened. Their claws dug into the sand and vaulted themselves in desperation to grasp you.

Time slowed down in this very moment.

Hermanubis wrapped you into their claws, right before the light blinded you.

[milfmorrowind]

Catch Me When I Fall (Epilogue)

whoops! I wrote another chapter to this. turns out I had more thoughts. anyway, enjoy!

chapter word count: 4,249

fic word count: 12,658

link to full work on ao3 | parts one two three

When Mailie trudged her way back into the Flagon, Delvin and Vex were waiting for her. Delvin beckoned her over with a wave when he saw her enter and she came without comment, too tired to voice a response.

"You were in there for a while," Vex remarked as Mailie approached.

"Telling him off took longer than I expected," she responded, leaning against the fence surrounding the pool. Mere months ago she would not have trusted it with the weight of a tankard, but one of the first renovations she'd had performed was replacing the existing fence with a newer, taller, and stronger one. She didn't need anyone falling in and catching a cold-- there were children around, for gods' sake.

"I hope you told him what an idiot he is," Vex said as she crossed her arms. "And to never go running off like that again."

Mailie had to smile at that. "I did-- or in so many words, anyway." She suppressed a yawn. "How were things while I was gone?" She didn't really want to ask for fear of an answer that might keep her awake even longer, but she knew she had to.

Delvin set his notebook down onto the table next to him. "We got on well enough. Rune picked up a few interesting items that should fetch us a pretty penny, provided we can find the right buyer. I've got Ton working on connections as we speak. Cynric thinks he's got a lead on a big score, though he's been stingy on the details."

"Meaning he doesn't have them," Vex interjected.

Delvin snorted. "Right you are. We'll see if he actually comes through. Beyond that, business as usual. I'll spare you the details. You can check the ledgers yourself if you want them." Mailie nodded gratefully, knowing she would probably be doing just that. Later.

"Thanks, Del. I need one of you to talk to Herluin and find out what we owe him for supplies. Preferably before he has a chance to think too hard about it."

"On it." Before Mailie even finished speaking, Vex was marching off towards the apothecary's shop. Delvin watched her with an amused expression.

"I don't envy him if he tries to pull one over on her," he muttered.

Mailie snorted. "Me neither. Though a part of me would love to see him try." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Gods, she was tired.

Delvin raised an eyebrow at her. "Take a seat," he said, pulling out a chair. She all but collapsed into it. He sat down across from and gave her an appraising look. "If you don't mind my saying, boss, you look like you'd lose a wrestling match with a skeever at present. What are you up to next?"

Mailie sighed. Sometimes she was glad that Delvin could read her like book, and other times she hated it. She wasn't sure which it was at the moment. "I don't know. Food, bath, sleep. Haven't decided on the order yet."

"I can help with one of those." Delvin stood and disappeared to the bar for a moment before returning with a bowl of soup, which he placed in front of Mailie. "Eat that, and get some rest. You've earned it."

She managed to let out some appreciative noises before setting upon the soup. It was Vekel's usual, meaning it wasn't anything special, but it was by far the best thing she'd eaten in days. Delvin let her be while she continued eating. When she finished, she stood and left the Flagon, too tired to care that she'd left her dishes on the table. Vekel could hardly complain; he had her to thank for his booming business.

She returned to her bedroom. She slowly pushed open the door to avoid making any noise that might wake Brynjolf. Thankfully, he appeared to be fast asleep.

Mailie shut the door behind her and crept to the other side of the room. Carefully, she removed her borrowed armor and set it atop her dresser. She then undid her braids and combed the tangles out of her hair, wincing at the snags on her scalp. She'd need to properly wash the sweat out of it at some point, but it could wait. Finally, she blew out the candle on her nightstand and crawled into bed.

Brynjolf stirred. "Lass?" he said groggily into the darkness.

Mailie lay down next to him. "Right here," she whispered as she pressed a kiss to his chest.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, humming appreciatively. "S'good to have you here."

She smiled, and draped herself over him. "It's good to be here."

***

The Winking Skeever was alive with activity, but Mailie partook in none of it.

She stayed at her corner table with her cup of mead, overlooking the lively scene on the inn's main floor. It seemed as if every working person in Solitude had elected to spend their gold here tonight, filling the air with shouted conversations and raucous laughter. Which suited Mailie's purposes just fine.

The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. Mailie kept her eyes trained on the bar below her as the argonian crossed the balcony and sat in the other chair.

Gulum-Ei carried his own drink, which he set down on the table. Mailie drained the last of her mead.

"I assume there's a reason for all this secrecy," he murmured.

"Apologies." Mailie put her tankard down. "I wouldn't normally go to these lengths, but I have extenuating circumstances to contend with."

"As long as it keeps me out of the dungeons, I don't mind." Gulum-Ei took a sip of his drink. "What do you have for me, then? I assume it's something good."

"The opposite, actually." Mailie crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. "I'm looking for something."

"Oh?" Gulum-Ei seemed intrigued. "We get plenty of unusual items passing through Solitude. I'm sure I can help you. What are you looking for?"

Mailie shifted. "Information."

The smuggler rapped his fingers against the table. "On what?"

Mailie leaned over to meet his gaze. "Three weeks ago, the Legion arrested a man breaking into a house near Castle Dour. A Nord, red hair, leather armor. He was badly injured and needed help changing out of his armor before they put him in the cell. I need the name of the guard who helped him."

Gulum-Ei stood. "Wait here."

Mailie emerged from the tavern the next morning. Instead of any of her usual armor, she'd donned a Nordic dress. Whether or not it would make her less conspicuous remained to be seen. She walked down the streets of Solitude, missing the familiar weight of Dawnbreaker on her hip. She was not without substantial protection-- there was a dagger on her waist and in her boot, she had her magic, and these streets were rather safe, besides, but she felt naked without it nonetheless. It had killed her to leave the sword behind in her room at the inn, but she knew it would draw far too much attention.

She spotted her quarry. Gulum-Ei's information had been sound, as usual. The guard was standing near the Hall of the Dead, squinting in the early morning sun. He was younger than Mailie had expected-- she normally wouldn't have been able to tell, but his helm was visorless. Probably a more comfortable option in most circumstances, but on this particular day he was probably wishing for a closed helm, if for no other reason than to block out some of the sun.

Mailie walked over to him. He didn't seem to notice her approach as he stared blankly across the street.

"Good morning, sir."

The man nearly jumped. Clearly, passers by did not often stop to talk to him. "Ah-- Morning, ma'am," he sputtered out. He looked around him, as if expecting to see some kind of emergent situation occurring behind her. "Can I... help you with something, ma'am?"

Mailie folded her hands in front of her. "I do hope so," she said. "I believe I find myself in a situation in which--" She glanced over her shoulder, then stepped forward and lowered her voice. "Might I speak to you in private, sir? It's a rather delicate situation."

The guard blinked. "Certainly," he said in an uncertain voice. "I, er-- Let me take you to the fort, ma'am."

They walked up the streets to Castle Dour. In the courtyard, a few guards milled about, practicing with bows, swords, and axes. The guard led Mailie past them and through the door to the castle's interior. Once inside, he turned and led her down the stairs to the barracks. A few people looked at them curiously as they passed, but none seemed to pay them much mind. Finally, the guard opened a door to a small side room, and Mailie followed him inside.

He shut the door behind them. The room was windowless, though a pair of candles provided enough light to see. "I don't believe I caught your name, ma'am," the man said as he removed his helmet.

"Amelie." Technically not a lie.

"A pleasure to meet you then, Amelie. The name's Erik." He gestured to a table behind him. "Please, have a seat."

Mailie shook her head. "No, thank you." Refusing him was a gamble, she knew, but she didn't want anything between her and the door.

He looked at her curiously, but did not press the issue. "Suit yourself." He put his helmet down on the table. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"

Mailie placed her hands over her belt, fiddling with the fastening. "I don't know if you'll have heard, but... a few weeks past, a man was arrested near Castle Dour. I don't know if he'll have given his name, but it's Brynjolf. My understanding is that he was hurt quite badly and needed some assistance-- perhaps you heard some of this from the guard who helped him?"

Erik's jaw moved silently for a moment as he stared at her. "I did hear of it, ma'am. Well, in a manner of speaking. I was the one who helped him."

"Oh!" Mailie feigned surprise. "I suppose I can cut to the meat of it, then. I know it's a lot to ask, but is there any chance that I could see him?"

Erik's whole body seemed to tighten. "I'm afraid that's not possible, ma'am."

Mailie looked down. "Of course. I understand. Security is very important, especially with the war on. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but would you take a message to him, at least? I would not ask under normal circumstances, but..." She pressed her hands to her stomach and let her cheeks redden. "As I said, it's a rather delicate situation."

"I--" Mailie thought that Erik's face might be redder than her own. "I'm afraid I can't do that either, ma'am, though not for the reason you might think. Brynjolf disappeared from the dungeons not long after he was captured."

"I see." Mailie put on her most crestfallen expression. "Thank you for your help, sir. You have been most kind." She dropped her hands and turned to leave.

"Wait." She turned back around. Erik looked positively terrified. She wondered if he'd even meant to speak.

"Yes?" she said hopefully.

Erik looked to be at a loss for words. She was close. She stepped forward so that she was barely a foot away from his face.

"Sir-- Erik, if I may-- I don't mean to press you, but I find myself in a very difficult situation. I will likely never see that man again. If there is something you wish to tell me--" She placed a hand over her chest. Below it, her heart beat a steady rhythm, but more importantly, the Amulet of Articulation pressed against her palm. "I would very much like to know it."

The guard looked down at her. Mailie could almost see the turmoil in his head. Finally, he reached inside his uniform and pulled out a small object, wrapped in cloth. Without a word, he pressed it into Mailie's hand.

"You should go," he murmured.

Mailie stepped back and nodded. "That I will. Thank you, sir."

***

The walls of the Ratway were, predictably, wet. For once though, Mailie did not particularly mind. She walked briskly down the winding halls, barely even noticing the weight of her pack. When she finally reached the office door, she entered without knocking.

Brynjolf sat behind the desk. He looked up at the sound of the door with the most disgruntled expression Mailie had ever seen him wear.

"Welcome back," he said sullenly. The desk before him was littered with papers, books, and a sprinkling of coins, but was dominated by a heavy leather-bound ledger.

Mailie walked around to his side of the desk. She slipped her pack off her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor, then shoved a few items to the side and closed the ledger so she could perch on the edge of the desk. "Has Delvin seen what you've done to his books?"

Brynjolf crossed his arms. His leg, still splinted, was propped up on a short stool. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall behind him. "As a matter of fact, he has."

"And he let you live? Clearly you're more charming than I thought."

"I'm charming enough. At least for you, it seems."

Mailie smiled and dropped off the desk. Brynjolf tilted his head up into her hands as she leaned down and kissed him. His hands went to her waist and pulled her in close.

"Hm." Mailie tucked his hair behind his ear after retreating from the kiss. "For future reference, I greatly prefer this to the welcome you gave me."

Brynjolf's thumbs rubbed circles into her sides. "I don't know if you've noticed, lass, but I'm a tad limited in my movements." He shifted his splinted leg. "Sorry to disappoint."

Mailie rolled her eyes, but sat down on top of his leg-- the good one. Brynjolf wrapped his right arm around her waist to hold her steady.

"How were things while I was out?" she asked, still playing with his hair.

"Fine." He shifted forward a bit so he could lean back, giving Mailie more room. "Nothing of note, really."

Mailie finished with his hair. "Does whatever broke Vipir's nose count as 'nothing of note' to you, then?"

"If by that you mean his own stupidity, then yes. He managed to lift an entire book out of a mage's pockets without rousing a bit of suspicion, then tripped on his own feet two streets away. You should have seen him when he got back. Thrynn nearly fell in the water, he was laughing so hard."

Mailie winced. Vipir's nose would be fine, but she was a bit concerned about what might be in that book-- and even more so with who he may have taken it from. She resolved to ask him for details later.

"I'll take your word for it." She cupped his face in her hand and stroked her thumb gently back and forth across his cheek. Brynjolf was never especially attentive in maintaining his beard, but he'd let his whiskers grow even longer than usual in the week or so that Mailie had been gone.

"After all this time, you finally take me at my word." He tilted his head to the side to let her fuss over his cheek. "And what adventures did you find yourself on this time, lass?"

"Running back and forth across the whole damn province, mostly," Mailie grumbled. "I've cleared Herluin's bounties in Whiterun and Winterhold, but Ulfric's steward is proving difficult. I might actually have to prove his innocence to get it taken care of."

Brynjolf looked at her skeptically. "You sure he is innocent, lass? I'm not saying I don't trust him, but I wouldn't leave him alone with my porridge, if you catch my meaning."

Mailie shrugged. "Innocent may be something of a stretch, but I know he didn't kill the man in question. Directly, at least. I'll speak with him about it later. Hopefully he can provide some helpful information, or at minimum a convincing lie." She leaned in until her face was finger's breadth away from Brynjolf's. "But that's a task for another time. For now, I have more pressing concerns."

When she brought their lips together into a kiss, Brynjolf's arm tightened around her waist. She let him pull her in against his chest as she continued to run her fingers over his scraggly beard. His hand rested comfortably on her knee, stabilizing her as she balanced atop his leg.

They came apart for just a moment. Brynjolf's fingers dug into Mailie's side, but she barely even felt them.

"I missed you," he whispered against her lips.

Mailie smiled. "I missed you too," she whispered back, tilting her head in for another kiss.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Mailie jumped off Brynjolf's lap with a barely concealed yelp of surprise and brushed herself off. "Come in!" she called, hoping whoever was outside didn't think anything was amiss.

Vex strolled into the room with her usual composure. "Oh good. You're both here," she remarked. "Get to the Flagon when you can. Cynric came through on that score he was going on about, and I want to show you the details." She looked them over and raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know why you're both looking at me like that?"

Mailie shook her head and prayed fervently that her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "Don't worry about it. We'll be along in a bit, I want to finish looking over the books."

Vex shrugged. "Suit yourself. Enjoy your numbers." She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mailie turned around to see Brynjolf looking at her with an amused expression. "It's not funny," she insisted, but his grin only grew wider at her indignation. "Brynjolf!"

He chuckled, which did nothing to calm her. "You have to admit, lass, it is a bit amusing. You're redder than a tomato."

She leaned back against the desk with a scowl. "You're insufferable."

He winked. "You love me for it."

She did, but she wasn't sure she could say so at the moment without it coming out as a smart remark, so she kept quiet. Her fingers drummed along the edge of the desk. "Bryn, can I ask you something?"

Brynjolf leaned back and rested his elbow on the back of the chair. "I serve at your pleasure, Princess."

Mailie didn't have it in her to roll her eyes. She looked down at the floor, suddenly doubting herself. Brynjolf seemed to notice her consternation and straightened a bit.

"What's on your mind, lass?"

She took a deep breath. "When did you know?"

"That I loved you?" he asked quietly. She nodded, not trusting that anything she tried to say would leave her mouth willingly.

Brynjolf paused to think. "I've two answers," he said after some consideration. "When you and Mercer went missing... I suppose that's when it started. I knew you could both take care of yourselves, but couldn't for the life of me work out why he wanted you to settle the score with Karliah. If I'm honest, I spent the whole time I was searching for you steeling myself to tell him off for it." He snorted. "In a way, I did, eventually. But to answer the question of when I knew for sure... I suppose it's when we made you guildmaster." His jaw was tight, and Mailie though she saw him grind his teeth. "It-- something changed in you that day, lass. When I put that amulet around your neck, all I could think of was how far you'd come, and how proud I was." His voice broke off a little at the end and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "What about you?"

Mailie knew she couldn't very well skirt the question after that. "I-- I don't think I realized until I heard you'd been arrested. I didn't think much about it, I just had to find you. You knew that, though." Her cheeks were burning redder than ever. "As for when it all began... it was Karliah. I didn't think anyone would believe her, Bryn, but you did. I--" Her words were failing her. She nudged at his leg with her foot. "You're a good man, Brynjolf. Better than you know."

He looked away. They were terrible at this. Mailie bit her lip. There were a hundred things she could say, but not one of them felt right, and every one was harder to say than the last.

"We should go see Vex," Brynjolf said finally. He moved as if to grab his crutches.

Mailie scrambled off the desk. "Wait." She'd forgotten half the reason she came in here in the first place. She rifled quickly through her pack and retrieved a small cloth bundle. "Here, I have something for you," she said, and handed to Brynjolf.

He looked at her curiously. "What is it, consolation for my leg?" He began to unwrap the bundle. "I'll admit you've surprised me, but it's not much substitute--" He froze.

Mailie watched with bated breath as he unfolded the cloth. Her hands were on the verge of trembling, so she clasped them in her lap. The cloth fell to the floor, ignored as Brynjolf laid his father's amulet across his palm.

Mailie drew in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry to spring this on you. I meant to tell you when I came in, but--"

She was cut off by Brynjolf launching himself at her. She caught him as he fell forward against her and would have toppled over if it weren't for the desk behind her. She would have scolded him for being so careless of his leg, but he pulled her into a kiss before she got the chance.

His hands cradled her head gently as he placed kiss after kiss on her lips, cheeks, nose, jaw, and every other inch of her face he could reach. The amulet's cord was looped around one of his fingers and bumped against her back with every movement, but Mailie barely even noticed. For once in her life, she let someone else shower their affections over her without hesitation. Her hands were braced against his shoulders with just enough strength to keep him balanced on his good leg, but she otherwise let his lips wander over her face.

It took him a while, but Brynjolf eventually remembered that Mailie needed to breath. He ceased his attentions and leaned his head back enough to look her in the eyes. "How?" he whispered in a voice full of wonder.

She placed one of her hands over his heart. It beat like a drum inside his chest. "Gulum-Ei found me the name of the guard who helped you out of your armor," she said. "And told me his schedule. I found him and convinced him to give me the amulet."

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. "I was certain he'd have gotten rid of it as soon as he could. It's not worth much, so he couldn't have sold it, especially not in Solitude. I've been imagining it at the bottom of the ocean more often than I'd care to admit."

"You'd be surprised what people are willing to buy," Mailie muttered. As if he didn't know that.

Brynjolf shook his head again. "What did you even say to convince him to hand it over?"

"I told him I was carrying your child."

Brynjolf choked. "That was your solution?" he sputtered.

"It worked," Mailie said with a shrug. "And I more implied it, anyway."

Brynjolf eyed her with a trepidacious look. "Just so we're clear, lass, you're not--?"

Mailie rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, Bryn. Do you really think that's how I'd tell you?"

He shuddered. "Forgive me for choosing to not give it too much thought."

Mailie chuckled. The hand holding Brynjolf's amulet had gone from her cheek to the table beside her to support his weight. Almost instinctively, Mailie rested her own hand on top of it. He lifted it from the table and laced their fingers together, then brought their hands to his lips and kissed the backs of Mailie's knuckles.

Mailie let her fingers slip out of his. They tangled in the amulet's cord as she lifted it from Brynjolf's hand and slipped it over his head. The amulet thumped against his chest, and she took his face in her hands and brought him into a soft kiss.

"Thank you," he whispered, resting their foreheads together.

Mailie kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Don't mention it."

Brynjolf's hands settled on her waist as he nuzzled along her jaw. "How long do you think we can keep Vex waiting before she sends someone after us?"

Mailie snorted. "I think she's far more likely to proceed without us." She stroked Brynjolf's cheek with her thumb. "We should go to her. I'd like to see if this score is as good as Cynric seems to think it is."

"Very well." Brynjolf leaned back. "Shall we pick this up later, then?"

Mailie rolled her eyes. "Not sure I have much choice in the matter, seeing as you've been sleeping in my bed." She dropped off the desk and handed him his crutches. "You need to shave, by the way."

[zoeysdamn]

Headcanon (crack): Wednesday’s characters being drunk

Don’t ask me why. @beggingforxavierthorpe​ and I talked and boom -- crack thoughts, you know the drill

Wednesday: 

Doesn’t get drunk easily, is used to fancy wines from family dinners; it takes around a whole bottle to get her tipsy.  

Prefers old age whisky (or nail polish remover)

Blunt af – even more than usual it is

But it also means blunting compliments

“Your dress is nicely complimenting your body, Enid”

“....I’m sorry wHAT– “

“I said what I said”

0 sense of danger

Like, none

Would accept any dare, I swear to god

“Hey Wednesday, bet you can’t walk barefoot on that electric line”

“Hold my beer–” 

Probably confessed a hella lot of personal stuff to Thing without realizing it

(he’ll keep it to himself, he’s not suicidal)

If she tolerates a hug more than 5 seconds, she’s wasted 

Enid: 

Can hold her liquor for like three cups top – after that she’s a goner

Will deny she gets drunk 

Switch between sad drunk, happy drunk, and cuddly drunk

Also will fight God in a fistfight on her 6th drink 

Sad drunk Enid will cry her heart out and cuddle you over any random subject. Last episode of her favorite show? Yep. The caramel dessert at the cafeteria at lunch? Absolutely. Yoko wearing the same outfit as her at the last party? She’ll cry on your shoulder. Mommy issues? bOI bring the tissues. 

Karaoke is a must do; don’t tempt her with a mic, you’ll have the full Taylor Swift discography blasted ‘til daylight 

Came become suspicious of everyone on her top drunk state: she’ll be sure one of the guest is actually principal Weems in disguise 

Probably had show her boobs on top of a table for fun (sober Wednesday had to pull her down)

Gets whiny when the alcohol starts to wear off 

Already ended up asleep upside down in a bathtub – somehow always wakes up in her bed 

Ajax: 

Mildly light weight; can hold his beer as much as he wants, but anything stronger and he’s gone. 

At 3 drinks he thinks he’s a good singer; at 5 he’ll demonstrate it (he’s not) 

Definitely an affectionate drunk 

Will hug anyone – anyone

The only person who had tackled Bianca Barclay into a surprise hug and lived 

Bc drunk Ajax is a gentle giant too cute for his own good

Actually managed to get away after being busted by Ms Thornhill as he stumbled drunk in the school’s corridor 

Asks the dumbest yet most legit questions

“So snakes are basically walking on their bellies?”

“D’you think Weems can have a baby with herself? I mean theoretically–” 

“If I stone someone during sex and pull out, do I pull the sword out of the stone?” 

Loves everyone, will die for everyone if you ask enough (just ask him)

Saw a bearded man once and hugged him while crying “Dumbledore, you’re alive!!” 

Xavier and Yoko filmed the scene; it’s an official meme of Nevermore now 

Harder drunker, so somehow the best at knowing all the tricks how to handle hangovers 

Will leave ibuprofen and bottles of water in the bathroom every time the party’s in his room

Xavier: 

Also familiar with fancy drinks (family dinners and all)

Ajax definitely made fun of him during their first time drinking together because of that 

Will defy anyone in a drinking contest – will most likely win but at what cost 

Knows when he’s drunk, will have another drink to celebrate it 

Needs no more than 3 drinks to dramatically turn to Ajax singing like he’s a judge in The Voice 

Hair has no rule anymore: past 5 drinks, Xavier will let anyone try any hair style on him – should he end up with a palm tree hairstyle (he definitely did. Multiple time.)

Instaured a socks race with Enid to establish a winner in beer pong in case it ends in a tie

The scale of drunken Xavier can be established by the corny nicknames he uses: babe, sweetheart? Getting tipsy. Muffin, baby doll? Drunk. Sexy cake, pudding, honeybun? Definitely drunk. Baby boo, Sugar pie? Bro you’re wasted af, drop this drink right now and stop trying to hit on the coat hanger.

Emotional drunk; the daddy issues WILL show and the emo playlist will be brought up.

Also somehow a bitchy drunk. Will make a gossip club with Yoko and Wednesday on the spot to bitch about every single guest while sipping mojitos and margaritas. 

Bianca: 

Will drown a bottle of tequila without blinking an eye and then recite an entire Shakespeare sonnet without stuttering 

Slightly emotional drunk, but also a loud drunk

Like, legit sounds like Cardi B laughing while drunk – a hyena

Brutally honest with you, but more prone to help you after a few drinks 

Dance monster on her 4th drink; don’t try to stop her getting on the dancefloor 

Taster of every new mix by Yoko; she has excellent cocktail tastes 

Will cry watching ‘Monsters Inc.’ on her 5th drink, will absolutely trash talk the little mermaid tho

The strongest drinker – it takes a lot to actually get her drunk

So she always end up being the referee to all drinking games (which she’s most likely to have instigated)

Have tons of pics of her friends during their drunken antics – goldmine. 

Mama bear taking care of the drunk crew 

Tyler: 

No filter whatsoever

Will either broke down into tears or unleash anger 

Would fight anyone too 

Not a lightweight but doesn’t know how to handle the amount of liquor he’s drinking 

Conspiracy theories after the 5th drink. So. much. theories. 

Had improvised a drunk strip tease once; will not do that again (for free)

Actually received a lot of compliments after that

The official coffee supplier of the crew on hangovers 

“Give me a pint of that coffee, Galpin” 

Around 4am, he’s usually taken by the urge to stress/hangover clean everything. Will do all the dishes to sleep off the alcohol. 

Will alternatively flirt or try to fight everyone, no middle ground 

He’ll actually defend any of his drunk friends being harassed 

High chances he’d join the bitch club too; Enid once photoshopped his, Xavier, and Yoko’s faces on the ‘Mean girls’ poster

(every one of them had secretly that printed in their locker)

Also a mother hen – at least he tries

Bonus: Principal Weems

Did indeed transform herself into a student to attend a party 

Quickly understood why she preferred a glass of Chardonnay in her cozy office

The sole time she threw up after a party thanks to cheap vodka

Also had to purposefully ignore some students after that – some pictures can’t be erased 

[k-montes-26]

The living room was tense as Jimin's voice boomed, "You have a boyfriend?" His body language was rigid, his eyes ablaze with intensity, as he forcefully struck his palm against the coffee table, the sound echoing through the room.

“Had.” Abigail corrected her brother.

“And that fucking asshole cheated on you?” The handsome man with his golden locks was consumed with fury. His little sister had appeared in the doorway moments ago, and all hell had broken loose. She was crying, an unusual sight, especially in front of others. Jimin could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her cry since childhood. When she was younger, she used to cry a lot, but that was understandable given what she had gone through at such a tender age.

“I hope you punched his face or, even better, his balls!”

The irritation was written all over Abigail's face. She blinked at her brother a few times until she opened her mouth. “I'm not a violent person, Chim.”

Abigail was uncomfortable as she sat in a room with three pairs of dark eyes staring at her. Jungkook, seated on the right next to her, let out a frustrated huff and slammed his back against the armchair. Taehyung, on the other hand, remained silent, but his unwavering gaze never left the girl before him.

Jimin, Abigail's brother, paced up and down the room with a deep frown, clearly agitated by the situation. "Gail, that was a situation to get violent. He deserved it. Fuck, you flew more than eight hours to see him!” He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his blond locks, the same color as their mother's and older sister's.

The sound of Taehyung's deep voice made her shift in her seat. She could feel the intensity of his presence as he watched her. "Why are you here, Galileo? Summer break hasn't even started yet!" he exclaimed with a boldness that caught her off guard. Despite her stoic nature, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his audacity. She wondered how he managed to be so carefree and unapologetic all the time. And the nickname he gave her made all the hair on her body stand right up.

The men's eyes fixed on her, waiting expectantly for a response. Abigail took a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes for a brief second and taking a deep breath. Then, in a calm and confident tone, she revealed, "I had intended to tell him that I received an acceptance letter from Harvard College.”

Everyone in the room was still for one- two- three- heartbeats when suddenly, Jimin and Jungkook let out a loud whoop of excitement, their faces breaking into huge grins. They jumped up and embraced each other tightly, their excitement barely contained. After a few moments, Jimin turned to his sister and swept her up in a tight embrace, twirling her around like a fluffy ball. “I knew you would make it!”

However, when he put her back down on the ground, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Jungkook, seeing his chance, stepped forward eagerly to do the same, but she quickly held up her hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't touch me," she said firmly, "I hate physical contact!”

More laughter filled the room. “Gods, how did you get a boyfriend when you don't like to be touched?” Jungkook patted her head gently instead and brushed his mouth teasingly against her ear, “You haven't changed a bit, Abs.”

Her elbow met his ribs, and Jungkook huffed a joyous giggle. Abigail's gaze went to the man sitting on the armchair, his hands in his pockets and the goddamn piercings stained through his black shirt, doing nothing to hide the sinful jewelry. She was happy he and Jungkook put on a sweater after all. Taehyung was always the quiet one in the trio; he was the cranky bad boy, the opposite of Jungkook's quirky and loud persona, but they were equally famous with the girls, well, even with the boys.

They never showed interest in boys, though. Maybe they hid it from curious eyes. All Abigail could remember was that she had seen them, including her flirty brother, with girls all the time. Their school was in the same building as hers, so she heard many rumors about the trio’s achievements and skills. Her stomach turned at the thought of it. She shook her head to get rid of the imagination and studied her brother's apartment.

Dirty dishes, clothes, and trash were tossed around the place. Her toes curled up in disgust at the sight of their kitchen counter. Jimin was never the cleanest person, so weren't his friends. She even caught a glimpse of red lace underwear on the kitchen counter. “Eew, is that a slip?” The guys followed her gaze and landed on the counter. A grin decorated their faces in amusement.

Jungkook walked toward the tiny red material and hooked it with his fingers. Abigail’s lips creased in disgust at seeing the material hanging on his tattooed fingers. “This is a thong, Abs, not a slip!”

“It is what it is. Something to wear underneath and not to decorate your counter where you eat.” She inhaled sharply as she went on. "That's gross!”

“Well, I think someone had a fabulous meal on top of this_”

“Gross, gross, gross!” Abigail interrupted Jungkook from talking and covered her ears with her palms. Jungkook, however, laughed wholeheartedly, took a deep sniff of the red lace cloth, and put it in one of his pockets. “Chim, can I stay the night?” Abigail asked as she was already headed toward his room. Jimin nodded immediately, and that was all she needed before she entered his room and closed the door with a light thud.

The room was silent for a moment as the three men adjusted to the information Abigail had dropped on them. “You think she's okay?” Jungkook asked carefully after gulping a glass of water down his throat.

Jimin shook his head and folded his arms before his buffed chest as he answered, “I don't think so. She may look fine on the outside, but she's a master at hiding her feelings.” He was Abigail’s confidant, someone she always went to when she needed to talk. She emptied her heart to him, especially during the most challenging time.

She was still a kid back then, but she couldn't talk to their parents. They were so busy searching for a solution, someone who could help her, that they forgot to stay with her when the medication hit her, and she hurled her guts out. Or when she wanted to get rid of her hair because they were falling out, she couldn't stand to wake up every morning seeing she lost more of her dirt-blond hair. Jimin was the one who took her to the nearest hairdresser and held her hands when tears streamed out of her beautiful amber-colored eyes.

Abigail loved her lengthy hair, although she had always complained about the color. She wanted them to be as golden and shiny as their mothers. Hers were not blond yet not brown either; it was somewhere between.

Jimin saw the slow change in her eyes. He saw how, with every session, the light in her vanished. Abigail was a quirky kid, always had a bright smile on her face, and her sass would be dangerous if she had kept that fire till now. At some point, she locked herself completely. She stopped shedding tears because she knew it saddened their parents when she was hurt. So, she pretended she wasn't in pain and decided to stay quiet when she struggled through a thunderous hell of pain. She was only eight years old then.

“Bro, you okay?” Jungkook questioned when he noticed Jimin’s face was losing color. The man played the ring in his bottom lip with his tongue and plunged onto the couch beside his blond friend. They shared glimpses of encouragement.

Taehyung played with the tiny ring on the chain around his neck and hummed. “Give her time, mate, she will be okay.” Jimin nodded at his friend's remark, and before he could lose himself again, his bedroom door opened. Approaching steps were audible when Abigail stood in the middle of their kitchen, rubber gloves on, a towel on her shoulder, and brushes of all kinds in both of her hands.

Without an announcement, she threw all the empty boxes and bottles into separate bags.

“Wow, she is separating the trash?” Jungkook clasped his chest dramatically as he watched the girl work inch by inch through the chaos.

“As we all should!” Taehyung added and got a weird look from Jungkook as if saying really, we never did. Taehyung stood up, collected the clothes on the floor, and turned on the music through the speakers. Somehow, he waited for a reaction or a scolding, but Abigail didn't. That was when he noticed her earbuds. He smiled and muttered, “I'm curious if she's listening to science now.”

Jimin was about to grab his things for the shower but answered his curious friend, “Nope, I think she's listening to an audiobook. She loves that shit—fantasy stuff about demons, angels, wolves, and fae. I tried to listen to it, but that was nothing for me.” he sang the last words as he locked himself in the bathroom.

Jungkook and Taehyung helped Abigail clean up the mess they had left for a week. Neither of them liked it, and it always ended in chaos till one decided to start the cleaning. The guys were humming to the blasting music, entirely consumed by the melody and beat. Jungkook took all the trash bags and exited the apartment to throw them out.

Their apartment was finally clean and smelled of citrus and mint. It had never smelled like that when they cleaned. Just as Taehyung wanted to grab a drink from the fridge, he noticed that Abigail wore Jimin’s shirt and sweatpants. A grin creased on his lips. The girl was swimming in her brother’s clothes.

“Didn't you bring a little suitcase?” Taehyung teased behind her; his voice was low with a hint of amusement. Abigail put one of her earbuds out and turned to look at him, confused. "You're wearing Jimin's clothes; it's too big on you. Don't you have your own clothes?”

Abigail blinked a few times, considering what to say, but she bluntly said, “Those clothes would be inappropriate to wear in front of my brother and his guy friends, I suppose!” She held his gaze behind her glasses a little longer than he was used to. Taehyung wondered how she could stay so still without showing a fling of emotions—a straightforward, striking face.

The man’s nostrils flare, trying hard not to react to her statement. His mind went to places where it shouldn't go. Pictures of his best friend’s little sister in sexy lingerie were undoubtedly forbidden. He wished he could've pulled on her hair tie, to see her wild hair down. Taehyung remembered she had big waves. He once saw her in the middle of the night, in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water—she didn't notice him then; it was dark, and he was hiding with Jimin and Jungkook as they sneaked some girls in the basement.

Their hormones then were crazy and at their peak. As teenagers, they had the worst ideas, and often, to Abigail’s dismay. No wonder she had ignored them whenever Jungkook and Taehyung stayed for the weekends in Jimin’s basement.

A buzzing sound interrupted the silence. Taehyung watched Abigail pick up her phone. She was reading a message but tossed her phone back to the counter right after. She plugged her earbuds back in and pushed the play button. The message was still visible, and Taehyung couldn't help but read it. It was from her ex-boyfriend, Rhys.

‘Hey, darling, I'm exhausted. I have been working on a presentation till now. What are you doing? Missing me? I wish I could hold you.’ *heart emoji*

Taehyung scoffed at the message; something inside him was raging. Rhys didn't deserve Abigail— he thought to himself. Holding her? What the heck? He was holding a woman, straddling his lap while his girlfriend watched. For fucks sake. Taehyung picked up the phone, shifted closer to Abigail, took a picture, and typed a message.

‘Not your darling anymore. Caught you cheating, you prick!”

The phone buzzed immediately; a new message chimed in, and Jungkook entered the apartment while Jimin exited the bathroom. Taehyung watched Abigail read the messages with anticipation and smiled when he got the reaction he aimed for.

“What have you done?” She turned to the man standing behind her, his smirking face on full display. Her eyes were wide, and her brows furrowed in anger.

“Helping you!” Taehyung replied.

“Helping me?” Abigail’s voice was louder than usual. Jimin and Jungkook shared a confused look before glaring at their friend as she continued. “You made things worse. Now he thinks I am cheating!”

“Gail, what happened?” Her brother asked and approached the two fighting humans, as in his sister and his best friend.

Abigail held her phone to Jimin’s sight, “This happened!” Her brother's and Jungkook's eyes opened wide, amusement creasing up on their lips as they looked at a photo of Taehyung placing a kiss on top of Abigail’s hair. But what cracked them up in laughter was the message under the picture.

‘MINE!!!’ *middle finger emoji*

[bongo50ize]

The best holidays Danceverse Crew's summer of the year

Here we see the Danceverse Crew'shouse. Where the crew is doing their average activities Suddenly a letter falls from the door and Sarah picks it up. And the crew I have a surprise for you everyone had come to the living room Sarah begins to read the congratulations letter you are invited to sleep in a lodge with three other people. Jack imagines who Night Swan who ruins the vacation for the crewSuddenly we hear a voice Jack Jack Jack. Jack worrying: you're sure it's a good idea your mother will ruin our vacation. Wanderlust take your gang behind Jack's back: maybe don't worry Maybe it's Dolores or Polo and Ruben or I don't know who else.mihaly : Cousin is right to stay calm, it can't be your mother. Jack he doesn't trust too much.3 p.m. later.The crew arrives at los angeles they arrive in the lodge The house in the hills. You can see there is liv blake and beedabop they arrived in the gite.Jack relieves by touching his heart.Wanderlust: I said there isn't your mother. In reality you can enjoy the holidays.Blake picks up a sheet on the table he begins to read: dear vacationer There are only 4 bedrooms for 8 people. have to pair you guys up in twos. Jack and wanderlust +discoball. Mihaly and brezzana. Blake and lib. Sara and beedabop even you are not in love to sleep in the same room.Brezzana coming out of joy: mi goes to sleep in the same room. Jack: we can cuddle in bed tonight liv â Blake: that's a nice man to book a room for the two of us. Beedabop: I brought a sleeping bag hello roommate. Sarah smiles back.Blake: I haven't finished yet, it's written morning closes at 8 am you're gone restaurant noon swimmer in the pool in the afternoon. Wednesday day in downtown Los Angeles. Thursday day at the Lake Tahoe Basin Management Unit. Disneyland Friday. And a boom and which represents the song which chooses.The Privacy Council.One closes the door to make love. Two you don't enter other people's room unless you are invited. Three beedabop he can't take a shower because he's a robot. The four No violence in this lodge. If you have a problem, tell me on the phone.Sarah : great I have a shower all to myself.At 8 p.m. Everyone swim in pool and beedabop serving glasses of apricot syrup. Liv: Thank you very much. She starts drinking after swallowing the first one: that's a vacation, what are we going to do on the farm tomorrow. Blake: retreat of the goats from the cows and see other animals Beedabop he goes inside. Suddenly Jack standing at the edge of the swimming pool shouting: attention I am going to dive!! How to Watch Jack Jumping Cannonball: Cannonballs!!It splashed everyone. Liv getting angry: because of your bomb my apricot syrup is soaked Wanderlust: Jack was I talking to you in private? Jack and wanderlust who went to a wanderlust corner: why did you make a cannonball!! Jack: Why? Wanderlust: because everyone is soaked because of your cannonball can you wait until tomorrow to do it again when there is no one? Jack: Ok sorry for everyone.At 6am later. Sarah: wakes up with wild hair. She gets up to brush them. Sarah she goes in the kitchen show him beedabop Who prepares breakfast for everyone he says: hello Sarah can you tell the others for breakfast? THANKS.After Sarah warns everyone breakfast is ready. Mihaly a sandwich: I love animals are so sweet. Wanderlust: maybe we can drink the cow's milk. Report for breakfast tomorrow morning.Jack: we go from chickens to chicks.

[pantoneyoongi]

neon signs | we are not cut out for this

title ; we are not cut out for this  pairing ; campus crush!yoongi x campus crush!you 

notes ; 

this is part of the neon signs drabble series, where drabbles are released in random order (but listed chronologically in the masterlist!) 

series description ;

namjoon doesn’t think it can get any clearer outside of yoongi building a giant neon sign saying i have the absolute biggest crush on you but apparently, book smarts don’t exactly translate when it comes to you and your massive crush on min yoongi. 

(alternatively: namjoon and hoseok try for three years straight to get you and yoongi together.) 

word count ; 2.7k

tags ; halloweekend, drinking, is it clear yet that i’ve never been to a single frat party, pls go to masterlist for more / general tags 

in case anybody asks, namjoon is always right. he was right when he told you not to eat the questionable fish sticks, he was right when he said you were never even once going to use the (super cute!) planner you bought for college, and he’s right about the fact that not a single one of you should’ve gone to this party. 

first of all, it’s a halloween party. the first night of halloweekend, where hoseok said we have to go, it’s a part of the college experience, so you all managed to scrounge together a costume because it is really hard to say no to hoseok when he’s particularly insistent on something. 

yoongi put what is probably the literal least amount of effort any human being could possibly put into a costume. he doesn’t even look altogether that different; he just looks like himself, but instead of regular blue jeans he’s in black jeans. 

“what… exactly are you supposed to be?” you ask, scanning his all-black ensemble. he blinks back at you. his eyes shift a little. 

“a stagehand,” he responds plainly. 

your brows lift. “oh,” you reply lightly. (a future you who knows yoongi better and can read his tells a little more will realize yoongi was absolutely talking out of his ass. he straight up did not dress up, at all. but current you decides not to question it.) 

the party doesn’t start off particularly poorly. you think you might be a little overdressed for it (what? it’s cold outside and you’ve never been to one of these before) but nonetheless you meet a couple already-tipsy people and make a few new friends who you’re sure will have no idea who you are by the morning. 

it’s not until halfway past midnight that things start to go a little… 

south. 

.

.

.

you’ve lost sight of namjoon. yoongi’s lost sight of hoseok. but you still have sight of yoongi, and with a hesitant hand, you reach out to try and grab hold of the corner of his shirt (you’d yell instead, but you can’t hear shit over the sound of the booming bass. you were just gonna settle for miming, honestly), but then you see it. 

or rather, them. 

even with the music as loud as it is, you think you can hear yoongi’s groan, the way his hand comes up to massage the headache that, if he didn’t have one before, he definitely has one now. your jaw is on the ground and you kind of want to bury your face into yoongi’s back just to hide your own secondhand embarrassment. 

namjoon has never been drunk before. he’s had sips of alcohol at family functions, but you’re fairly certain he has never downed drinks the way one does at a frat party. “i don’t feel anything,” namjoon had said after his first shot, which then led to a series of shots and the worst thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

you’re not really sure how the shoddy table is holding him up. you’re actually a little concerned that he’ll either break the table or fall, neither of which you’re equipped to help with because namjoon is twice the size of you. “oh no,” you whimper to no one in particular. “oh, no.” 

you want to scrub your eyes with bleach. you’re sure namjoon would too, if the usually composed man saw what he was doing right now, the obscenity of your best friend doing what can only be described as ‘shaking ass’ on top of a table, surrounded by a crowd of equally wasted people who are clearly enjoying the view. hoseok was standing on the table with him, but he disappears out of sight for you again when he sits down on the edge of the table, energy suddenly extinguished. 

yoongi can still see him, though, since he’s taller than you. “oh god,” yoongi mutters. hoseok looks like he’s entering a third plane of existence, eyes wide and jaw slightly ajar. 

it gets worse. namjoon’s voice booms through the crowd and you wonder if it’s too late to revoke your best friend card. “uh,” yoongi coughs, leaning down to reach you. “is he - is he doing what i think he’s doing?” 

your hand wraps around yoongi’s bicep lightly as you tip-toe to talk back into his ear. “if reciting various philosophy theories while trying to throw his back out is what you think he’s doing, then yes.” 

yoongi turns to face you. you stare back at him. he opens his mouth, then shuts it. then opens it again. then shuts it. with a sigh of someone who is left with no other choice, he grabs you by the wrist and tugs you through the crowd, releasing you only when you reach the table, both your heads tilted back to stare up at namjoon. 

yoongi glances at you. he points to hoseok, then himself, then you, to namjoon. you grimace. you wish you could leave namjoon with yoongi, but unfortunately, the best friend title belongs to you. you nod. 

yoongi melts into the crowd, headed towards hoseok. you watch your drunk-off-his-ass friend for as long as you can stand it, before you call his name, trying to get his attention above the noise both the music and himself are making. 

“hey plato,” you yell. “or socrates, whatever, i don’t remember. can you come here please?” 

namjoon crouches and thank god his haphazard bed sheet costume covers everything it needs to cover. “hi y/n,” he slurs, and you feel like you’re genuinely at risk of him tumbling right off the edge and you winding up crushed underneath him. you really wish yoongi had taken namjoon instead. 

“come down, please?” you ask sweetly. you have no idea how to handle a drunk namjoon. drunk namjoon is not exactly anything like sober namjoon, apparently. 

you thank every spiritual entity you can and can’t think of when namjoon slides off the table obediently. it’s a blessing that drunk namjoon is more susceptible to listening to you than sober namjoon is, as you grab onto his wobbly figure to keep him upright and not faceplanted onto the floor. though you get the feeling if he goes down, you’re going with him. 

now that you have namjoon, the crowd is slowly starting to dissipate. you search the room for yoongi, entirely unaware of the curious eyes on you - if anything, you figure it’s just people wondering about namjoon’s next move, since he is still talking very loudly about philosophers. 

you catch sight of yoongi. he’s kind of hard to miss, because - well - everyone’s caught sight of yoongi, it seems. the all black thing is working wonders for him. 

for a moment, you just watch. there’s a crowd of people around both him and hoseok, and you think you might’ve only seen this scene in movies or tv shows, the way girls surround yoongi, batting their eyelashes at him, offering their help, but even to someone as oblivious as you, you can tell the offer is only to spend a little extra time with yoongi. 

you’ve never really thought hard about it before - never had to - but the fleeting moments when your brain randomly registers that both yoongi and hoseok are very handsome locks in now, solidifying in your brain who exactly you’re friends with. 

yoongi isn’t smiling anymore, ducking his head and nodding and trying to get through the crowd with a tipsy hoseok. if you didn’t know any better, yoongi might’ve looked annoyed by the attention, which only seems to make him garner even more. 

but you know better. just a little bit. you know he’s just trying to calculate the fastest way to make it out of the crowd without being rude, but it translates into a stand-offish attitude with curt responses before his eyes find yours. you try to smile, but between the nagging feeling in your chest and the literal weight of namjoon on your arm, it looks a lot more like a grimace. 

you see more so than hear yoongi say a few words, then he slips through, towards you. “trade,” he says, sounding slightly out of breath, and suddenly you’ve got hoseok’s arm looped over your shoulder, and namjoon is wrapped around yoongi. they’re sobering, slowly - but yoongi has to elbow namjoon hard in the gut to get him to jolt up a little, stumbling towards the nearest exit you can find. 

you glance at yoongi as he leads the way out, and something about the way he looks over his shoulder at you sets off butterflies in your stomach that you choose to ignore. he’s just a little extra handsome today, that’s all. the definition of tall, dark, and brooding. 

it’s an excuse you won’t be able to use for much longer, but while you still have a far from sober hoseok draped over you, that’s what you’ll settle for. 

.

.

.

yoongi collapses onto the curb beside you with a loud exhale, drawing his knees up and hanging his arms over them. hoseok is passed out on the grass beside you, while namjoon is still up, stumbling as he wanders about, but you can tell he’s slowly sobering up. yoongi keeps his eyes on him though, making sure not to lose sight of him. 

you sit in silence together, waiting for the uber yoongi had called for. you pull your knees up too, wrapping your arms under your thighs. even with the gloves on your hands extending up to your elbows, you still feel cold. yoongi doesn’t look much better, goosebumps raising along his bare arms. 

“thanks for coming tonight,” he says suddenly, voice a little gruff. two months into knowing him but every so often you still find yourself adjusting to the way yoongi speaks, listening carefully for the undertones rather than the surface level. he doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes trained on namjoon, but he continues, a little softer this time, “you really didn’t have to. hoseok’s a little…”  yoongi trails off when he can’t quite find the words, nose scrunching. “well, he wouldn’t have forced you,” he settles on saying. yoongi finally turns back to you then, but the way he looks at you makes you wish he’d go back to tracking namjoon. there’s a flutter in your chest that’s getting a little too dangerous, a little too soon.

you shrug it off. “it’s okay, i wanted to come,” you reassure him. “he was right. it’s part of the college experience.”

“some things you don’t need to experience,” yoongi says dryly, and you laugh, earning a flash of teeth back when he grins. he leans back on his arms, heaving a sigh. “we are not cut out for this.” 

you hide a smile. considering namjoon is currently explaining in intense detail to a shrub the concept of free will vs determinism, you’re inclined to agree. when namjoon wakes up with a raging hangover tomorrow, you have no doubt the first words out of his mouth will be, “i told you this was a bad idea.” 

yoongi pulls your attention back, reaching over to pinch lightly at the cloth of your costume. “i didn’t ask earlier. what’d you come as?” 

your ears turn pink, but you attribute it to the cold, and not the brush of his hands as he pulls away. “katara, from avatar,” you admit shyly. “but i didn’t really have much time to prepare, so i guess it’s not obvious.” 

you slide your arms out from under your thighs, fiddling with the gloves. “i was hoping the gloves might keep me at least a little warm, but it only really helped for dodging all the sticky stuff inside. nobody told me frat parties are really…” you make a face. “gross.” 

yoongi snorts. “yeah,” he agrees easily. he sucks in a breath between his teeth. “let’s not do this again. once is enough.” 

“you didn’t try partying last year?” 

yoongi glances at you through his peripheral. “i need hoseok to remind me to smile,” he arches an eyebrow. “somehow i don’t think parties suit me.”

“the girls in there would probably disagree,” you mumble under your breath off-hand with a tilt of your head. you don’t expect it when yoongi leans in closer, trying to hear you. 

“hm?” 

you clear your throat. “nothing,” you draw away, choosing to watch namjoon instead of focusing on yoongi’s proximity. you can still feel yoongi’s eyes on you, and suddenly you don’t feel altogether that cold anymore, cheeks heating from his gaze. 

“you know,” he starts again, bringing your attention back to him. “i like this better.” 

you blink back at him questioningly. “what’s better?” 

the corner of one side of his lips pulls up, and his next words tug at your heartstrings. 

“talking to you.” 

.

.

.

the next couple weeks changes a lot of things for not only you, but yoongi, too. you don’t attribute it to the party (and neither does yoongi) - but hoseok and namjoon always have their ears to the ground, with the latest news in campus gossip. 

okay - maybe just hoseok does. namjoon only knows because - 

“if one more person asks me if i’m your boyfriend or if they know if you’re dating someone-!” namjoon accidentally tips over a bottle when he collapses onto the bench across from you, scrambling to grab it before it rolls off the table. you watch patiently when it inevitably does, namjoon nearly falling off the bench to grab it and place it back on the table. 

he huffs. “anyway. as i was saying. people keep asking me about you, y/n.” 

you raise your hands, shrugging. “i don’t know why. you’re the one that made all the commotion that night, joonie.” 

“it’s because they think you’re cute,” hoseok slides onto the bench next to namjoon, nursing a cup of coffee. “people keep asking me for yoongi’s number, too.” 

you pause at that. “there were a lot of girls around him that night.” 

hoseok shrugs. “he was always popular in his major. lots of the engineering kids like him. but you know him,” he gestures towards yoongi who is crossing the courtyard to join you. “he’s a bit… scary looking.” 

you turn your head, and true to hoseok’s word, yoongi’s expression is flat-lined again, bordering on annoyed. he has his hands shoved into his pockets and a beanie pulled low over his ears, wired earphones in. he looks unapproachable. he looks like someone who doesn’t want to be bothered, at all. he looks like the classmate you were sure was going to hate you for the rest of the semester, without rhyme or reason, just for existing. 

but then he reaches you, and his expression transforms, a small smile forming on his face and his eyes lighting up. he tugs his earphones out, and swings his legs over the bench to sit next to you, hands pulled out of his pockets to rest on the picnic table. 

“hi,” he greets softly. he doesn’t look so untouchable anymore - just cozy in his hoodie, happy to be around his friends. you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. 

he swipes his beanie off his head, ruffling his hair a little. then, before you can realize what’s happening, he tugs the beanie over your head, making sure it’s snug over your ears. 

“there,” he looks pleased with himself. “not so cold anymore.” 

he throws the hood of his hoodie up in replacement of his lost hat, and smiles at you in that way where his eyes disappear, curving into happy crescents. 

you’re in trouble. you know you’re in trouble. yoongi has half the campus on their radar; you can’t be letting the little things yoongi does tally up in your head, immortalize themselves into vibrant memories when they’re just habits that yoongi has. you shouldn’t put meaning into everything he does with you just because he happens to accidentally seem mean and cold on the outside when he’s actually gentle and warm. it’s not that he’s being special to you - he’s just being yoongi. 

but when you’re not paying attention, too busy bickering with namjoon about something inconsequential (that’ll inevitably be a contention point for the two of you for the next three weeks anyway), yoongi sneaks glances at you. the stony expression he’s so well known for fades away, leaving just the faint outline of a smile and soft eyes that follow your every movement. 

when yoongi’s around you, his default changes. there’s no need to remind him to smile - around you, it’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

series masterlist ; neon signs

[jaejena]

masquerade. — l, juyeon.

Masquerade! Paper faces on parade Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you!

— premise : there is no place for a lowly knight like juyeon and nobility like you to be together. but with or without blessings, the choice is to be made between the two of you. — now playing : masquerade by andrew lloyd weber.

— genre : angst, with a good end. historical au??? — warning(s) : y/n has disapproving parents who impose what they think is good for their child.  — word count : 1.5 k. — author’s note : was in a phantom of the opera mood! this was my attempt at breaking free from my writer’s block. if listening to the track for the first time, i recommend to listen for a minute (or three) to get the vibes unless you want to get jumpscared by the next track connected to it lol--

The sound of the spirited strings resonating in this ballroom seemed distant to you. The music orchestrates the swishing of lavish dresses and mingling dance steps. But, floating across the floor, you feel like a lone ship lost at sea.

Your sights barely shift behind your masquerade mask, avoiding the gaze of yet again one of your many dance partners tonight. A mere stranger and your slight discomfort to ignore again. 

Your feet act on their own, going through the motions, and assimilating you into the life you’ve always known. The life you will only know. A part of an intricate music box, a shell of who you are.

You did not like nights like these—

No, no. 

You hated nights like these.

Nights where you were reminded how marriage prospects ruled your future. This is where young nobles were used as bargaining chips. 

But what prospects were so necessary in times of peace? You learned quickly that all the nobility wanted to do is sit on their generational wealth. Hoard and clutch onto their bountiful land, riches, and status that their mighty, greedy hands could reach. 

All that Juyeon did not have. 

Juyeon was a knight with no war to fight, with no glory nor medal to his name. He’d the honour of protecting you, however. He’d given you companionship and safety. With him, you felt seen.

It was him whom you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

You tested the waters once, veiled as a humorous suggestion.

“Marry Juyeon?” The malice in your father’s tone wasn’t lost on you. His booming laughter harshly bounced off the dining hall, leaving you frozen in your seat. Your mother gives you an unamused, pointed look across the table. 

Not a hint of consideration on their faces.

You force a weak chuckle, eyes downcast to the food on your plate. 

“What will he give you?” Your father managed to sputter out in between his laughing fit, “Some dingy shack in town? Rags from the market?” He sat back, barely recovering, “You’ll labour your life away!” 

Does any of that matter? You struggled to plaster a lighthearted smile on your face as you resumed eating. The anger clouded your mind for the rest of the day.

Through the garden—your safe haven—it was Juyeon who walked patiently by your side, the one who’d listened to every word you rambled out of that mouth of yours. It was Juyeon who contemplated deeply, the one who answered you with sincerity so profound. 

In the end, you realized that you found more solace in Juyeon. To him, you weren’t a proper noble to be guarded and accounted for. With him, you could just be. Those were the precious joys in your day-to-day life. He was the safe space in between the expectations of noble duties.

Then those days were gone. Perhaps the glances you exchanged lingered for too long, or the smiles lifted between the two of you were too fond. Perhaps it was the lessened distance too unfitting between the knight and his lord’s heir.

“He’s gone,” the finality in your father’s words plunged you into a sobering terror. “He’s not allowed to come near us,” he accusingly fixes his gaze on you, “Near you.”

He found out. 

Juyeon was banished. Not a warning, nor a goodbye.

It was a rude awakening. Juyeon would’ve never been welcomed into your life; he was to be removed and never considered worthy of a chance.

You pull yourself out of your trance, your feet still carrying you across the ballroom, and your eyes roaming across the scene. Guests parade in pairs, twirling in unison.

The two of you could never waltz in this damned ballroom without shame, in the faces of old money. There is no prevailing love for both of you. You are beginning to wonder if it is time to bury the utter defeat in your heart, with the bitter grief fresh in your mouth.

“Excuse me.” 

The voice of another man skids you into a halt and—just for a moment—the beating of your heart. 

You can’t believe it.

You turn on your heel, meeting the eyes behind the man’s masquerade mask. 

A gasp nearly bubbles out of your chest, just barely muffled as you clamp your lips shut.

Juyeon.

“Apologies for the interruption but,” He lifts up a polite smile, a knowing smile. He holds his hand outstretched for you to take, “May I have the honour of a dance?” 

You barely contain the smile spreading across your expression, eyes flickering between Juyeon and your dance partner. 

A flash of displeasure appears on your partner’s face, his hands remaining on you. But as he identifies the familiarity in your eyes, he begrudgingly steps away. 

You make sure to bow out of courtesy, as does he. And when he leaves you to your new dance partner, a warmth in your chest blooms.

Turning to meet Juyeon in the eye, you savour each step towards him with a bright smile. 

Juyeon, shining in a simple suit and his hair slicked back, with his hand ready to lead you across the ballroom.

You gladly take it.

Juyeon holds your hand up to the side, gently placing his other hand on your waist. As he pulls you slightly closer, he whispers with a humorous smile, “You looked like you needed some saving.”

A bewildered, delighted smile of your own grows as the two of you begin to sway to the music. You manage to joke, “True to your duties.” You lean in just slightly, “How did you get here?” Your words spill in a hush as your eyes dart across the ballroom, conscious of the guests around you.

They are paying no mind to him at all. Not a single sneer or scowl in sight. 

Juyeon tilts his head, pretending to ponder, “Your father might’ve forgotten that I still have a few good friends working under him.” A mischievous glint appears in his eyes, “Friends who are probably stationed in certain places for tonight’s event.”

And you grin, “Of course.” Of course, he would overlook something like that. 

Then the music fills in the silence between the two of you. It is comfortable, it is meaningful. The smiles on your faces don’t leave. Unbeknownst to everyone around you, you are dancing freely with the only partner you’ve wanted.

It is in holding onto each other once again that you realize a truth. 

You never want to live like this. In fear of being seen together by the wrong person. In fear that, if you let him go, that it may be the last time you do. 

As you look over your shoulder, the ball around you starts to seem like a distant memory you desperately want to leave behind. Tucked in the crowd and faces hidden away, if this is what it would take to have Juyeon by your side..

He didn’t deserve it. 

He can’t keep on doing this, nor can you.

Fear, determination, and finality fill you to the brim.

“Y/N.”

You look into Juyeon’s eyes again.

“I came here for a reason.”

There is an acknowledgment that your gazes hold, reflecting upon each other. The same burning question in your hearts.

Is this goodbye?

What goodbye it would be. A goodbye with no peace and quiet, choking back on tears to save face in front of hundreds of strangers. So close to being in each other’s embrace, but knowing that there will be no such indulgence.

“Your father is right.” He starts, and you feel your heart break at that prospect. “I come from nothing,” Juyeon continues, “I don’t have what he wants me to offer.” His chest huffs up, almost as if he is summoning any courage he could possess, “And I have no right to make you leave the life you’ve always known.”

“Juyeon—”

“But if you will have me despite it all,” The hidden uncertainty imbued in his brave smile makes your heart crumble, “Then there’ll be nothing more that I can possibly ask for.” 

An opportunity for choice, an empowerment between you and him.

“Whatever you choose, Y/N,” He whispers, “I will accept it.”

It was a leap of faith, no hesitation permitted.

Will this be goodbye?

Deep down, you knew the answer.

Perhaps it was foolish for your father to call upon a grand masquerade in his own estate. The disappearances of two masks in the sea of guests did not matter to anyone until it was much too late. You didn’t know how much your father hounded for your whereabouts that night, nor was it on your mind when you fled with Juyeon hand in hand. 

Far, far away, the two of you would create a garden, with humble beginnings and by your own hands. Your own, where both of you can just be. No scrutiny, no judgment. 

Together, you manage to create a place where the duties and statuses of noble and knight mattered not. 

The world will never find you.

[sparkbeast20]

The Pain of Love (Lucifer X MC)

The Blue Lotus petals

As a fan of Beauty and the Beast, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I'll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them. (tell me if you want tag)

Warning: Before and after Sex but no depiction of sex sorry I don't know how to write smut, The other six kinda being torture

“Yeah, I do hear the eerie voices in this one” you were laying in the couch in Lucifer’s study, while listening to one of his curse records.

“Just make sure you don’t listen to the end, you might get nightmares, we don’t need two insomniacs in our bed.” All the while Lucifer is doing some early paper work before breakfast. You just came along with him, because you couldn’t go back to sleep.

“We wouldn’t even have one, if a certain demon learns to sleep within 8 hours” he chuckles at your poor attempt of a sley comment.

“I’ll take full advantage of this morning, since we don’t class today, that way we have the entire afternoon together”

“Promise!”

“I Promise, now cut the record, the end is approaching”

You lifted the nailed, the you sat up and stretch your arms before standing up and walk over to Lucifer, you wrap your arms around is shoulders, lean forward and kiss the top of his head. He hums at your presents.

You move down and whisper in his ear. “You want some coffee, Lucifer” you pulled away to meet his sight, he nods with a smirk on his face, then you let go and start walking up the stairs. As you about to turn the knob, he calls to you.

“Y/n, as of today no more, blue lotus petals in my coffee for now on.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“Just make sure it’s bitter, okay love” with that you gave him a playful smile and left.

“Oh sweet, yer making coffee, mind make me one too” Mammon just steps in the kitchen, happy to smell coffee in the air.

“You can have mine, I really only made for me and Lucifer” you tell him that, while waiting for the coffee to get ready.

“So, his up all ready what’s he doing now.” Mammon asks while his digging through the cabins for something.

“Finishing some bills, this month’s plan actives for RAD, and the house budgets” you answer as you pour the two mugs with coffee.

“Should I start running now or pray that none of those bills are mine”

“Just wait in an hour to see” you smile at him, you fully know that he needs to hide now, as you pass him the mug of coffee. He took it with uncertain look on his face and drop two blue petals in his coffee.

“Hey, you forgot these” you’re at the doorway, when you turn around with coffee in hand to see Mammon holding up the blue lotus petals.

“Lucifer said no more petals in his coffee”

“What!”

“Something wrong?” after a moment Mammon shake his head, tells you it’s nothing, you shrug your shoulder and walk back to Lucifer.

“Oh… Y/n, be a doll and untie us” Asmo calls to make you to look up into the ceiling to see Mammon, Levi, Satan with cloth in his mouth, Asmo, and Belphie who also have a cloth in his mouth, Strang up by their legs.

“Let me guess, one could stop ordering online, the two of you try to sneak out late in a school night, and the last two pull something that piss of the eldest” you said nonchalantly, causing Satan to violently flail, Mammon and Levi crying.

Asmo tries to fix his head to look at you properly, bashing his eye lash to soften up to you “Oh come on, you know us this is what we are, haven’t you notice that Lucifer has been a little~”

“Strict lately” you finish what he was about to say, Asmo pouts with his lower lip stick out and look at you with sad puppy eyes begging you to untie them.

In your mind, you want to untie them but remembering what Lucifer said “don’t cave to them, understand” cause you to hesitate. When all of the sudden the door slam open, causing you to turn around to see Lucifer in his demon form, dragging a tie up Beel, the latter which is sobbing.

Hearing his twin sobbing wakes up Belphie who start to flail around like Satan.

You don’t why, but you started to turn redder, you can feel the heat rushing through your face. Maybe Seeing Lucifer dragging Beel with one arm and dominant look on his face makes you want to hold him tight and cuddle into his chest.

While you just standing there awestruck, Lucifer manage to Strang up Beel next to Belphie.

“Oi Y/n, tell Lucifer that is gone too far” Mammon calls out to you

“Y-yeah, out of any of us Beel does have to Strang like this” Levi adds to Mammon call, while Belphie mummer through the cloth to grab your attention.

“Enough, Beelzebub is only going Strang up for 2 hours. For empty the fridge 2 days straight and all of you just have to wait 6 more hours depending on who has the least offense” Lucifer tells his brothers with a booming voice, then all of them started to yell, cry, and/or mummer at him.

He was about to yell, when all of the sudden you hug him and bury you face into chest, seeing your action shock the brothers.

Without looking away from his brothers, place one arm on your back drawing you closer. You look up at his face with your eyes of filled with lust and your face with red through your cheek.

He looks down, a smile creep up on his face, he cups your face drawing it closer to his.

Then you pouch kissing him like untamed animal, wrapping your arms around his neck not letting him pull away, as his arms rub around your back, one hand on your shoulder while the other one is on your waist.

Seeing you two practically eating each, the brothers watch in horror, Mammon and Levi are screaming in agony, Satan and Belphie try to look away but couldn’t, and Asmo and Beel are mortifed.

Hearing his brothers in pain, cause Lucifer to growl aggressively in pleasure, then he sweeps you off your feet while you two are still kissing taking you somewhere private, as you two slowly walk away to savior the screams, you slowly pull-out foldable knife that Mammon gave to you from your pocket and throw it at Beel, seeing the knife Beel swing forward and catch the knife with his teeth, and hums in happiness for catching it, then Lucifer slam the door closes.

“I’m hungry” Beel sitting in the dinning room groaning in pain, with the rest of the brothers still recover from Lucifer’s punishment.

Mammon, Levi, Satan, and Asmo rub their neck, arms and legs to less the street on them, while Belphie is collapse on the table awake.

“S-so which one of us want to asks Lucifer M-money for dinner” Levi asks around to who’s brave enough to go Lucifer’s room and asks him.

“Are you mad! I would rather use my own money, then going to that monster right now” Mammon yell at Levi, for suggesting that.

“I want to pull out my eyes and burn them” Satan talk to himself, trying to forget what he had to watch helpless.

Then foot steps can be heard, causing the brothers stiff in place except for Levi who hide under the table.

Not even at the doorway you start talking to them “So Lucifer asks me to give you money for take-out, and tell all of you that we’ll be skipping dinner too”

Asmo back to his cheerful self, wanting to know what drove you into acting like him ask while waiting for you to come inside the room, both hands under his chin and elbows rest on the table with his eyes gleefully close.

“Oh, are you and my big brother done~” before he could finish his question, he turns to the doorway and open his eyes to see you.

His eyes widen as he let out shock gasp, causing the rest to look up and did the same thing.

You were barely standing wearing Lucifer’s robe and nothing else, dark hand grips around both of your wrists, your almost expose chest is covered in hickeys, bite marks and three visible claw marks. And your messy hair is covered your face.

With a goofy smile, you slowly walk over to the table and place half stack of grimms on it, then slowly walk out the room leave the brothers stunned.

After a few minutes of complete silent, Mammon remembering something, cause him to yelp to himself, knowing fully well that there are royal screwed for the coming weeks.

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

[raineydays411]

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be  making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

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The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head. 

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved. 

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course  he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why? 

Because she has her mothers eyes.

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“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming. 

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother. 

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well.  He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair. 

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months. 

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him. 

“My lord, you--” 

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth. 

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there. 

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--” 

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

***  “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter  reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?” 

“Love”  ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes. 

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of. 

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence. 

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?” 

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?” 

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting. 

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine. 

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.” 

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table. 

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!”  Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,” 

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it.  He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him. 

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part. 

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times  prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound. 

Thor walks up to him with the baby. 

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child. 

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well. 

No, this was not his child. Not anymore. 

“Get rid of it.” 

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga. 

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.” 

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind  his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Opposites attract (Paul Lahote x Reader)

Warnings: swearing? I don't really think there are any tbh. 

Word count : 2.2k

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Sweet as pie. That’s the way people tend to describe you. So why on earth did you ever think that bad boy Paul Lahote would ever like you? It was stupid really. You’d had a crush on him since you were little and it didn’t seem to stop there. It wasn’t a phase you grew out of. Everything inside you screamed when he was near. But he hardly noticed you at all. None of the guys on the res did. At least, you didn’t think they did. You’d given up hope a long time ago that he would ever see you more than just a little girl he’d grown up with. 

Leah Clearwater, your best friend thought you were stupid. She didn’t understand why someone as nice as you would waste your time liking him anyway. He was hot headed, a flirt and extremely unpredictable. Leah didn’t like him partly because he was a member of Sams group, they had always been friendly but something had changed within some of the guys on the res. They were closer than ever now, like a little gang. It wasn’t only the boys who had changed, you’d notice a change in Leah too, maybe it wad because of all she had gone through, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Leah and Sam had dated for three years, one day Sam up and left, no explanation, leaving Leah lost and alone. Then he decided to reappear and instead of giving Leah an explanation, broke up with her and started pursuing Leah’s cousin Emily young instead. Let’s just say she didn’t really get along with the guys anymore, or Emily, who she used to be so close with. You were her rock and she was yours. You know she never wanted to see you go through the same heartbreak. 

It was summer break and you and Leah had decided to get away for a few weeks. Being surrounded by the same people day in and out got a bit much. Especially when you lived in the small community you did. You hadn’t gone too far away, only to Vancouver. It was just nice to have some freedom, be somewhere no one knew you. Leah was relieved to get away, it just meant she wouldn’t have to be around Sam as much. While you were studying a higher education, she had started a mechanic apprenticeship with the one and only Sam Uley, it was her best opportunity, even if she didn’t like to spend time near him, that’s what she told you anyway. 

It was your second week in Vancouver, you’d been sightseeing, visiting museums that would help with your studies but you also just took the time to relax. Everything was going amazing. Until that night.

The fancy restaurant had been your idea, you had both been enjoying your time away, but for some reason since arriving in Vancouver you’d been feeling off. Your mood swings were off the charts and you didn’t understand why, you never wanted to take anything out on Leah, you didn’t even have a reason to be moody, and yeah it was summer, but somedays you felt overly hot, like you had a fever and then it would disappear like it was nothing. This friend date was a way for you to make it up to her. She didn’t seem bothered by your change in attitude though, she seemed more concerned if anything.

You were both sat in the restaurant waiting for your food to arrive, talking about silly shit, laughing together obnoxiously, drinks flowing thanks to your fake ID, everything was going perfect until three men came floating through the front door. They were stunning. Absolutely beautiful. At this point you were sure you were staring, one of the men turned his head, caught your eye and winked at you flashing a toothy grin. You blushed and looked away, Leah kicked you under the table.

“What, he’s good looking, the red contact lenses are a bit strange though.” You titled your head to the side pondering the thought, not realising that Leah had gone extremely quiet. Then something weird happened. Your body started heating up like it had done in the past few days, your palms were sweaty, your hands shook a little and your head started to ache. You felt weird. You couldn’t focus. Leah was saying your name but you couldn’t really hear her, it was a little muffled and then…. then nothing. You were feeling alright again. You looked up Leah’s face one of terror mixed with concern. 

“Do you wanna get out of here? I saw a burger van on the way we could just go back to the room.” You nodded. Not feeling the fancy atmosphere anymore. Maybe you should see a Doctor. 

-Leah’s POV-

“Of all the places we could go, there’s leaches here too?” Leah was pissed, this is what she had been hoping to get away from but fate was a bitch. Not only that, but she was pretty sure her best friend was going through the change in front of her very eyes. She guessed she wasn’t the only female shifter anymore. 

At one point she had paused during the dinner. Actually at a couple of points. The first, when she had watched you sip two cocktails like they were water. She was impressed, goodie-too-shoes who? Second, when the leaches walked in through the very crowded restaurant, and third, when the pack back home had heard Leah’s thoughts, the boys were worked up. Sam being Sam, was ordering Leah back immediately, worried she would accidentally phase putting you at risk. Also, they were worried that you would shift for the first time. They all knew how unpredictable it could be. One little thing could set you off and BOOM, shift in front of hundred of humans. Leah being Leah liked to defy Sam, so it came as no shock that she refused to cut the trip short. She did have a valid point though, what would she tell Y/N? 

Leah was glad when she’d manage to persuade you to leave the building, burgers were actually sounding like a good idea right about now. Watching you sit and get wasted was fun, but she wished she could join in sometimes and not have to pretend. She was worried that the Vamps would follow after catching her scent. If they knew what was good for them, they’d stay away.

Leah kept on looking at you, she could sense something was wrong, she knew the signs having gone through them herself. One minute y/n was fine, the next sweating, the next she looked pissed, as much as Leah liked to handle things on her own, this was a big thing to deal with and she knew it, so it came as no surprise to her when Sam mind linked to say that a few of the guys were already on their way to your hotel to bring you guys home. She hated to admit that she was relieved. She looked to you again, now you were happily munching on your food, caught up in thought. 

“Hey Y/N, so uh, some of the guys from the Res are in Vancouver, how funny is that.” Leah laughed nervously, looking at your for any reaction. She watched as you screwed your nose up and then blushed. Her friends eyes widened. 

“That’s cool, Vancouver’s a big place though, I don’t think we have to worry about bumping into them. Weird how they ended up in the same place. I wonder if Paul is here…. I haven’t seen him in forever, it’s bound to have been at least 6 months by now.” Leah rolled her eyes and smiled at her best friend. She was still day dreaming over stupid Paul. She didn’t know what she found so fascinating about him. Sometimes you can’t help having a crush. Leah frowned. She knew all about how it could end up. 

“Who knows Y/N, fate is a funny thing, I wouldn’t worry about Paul, he’s normally caught up in his ego to notice other people anyway, if he didn’t notice you now he’s a lost cause, cause girl you look hawt.” Leah grinned and nudged Y/N with her arm, Y/N nudged her back and chuckled. It was almost 11pm by the time you made it back to the hotel lobby, you’d only just stepped in when you heard a noise from behind you. Leah turned around. Standing on the opposite side of the road were the Vampires that she’d seen only a couple of hours earlier. She growled lowly under her breath. Her mind focused on one thing only. Keeping you safe. 

“It’s okay Leah were almost there, just putting our clothes on.” Embry. His voice came through the link. Good, they were almost here. Hopefully when the vamps caught whiff of more shifters they’d leave for good. There’s no way they could shift in the middle of a city without being seen. 

Leah had told Y/N to wait at the bar for her while she “Took a call outside,” which really meant she was just waiting for the guys and making sure the vamps didn’t get through the door. When she turned her head she saw her friend chatting to the the bar man, flirting and sipping on more cocktails. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, god you were amazing. Not a care in the world. She frowned knowing soon enough your life wouldn’t be as simple. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard growling, the boys had arrived and obviously the Vamps now got the memo because they ran off when they realised there was back up. 

Leah could finally relax, Embry, Quil, Jake and oh god.. Paul.. arrived just in time. Grinning at the she wolf like the idiots they were. 

“Took you long enough.” Leah smirked and elbowed Jake playfully. Paul was about to retort but he stopped and sniffed the air. The rest of the present pack looked confused. Leah turned around and noticed her friend walking towards them all with a shocked expression on her half drunk face. 

Then it all made sense. 

-Paul’s POV- 

God what a mess. Paul was pissed off as per. He’d had to cancel a date he had on his one night off to go and save Leah’s and Y/N’s ass’ in Vancouver. Of all nights. He obviously didn’t hesitate when Sam gave the orders, as much as it pissed him off he knew that if another pack member needed him he’d do everything he could to help, you were family. Not to mention, he as well as everyone else, didn’t need some new pup exposing the tribe secrets. Shifting in public would be good for no one. 

On the way the boys talked through the link, communicating with Leah periodically, making sure the Vamps had stayed well away. 

“So, when was the last time anyone actually saw Y/N?” Jake was the first to start the conversation. When was the last time Paul had seen you? He couldn’t remember, if he had to think about it, probably before her shifted, it had been a while, he knew you’d been studying higher education, and with all of the pack stuff, he didn’t tend to see anyone else other than his wolf brothers and sister. 

“I saw her not long ago, she was in the convenience store picking up groceries for her Pops, and damnnn she’s changed, not a little girl anymore.” Quil joked through the link, wolf whistling. Paul smirked, yeah right, he had always thought you were pretty, but you couldn’t have changed that much, you were still the little, younger dork that had grown up on the res. 

The conversation was cut short as they reached the outline of the trees, Sam had tied a bag of clothes around each of the wolves so when they shifted they could change instead of walking around in the nude. Maybe it would fly in the woods back home, but not in the middle of a city. They made light work of getting to the hotel and scaring the blood suckers away. Pussies. When they met Leah at the entrance. Paul wasn’t really focusing on the banter, he was too distracted by a familiar but heavenly scent. He sniffed trying to place it and then he saw her. 

Walking towards the group was Y/N. Her eyes a little glossy Paul could smell the alcohol, it wasn’t however, strong enough to cover up the heavenly scent he could smell radiating off the pup to be. 

"It's not like love at first sight, really. It's more like… gravity moves… suddenly. It's not the earth holding you here anymore, she does… You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, or a friend.” 

Jacobs words about imprinting ran in Paul’s head and his world suddenly tilted. The pack paused behind him, the wolves howling in his head through the bond. Leah looked shocked and the other guys just looked stupidly happy. 

Y/N was Paul’s imprint.

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