#I still remember being in class when the last chapter dropped and reading it my lap during lecture

[fourtyforever]

doodletober day 12: back to strollonso with venus flytrap by @pitconfirm, the best heist fic I've ever read not just in f1 but of all time. I cannot do it justice so please please read it

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area. 

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning. 

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?” 

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder. 

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures. 

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.”  Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her. 

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently. 

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes. 

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump. 

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat. 

“What’s this?” 

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule. 

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?” 

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.” 

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs. 

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything. 

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm. 

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment. 

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day. 

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was. 

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal. 

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone. 

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing. 

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick. 

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone. 

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?” 

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.” 

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle. 

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…” 

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back. 

“But prison, Agatha? Really?” 

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you. 

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation. 

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO. 

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?” 

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season. 

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back. 

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest. 

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why? 

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an  ocean separated you. 

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.” 

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening. 

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening. 

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes. 

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day. 

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes. 

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed. 

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind. 

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha. 

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes. 

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?” 

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning. 

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper. 

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin. 

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late. 

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions. 

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away. 

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before. 

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared. 

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses. 

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked. 

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…” 

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met. 

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage. 

“Has that helped you?” 

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry. 

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation. 

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket. 

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-” 

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.” 

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile. 

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

[twinklelilstarkey]

Tutor: Dress Picking

Words: 2.4k Type: Angst? Warnings: This is literally a chapter just to announce that I'm back, so, yeah, settle in folks :) because shit is about to hit the fan, but not yet.

Tutor Masterlist

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

Hours later, when stepping into school, you are more than in a good mood. You must admit, you almost got to school late due to oversleeping with Rafe after having conversations that led until 5AM. Your headache has gone away with a simple aspirin, and most of your worrisome thoughts are in the back of your mind, safely tucked away.

You also were able to leave the house with Rafe without his family noticing, and the same thing goes for your parents. You made it home safely, put on new clothes as you had already showered at Rafe’s house, and he dropped you off at school. Your parents would never know of such a thing as they weren’t home when you got there, and you, supposedly, were with a friend of yours the whole night – one they know very well, but have no idea you don’t even speak to anymore.

Almost late or not, every minute of this morning was better than any other. You wish you were still in bed and that today was a Saturday, not a Wednesday. A day where you could just lie in bed with Rafe, talk about life, and get affection. Gosh, you would sell a kidney for that. Your poor kidneys.

You still got a few minutes in the car with him, even though different, it was still minutes that you had for yourselves. A lot of kisses and reassuring words were exchanged. As well as promises that everything will go well and nothing bad will happen. And if it does, he’ll be parked outside as soon as you call, ready to get you home.

Because of this, when the bell rings to tell you to get to class, your mind is still cloudy and warm.

You sit on your chair and stare at the empty page of a notebook while remembering the dumb ways Rafe made you laugh this morning, from the time in bed to the shower. The way his kisses were always soft and warm, and his arms would always hug you tightly and close enough for all your worries to fly away. Ugh, that kidney is about to go.

The classroom's door closes as the teacher walks inside, and the class begins. You lift your eyes off your notebook and notice a bit of movement beside you. You don’t have to look to know. Kristy wasn’t missing school again. She’s in class. In her usual seat, beside you. Her eyes are currently drilling a hole into the side of your head with all that staring, kind of hard to ignore.

Overall, the class itself is very uneventful since school is about to end, and there isn’t much the teacher can do to make everyone still find it in their will to study or work further. Due to this, the hour is slow, and there aren’t many notes that you can take from what is taught and discussed between the teacher and the other students.

In the corner of your eye, you see a small piece of paper being slid over to your side of the table, but you look away as soon as you can. You’re sure that Kristy is better than sliding small pieces of paper asking for an apology or time to talk, but maybe after the stunt that she was able to pull on you in that car... You probably need to draw new conclusions about this girl.

Throughout this one class, you continuously saw how Kristy tried to get your attention by sliding the piece of paper closer and closer or even trying to write a completely new one. You ignored all of her attempts. But also hesitated to check your vibrating phone as the possibility of it being her was just as large as the piece of paper she last tried to slide into your field of view.

The bell rang, and the teacher screamed the small assignment over the loud chatter that quickly erupted. You took a quick note of it in case you forgot it and got up to put your things away. Five different pieces of paper are just by your notebook now, and you almost want to scoff at the stupidity. Curiosity is also biting at your skin for wanting to know what is written in all of them, but you are better than that. Kristy sits there as you put your things away, almost as if waiting for you to address her or pick up her papers.

You slide your bag over your shoulder and take a step to the side to begin walking to the door. You ignore the hand that stretches in your direction to get a hold of your arm (but fails) and walk out of the room. Once outside, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket, and you pull it out, knowing for a fact that Kristy isn't that ridiculous. The caller: Mom.

“Hello?” You say as soon as you accept the call and put your phone by your ear.

“Guess who just got invited to a party?” Your mom asks excitingly.

“You?”

“All of us!” She corrects excitingly. “Rose Cameron just called, saying that there will be a small get-together with the few families close to the Camerons at the country club. We’re all invited to celebrate your and many others' graduation. Isn't this amazing?”

You open your locker while an expression of surprise is more than obvious on your face. She continues to talk to you all about the details of the party, like how many people, what to wear and what will be there for decoration. You move your books around in the locker to switch classes, and not once do you need to speak because your mother speaks for the both of you.

The call drags out until the next bell calls you into class, yet not a new word has been said by you during the whole thing. You smile at your mom’s rare excitement for a party because, sincerely, it's hard to forget how any event organized by Rose has left your socialite of a mom more than pleased with the range of guests, food, or conversations. You’re in for a hell of a night.

“When is it, exactly?” You ask right as you get near the classroom.

“At the end of this week. Rose said something about it being a great way to celebrate the end of classes for all the graduating students invited.” She explains, leaving you to nod to yourself, “When are you free to go dress shopping?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, we won’t need more than an hour,” a lie, “to find a good dress for you, so as soon as you know a day we can go, call me back.”

“Will do.”

“Now, go to class. Your bell must have rung almost 5 minutes ago.”

You chuckle at her exactness and say your goodbyes before ending the call. Inside the classroom, you find everyone already seated, but the teacher is still absent. You walk towards the back of the class and ignore the same pair of eyes as before - since it seems the person has failed to gain something more interesting to look at lately.

You take your usual seat and think back on the conversation with your mother. The party doesn’t seem bad, but you can only wish for good company during it. Usually, your company in parties such as this is not exactly talking with you, much to their disappointment. And standing by your parents the entire evening doesn’t seem exactly exciting, as the conversations will be quite… uninteresting for your ears, surely.

While you occupy your free time on your phone, ignoring the constant whispering and glaring from all directions of the room, the teacher continues to take his sweet time to appear. Long enough for the guy in front of you to turn around and hand you yet another piece of paper. At this point, trees cry with all the attempts at communication Kristy happens to do.

Maybe it was how annoyed you felt. Maybe it was the fact that all their attention left you as soon as the teacher decided to walk in with a mug of hot coffee in hand. But you opened this last piece of paper. Truthfully, you did it so quick the unfolding and folding back up wasn't noticed by a single soul, and you read it.

Are you going to Cameron’s party? – Kristy

(…)

“Definitely not my color, mom.” You say for the thousandth time while looking at yourself in the mirror of the boutique.

“Are you sure? I like it on you.” She says while tilting her head to take another good look at you.

“I like the style, just not the color.” You admit to her, in a calm tone, nothing to start fights over - as you usually tend to do when picking a dress for a party your mom is so excited about. “The red looks better on me.”

Your mom gives you her usual look, ‘Well, but I hate red’, which only lets you know that this discussion about a dress will lead you to another hour of dress shopping. Nothing ever made you feel as grateful for yourself for clearing your schedule the way you did for this entire evening. As always, your mom is against any color that isn’t light and sweet or any cleavage that isn’t conservative enough. While you happen to like a lot of different styles of dresses and have dealt with your mother’s antics for years, your tastes still tend to clash.

“Red is too much, I think,” she comments, turning to look at the large number of dresses she has asked the worker to get for her. “What about blue?”

“Depends on the shade.” You try to ignore the look she sends you over her shoulder but fail miserably while looking down at the ground to chuckle.

“This one is too dark, I think.” She says while holding a silk dark blue dress with thin straps, “What about this one?”

“It almost looks white, mom. I’m not getting married.”

“Okay, Miss Picky. You pick one, then.”

It went on for hours, but soon you two came to an agreement after much begging on your part and almost on the store’s worker's part as well. You settled on a blue, not too light or too dark, dress with straps (your mother insisted). It has a straight neckline, but due to it being silk, it sits well on your chest. It tightens at your waist (again, due to your mother’s request: not too much), and its length rests gracefully at your feet – leaving you enough room to walk, but not much.

The moment you dramatically took in the fresh air outside, your mom wasn’t shy to pinch the back of your arm for the drama you decided to drag throughout the day. This also helped keep her distracted as your phone continuously received texts from a certain group of people who still are desperate to know if you were going to the party. They made it impossible for you to show her anything on your phone, like dress ideas, without her seeing the messages constantly being sent.

You take your seat on your mom’s car seat and set the bag with the dress inside by your legs, beginning to block the entirety of the group of girls on your phone. They have been asking you for, you assume, the same thing that Kristy had written in those papers yesterday in class: another conversation among all of you.

In all the messages you’ve received from them, you’ve read the ridiculous words of ‘unfair’ and ‘selfish’ all directed at you for either not answering the messages or not speaking to them in school, though all they did was stare at you once they saw you. You’re not sure you heard a single word come out of their mouths the day before or this morning. They all stayed silent while their eyes scanned your every move. It was obsessive, and they were driving you insane for it.

You’re just thankful that you were able to spend the evening with your mom, away from their gazes, as well as for the recent silence coming from your phone now that all contacts are blocked. Now you can finally relax and stop thinking about them and your conversation. But maybe you spoke too soon.

“Is everything alright between you and the girls?” Your mom suddenly asks while driving you both home. Her tone is calm and sweet, with nothing hidden behind it.

“Why do you ask?” You try to sound as calm as possible.

“I just feel like they haven’t been hanging out in our house that much lately. You’re always the one going out to see them,” She explains, not knowing that all the times you’ve gone out to see ‘them’ lately have been to see Rafe or Patty instead. “I sort of miss having the house full of girls.”

You two sit in silence while you simply look out of the window into the night, trying not to make any faces or sounds that could lead you into a lie that will snowball into the avalanche that is your current situation.

“We’ve just been busy, you know? With finals and all.”

“Will they be at the party?” She asks, still unphased by anything you’ve said.

“Yeah,” You assume, yet still make sure your tone makes you sound sure of your words.

“Well, good. I’ve missed talking to them. Maybe we can plan something.”

You almost zone out as soon as she begins to talk about the possibilities of having something cute like an afternoon tea party, or anything along those lines. How will you even be able to tell her the truth? You'll break her heart.

“Yeah…” You look out of your window again, “We could do that.”

As you continuously look away, your mother takes a look at you when stopped at a red light, with her smile still bright and sweet, ready to get one in return. But your eyes and mind are elsewhere - far away from the conversation you’ve just had. She noticed how your tone had just dipped from dramatic and happy to something so different it was hard to pick apart with such a short answer.

Your mother opens her mouth to say something, maybe even question your sudden change of mood directly, but the light turning green was enough to take her attention away. Some other time, she’ll be able to make you talk to her, confide in her about what could’ve happened to make you so moody. She’ll be there to hear it no matter what, right?

Am I back 100%? I have no idea. Did I write this while having no plans to do it? Also yes. I hope it was good!

Hope you enjoyed it!! AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Love me or hate me, both are in my favor. (Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader [HS Academic rivals AU])

Babe wake up, new series just dropped! This is not proofread btw

(Y/N)-Your name.

Cursing, Miguel being jealous? (If you squint), i am mexican but my Spanish sucks so apologies I’m advance, Phantom of the Opera spoilers (???? Through I’d throw it out there)

Word count: 3k

Series Masterlist Series playlist

Chapter 1:The world was on fire

—

“Love me or hate me, Both are in my favor. If you love me, I’ll always be in your heart. If you hate me, I’ll always be in your mind.”

The quote was etched into the front of your red hardcover notebook, with gold details covering the edges of the front. The black ink was oddly neat despite how deep you had to indent the words over and over on the cover. Miguel has noticed that you would always write a beautifully tragic quote on the front of all your English notebooks every year.

Last year, the quote was, “Love is blind, and lovers cannot see.”

For sophomore year, “She could have been a poet or she could have been a fool.”

And for freshman year it was, “‘I miss her.’ ‘You’re dead.’ ‘Even in death, I mourn her.’”

The first time Miguel saw it was when you both were in the 7th grade, being paired up to write a report about some random novel that Miguel couldn’t remember the name of. You had pulled out your notebook, that year it was a dark forest green, with the quote being, “But just because I’m not going to wish for it doesn't mean the moth can ignore the flame. It’s in the moth's blood.”

Miguel’s dark maroon eyes rolled to the back of his head, it was almost pretentious he thought, a way to show off how “artsy” you are. He allowed a scoff to escape his plump lips, you simply ignored him as you began to flip through your notes.

You were much more into history, the arts and most of all, Literature, while Miguel was more into science and math. Miguel didn’t understand why you loved it so much, he didn’t think your favorite subjects were nearly as important as his. Who cares what some dead poet wrote a thousand years ago, when he could be the next to make a big scientific discovery? Like time travel or curing cancer. Sure, Miguel still did the work in english and history, and for someone who didn't care for it, he would always do so well, and that drove you up the wall, but Miguel could say the same about you with math and science. Miguel would always tune you out when you would ramble on about some new book you were reading to your friends, or would ignore the way your eyebrow would furrow together and your teeth would bite down on your lips when you’d get to a particularly good spot in your novel, stopping every once and a while to annotate, would scoff at the the way your eyes would stare at piece of art with such fascination and wonder when the class would go to a field trip to an art museum, groan at how’d you always talk about the beauty of old gothic architecture, talking about how the beauty of the buildings was almost tragic.

The key word, would.

As you two grew older, and your competitiveness in your grades became more intense, Miguel couldn’t help but start to wonder what goes through that pretty little head of yours. He wanted to see how the deep corners of your mind worked. What made your brain tick, maybe if he saw the world through your perspective, he would understand you more.

Your manicured hand grabbed your notebook by the bloody red spine, gently gripping it before placing it into your bag, and zipping it up. Slinging it over your shoulder as you turn to talk to your friend who sat next to you, before you both made your way out of the AP English classroom.

You and Miguel had been attending the same classes since you transferred in the 6th grade, both of you attend one of Nueva York’s most prestigious and high-end boarding schools. At first, Miguel didn’t pay you any mind, figured you were just another spoiled brat with daddy’s money, and a trust fund big enough to last you until you find some poor unsuspecting fool to ask for your hand and make you into a trophy wife, like most of the girls who attend the school. But it wasn’t until you had beat his score later that year on the mid-year school wide testing did you get his attention. He could remember it like it was yesterday, he was sitting in class with a near perfect score of 97% written on top of his test answer sheet, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he slid the paper over to his left where Peter Parker had sat.

“I swear man, you’re like, a genius.” Peter grumbled to Miguel as he glanced at his friend’s paper, before at his own which had 78% written at the top. Peter’s hand went up to pat Miguel on the back, but before Miguel could reply, just bearly in earshot, he had heard an unfamiliar voice speak.

“Yeah I got a 99, I wasn’t expecting…” Miguel didn’t catch the rest, but the first part was enough for his whole body to feel hot all over, and make his stomach twist in discomfort. He felt like he was about to go into a state of shock, or rather he was already entering one. He’s never had someone top before, if felt like he was dreaming, well, maybe having a nightmare was a better way to describe it. He couldn’t remember how long he had sat at his desk afterwards, in a weird state of disassociation until Peter had pulled him back to reality. He swore to himself, after that moment he’d never let you top him again.

But that was a hard promise to keep. Because whether he'd like to admit it or not, you were good, always keeping him on his toes. You were almost like a breath of fresh air for him, albeit a painful one, like the first shallow breath after almost drowning. Before you , Miguel was growing content, growing bored, no other student was anywhere close to his GPA, even the second best at the time, he felt simply untouchable, but then you came along, and you changed everything for him.

At first, he saw you more as a pest, an annoying little fly that kept buzzing around no matter how many times he had tried to swat you away. Upon your first time formally meeting with Miguel, you were polite and civil, the kindest smile on your face as you stuck your hand out for him to shake as you introduced yourself to him. Miguel just glanced at your hand with a sour, unamused expression on his face, before his eyes wandered back up to your face and he just let out a noise that was a mix between a grunt and a scoff before turning and walking away, leaving you confused and a little bit hurt from his unfriendly and quite frankly rude actions, you decided to just brush it off, maybe he was having a bad day and wasn’t in a good mood. So a few days later you tried to approached him again in hopes for a better interaction, only for those hopes to get squashed when he basically told you to fuck off, rolling his eyes and ignoring your presence once again as he walked past you, “accidentally” shouldering you in the process. You decided to stop trying to be nice to him after that.

For about the first year since you transferred, you and Miguel simply pretended the other didn’t exist, neither would approach or interact with the other unless absolutely necessary, the only constant reminders of each other's presence was when one would beat the other during tests, report cards, etc. Eventually the plain out ignoring shifted to fleeting glares and glances, eye rolls and snarky remarks muttered under both of your breaths, both of yours already rocky relationship with each other becoming more and more intense and open as you both got older, neither finding the energy to even attempt to tolerate the others presence anymore. So now you and him were stuck in this repetitive circle with each other, but neither of you were doing anything to stop it.

—

“I’ve already told you Gabe, I’m not going to give you my notes from last year. Read the book like everyone else.” Miguel sighed, stuffing his free hand in his pocket, his other hand holding onto his backpack strap, walking to the housing building across the campus of Nueva York’s Preparatory Academy, where he and his younger brother shared a room.

“But Miggy!” Gabriel whined, his lips coming out in a pout, and Miguel’s nose scrunched in annoyance at both the nickname and the high-pitch tone of his brother's whine. “What’s the point of me being brothers with one of the top students at this school if I can’t steal your notes! Besides, I've tried and I just can’t get into it. Who would have thought that Frankenstein would be such a boring book, and don’t get me started on how the paragraphs are set up!”

“And that’s my problem because?” Miguel’s eyebrow quirked up, sending Gabriel an unamused look.

“Look Miguel, you might not get it from my point of view, but it’s very difficult for me, being your brother. From an academic standpoint I mean. The teachers expect me to have the same intelligence as you. I'm not stupid, don’t get me wrong, I’m just not on the same playing field as you. Also, I don’t like reading.” Gabriel shrugged.

“And what makes you think that I do?” Miguel retorted with an eyeroll, opening the glass doors to the housing building for his brother before stepping in himself and shutting the door behind him.

“Well didn't you get an A+ on your report about the book last year?”

“No. I got an A-.” Miguel grumbled, and after a moment, Gabriel’s expression perked up a bit, as if a light bulb had gone off in his head.

“Oh riiight, that one girl got an A+, what was her name again?” Gabriel said in an almost teasing tone, before throwing out various names at Miguel that were similar to yours, obvious bait to see if his brother would bite, and he did.

“It’s (Y/N).” Miguel corrected with a hash glare.

“Oh, right, right.” Gabriel’s lips went up in a slight smirk, his hands going into his pockets to fish out the keys to their shared dorm room. “Maybe I can ask her to help me, I mean she’s a bookworm, right?”

Miguel didn’t answer the question, not completely sure if it was rhetorical or not, choosing to stay silent as they finally stopped in front of their room.

“I could ask for her notes, maybe take her out for some coffee as a thank you.” Miguel’s face scrunched with annoyance at the implication, his brother knew how much you two disliked each other, and a more sound part of his mind was telling himself that his little brother was just pulling at his leg, but that didn’t stop him from the draggers he glared at Gabriel.

“Don’t even think about it. Hasta la mira mal a esa niña, y estás muerto. ¿Entiendes?” Miguel hissed, his voice dropping an octave with the threat. (If you even look at that girl wrong, you’re dead. Got it?”)

Despite his older brother’s threats, Gabriel’s smirk only turned into a wide grin, before he put his hands up as I sigh of surrender, his keys dangling with the motion before he unlocked the door, and walked into the room, Miguel following closing the door behind him.

—

“I don't understand anything about this, (Y/N).” Your friend, Mary Jane, or MJ for short, groaned as you both sat down in one of the school's many libraries, school supplies sprawled on top of the mahogany desk. It was fairly empty, today, but you both took space in one of the empty study rooms to keep from making too much of a disruption from anyone else who might go in, the repeated sound of rapid tapping of MJ’s mechanical pencil hitting the desk as you catch her biting her bottom lip in frustration.

“I know.” You giggled with a small smile, putting your hand on her forearm in an attempt to comfort her. You both have been at it for about 3 hours now, your English teacher had assigned everyone to write a 2,000 word essay about the book being read in class Romeo and Juliet. You’ve already read and watched the play a million times so you knew the back of your hand.

“Like I understand that, they fall and love and die and stuff, but all the jokes and the symbolism and stuff-“

“That’s why I’m here, MJ.” You grinned at your friend, and she just scoffed at you with a friendly smile, a smile you returned, before getting up from your seat with a small stretch. “I’ll be right back, I'm going to go stretch my legs.” You told her, which only got you a hum in response, before you slipped out of the small room. No matter how much time you’ve spent in this specific library, (it’s your favorite one) you’ll never get tired of the earth and wood-like tones that filled your senses whenever you would enter in the building, the four old walls always filled you with such warmth, they were like a second home for you. You let out a deep content exhale as your black Mary Jane heels tapping quietly against the old wooden tiles of the library floor. Mindlessly wandering with no real destination in mind, but making sure you don’t stray too far from the study room, it wasn’t difficult to lose your sense of direction in the make-shift corridors made from old bookshelves. You turn a corner without thinking, a hand goes up , gently brushing the spines of the books as you continue walking. What genre section were you in?

Your steps came to a halt, taking a step closer to the shelf as you grabbed the book your hand was resting on. Your lips came up in a soft small smile as you read the title of the book in your hands.

The phantom of the opera.

Oh how you loved the story, you’ve watched both the movie renditions and the stage version countless times, but you’ve read the novel more than you’ve watched all three combined, but your copy sadly got ruined when you dropped it in a puddle of water while on a walk, and haven’t had the time to get a new copy. Was it bad that if you were in Christine’s shoes, you would have picked Erik over Raoul?

Your fingertips opened the door, flipping the pages until you landed on the page you were looking for.

Hardly breathing, he went up to the dressing-room and, with his ear to the door to catch her reply, prepared to knock. But his hand dropped. He had heard a man's voice in the dressing-room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

"Christine, you must love me!"

And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling, as though accompanied by tears, replied:

"How can you talk like that? When I sing only for you!"

Raoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain.

His heart, which had seemed gone-

“Why am I not surprised I’d find you here?” The sudden words interrupted your reading. You didn’t need to lift your eyes to know the source of the voice, the slight accent and the deadpan tone gave it away.

“Hello to you too, O’Hara.” You replied, your eyes not lifting, your hand flipping to the next page despite no longer reading the words on the pages anymore, you weren’t going to give Miguel the satisfaction of knowing he had your attention. The act didn’t last very long though when his finger went up to lift the book up to read the cover, your gaze going up to finally look up at him, a bored expression on your face, a tsk leaving his mouth when he realized what you were reading.

“What?” You question him, wanting to know what that reaction meant, you closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

His lips come up to a smug smirk.

“That you find that shit romantic.” He stated like he knew it was a fact, and you’d rather die than admit to him that you did, in fact, find it romantic. “Don’t act like you don’t, I can read you like a book. No pun intended.”

Your face came to a scowl, instead of entertaining him with a response, you crossed your arms and slightly leaned against the bookshelf behind you.

“What are you even doing here Miguel? You don’t even like reading.” He didn’t entertain your question with a response either, rather he just shrugged, and took a step closer, his hand going up to rest against the self, his hand was right next to your head.

“Do me a favor?” He asked, but his tone came out more like it was a suggestion rather than a request.

“Why would I do that?” You scoffed.

“Don’t make me beg, muñeca.” His tone dropped an octave. Despite the pet name, his voice was filled with nothing but coldness. (Doll)

“Don’t give me ideas.” You teased. Your lips twitched up slightly.

“If my brother comes to you and asks to take you out, go ahead and say no.” That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, but you slowly nodded your head regardless, deciding to not ask what his brother said to him that would make him come up to you about that. His hand came back down to his side as he took a step back “Good. How’s the essay coming?”

The sudden topic change you off guard a bit, but you quickly recovered, since it was something you’d both been more used to talking about, your studies.

“I’m almost done, I’ve mostly been just helping MJ with hers.” You explained, as you stood up straight again. “You?”

“Same, if it weren’t for Peter I probably would already be finished with it.”

“Don’t stress about it too much, O’Hara.”

“Oh, why not?”

You smiled.

“Because I'm gonna get a better grade on my paper anyways.”

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @oharasfilipinawife @mxltifxnd0m @loser-alert @homewreckingwreck @dumb-gemini12

[beegomess]

Dark Paradise | Theodore Nott

Don't forget to read the previous chapters here

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 🫶🏼

04. Swan Lake

They were still children when they played in the huge garden of the Malfoy Mansion, Y/N saw them from the window of one of the large halls of the house. She was jealous, her brother, Draco, seemed to have fun with his friends running through the corridors of the huge maze of bushes. While she took classes of all kinds: violin, piano, ballet, French, Italian and so many other classes. Ballet was beautiful, but it was the worst, the most demanding. She waited for the private teacher to arrive while watching them, the sneakers already well tied while she warmed up with the help of the bar and looked at them with sadness.

Now, a few years later, she was in the same place, but without the sadness, without any of those boys to feel jealous of and, of course, without her teacher too demanding for a simple child. Dancing made her calmer, and after last night's incident, Y/N used the first excuse to return home, even without her brother. She would return in a few days, of course, her classes were not over yet. However, she didn't want to risk facing Nott at that moment, much less the looks of Pansy and Mattheo.

The large room now seemed small, even though I kept a dance routine during the holidays, I felt the nostalgia of being there. Another Y/N saw herself in the mirror now, older and with less silly problems going through her head, she smiled as she remembered the various fights she had had with Draco when he insisted on not letting her play with her friends, who today were almost made men, and that now, one of them was the most recurrent in her restless mind.

Classical music plays smoothly filling the whole room. He remembers all the commands of his demanding teacher. Posture, arms in a delicate and precise movement, legs in the same way, the scapulas opened and closed like wings, the tips of the sneaker roared when peaking the floor with the movements. Accelerated breathing, but always perfectly controlled. And moving towards the end, the music slowed down and the movements became less and less agitated.

- I miss you so much at home. - Narcisa watched her majestically, as always. She had a smile and a proud look at her daughter, who smiled in response.

- How did I do? - The search for Y/N approval transpires a little while untying the sneakers on a bench.

- Perfect as always, my love. - The woman smiles - You and Draco should spend more weekends at home. This place seems so empty without you. - Narcisa approaches her daughter and watches her closely still with affection.

- We miss you too. - Narcisa realizes the lack of mention to her husband and looks at her with a disguised disapproval. - What? Our father is always at Hogwarts thanks to Draco's behavior. - They laugh

- You're not totally wrong, of course. - The older one sits next to her - Look, your father and I had plans for tonight. Let's go to a theater with some friends, you should come with us.

- I don't know, I know how dad doesn't like to have us among his business, I don't want to get in the way. - Y/N felt insecure about talking about his own father and that made Narcisa's heart squeeze.

- No way, dear. He was the one who asked me to call you. - She takes the girl's hand and smiles - Come with us. You have no idea how bored I am with Mrs. Berkshire. - Narcisa confesses and makes the girl laugh.

- All right. - She agrees. - Wow, I think I haven't seen them in years. - Y/N comments and they continue the conversation as they walk down the hallway to Y/N's room.

[...]

Y/N went down the stairs in his black scarpin, with a dress of the same color, he had a light neckline and the straps were dropped on his shoulders delicately. The dress went up to the height of his ankles, leaving his feet on display, the skirt quite round and structured, while the bust and torso were pressed in the right measure by the top of the dress. On his lap, a delicate shiny necklace decorated his skin, his hair was in the same hairstyle as the ball of the previous day, a clutch in his hands and his apparent skin was covered by a shawl of the same color and fabric as the dress.

- She is more and more like her mother. - Lúcios looked at her with pride at the foot of the stairs accompanied by his wife.

- I'm happy about that, thank you. - Y/N responds timidly, demonstrations of affection were not your father's strength.

And in a few seconds they set up in the entrance hall of the theater, Y/N observes the number of wizards present there, at all times she needed to stop and greet someone who greeted her father. Now I understood your mother for being easily bored. And in a few more steps, they stop again, Y/N hoped to greet and follow, as she had done in the last 15 minutes when she was shown by her parents as in a shop window. That wasn't a very youthful place and when she saw a boy approach his parents, just as she was slightly surprised, she didn't think she would be the only one her age, but she didn't expect to find someone so quickly. While her parents greeted each other and the other couple admired her and said how she had grown up, she notices the boy's gaze on her by her peripheral look.

- Honey, I imagine you must still remember Lorenzo. - Your mother starts. - You, Draco and Lorenzo were very stuck together as a child, remember? - Y/N looked at the boy in front of you and then his memory rescued Lorenzo from the bottom of his childhood memories.

- Oh, of course. As I could forget, I'm sorry. - Y/N said smiling and extending his hand to the boy and opened a breathtaking smile and promptly held her hand, leaving a light kiss on top of it.

- It's really been a long time, everything is fine! - He said kind.

Well, Lorenzo was certainly no longer that annoying brat who took his dolls and hid them. And even at that time Y/N already had a crush on the boy who, secretly, felt the same. However, now he was grown up and very handsome for sure. Well, actually, beautiful would be the ideal adjective for him. The 11-year-old Y/N suffered a lot when she found out that Lorenzo, affectionately nicknamed Enzo, had not been selected for Hogwarts like her and Draco, but for some other of which she did not even remember so much frustration she had felt at the time.

- I didn't know you had aged so much to come to events like this. - Y/N jokes after making sure that none of the adults there would hear.

- For your information, my mother forced me after your mother asked me to come and keep you company. - Enzo says convinced while laughing, Y/N unleashes in a shock and shame for his mother's cunning. - Can I? - The parents of both begin to move and Enzo offers his arm to Y/N and intertwines it with hers.

- I can't believe she did that. - She said still in disbelief, making the boy laugh slightly. The youngest walked behind their parents through long corridors of accents and stairs, that place seemed to have no end.

- Lucky for you that I came home a little earlier, if I wouldn't be alone in this terrible place. - He jokes approaching her, who in turn laughs again. - Although I wouldn't have been a problem having unmarked any plan I had today to see you. - He pauses and Y/N looks at him, a little amazed at his tranquility in confessing here to her. The girl gives a half smile in gratitude. - It's been a long time since we've seen each other, Y/N, and you really look very beautiful, even more than before. - Enzo said this a little more serious now, and Y/N could swear that he would have stopped walking on time if it wasn't for him taking his arm.

Before she could answer, her parents called her from the stairs that went up to the higher cabins with a privileged view of the stage. She sat next to Lorenzo, which made her slightly nervous, and she didn't know why. Her hand was supported, she hit her fingers lightly against the old wood of the arm of the chair to the rhythm of the music she used to dance to, when suddenly, Lorenzo caught her.

Y/N hook his breath for a moment and didn't look at him, both ignoring the touch of his hands. Y/N felt nervous about Lorenzo's touch and dramatic music, but for a second she closed her eyes, trying to get Theodore out of her mind. For some reason, all that turned her mind like a whirlwind of memories that suffocated her, it was as if with every breath she gave the scene of him touching her body came back with all his strength, her skin shivered just remembering Theodore's mouth on her lips and neck.

That really looked like torture. By Merlin, how she would like to be with him now.

She couldn't stand it, and asked permission to go to the toilet, there she wet a towel and positioned it on the back of her neck and then went through her neck, lap and arms. Y/N stared at herself in the mirror for a moment and began to realize that something was happening in her heart, she had never been like this for anyone before. The girl decided to ignore this at the moment, pull herself together and return to her seat. She was relieved that Lorenzo didn't try to take her hand anymore.

- I hope to see you soon, Y/N. - Enzo said goodbye in the same way he greeted her and Y/N just nodded with a light smile.

[...]

- I only stopped by to say good night. - Narcisa was passing through the half-open door of Y/N's room. The girl was already lying down just reading a book. - I'll miss you, dear, it was so little time. - And it really was, Y/N would go back to school the next day very early.

- Don't worry, mom, Draco and I will be back soon. - The girl puts the book on the bedside table and smiles at the older one.

- We didn't even have time to talk. - Narcisa sits on the edge of Y/N's bed. - I saw the way Lorenzo looked at you today. - She had a silly smile on her lips. - He seems to like you, he looks at you with so much adoration.

- Mom! By Merlin, he's almost a stranger to me now. - The girl says indignant, but laughing.

- A stranger who held his hand all the time, I saw it myself. - Y/N can't help but roll his eyes in response.

- I don't want to talk about it now, mom.

- All right. - The woman answers in surrender. - So, who took you to the dance yesterday? - Y/N stiffens with the question, and your mother notices.

- Theodore. - She answers simply, hoping that Narcisa will not prolong the subject.

- Nott? - Y/N nods - I didn't know you liked him. - she said getting out of bed.

- We're just good friends, that's all. - All right, maybe that was exaggerated.

- Oh, yes, I see. - Your mother smiles with false innocence and leans over to kiss the girl's forehead - Good night, dear.

- Good evening, mom. - The woman closes the bedroom door with a light smile, I already understand everything.

Y/N, however, seemed even more confusing...

____________________________________

xoxo, bee✨🫶🏼 next chapter>>>

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 9

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The next morning, they had to sit next to each other.

me when i’m a high school junior and had a huge falling out with my best friend who i’m totally not in love with last night but we still have to coexist in ap english class

The joint thrones today were under a silk awning, raised to protect Laurent’s milkmaid skin from the sun.

BRUTAL

Lady Vannes murmuring into the ear of a new female pet

oooooh what happened to the old one? drama alert!!

A part of Damen acknowledged, a little guiltily, that Laurent probably hadn’t deserved to get thrown around the training arena as a result.

laurent would disagree

Nikandros said, without looking next to him, ‘Your uncle has wiped out half of our army with two hundred men.’ ‘And a belt,’ said Laurent.

nikandros private twitter vent #11. incoherent violent stick figure jpegs

Damen said, ‘At least someone else has a chance to win at javelin.’

i understand that people like sports and it’s a fun thing to add to a pretty serious story but i am the buzzkill here and ugh. sports

In the stands, slaves rhythmically raised and lowered fans and brought shallow cups of wine that everyone drank except Laurent.

me getting ginger beer at the bar yesterday while the dude i was with drank an espresso martini and two whiskeys

He came forward naked, as was the custom in Akielos.

i feel like violent dangerous sports are a really good occasion to wear MORE clothing, but go off i guess

The two men scooped oil from the receptacle brought to them by the stewards, anointed their bodies with it, then they slung their arms around one another’s shoulders, and, on the signal, heaved. The crowd cheered, the men grappled, their bodies straining against each other in slippery hold after slippery hold, until Pallas finally had Elon panting, on the grass, the sounds an eruption from the crowd.

this is like the not-evil twin of the veretian court wrestling

Damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. His garment dropped and the crowd roared its approval.

you know, damen’s lack of freaking out about some of the indignities of the veretian court make more sense now

‘Good fight,’ he said, taking his place again on the throne beside Laurent. He waved over some wine. ‘What is it?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Laurent, and found somewhere else to put his eyes.

hang in there buddy

‘What can we expect next? I really feel,’ said Vannes, ‘it might be anything.’

i love the slight disdain here

‘Who did this to you?’ ‘I did,’ Laurent said. Damen turned. Laurent stood in the entryway of the tent. He was arranged with elegant grace and his lazy, blue-eyed attention was all on Nikandros. Laurent said, ‘I meant to kill him, but my uncle wouldn’t let me.’ Nikandros took an impotent step forward but Damen already had a restraining hand on his arm. Nikandros’s hand had gone to the hilt of his sword. His eyes were on Laurent furiously. Laurent said, ‘He sucked my cock too.’ Nikandros said, ‘Exalted, I beg permission to challenge the Prince of Vere to a duel of honour for the insult that he has done to you.’ ‘Denied,’ said Damen. ‘You see?’ said Laurent. ‘He has forgiven me for the small matter of the whip. I have forgiven him for the small matter of killing my brother. All praise the alliance.’ ‘You flayed the skin from his back.’ ‘Not personally. I just watched while I had my man do it.’ Laurent said it with a fronded, long-lashed gaze. Nikandros looked physically sick with the effort of repressing his anger. ‘How many lashes was it? Fifty? One hundred? He might have died!’ Laurent said, ‘Yes, that was the idea.’

LAMEN HR COMPLAINT #8

god i FUCKING love this little confrontation. i appreciate how we can start easing into some more comedy with these specific characters, because nobody here is like actively enslaved or abused. they’re all on even footing, so shots can be fired for fun, and can be read as such. the analysis here, in short, is that damen and laurent are both insane about each other and nikandros just has to deal with it. laurent thinks it’s amusing to mess with nikandros, and to a lesser degree damen. and damen tolerates it because he knows laurent behind his performative cruelty, but can’t possibly explain that to nikandros. regardless, laurent has immunity from damen, which means he also has immunity from nikandros.

this is also a good way to show how both damen and laurent have started “settling” the matters of damen killing auguste and laurent punishing him in vere, since the last scene where both subjects were heavily referenced.

Angry as he was, Nikandros wouldn’t disobey a direct order. His training was too deeply ingrained.

i like this subtle moment. damen grew up in the same culture, yet one of his main Things in this series has always been disobeying orders he disagrees with. built different!

‘Why would you do that? He’ll defect.’ ‘He’s not going to defect. He is your most loyal servant.’ ‘So you push him to breaking point?’ ‘Should I have told him I didn’t enjoy it?’ said Laurent. ‘But I did enjoy it. I liked it most near the end, when you broke down.’

laurent calculated and performative cruelty to protect himself from being vulnerable, you know the drill by now

‘You didn’t have to come here. You could have sent a messenger.’ In the pause that followed, Laurent’s gaze shifted involuntarily sideways. A strange prickling passing over his skin, Damen realised that Laurent was looking at the polished mirror behind him at the reflection of his scars. Their eyes met again. Laurent wasn’t often caught out, but a single glance had betrayed him. They both knew it. Damen felt the hard ache of it. ‘Admiring your handiwork?’

damen: i know you came here on purpose to spend time with me alone when you totally didn’t have to laurent: [very obviously checks out damen’s bare back, and not just for the symbolism reasons] damen: you want to look at me so bad (because you have an emotional attachment to the marks and you want to torture us both about it, and also because you think i’m hot. in both cases you’re the desperate one here, i win)

‘I’ll join you after I’ve dressed. Unless you want to step closer. You can help stick in the pin.’ ‘Do it yourself,’ said Laurent.

this sounds like their prince’s gambit-era antagonistic, vaguely horny, reluctantly fond banter. we’re getting somewhere!

The fever pitch of the crowd was bloodthirsty. The okton brought that out in them, the danger, the threat of maiming. The second of two targets was hammered onto its struts, and the attendants gave the all clear. In the heat of the day, anticipation was an insect buzz, rising to a commotion on the south-western side of the field.

this is such a fucking terrible idea you are in a WAR. damen you are going to be KING. why are you risking your life to play a sports right now. it would be like if the person about to cure a disease decided to play a game of bowling with a 80% survival rate right before they finished the vaccine

Damen heard the reaction of those around him. The Veretian Prince was, at a glance, Damen’s athletic inferior. Certainly, he avoided the training fields. No Akielon had ever seen him fight, or take exercise. He had not participated in any of today’s contests. He had done nothing more than sit, elegant and relaxed, as now. ‘Veretians do not train in the okton,’ said Damen. ‘In Akielos, the okton is known as the sport of kings,’ said Makedon. ‘Our own King will take the field. Does the Prince of Vere lack the courage to ride against him?’

makedon wants that twink obliterated

Damen waited for Laurent to sidestep, to evade, to find, somehow, the words to extricate himself from the situation. The flags fluttered loudly. The stands were silent, to a man. ‘Why not?’ said Laurent.

FSIUFHSDIUFHSDF i love laurent so much it’s unreal. this is the same response you’d give if a friend asked if you wanted to get takeout on a thursday night. “yeah, why not?” mr. “probably” laurent strikes again

Mounted, Damen faced the course, holding his horse ready at the starting line. His mount shifted, fractious, eager for the horn that would signal his start. Two horses down from his own, he could see Laurent’s bright head.

their horses who are canonically in love with each other get to do homoerotic sports too!!

But the true challenge of the okton was this: if you missed, your spear might kill your opponent. If your opponent missed, you were dead.

i was going to say “thankfully there are no real-life sports that sacrifice the physical well-being and possibly lives of eager-to-impress youths looking for glory and compensation” but then i remembered american college football exists

Laurent could also throw a spear. Probably.

probably.

But all of that meant nothing in the face of the okton. Men died during the okton. Men fell, men suffered permanent injury—from a spear; from hooves after a fall. Out of the corner of his eye, Damen could see the physicians, including Paschal, who waited on the sidelines, ready to patch and sew. There was a great deal at stake for the lives of the physicians, with royalty from two countries on the field. There was a great deal at stake for everyone.

not beating the american college football allegations

Damen could not aid Laurent in the contest.

he’ll kill one of his own people by throwing a sword across a clearing to save his captor in book 2, but he won’t use his kingly authority to say “hey guys maybe let’s not put both of the army’s leaders, one of whom is the love of my life and also my divorced husband, in the hunger games right now”

There was something intellectual in the way he assessed the field, and it set him apart from the other riders. For Laurent, physical pursuits were not instinctive, and for the first time it occurred to Damen to wonder if Laurent even enjoyed them. Laurent had been bookish as a boy, before he had re-formed himself.

“he should be at the (afterschool dungeons and dragons) club”

Laurent dealt with the danger of the okton by simply behaving as though it did not exist.

that tracks externally, but i also think that inside laurent’s brain he does acknowledge it, he just has a precise threshold of acceptable risk

Instinct reacted before thought. The spear was driving towards his chest; Damen caught it out of the air, his hand closing hard around the shaft, the momentum of it wrenching his shoulder back. He absorbed it, tightening his grip with his thighs to keep himself in the saddle.

this would be even more impressive if it was not the solution to a dangerous situation you ACTIVELY MADE HAPPEN

All his attention was on the other spear, flying towards Laurent. His heart jammed in his throat. On the other side of the course, Pallas was frozen. In that stricken moment of choice, Pallas could only decide whether to dodge and risk his cowardice killing a prince, or stand his ground and receive a spear to the throat. His fate was tied to Laurent’s, and unlike Damen, he had no recourse for what to do. Laurent knew it. Like Damen, Laurent had seen it early—had seen the strut collapse, had judged the outcome. In the handful of extra seconds that this afforded him, Laurent acted without hesitation. He released his reins—and as Damen watched, as the spear flew right for him—he jumped, not out of the way, but into the path of the spear, leaping from his horse to Pallas’s, dragging them both to the left. Pallas swayed, shocked, and Laurent bodily kept him down low in the saddle. The spear sailed past them and landed in the tufted grass like a javelin.

an akielion wouldn’t think to do THAT, would they!!

(also, love the little parallel to prince’s gambit, with damen ripping the grate out of the wall and laurent’s meticulous scheming. here it’s not as much a competition as it is a mutual/cooperative victory, with damen stopping the javelin mid-air and laurent intelligently evading the other one headed towards him)

The crowd went wild. Laurent ignored it. Laurent reached down and neatly filched Pallas’s last spear for himself. And, keeping Pallas’s horse at a gallop—as the sounds of the crowd swelled to a crescendo—he threw it, sending it flying right into the centre of the final target. Completing the okton one spear ahead of Pallas and of Damen, Laurent drew his horse up in a little circle, and met Damen’s gaze, his pale brows rising, as if to say, ‘Well?’ Damen grinned. He hefted the spear he had caught, and from where he was on the far side of the course, threw; let it go sailing over the full, impossible length of the field, to thunk into the target alongside Laurent’s spear, where it rested, quivering. Pandemonium.

they are both That Bitch. perfect for each other, and now everyone knows it (kinda) <3

After, they crowned each other with laurels.

cute

There was a warmth in his chest whenever he looked at Laurent. He didn’t look often for that reason.

Their men would ride out unified, and if there was a crack down the centre, no one knew about it. He and Laurent were good at pretending.

no they’re not. they’re just becoming more entertaining and endearing than annoying and frustrating, so people are more likely to listen to them

Laurent took his place on one of the lounging couches like he was born to it. Damen sat alongside him.

and all was right with the universe

The whole room went silent. Makedon and Laurent faced one another. The silence stretched out. ‘You have the mind of a snake,’ Makedon said. ‘You have the mind of an old bull,’ said Laurent. They stared at one another. After a long moment, Makedon waved at the slave, who came forward with a fat-bellied bottle of Akielon spirits and two shallow cups. ‘I will drink with you,’ said Makedon.

i love this unlikely friendship. laurent is being socialized like a feral kitten

Laurent glanced at the wine that the slave had poured, and Damen knew with absolute certainty that if it was wine, Laurent wasn’t going to drink. Damen braced himself for the moment when every scrap of goodwill that Laurent had garnered for himself was thrown away—as every tenet of Akielon hospitality was insulted, and Makedon swept forever out of the hall. Laurent picked up the cup in front of him, drained it, then returned it to the table. Makedon gave a slow nod of approval, lifted his own cup, downed it. And said, ‘Again.’

extremely loud airhorn goes off SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

Later, when a great many overturned cups scattered the low table, Makedon leaned forward and told Laurent he must try griva, the drink from his own region, and Laurent downed it and said it tasted like swill, and Makedon said, ‘Ha, ha, true!’ Later, Makedon told the story of his first games, when Ephagin won the okton, and the bannermen grew misty-eyed, and everyone had another drink. Later, everyone roared when Laurent was able to balance three empty cups on top of each other, while Makedon’s cups fell over.

is this just what frat parties are like?

Laurent maintained a scrupulous posture until they were all gone, his eyes dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed. Damen spread his arm over the back of his own seat and waited. After a long moment, Laurent said, ‘I’m going to need some help standing up.’

i love that damen just Waited. he knew. he wanted laurent to admit it. they’re so funny

He wasn’t expecting to receive Laurent’s full weight, but he did, a warm arm slung around his neck, and he was suddenly breathless with the feeling of Laurent in his arms. His hands came up to steady Laurent’s waist, his heart behaving strangely. It was sweetly, impossibly illicit. He felt the ache in his chest. Damen said, ‘The Prince and I are retiring,’ and waved the lingering slaves out. ‘It’s this way,’ said Laurent. ‘Probably.’

‘Is today the first time you’ve been beaten in an okton?’ ‘Technically, it was a draw,’ said Damen. ‘Technically. I told you I was quite good at riding. I used to beat Auguste all the time when we raced at Chastillon. It took me until I was nine to realise he was letting me win. I just thought I had a very fast pony. You’re smiling.’ He was smiling.

drunk laurent happily telling damen about auguste :’) also the “you’re smiling” is so adorable, i love how we’re getting some dorky soft laurent finally. he contains multitudes. this, like, “suddenly aware that he’s being cute and appreciated for it, slightly indignant but also allowing it because it’s damen who thinks he’s cute” thing is wonderful and tbh i hope i can someday allow myself to be like that too :)

‘Am I talking too much? I can’t hold alcohol at all.’ ‘I can see that.’ ‘It’s my fault. I never drink. I should have realised I’d need to, with men like these, and made an effort to . . . build up some sort of tolerance . . .’ He was serious. ‘Is that how your mind works?’ said Damen. ‘And what do you mean, you never drink?

drunk laurent is so funny. and i love how damen is amused, endeared, and absolutely fascinated by the inner workings of this man. me too.

also, it's insane that laurent would ever ask if he's talking too much. taking too much is like his entire thing

side note: this is 100% how i am when i use any kind of mind-altering substances, like a sedative before a root canal. i remember detailing how i felt in my notes app at the time and then reading it later and being both impressed by the determination to remain incoherent and amused by the inserted notes of “why am i laughing” “why is everything funny”

You were drunk the first night I met you.’ ‘I made an exception,’ said Laurent, ‘that night. Two and a half bottles. I had to force myself to get it down. I thought it would be easier drunk.’ ‘You thought what would be easier?’ said Damen. ‘“What”?’ said Laurent. ‘You.’ Damen felt the hairs rise over his whole body. Laurent said it softly, and as though it was obvious, his blue eyes a little hazy, his arm still around Damen’s neck. They were gazing at one another, halted in the half-light of the passage. ‘My Akielon bed slave,’ said Laurent, ‘named for the man who killed my brother.’

“no shit, i got drunk”

It wasn’t unusual for two young men to wander the halls together, swaying, after a revel—even among princes—and Damen could pretend for a moment that they were what they seemed to be: brothers in arms. Friends.

you guys got publicly married-divorced and laurent told an entire army that you fucked each other multiple times. you wear matching arm cuffs. even your horses are in love. be so serious rn

The guards on either side of the entrance were too well trained to react to the presence of royalty leaning all over each other.

They Pretend They Do Not See It (not an HR complain bc they’re not really bothering anyone or breaking rules)

‘No one is to enter,’ Damen ordered the guards. He was aware of the implication—Damianos entering a bedchamber with a young man in his arms and ordering everyone out—and he ignored it. If Isander suddenly had a startling reason why the frigid Prince of Vere had foregone his services, so be it.

oh nooooo what a shame if isander backed off from your man, what an unintended and unfortunate consequence, oh nooooooo

Laurent, intensely private, would not want his household present while he dealt with the effects of a night’s worth of drinking.

just got a vision of laurent as heather chandler in the hangover/death scene. wearing that cunty little robe and talking shit

Laurent was going to wake with a blinding headache fuelling his corrosive tongue, and pity anyone who ran into him then. As for Damen, he was going to give Laurent a push in the small of his back and send him staggering the four steps to the bed. Damen unlooped Laurent’s arm from his neck, disengaged himself. Laurent took a step under his own power, and lifted a hand to his jacket, blinking. ‘Attend me,’ Laurent said, unthinkingly. ‘For old time’s sake?’ said Damen. It was a mistake to say that. He stepped forward and put his hands on the ties of Laurent’s jacket. He began to draw the ties from their moorings. He felt the curve of Laurent’s ribcage as the tie threaded through its eye. The jacket tangled at Laurent’s wrist. It took some effort to get it off, disordering Laurent’s shirt. Damen stopped, his hands still inside the jacket.

:)

Under the fine fabric of Laurent’s shirt, Paschal had bound Laurent’s shoulder to strengthen it. He saw it with a pang. It was something Laurent would not have let him see sober, a keen breach of privacy. He thought of sixteen spears thrown, with a constant effort of arm and shoulder, after rough exertion the day before.

fuck, that’s right. damn laurent

Damen took a step back, said: ‘Now you can say you were served by the King of Akielos.’ ‘I could say that anyway.’

he may be white girl wasted but he’s still our laurent

Lamp-lit, the room was filled with orange light, revealing its simple furnishings, the low chairs, the wall table with its bowl of fresh-picked fruit.

this time, the fruit basket guy just showed the kitchen staff a bunch of ao3 fics tagged “in vino veritas” and told them to make it work

Laurent was a different presence in his white undershirt.

makes him sound like a cryptid. blonde man jumpscare

They were gazing at each other.

we know.

‘I miss you,’ said Laurent. ‘I miss our conversations.’

he would not have admitted this under torture

(also, i really like how he misses their conversations first and foremost. laurent really does love damen for his mind and heart, more than anything else. damen is the same, but he's a lot more vocally into the other parts of laurent too)

It was too much. He remembered being strapped to the post and half killed; sober, Laurent had made the line very clear, and he was aware that he had crossed it, they both had.

damen is still afraid to potentially take advantage of laurent, especially because of what happened the first time laurent interpreted his advances in such a light (ow)

‘You’re drunk,’ said Damen. ‘You’re not yourself.’ He said, ‘I should take you to bed.’ ‘Then, take me,’ said Laurent.

Laurent lay where Damen put him, on his back in a half-open shirt, his hair tumbled, his expression unguarded. His knee was pushed out to the side, his breathing was slow as one in sleep, the thin fabric of his shirt lay against his skin, rising and falling with it. ‘You don’t like me like this?’

first thing, good for him. second thing, not good for him, because trauma, and the fact that he sees himself as a sexual object (i went a lot more into this during the chapter 7 re-analysis)

‘You’re really . . . not yourself.’ ‘Aren’t I?’

i do think damen means this as a “you could punish me for taking advantage,” but i also think there is the fact that damen doesn’t want a version of laurent who isn’t in his right mind (like slaves, who aren’t given the ability to have minds of their own). this calls back to the whole “you like it simple” thing in chapter 7, and it’s pretty satisfying to see damen prove laurent wrong!

‘I tried to kill you. I can’t seem to go through with it. You keep overturning all my plans.’

said with hearts in his eyes <3

Damen found a water pitcher and poured water into a shallow cup that he brought to the low table by Laurent’s bed. Then he emptied the fruit bowl of fruit and put it on the floor alongside, to be used as a drunk soldier might use an empty helmet.

THEY WORKED HARD ON THAT THEMATICALLY RELEVANT FRUIT BASKET >:( although perhaps this is its true thematic relevance? a means of damen helping laurent care for himself in recovery?

‘Laurent. Sleep it off. In the morning, you can punish us both. Or forget this ever happened. Or pretend to.’ He did all of this quite adeptly,

at least he’s getting more self-aware about his own blind spots, or at least his ability to have them

Laurent, falling through scattered thoughts into sleep, said, ‘Yes, uncle.’

i think this line honestly might have been a step too far. not necessarily because it’s a bad thing for laurent to say, i get that it makes sense for him to associate this kind of vulnerability with [redacted], and it’s even possible that laurent doesn’t drink now because the regent got him drunk before he [redacted].

why i think it miiiiiiight not work, is the fact that damen doesn’t oh fuck wait i JUST made note of a line where damen acknowledges how he can “quite adeptly” ignore things, literally a few sentences ago. i can’t even say he would have noticed, or made note of it, because that is his character. and the irony is like right there on the page. it’s frustrating to read, but it’s an intentional choice. well played as usual!

[gloomuri671]

Placing Bets

Sae Itoshi x Reader

A/N: No smut this time! Time to cool your (and my own) horny asses down.

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Dear Diary,

I don't think he remembers anything, but he's suspicious. A part of me wishes he did remember, but the logical side of me says that it's better this way.

I hadn't seen him all weekend, but I got a text from him from the next morning.

Sae   ɴᴏᴡ

Sorry about last night.

Y/N

You remember?

Sae

Yeah

I'm sorry

ʀᴇᴀᴅ

I didn't know how to feel when I read that. No, I did, but I tried to ignore it.

Sae ɴᴏᴡ

If I had known you were going to be harassed like that, I would've told the guys to go by themselves.

Maybe next time we could just go to the cafe you like so much.

Read

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. What did I really expect? Well, it's still better than the alternative. For me at least.

Y/N

Sae, they're your team.

Sae

So? I don't give a shit.

Y/N

Dude

Sae

Yes, no, maybe so?

Cafe before school or not?

Y/N

...

Fine

Sae reacted to your message ❤

Oh, goodness. What am I going to do with him?

When I walk into the cafe, I see him already there with my preferred order by the window. He knew he didn't have to wave me over, so I just walked up to the table. When I say down, he looked up from his phone, then put it away.

Damn it. "Stop looking at me," I mumbled taking sips from my drink, "Too early for this." It came out more mean than I intended, but it's way too early to be turned on.. again. He's my best friend! It's about time I gave him the respect he deserves, just as he does me. He quirks a brow then responds. "I thought you liked my eyes?" He inquired, "Or did I just imagine that?" What. The. FUCK!?

I choked on my drink and pounded my chest as if it would help. Relieving myself, I looked at Sae while I huffed and puffed for air. That handsome fucker was amused. "So I was right," he mumbled. I looked at him quizzedly. What in the world was he thinking? "You remember?" I asked after contemplating if I was going to. "Remember what?" He inquired, "That you told me you like my eyes? You told me when we met I believe." I calmed down after that. "Boldly too."

Okay.. Close call.

We continued the conversation with random topics until it was time to head to school. "Did something happen when you dropped me off?" He suddenly asked. I glanced at him, but he stared forward completely unbothered. I wish I could be like him too: completely unbothered. That moment haunts my dreams. My poor pillow could never satisfy me the same way again.

"Yeah, something did happen," I confirmed, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "Then I had to drag your ass into the house for being such a lightweight. Who knew you couldn't hold your liquor well?" I snickered and rushed to the gate of the school. I could only stall for so long. So long before I'd eventually give in and demand answers myself. What the hell happened last Friday night?

But when I look back at Sae who stares at me then shakes his head with a Huff, I'm reminded. Sae Itoshi is my best friend and I'm an asshole for thinking of him in such a sexual light. I should've stopped him before it could escalate further. My dreams should've stayed that way. I took advantage of him.. I owe it to him to tell him the truth.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Margret Butcher slammed her notebook on my desk. She turned around in her seat to face me. She's my girl friend that sits in front of me in class. You could say her and Jordan Lujan are my closest friends after Sae - even before. We grew up together, thick as thieves.

"I wouldn't know what you're talking about," I muttered. I looked back at my notes and started reading them over. Curse her sharp eyes. "You're spinning your pen," she said. I slammed it down on my desk. This was probably my only class without Sae and I didn't want to start thinking about him again! I really do need this class.

"It's.."

"Sae?"

"Cha ching," I mumbled, "We sorta.. Made out in my car last Friday.." Margret gasped and leaned in closer. We were in the far back so any chances of others hearing g us were low. Not like there was much to listen too. "Tell me all about it!" She demanded. She looked over her shoulder looking for a certain someone. "JORDAN! GET YOUR BLOODY ASS OVER HERE!"

Recounting that night to the two felt like second nature to me. When you've honored a friendship for so many years, you're practically family.

"Mary, you owe me twenty," Jordan sang. She grumbled but gave him anyways. I looked at them, not believing what was going on. "You placed a bet!?" I whisper shouted. "Hell yes, sister," Jordan snapped, "You're both practically eye fucking each other every time you're in the same room." Margret laughed in her seat while I stared at them. "You guys," I laughed.

"So did you tell him?" Margret asked. I shook my head no. "Sae is my best friend," I said, "Imagine what he'd think when I tell him I'm the reason there's cum on his pants." Jordan snorted. "Those were good pants too," he weezed, "But he came too! Now you're even!" Margret smacked his shoulder but I could tell she wanted to laugh some more too. "He's going to remember sooner or later," she warned me.

"And I'm relying on the later," I sighed, "I still can't even believe it happened. This stuff only happened in my dreams." Margret smirked at Jordan, who's laughter died down and was now frowning, she held out a hand. "I'll take back my twenty," she smiled mischievously. He grumbled, but gave her back her money. I fumed in my seat, embarrassed.

"ANOTHER BET!?"

Lunch time came around and our table was silent. I had hoped Margret and Jordan would try and make conversation, but their thirst for tea was too strong. "What did you two do this time?" Sae sighed. I snickered while the two gasped offended. "What makes you think it was us?!" Jordan defended himself, "What if it was you two!?" Margret stomped on his foot causing him to muffle a groan. I glared at him causing him to stiffen up more. I glanced at Sae only to see him already looking at me expectingly. Curse those beautiful eyes!

"Jordan thought a tampon was for his nose," Margret said. Jordan gasped betrayed. Sae looked at Jordan disgusted while I tried so hard not to laugh in his face. "Tried sticking it up his nose in PE because he got hit by the dodge ball," she claimed. Jordan was going to protest before he finally caught on. "... Not my greatest moment," he muttered. "What a lukewarm answer," Sae scoffed. I couldn't help but laugh this time, Margret laughed with me, while Jordan flushed embarrassed. "Don't you have three sisters?" Sae asked him. Borden crossed his arms over his chest and looked the other way, suddenly finding the walls more interesting. ".. It's not like I get them myself."

While Jordan and Sae started a whole debate, I couldn't help but watch Sae the whole time. I could see Margret sigh and shake her head at me with a small smile.

Hope you liked it! Next chapter is - Hold up..

I have to tell him. I have to tell him what happened. I owe that to him. But how?

Just got an email from Idy.. Oh, great! He got the thing I needed! Wonder what it is?

Stay tuned~

-Levi

[thaliagracesgf]

Chapter Three: Holly, Jolly

wc: 5.7k

divider from @saradika-graphics, images from pinterest

general CWs, not necessarily all in this chapter: drinking, alcoholism, drug abuse, smoking, cancer, hopper being kind of a deadbeat, usual canon violence. not entirely proofread.

masterlist (incl. series)

a/n: wow. this chapter took so much out of me. it was intense. it’s been in progress for over a month (thank you for bearing with me! i was on vacation!) and i had a lot of important scenes in it that i wanted to do well. truly what got me through the last bit was chapter one of season four of @stevie-petey’s “come home” coming out last night (which you should go read, if you haven’t yet!). i hope you enjoy this!

You are absolutely fucking dead when you wake up. “Tina,” you groan. “Does your head also feel like a million nails are being drilled into it?” You look around her room, feeling absolutely attacked by the pink and the sparkles that you’ve seen a trillion times before. 

“Yes! How did you know?” She gasps sleepily, and you’re so sure she’s still drunk. “Owwww,” she moans, “that hurt.” 

“What, speaking?” you reply, and yes, it really does hurt. “Fuck me, I need to either drop dead right now or someone needs to feed me, like, all the food in Hawkins.”

“Ughhhhh,” she responds, your faces still in your pillows. “That sounds so good.” 

“We have to get up.”

“No, no no no no no no,” she cries. “We can skip today. Can we skip today?” 

“You can knock yourself out. My dad would actually lock me in jail, probably.” You don’t let yourself fall back asleep, because if you do, you know for a fact that you will not wake up again in time for class. You shuffle painfully to the edge of the bed, swinging your legs off as you continue to lay down, and eventually muster up the courage and strength to sit upright. The pain in your head gets a million bajillion times worse, and you moan again. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t do what I just did. It was so bad.” 

“I’ll suffocate you if you suffocate me,” Tina mumbles. “Then we definitely don’t have to go to school.” 

“I really, really like that plan.” You push yourself to your feet, fighting through the throbbing pain that feels like your brain is too big for your skull, and walk the two steps to your duffel bag before collapsing on the floor again. 

“I’m wearing your jeans,” you mumble to her. “I can’t wear my red pants two days in a row.”

“Wonderful,” she responds. You’re pretty sure she’s asleep again. You pull on a sweatshirt you’ve had since second grade—you can’t even remember where it came from at this point. 

You make it to school alive, by some miracle. And you definitely still look like a corpse when you walk into class, taking your seat behind Nancy. The bell rings, and your head starts to throb again. You take note of her concerned looking face, and assume she must be suffering similarly. At least you aren’t alone. 

That is, until she leans forward in her desk, “Hey Ally,” she gets the girl’s attention. “Where’s Barb?” 

“Um, shouldn’t you know?” the girl responds, turning back around.

“You haven’t seen her, anywhere?” Nancy continues. “At all?” 

Ally shakes her head, and Nancy slouches back in her chair, noticing you. Before she can ask you, you shake your head, biting your lip. This cannot be good. You don’t know Barb well, but she definitely doesn’t seem like the type to skip. 

You look ahead, forcing yourself to pay at least some attention to class, because you cannot for the life of you figure out the difference between antiderivatives and integrals, but you’re still running through possibilities of how or when Barb could have left Steve’s last night in your head.

You walk into the cafeteria, making your way over to your table in a headache-induced haze. You almost don’t notice the interesting look Steve gives you as you sit down, but you can’t figure out what it means. You manage to drown out a bit of the conversation as you think about Barb, Will, your Dad, Will, your grades, your headache, until Tommy raises his voice. 

“That’s why science doesn’t make any damn sense to me,” he says with food in his mouth, gesturing at Carol’s foot up on the table. It’s got some nasty thing on the ankle, and she’s decided that the best place to examine it is your lunch table. It’s making you nauseous the more you see it. You’re trying to avoid looking, but that’s only so possible when it’s next to your applesauce. 

“Nothing makes sense to you, dude,” you roll your eyes, and Steve snorts. 

“I swear, look at this. It’s totally frostbite,” Carol whines. 

Steve passes his applesauce over to Tommy, who thanks him before returning to his girlfriend. “It’s a heated pool,” he says dismissively.

“Well if it’s not frostbite, then what is it?” 

“Ugh,” Steve interrupts. “I don’t care what it is, it’s disgusting! Get it off the table. We’re eating here.” 

“What he said,” you add. 

Tommy touches it with his spoon, and Carol smacks him away. Much to the rest of your disgust, he continues to use the spoon for his applesauce. 

“Hey Tommy,” Nancy cuts in, trying and failing to ignore the spoon disaster, and narrowing her eyes. “When you left, did you see Barb?” 

“What?” 

“Barbara. She’s not here today.” 

“I seriously have no idea who you’re talking about,” Tommy snickers, and you roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair as he leans across the table. You’re trying to keep as far a distance between yourself and that spoon as possible. 

“Come on, don’t be an ass, man,” Steve says. “Did you… Did you see her leave last night or not?” He doesn’t actually look all that concerned with what Tommy has to say. 

“No. She was gone when we left,” Tommy says, as though he’s annoyed at Nancy and she’s asked him a million times. 

“Probably couldn’t stand listening to all that moaning,” Carol adds. The pair of them start mocking Nancy, loudly, turning heads in the cafeteria. You kick her across the table.

“Come on, that’s so disgusting, guys.” 

“You say that because you got out of there, Y/N!” she laughs. “It was bad.” 

“Can you… can you just cut it out?” You glare at her, and she gives you a puzzling look back, smirking at you. 

Your friend is trying to hide his smile, though. And it’s extremely troubling for you. Why are all your friends turning into extra special assholes this week? 

“Listen…” he turns to Nancy, not doing anything about how uncomfortable she looks as Tommy and Carol die of laughter across from them. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just… she’s probably just, like, skipping, or something.” 

“Yeah.” Nancy replies, totally unconvinced. You catch her eye. “Yeah, probably.” 

You sit on the brick ledge just outside after Chem as Nancy tries to call Barb’s mom. You made the suggestion after class, after watching her skittish looks and jittery vibe for an hour, and offered to come with her. Now you fiddle with the fraying edge of your hoodie as she stands by the phone. 

The line rings. “Come on, come on, come on…” Nancy mutters.

You’re not sure what to do with your eyes, whether you seem uninterested and bored if you stare at the ground or a creep if you watch or check up on her as she calls. As you kick a rock on the pavement, you think about driving by Dustin and the Sinclairs’ houses tonight. You realize you haven’t seen the boys since Will went missing. Since you let him go home on his own. You blink back sudden tears in your eyes. You’ve been trying not to vocalize it in your mind, knowing it would send you over the edge, but you know Will’s disappearance is your fault. If you had just driven him the rest of the way, seen that Jonathan had eyes on him before taking off…

“Hello?” You startle at the faint voice of a woman who must be Barb’s mom through the phone. 

“Hi!” Nancy also jumps. “Hi, uh, Ms. Holland, it’s Nancy.” 

“Oh, Nancy, how are you?” the muffled voice returns. 

“Good… I’m good. Um, I was just wondering, is, uh, is Barb there?” her voice sounds a little higher than normal. 

“Mmm… no…” you can’t hear the rest of the sentence, but Nancy winces, so you assume she’s not there. A growing pit makes you sick to your stomach. Are you cursed? Are people you sort of hang out with doomed to go missing? Are you being incredibly narcissistic by thinking about that right now instead of Will and Barbara, their families? 

“But she did come home, right? After the vigil?” You can’t hear Ms. Holland anymore over a ringing in your ears. 

“Right. Yes. She did, sorry. I meant, did she come home this morning? I think she left some textbooks and she was gonna go pick them up.” 

“Oh, um, no, I haven’t seen her,” Ms. Holland’s voice comes back through. You fiddle with the edges of a food drive poster on the side of the phone box. 

“Do— do you know what? I just remembered… she’s at the library.” Nancy is not doing a great job at this, you hate to say it. You make eye contact with some sort of leopard or cheetah on a Battle of the Bands flier, and wonder briefly if Eddie Munson is doing it. You can hear his fucking guitar every single night at home. There was a point when you thought about starting a band together, when you were in fifth grade, but your music tastes were completely different. You argued for hours on what your band’s sound would be before finally calling it quits. You sort of drifted from Eddie, after that. He always thought you were trying too hard to fit in around Steve and Tina, trying to convince you to hang out with kids “like you.” I.e.: other poor kids.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will,” Nancy responds to something you missed. “Sorry to bother you.” She hangs up the phone and sighs. You bite your lip again, and the end of school bell rings. You grab her hand, in an attempt to comfort her, you guess, and the two of you start walking up to the parking lot. 

The pit in your stomach grows again when you see your friends at the top of the hill, leaning on what you recognize as Jonathan Byers’ car. Although, even if you didn’t know the car, you’d probably have been able to figure it out. Jonathan shuffles uncomfortably near them; his presence, especially, is the concerning part. Steve, Tommy, and Carol are rifling through some papers, and you hear Steve’s voice, sounding harsher than usual.

“No.” He rolls one and waves it at Jonathan. “No, this is called stalking.” 

“What?” You exclaim, and their heads turn to you and Nancy as you come up the slope. 

“What’s going on?” Nancy asks, a little hesitantly, observing Jonathan and furrowing her brows.

“Here’re the starring ladies,” Tommy jeers. 

“What?” Nancy adjusts her bag. 

“Jonathan?” you can see Steve grit his teeth as you address the other boy. You’re about to stop yourself and start on him when Carol interrupts. 

“This creep was spying on us last night,” Carol looks a little too happy to illuminate the pair of you. “He was probably gonna save these for later.” She passes you photo sheets, and the picture she passes you might honestly surpass all of the shitty things that have happened to you this week. It’s you, sitting on the edge of the pool, lifting your arms in the air as you shotgun a beer. 

Your red bikini top, here in black and white, is pushing up your chest, and to be honest, your first thought is that it’s a great photo of your boobs before you remember why it exists, and the world seems to come crashing down on your shoulders. 

Your headache worsens, and the tears you’ve been holding back throughout the day threaten dangerously to spill over, and you have to fight not to let them. You’re not going to cry in front of Tommy and Carol, and you don’t think you want to cry in front of Jonathan Byers right now, either. 

You glance at Nancy’s, and it’s somehow worse. It’s her, from the back, at least, pulling her shirt off in the window you know is Steve’s room. It’s sick. You knew they had sex last night. Jonathan Byers is a creep. You knew he liked her. You never want to see Jonathan Byers again in your life. You knew it was going to happen. You think you’re going to throw up, or cry, or both. 

“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but…” Steve starts, clicking his tongue, “man, that’s the thing about perverts. It’s hardwired into them.” He ruffles Jonathan’s collar. He looks like a total douche. You don’t know what’s going on right now, what you’re thinking. You can’t breathe. “You know, they just can’t help themselves.” He tears up the photos left in his hands, and Tommy laughs. Nicole, the girl you’ve really only just noticed, crosses her arms smugly. You want to yell at her, of all people, right now. Why the hell is she here? Why is she pretending she cares about any of you, any of your friends? Who gave her the right to look at Jonathan the way she is? You want to slap her. 

“So… we’ll just have to take away his toy.” 

For some reason, that’s what snaps you back to reality. “No!” You think you shout but it comes out as a murmur. Steve looks at you incredulously, and Tommy and Carol snicker. 

“Steve…” Nancy starts. 

“No, please, not the camera,” Jonathan almost begs. It’s pathetic. You hate him. So much. He moves for the camera, and Tommy blocks him. 

“No, no, wait, wait,” he holds out his hand. “Tommy, Tommy.” The other boy backs off, and Steve turns from Jonathan to look at you. “Are you serious, Hopper?” There’s so much in the way he says it. You can read his voice like the back of your hand, now, after ten years of being his best friend. You hear him asking you what the hell has come over you, why you’re taking this pervert’s side. 

Then he addresses Jonathan again. “To be honest, man, you’ve got some balls, taking these of her.” Your heart is beating out of its chest, and the ringing is coming back around you. “I mean, do you know who her dad is?” 

“Steve,” you warn. 

“Oh,” he clicks his tongue again. “That’s my bad. I guess you’ve been spending a lot of time around him lately, huh?” 

“Steve!” You shout. 

“It’s okay,” he holds his hand out at you for a second, offering the camera out to Jonathan. “Here you go, man.” He reaches for it, but Steve drops it on the pavement, and you watch as the lens, and probably all the machinery you don’t understand inside, shatters. 

“Steve!” You cry out as it happens. You don’t really know what else to say. 

Will bought him that camera. Will bought him that camera. Will bought him that camera. 

“Y/N, do you have any quarters?” Lucas’s voice ringing in your head. “Will’s got nothing, he’s totally saving everything for this dumb Christmas present for his brother.” 

Steve Harrington is a rich asshole, and you don’t know why you ever thought he could be a good friend. 

The realization hits you like a million bricks, and you bend down to desperately scoop camera pieces up, in part to cover the tears that have actually started rolling down your face. He’s not a good person. He’s not a good person. And there’s nothing you can do about it. And you don’t have any other friends, because at this point your only other option is a pervert who was taking pictures of the boobs you’re never going to be able to look in the mirror at again. 

As Jonathan bends down beside you, it takes a lot of strength not to shove him on his back. Let him know you don’t care about him. You care about the bits of her paycheck that Joyce Byers put aside for Will’s small allowance, all of which went into that piggy bank for that camera. You care about the quarters that Dustin, Lucas, and Mike sacrificed at the arcade when he showed up with nothing because he had saved it all for that camera. You cared about the hours you had spent at the grocery store with Lucas as he rolled his eyes at Erica, who was berating him for being picky over lemons for the lemonade stand they were building, where all the profits were going to the stupid fucking camera. 

And now it was laying in shards in the Hawkins High parking lot, and your best friend in the entire world was responsible for it. 

And he was walking away. 

You make a split second decision to abandon the camera, chasing after Steve down the hill. As you get up, you kick a bit of what was the lens, and you hope it cuts Jonathan open. 

“Steve!” You bark, turning the heads of your friends up ahead. You storm up to him and shove him backwards. 

“What the hell, Hopper?” He stumbles back. You’re almost stronger than him. You’re certainly a better swimmer. 

“You’re such an asshole, Harrington!” You shout.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “did you not see the photos he was taking of you? Or of my girlfriend?” You think the last sentence hits you kind of hard, but you don’t think about it. You’re too angry.

“You don’t think! You don’t think about anyone except your fucking self, Steve.”

You can see in his eyes that he genuinely doesn’t understand why you’re angry at him. And of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know about the camera, or Will. But he has to know the Byers don’t have money, right? He has to know that Jonathan can’t buy a new camera, right? He has to know the sacrifices someone in that family made to get him that, right? He has to know that you’re just like Jonathan Byers. Right?

You don’t realize at first that you’re hyperventilating. Or that you really are crying, now. You can’t breathe. You’re vaguely aware of being lowered to the ground, and of Steve crouching in front of you, rubbing your arm. Of him calling Nancy over, and of her stroking your back, and telling you you’re okay. Of your breathing slowing down, and of them helping you back to your feet. Of trudging to the gym as Nancy helps you walk, and Steve looks at you from her other side as if for the first time in his life, he can’t figure you out. 

You sit with your back against the lockers, staring at the side of the bench Carol’s laying on. 

“So,” she laughs from Tommy’s lap, “I told Mr. Mundy, the solution of ten plus Y equals… blow me.” Tommy snickers. 

“Bull,” Steve calls. “If you did that you’d be in detention right now.”. You realize you’ve ditched Nicole somewhere on your way back in. Good riddance, you figure. She was probably just trying to get in with the four—five?— of you. You realize you probably sound like a narcissist. You don’t entirely realize that you’re definitely projecting your anger about this from Steve onto this random girl. 

“Saturday,” Carol replies.

“I bet Mr. Mundy’s still a virgin.”

“Oh, he’s so a virgin.” 

“Maybe you should blow him, Carol. Help your grades a bit.”

“Nice, Tommy,” you mutter. Tommy gives you a look, as if to say, “She speaks!” Carol smacks him.

You can’t see Nancy from the floor, but as she walks away your eyes follow her. 

“Hey! Nance, where you going?” Steve calls. 

“I totally forgot,” she stammers, turning back. “I told my Mom I would… do something with her.”

“Well, what do you mean? The game’s about to start!” 

“I’m sorry,” she winces as she walks down the hall.

You watch Steve watch her go. Good for her, honestly. You’re thinking about doing the same thing, and the only thing stopping you is still that raging headache.

“What the hell’s wrong with her?” he turns back to the three of you. 

You shrug, sinking deeper into your hoodie. 

“Maybe she freaked out when you went all psycho on the psycho,” Tommy jeers, looking over at you as he says it. You jeer back at him, silently. 

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve dismisses him.

“What’d you expect, dating Miss Perfect?” Carol’s bubble pops loudly, echoing in the cinderblock hall. 

“Can you guys just…” you trail off. “Shut up?” 

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you?” Carol rolls her eyes.

“I just… stop making this into such a thing. I don’t want my dad finding out about this.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Tommy chortles, and you look at him, surprised. 

“No one’s telling your dad,” Steve says. “None of us were supposed to be there, not just you and Tina.”

“Really, Steve?” you raise your voice. “I don’t want him to get mad at Mrs. Byers, or anything that’s going to stop him looking for Will,” you scoff at him. “To be honest, I could care less right now whether he finds out about your stupid fucking party.”

Tommy whistles. “She got you, man,” he reaches out to push Steve, and you glare at him, too. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, I just—” he trails off. “Can we just go to the game?”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes. For the second time today, you don’t think you understand each other at all. “I think… I think I’m gonna go home,” you say, and confusion passes through his eyes. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I just… I don’t feel great. And I probably have to make dinner, or you know, my Dad won’t eat anything, and…” 

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Just go, Y/N.” He waves his arm at you, dismissively. 

“I… I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah.” 

Tommy and Carol are watching the interaction, Tommy almost wide-eyed and Carol blowing another bubble, bored. You scoop your backpack off the floor, looking for Steve’s eyes one last time, but he’s not looking at you. He stares at the ceiling instead, so you turn and walk down the hall, between the green and orange striped cinder block, the same way Nancy’s just gone.

You feel like the empty roads of Hawkins are closing in on you. Empty branches reach across to close in on you and your car. You swear you keep seeing shadows pass among them, and you jump at every one. You’re scared that you’re going to swerve and crash your car, but the thought of pulling over, any closer to these woods, is unthinkable. So you speed along towards the park, trying to keep your eyes on the asphalt as opposed to the forest, and think about anything other than Will or Barbara, and the serial kidnapper that’s lurking somewhere around this town. 

As you drive into the park, the lights from the trailers around you provide some small comfort, but you curse your father for choosing a spot so far from everyone else, and by the open water that seems to absorb all the light for twenty yards around your house. The sun set in the short while it took to drive home. If there was a graph charting the correlation between the amount of sun and your level of fear, it would have an approximate slope of negative one. Or negative ten. Or negative ten thousand. 

Gravel crunches under your tires as you pull in, and you turn the car off as soon as possible. You think you’re hoping that if you’re completely silent, and completely invisible, that whatever monsters are lurking around town won’t come for you. You sit in your car for what seems like hours, but is probably closer to twenty minutes, before you decide that you don’t want to get out of it. It’s warm, and your house is definitely freezing. So you dig the walkie-talkie out of the bottom of your bag, and fumble with the dials, tapping into the police office’s main line. 

“Flo?” You start. 

It takes a moment, but her voice crackles back through. 

“Hi, sweetie.” Her voice sounds strained. 

“Is something wrong? I was just wondering if you knew where my dad was.” 

“Oh, sweetie. He’s… he’s heading down to the quarry, but you shouldn’t go down there—” You tune her out. Why would you go down there? You never follow your dad to work. Why would you…  

“Will,” your voice creaks. 

“Oh, sweetheart, would you like to come over here, and wait for your father to finish up?” You know she’s nervous, you know she’s looking out for you, but the way she says “finish up”, as if Will is some menial task, makes your stomach drop.

“No, Thanks, Flo,” you mutter. You can hear her responding to you, but you’re not listening. You toss the walkie into the passenger seat, and before you can think about what you’re doing, you reverse your car and fly back out of the trailer park. 

You race back down the tree-lined streets, no longer caring that they’re closing in on you. It’s only five minutes or so to the quarry, but it feels like twenty with the way your heart is pounding out of your chest and you feel your breath leaving you again. 

You hear the sirens before you see them, but as you turn the corner your eyes are assaulted by the flashing red and blue of what must be every law enforcement, firefighting, or ambulatory vehicle in Hawkins. 

You let out a strangled cry as you park your car and jump out, starting towards the water before you see the boys peeking out from behind a fire truck. There’s so much going on, there’s so much happening. Will. Why are they here, how can they be here? Will. You need to get them out of here. 

“Hey!” You shout and they all jump. “You guys need to get out of here, come on— who is this?” There’s another boy with them,  or at least you thought at first, but now you’re pretty sure it’s a little girl with her head buzzed. None of them answer you, all watching your father storm past officers at the quarry. 

You all watch as a small body is pulled out of the water. Your hand flies to your mouth, and you cry. 

“It’s not Will,” Mike says, holding the pole on the back of the truck for support. “It can’t be.” 

You can’t find words to respond to him. Officers pull a stretcher further up the shore, and you would recognize that little red vest anywhere. But Lucas shakes his head, and tears start to fall from his eyes. “It’s Will. It’s really Will.” 

Mike straightens, turning away from the sight. You’re holding Dustin’s shoulders from behind him, as tightly as if you can stop this from happening if you hold on to him like this. 

“Mike…” the girl says, but he slaps her hand away. 

“”Mike”? “Mike,” what?” He shouts. “You were supposed to help us find him alive. You said he was alive!” You’re so confused, so lost, and staring at the water. You don’t know what the hell is going on with these kids, but you know that their best friend is dead on that stretcher, and Mike is distraught, and he’s taking it out on this girl, possibly in the same way you were taking out your anger at Steve on Nicole. “Why did you lie to us?” His voice cracks. “What’s wrong with you!? What is wrong with you?” 

“Mike…” 

“What?” The girl shakes her head, and Mike prods her for an answer with his eyes, before he turns and storms off. 

“Michael!” 

“Mike, come on,” Lucas protests. “Don’t do this, man.” 

“Mike, where are you going? Mike!” Dustin shouts.

But Mike ignores all of you, picking up his bike and getting away as fast as he can.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do here, left with two of the kids you babysit and some random girl that you think they might have kidnapped from a cancer ward. But you have to pull yourself together. They can’t be here. You can’t be here, but them especially. You think this might be one of the worst places for them to ever be. 

“Come on, guys,” you manage. “Get in the car.” 

Dustin and Lucas nod solemnly, and carry their bikes to your trunk. The girl stands awkwardly back, until you look between her and the boys and gesture for her to hop in. 

The car is silent, except for the few seconds where you ask where you’re supposed to drop this girl off. Some sad whispering and hesitation determines that you should take her to Mike’s, and you do, watching her climb in through the basement window. 

“Okay,” you start, as soon as she’s inside. “I realize that this is one of the worst times for this, but one of you needs to tell me what the hell is going on with her.” 

Dustin and Lucas argue muffledly in the backseat.

“Today,” you drum on the steering wheel. You’re trying to distract yourself—one problem at a time. 

“She has superpowers,” Dustin mumbles, as Lucas says:

“We just found her.” 

You try, and fail, to make sense of their words. 

“Okay…” you look at Dustin in the rearview mirror. “What do you mean, “she has superpowers”?” Lucas gives him a look that you interpret as warning him not to say anything else. 

He talks anyway. “She lifted Mike’s Millenium Falcon with her mind.” Jesus Christ. 

“Dustin, I’m being serious here,” you sigh. “I just want… I just want to help.” 

“I am being serious!” 

You sit in silence, mind reeling. Obviously this is some bit that he and the others have made up, and he’s confused. Surely. But how would you feel if you were bringing something like this to your dad, and he didn’t believe you? But you have no reason to believe him. Superpowers don’t exist. The kid’s best friend has just been found dead in the quarry you’ve all swum in since you were kids, and he’s been reading too much X-Men. 

“He’s not lying,” Lucas says quietly. He’s staring out the window, tears still rolling down his cheeks, but he mumbles at you as you drive. 

“We found her in the woods the night of the storm.” 

“You were out at night in the woods? In a storm!?” You almost crash your car. “Are you guys insane?” 

“We were looking for Will!” 

“That’s not for you to do, Lucas! That’s what the police, and the adults who are volunteering are for! And you certainly shouldn’t have been alone!” 

“Yeah, well, look at what a great job your dad did,” he snaps. 

You purse your lips and stare at the reflected traffic lines ahead of you. 

“I’m not… I’m not saying… Look, you guys just have to be safe, okay? Will isn’t the only kid who’s gone missing.” You realize as you say it that Will’s body doesn’t solve the mystery of Barb’s disappearance. Impossibly, a sliver of hope rises that there’s more to this than meets the eye, but you shove it back down. You’ve just seen Will’s body raised from the water. The water. Barb was by the pool. 

“What?” They ask together. 

“I… forget I said anything,” you rush. 

“Who’s missing?” 

“Friend of Nancy’s.” Dustin rolls his eyes. 

“Who, Steve Harrington?” Lucas scoffs. 

“I— no.” Why would you ever introduce Steve as a friend of Nancy’s? “Barb. Red hair? Nevermind.” 

“What if…” Dustin turns to Lucas. 

“No, dude. He’s dead. Dead!.” Lucas crosses his arms, going back to his position at the window. 

“Okay,” you mutter, and startle the boys as you pull the car over to the side of the road. “You both need to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on here.” 

They do their hesitation and bantering dance again, before the mumbles all rush out, and you can’t make sense of who’s saying what. 

“She’s psychic, or something.” 

“She tried to get naked in Mike’s basement.” 

“She said she could find Will.” 

“She said he’s hiding.” 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Now this is making a little more sense. A skill at guessing what people are thinking, or something, is much more reasonable than telekinesis. And they must have let their minds run a little amok. 

“You find this girl, and she says she knows something about Will?” They nod. “And you don’t take this to the police?” They shuffle uncomfortably. “Chill. I’m not a spy for my dad. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here.” 

“She said bad men were after her.” A chill runs up your spine.

“What do you mean, bad men?” 

Dustin raises his hand, holding it like a gun, and starts to point it at your head. “Dude!” Lucas shouts. “You’re going to freak her out.” He turns to you. “Guns. Basically.”

“Military, maybe?”

“Why would the military care about some kid?” Lucas asks. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” You stop to think for a second, but your mind is exhausted. You’re so, so, tired. And the boys must be as well. You’re glad, at least, that you seem to have distracted them from the body for a moment, even if it’s with more of this weird situation. But you need to sleep, and so do they. You tell them so, and they try to protest at first. “I’ll come by in the morning, okay? We can talk more then. Just… radio if you need anything, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Lucas murmurs. Dustin nods in agreement. You drive them back to their houses in silence again. You’ve all resolved to your quiet mourning, but at least in you, something is stirring. Something that wants to get to the bottom of this, to find Barbara if you can’t find Will. And to at least find out, for sure, what happened to him. Hold someone accountable, if there is anyone. In a strange way, you hope there is someone. 

As you drop each boy off, you watch as they walk in through their doors. You know you won’t be making that same mistake again. 

a/n: thank you for reading! as always, all reblogs, shares, comments, asks, etc are so so appreciated! let me know what you think!

taglist (just ask if you'd like to be added!): @thisisourlovestory, @ladygrey03

[quinnyundertow]

Can I ask what got you into writing? I love your writing style and I'm so curious about your process as well.

This is such a sweet ask. I love it. This may be way more than what you were expecting haha. But I’m alone in the hospital and this feels cathartic.

I’ve always loved to write since I can remember. When I was in elementary school I remember getting yelled at and crying because I had to write a story about a thanksgiving turkeys adventure and mine was like twenty pages. They said it was too long and hurry up and I was frustrated because I wasn’t done!

I think what really solidified my love for writing is I needed fantasy to escape. In middle and early high school my parents divorced and I was bullied relentlessly. Gum put in my hair, things thrown at me, called fat at every opportunity. I had teachers that bullied me too for being fat. I was SA’d multiple times, depressed and started cutting. I’ve honestly tried to block most of it out.

The point is I had found anime and a few friends who loved it too. So any opportunity I had I begged friends to do writing journals with me. We’d make up a crack fic plots then write self insert and pass a notebook back and forth between classes every chapter for the next person to write. We wrote for Yugioh, Naruto, Dragonball Z, Fruits Basket popular ones at the time. I also wrote poetry, fanfics and original stories to try and escape anyway I could. Writing was the highlight of my teenage years. But other than that it was hell and you could never pay me enough money to repeat them.

I dropped out of Highschool from the bullying and my depression. But I studied and took a test for Highschool equivalency and then went to college and got straight As. College is nothing like Highschool. No one cares what you do. At least in my experience. I wanted to be a writer or manga artist but my father told me I wasn’t good enough and I wish I wouldn’t have taken it to heart and listened. I stopped writing for like ten years except for periodic ideas in notebooks until this last November.

Jujutsu Kaisen had become my comfort anime and then chapter 236 happened. I was so depressed I decided to try and read fanfics again. I’ve always read a lot of published books and was staggered to see a ton of fanfic writers were just as good if not better than published writers. After reading a ton of amazing works I decided I needed a fix it story that was ultimately happy for JJK and here we are.

Sorry if this was boring or too much. But if you take away something from this take this. Life is always changing. Tomorrow will not be the same as today. That much is guaranteed. If you have nothing left to live for then you have nothing to lose by trying something crazy or new. I was broken down to nothing by bullies, family issues, mental and physical health and I was incredibly suicidal. Somehow I found the will to try again. I got on depression and anxiety medication (still on to this day), worked for a higher education and took a shitty paying job to claw my way back up. My life is far from perfect but despite everything I worked hard to now have a boss babe high paying career and after restarting writing and meeting you all I’ve never been happier.

As far as a writing process I pretend I’m not going to post what I write and write it just for me. I ask myself what do I think would be the coolest thing to happen? What would I want to see next? Then I write it. Most of the time it sucks, or I don’t feel like writing it but I force it out. I make myself sit for 15 minutes and just write something. Then I rewrite it. Keep what parts I liked toss what feels off. Repeat. Eventually I’m having fun and loving the process.

When rewriting I’ll name them things like WICYG Chapter 12.2 for the second rewrite etc. I’ll screen shot my google doc so you can see the insanity haha. Sometimes I’ll rewrite four plus times. At the end of the day I want to love what I write and do it for me. Then when I find people that like it too it makes me over the moon happy. I hope one day to have the confidence to write my original stories in my head out. Writing fics for yall has definitely helped build my confidence as a writer.Thanks again for the ask anon sorry for the life story but I’ve never told people all that and it was healing to get out.

My messy google docs 🥹 Madhouse is Sanity Last Stop lol.

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c22. Tarantella.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, mentions of mafia-type organisations.

song to listen to when reading this: Napule è, Pino Daniele.

abstract: This is Jude. are you not excited to see if I died? go on and read to see what happened, not my proudest moment, but still. you get a little glimpse of me as a baby, how joyous… I bet you didn't expect last chapter uh? Hell of a journey, hopefully we're almost done with the suffering! enjoy.

She always took the same route, met the same people in the same spots. She usually got dropped off in the 'Spanish Neighbourhood'. They weren't so turistic back then. She remembers them vividly. She remembers the smell of food, the smell of fried, oily food. The voices. The blue sky, the sun was always shining on her. She remembers the markets, the noise of people screaming, the graffiti, pairs of shoes thrown over the power lines. They used them to signal a member of a family was in prison, or that in the building lived someone who dealt drugs. It was common knowledge, the police knew. Where she's from, it is said the Camorra has a special seat at the dinner table. It's history, it's culture. It's in the economy, it's inside politics, it's in the institutions. Those who should protect us are corrupt, or too afraid to go against it. It's in the police, in the bourgeoisie. In the Church.

The Camorra is a mafia-type criminal organisation, one the oldest criminal organisation in the south of Italy. Naples based. The Camorra's organisational structure is divided into individual groups called "clans". Every capo or "boss" is the head of a clan, with hundreds of affiliates, depending on the clan's power and structure. It's really bad represented in movies, it's actually pretty morbid. All it takes is a glance, all it takes to get what you want is the fact that you're part of a clan. I am talking contracts, certificates, loans, money and permissions. Everyone is scared over there. Everyone lives in fear and in denial, everyone accepts it because, trust me, it's better this way. People get melted in acid, you know. And if anyone asks, no there is no criminality here! No Camorra here. They usually deal drugs, they do money laundering. Every now and then if two clans get in a fight, which can last for decades, people will die. Children die all of time. If you're born inside a family that's part of a clan, you've basically sold your soul to criminality. Boys especially tend to be extremely proud of their origins, they have fun playing with guns and power, they die young but with fame. Baby boss, that's what they're called. Being dangerous and feared is the real accomplishment. It's what girls seek in a man, the fame, the possessiveness and violent jealousy.

Her story was a little different. Her mother was the dealer in the family along with her uncle, her dad was already in prison when she was born. Even when she was in her momma's belly, she would hear her uncle's voice, talking to her mom. The things he would say. All the sex they had, she was born with a migraine. Her older brother Edoardo died in a shooting. She knows who killed him, she debated killing him for a long time. Her little sister, Maria Adele, was the first in many generations to do something else with her career, which meant being a normal child who went to school and liked drawing. She on the other hand, helped mom with the family business. No one would ever suspect a little girl with a pink backpack to sell heroin around Naples. They realised she was perfect for the job when she was caught playing with some bullets on the kitchen floor as a toddler. Her uncle did her homework after school, so she could work. The only thing she did other than that was ballet class, to have an alibi. She met other kids or adults in specific places to sell the same amounts of heroin and get paid. Sometimes, the grown ups would touch her hair and call her beautiful. '*F'o cess, e damm i soldi',* she would respond. It means 'shut your mouth and give me the money'. She learned all her swear words from her uncle.

She had a specific route she followed, she would walk for hours and at the end of the day she would go back to her mom, give her the money and keep a small percentage. Now, we're not talking about a few hundred dollars a day. We're talking good money, money that lasted her a long time, dirty money that paid for her education. That was how her mom was raising her. You get a part of what we make, cause you work. If you work hard, you'll get more. If you disobey, Tarantè… She knew already. There was no escaping. Or so she thought. Truth is, she quite liked that life up until she was 13. Then she really started to understand what being part of a clan meant, and if you're thinking shiny cars, a mansion of a house, parties and sparkly dresses, you're reading the wrong story. I don't know who told you that was what mafia meant, but they're mistaken. She had blood on her hands for the first time when she took revenge for her brother’s death. She was the youngest terrorists Naples had ever seen. Her actions reached the news.

The Camorra is indescribable. It's terrorist attacks to journalists and activists who end up dead on a daily basis, while trying to tell the country how corrupted the south is. It's killing your family members, is constant fight and constant fear. It's wanting to commit crimes from a young age, cause your brother got killed. Knowing the meaning of rage and revenge too soon. And liking it, liking the power, the control, liking that everyone knows when you're walking by, they should keep their eyes on the ground. But it's also casualties, civilians getting killed by mistake and being able to do absolutely nothing about it. It's not trusting the government and the institutions, it's a parasite that's devouring Italy from the inside out. The Camorra sits at the table with you. There is no justice. No faith.

Arash pressed the red button on her phone and ended the call. 'Get up.' He said. She slowly did as he said, her legs nearly giving out. 'Please…' she murmured and he pressed the gun firmly in the back of her head. 'Shut up!' he screamed, 'How could you?' She realised this was an opportunity. She had to use what she knew about him, she had to use her skills and press his soft spots. If he screamed someone would hear him. He spoke again, still from behind her. 'I should have never brought you that prophecy, I should have known you wouldn't understand'. His voice was filled with sorrow and anger, she could have sworn he was shaking. 'I know, I- ' He cut her off, she didn't feel the gun anymore for a second. He grabbed her arm and turned her around, she suppressed a scream at the sudden gesture. He was waving the gun in the air while speaking, taking a step towards her and caging her between his body and the table. 'Shut up! You know nothing!' She had to make him scream again, 'You betrayed me Jude, you fucking sold me to them!' She tried to look apologetic and focus on his face and not the gun he was frantically shaking in the air. She felt guilty. Not only because she was about to die, but because he was right. 'I didn't know what to do…' she tried, and that only made him more furious. He didn't respond, only shut her up one more time. He grabbed her by the shoulder shoving her away from the desk. 'You did the wrong thing.'

She tried to protest but his grip was firm. He opened the door of the office and peeked in the corridor. He grabbed her arm and hid the gun in his belt. One hand on her arm one around the back of her neck. She twisted her shoulders in pain, feeling his grip tighten, he was pulling her hair and practically dragging her by the neck. She whimpered in pain, he urged her to shut up. They walked in the direction of the main exit, then they started to see people. Soldiers, pilots. She heard him cuss under his breath and she thought about screaming. She should have shouted, she should have called for help. Arash grabbed his gun and forced her to turn around towards the stairs. She felt the gun press on her side before she could say anything. 'Walk' he urged. He wrapped an arm around her to hide the gun between their bodies. Her arms were stiff at her sides. 'I'll tell them to let him go.' She murmured. 'I'll call them and tell them it was a mistake and to let him go.' They climbed the stairs, at this point she didn't know where he was taking her. 'Fucking shut up!' he said again, louder this time. He threw her on the stairs. She felt a sting of pain vibrate over her whole body, she fell face down, her knees on the concrete of the stairs. He quickly grabbed her again, she felt like he could rip her hair from her scalp. They reached the fourth floor, she realised that was where Laswell's office was. He's gonna kill us both.

He was speaking Farsi by that point, he was reciting what sounded like a prayer. He pushed her in from of Kate's office, knocking on the door. No one answered. When he knocked again she realised he was getting mad, looking around nervously to see if anyone was coming, sweat forming on his forehead. He suddenly cursed out loud and took a step back. He shot the lock to open the door, she screamed at the noise, someone fucking hear me please. He pushed her inside so hard she fell. She felt pathetic. She had to fight. She quickly rose to her feet and took cover behind Laswell's desk. The room was dark, the blinds closed. She looked at him like a deer in headlights from behind the desk, looking for something, anything. Concealed weapon, a fucking paper clip. She felt Arash's shadow on her from the other side of the desk, which made her take a few steps back. I need more time. 'How did you know it was me?' she asked. Her throat was dry, her hand slightly shaking. Make him pity you. 'I heard you on radio.' He answered. Simon..? 'You're the reason my people died.' She squinted her eyes and shook her head. 'War is the reason your people died.'

'NO!' He raised the gun, holding it with both hands. He was shaking too. She raised her arms in the air, 'It's because you told them, you stupid cunt!' He took a step towards her, she closed her eyes with a whimper of fear. 'You told them, you betrayed me! They would't have found us Jude!' She felt sorrow and regret in his voice, he must have been hurt. She had hurt him, it wasn't just rage and violence, it was because he believed his secret would be safe with her. The gun was close enough to be pressed to her forehead. Just one more step ahead. 'You did this, you deserve to fucking die now…'

She ducked down under the desk when the door flew open and Arash got distracted for a split second. People stepped in and two shots were fired. One landed inside Arash's thigh. One made the window next to her shatter to pieces. The second bullet was aimed exactly at where she had been standing.

notes: I got emotional reading this back!!!

I always get a little tense when I see people writing about mafia bosses and what not, cause they romanticise something that is very real and fucking dangerous in Italy. of course, this is a free space and you can write what you want, I am a true believer in the concept of don't like it, don't read it. but, if you want to know, I will give you what mafia really is in Italy. you can do with this what you want. it's culture, it's new knowledge.

notes: Tarantella is my favourite nickname ever, Tarantè for short. Tarantella is a common group dance in southern Italy, in which women dance with their hair down, some bacchanal thing. The music gets faster and faster. So Tarantella is a nickname for someone who gets mad easily and likes to fight, typical for girls that are not shy and quiet. Also, tarantola, which is the origin of the word means tarantula, the spider. isn't it perfect for Alba, I'm in love.

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

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[daisynik7]

A Stitch Ahead

Pairing: Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~4.4k

cw: explicit language, switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person)

Summary: Mitsuya is asked to create jackets for the newly appointed captains, to which he reluctantly agrees. When the deadline arrives and he still hasn’t finished, he enlists your aid to help him complete his task. The same day, the two of you make dinner together for his sisters, leaving Mitsuya with a lasting impression.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks so much for all those who have read this so far, I truly appreciate all the support on this little series! It may take me a while to put out chapters since I am simultaneously working on requests for my event, so I appreciate your patience with this! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Would love to hear what you think so far! 

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The next three weeks go smoothly for Mitsuya. He’s continuing to do well in his classes, and he manages to keep up with his sewing projects. Fridays, he meets with Shimizu after school until dinnertime, then he drops her off to his house to watch his sisters for the night while he hangs out with his friends. He can’t remember the last time he had spare time like this, even if it is only for a few hours a night. Since the beginning of this arrangement, he’s been able to catch up with Draken, Takemitchy, Hakkai and his little sister, Yuhuza. With everyone busy with their own priorities, it’s nice to reconnect. Mikey remains to be seen. 

A month after Hanma and Kisaki are appointed captains, Mitsuya is tasked to make new jackets for them. He holds the phone to his ear, glaring at his shoes with Draken’s voice ringing in his ears. “Just do it, Mitsuya. Mikey’s orders.” 

“But for those two assholes?” he questions, kicking a pebble on the ground. He stands outside one of the courtyards at school, on his lunch break. Naturally, he’s reluctant to concede to this request, considering how pissed off he still is by the two traitors. The memory is fresh in his mind, fighting Taiju, head of The Black Dragons and Hakkai’s older brother, in the chapel on Christmas Day. Mitsuya probably wouldn’t have been whacked in the skull by a metal pipe if Kisaki and Hanma didn’t betray the plan that Takemitchy devised. And while he’s dealt with his dose of treason, like with Peh-Yan attacking Draken in retaliation for Pah-Chin’s arrest, he managed to forgive, forget, and move on. Though something about those two rub him the wrong way. 

That being said, Mitsuya trusts Mikey. He’s never been one to question their leader’s decisions, always complying to whatever he suggests. So, he agrees, especially when Draken reiterates, “Mikey’s orders. I’m not going to repeat myself. Make the damn jackets.”

“Fine,” he relents. Maybe he’ll hide a few loose threads in there to be spiteful. 

“By the way, we won’t be able to host dinner Friday. Emma and I are going to her grandpa’s, so I’ll meet you at the shrine.”

“Okay, sounds good. Maybe I’ll see if Takemitchy wants to hang out.”

“Probably not. Him and Hina are going out for a date night or whatever. I overheard Emma talking to her the other day.”

He sighs, leaning his head against the wall of the building. “I guess I can eat with my sisters then.”

“Doesn’t your classmate watch them on Fridays? Maybe she can cook for you.” There’s a boisterous drilling sound in the background on Draken’s end, and Mitsuya is reminded that he’s talking to him during work hours at the car shop.  

A little louder, he replies, “Yeah, maybe.”

“You never told me, but is she hot?” Draken asks, his cocky smirk audible through all the noise. 

“Don’t you have a pregnant girlfriend at home?”

“It’s not for me, asshole. It’s for you. When’s the last time you hooked up? And sneaking Jasmine into your house doesn’t count.”

“I thought we agreed to never mention that again,” He blushes over the memory that occurred a year ago. He was set up on a date with one of Emma’s friends, and it was going fine up until his mom called him to come home and watch his sisters because of a last-minute scheduling change. Not wanting to waste the opportunity to get some much-needed action, he brought her home with him, making Luna and Mana swear not to snitch. Either way, it didn’t lead to much since the mood was killed; turns out, Jasmine isn’t a fan of children, so even his very adorable sisters turned her off completely. 

“Sorry, it slipped,” Draken laughs. “My point is it sounds like this girl has been helping you out recently. Maybe she can help you with something else if you catch my drift.”

He shakes his head at this ridiculous conversation, unsure why he’s entertaining it to begin with. “I don’t think of her in that way. She’s really sweet, sure. But we’re just classmates.”

“Is she ugly?”

“No! She’s not ugly at all. She’s actually kind of cute,” he trails off, picturing Shimizu’s warm smile and kind eyes, gazing at him carefully, always in awe of his sewing abilities during their lessons inside the home economics room. It makes him feel special, like what he’s saying means something, even if it is just instructions on how to stitch a new patch or mend a tear. 

“Have you made a move yet?”

“I’m not going to make a move on her.”

“Why not?”

Mitsuya is getting annoyed by his friend’s persistence. “It’s not like that. I’m teaching her to sew, and she’s helping me watch the girls. That’s it. Anyways, I gotta go.” He has a few more minutes until his next class, but he’d rather not prolong this discussion any further. 

“I’ll ask Emma if she has any more friends to set you up with. Not Jasmine of course – ” He hangs up before hearing the rest of Draken’s sentence.  

Friday arrives, and with homework piling on, Mitsuya realizes that he’s behind on schedule. Tonight is another Toman meeting; afterwards, the captains will get together at a local diner to discuss more important matters. There, Mikey will present Hanma and Kisaki their new jackets. That is, if Mitsuya can finish them. Immediately after class, he rushes to the home economics room, resuming where he left off on Hanma’s. He hasn’t touched Kisaki’s yet. It’s not difficult for him; the problem is, he needs more time, or maybe an extra set of hands. 

“Hey, Mitsuya.” Shimizu’s voice is soft behind him. He turns to face her, realizing this is the blessing he needs today. 

“Shimizu!” he greets, more enthusiastic than usual. 

She giggles, clearly surprised by the energetic reaction. “Are you okay?”

There’s an odd pang in his chest hearing her laugh. He ignores it, swiveling in his seat to display the jacket to her. “I’m actually in a pinch right now, and I think you can help me out. If you’re willing.” She sits beside him, studying the clothing, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“I’m trying to finish the rest of these by tonight, but I don’t have time unless I get your help. There’s another jacket in my bag,” he points to his backpack resting on top of one of the desks. “I haven’t touched it at all. I was hoping maybe you can finish the one I started while I work on the other.” They’ve had lessons each week for the past month, so he’s confident that she knows the basics enough to complete his work. It also helps that these are for people he doesn’t like, so if it’s a sloppy, he won’t mind. 

She hesitates, staring at the garment in his hands. “Are you sure I can do this?”

He smiles, passing it to her. “Absolutely. It’ll be good practice. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

She takes it, eyeing it nervously, nodding to herself for reassurance. “Okay, where should I start?”

~~~

At first glance, it seems more advanced than your current skill level. After all, you’ve only had four lessons with Mitsuya without doing anything on your own. With his low, gentle voice guiding you through it, you find yourself weaving through the fabric easily, with only a few sloppy stitches here and there. 

“Oh, shoot,” you mutter, leaning towards him to show him your blunder. “I left a big gap there.”

He waves it off. “Barely noticeable. Besides, we don’t like the guy this jacket is going to, so it’s okay.”

You raise a brow at him, curious. “We?”

“Well, me and a few of my friends. This guy is a total asshole.”

You brush your fingers along the embroidered characters stitched on the back of the jacket, mouthing the name it spells out. Tokyo Manji Gang. Without thinking, you blurt out, “Is it scary?”

“Is what scary?” he asks, not looking up from his work. 

Deciding it’s too late to back down, you add, “Being in a gang.”

He pauses this time, still focused on the fabric, contemplating his answer. After a beat, he says, “Sometimes. I don’t like fighting unless I have to.”

“When do you have to?” You’re not sure how much you’re crossing the line, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

“When I have to protect someone I care about.” He glances at you with a small smile on his face. “I’m actually a pacifist.”

You grin at him, nudging his knee with yours. “A pacifist in a gang. How ironic.”

“Hey, we don’t fight all the time! We mostly ride our bikes and have fun.” He keeps himself near you, bare skin of your knee poking out from your skirt brushing against his pant leg. It’s not uncomfortable; in fact, you relish the delicate touch. “We’re not as scary as everyone thinks we are.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.” Heat rushes into your cheeks, suddenly aware of the intimacy in this moment. You draw your leg back, pretending to focus on the jacket again. “Anyways, hopefully your friend won’t notice this.”

“He won’t. Like I said, it’s barely noticeable. And besides, he’s not my friend.”

You don’t mention it any further, too shy to pry him for more details, chalking it up to gang matters that you shouldn’t involve yourself with. After an hour more of idle chitchat and stitching, your jacket is complete, while Mitsuya’s is more than halfway finished. When it’s time for them to head home for dinner and babysitting duties, he stuffs both garments into his bag, grabbing his helmet from the cupboard. “Ready? I can finish the rest at home before my meeting.”

You nod, cradling the helmet he gave you weeks ago. There’s a sticker you placed on it the other day, one of a cartoon hamburger with a winky face. Turning it to show him, you say, “I hope you don’t mind.”

He smiles, leaning in closer to inspect it. “Not at all. I’m glad you’re customizing it. It’s yours now, anyways.” His eyes twinkle at you, genuinely meaning the kind words he’s saying. It’s enough to put a flutter in your belly.

You’ve gotten used to riding with him now. Adrenaline courses through your veins whenever he’s cruising through the streets, but you’re more relaxed with your arms around him, holding him snug for stability. Despite his intimidating status as a gang member, he’s done nothing to put you in danger. In fact, Mitsuya makes you feel safe, and you admire him for that. 

Admiration. That’s all it is. Right? 

You’re happily greeted by Mana and Luna at the door, who watch you slip out of your shoes, immediately grabbing you once you’re done to lead you into their bedroom. “Let’s play dress up!”

“Hey girls, let her breathe. We just got here.”

“We want to model the new costumes you made for us!” Mana whines, stomping her feet. 

Realization hits you. “Oh! Those are the ones you were showing me the other week, right?”

He rubs the nape of his neck, embarrassed. “Yeah, I finally finished them.”

“Let’s go!” Luna exclaims, dragging you further down the hallway. 

Mitsuya follows behind, laughing. “Guess you’re their plaything now.”

“I guess so.” They pull you into their room, Luna shutting the door ajar, enough to peek at her brother through the crack.

“I’m going to finish my work if you need me,” he mentions through the small opening. “Please don’t let them torture you for too long.”

“Hey! This is fun! Now shoo!” the older of the two sisters demands, waving him off. “Girls only!” You can hear him chuckle as he walks away into the living room. 

They try on their new outfits, courtesy of their big brother, twirling in their dresses, skirts poofy and sparkly with glittery fabric. Mitsuya did an amazing job with these; he had mentioned before that this is for an upcoming princess-themed party his sisters are planning to attend. They complete their ensemble with plastic tiaras sitting pretty on their heads. You play with them for a while, acting like a wicked witch bent on stealing their precious crowns for whatever reason. Eventually, he returns, pushing the door slightly open to ask, “Are you ladies hungry?”

His sisters jump up, arms flailing in the air. “Yes!” they exclaim, pulling you up from the bed, leading you out of their room and back into the kitchen. 

“Did you finish the jacket?” 

“Yup!” he answers, giving you a thumbs up.

“And you’re not eating with your friends tonight?” You try not to sound excited.

“Nah, they’re busy, so I’ve got some time.”

You smile to yourself, secretly elated to have this opportunity to spend more time with him. You’ve been curious about where he sneaks off to before his big Friday night meetings. He’s mentioned names like Draken and Takemitchy, and you have no context on who these people are. His sisters seem to be familiar with his friends, but you’re embarrassed to ask them about it, not wanting to come off nosy. You want to learn more about his life, about him. 

“Can we please have fancy ramen tonight?” Mana peers up at you with puppy-dog eyes, making it impossible to refuse. 

“Don’t feel pressured to do this,” Mitsuya tells you, shooting a glare at his sister. “Mana, it’s rude to make demands like that.”

“I said please!” she whines. 

You open the pantry to retrieve the proper ingredients. “I really don’t mind. It’s easy and nothing special.”

He stands next to you, grinning. “It is, though. My sisters won’t stop raving about it.”

“You should teach Taka how to make it!” Luna suggests, retrieving paper and crayons so they can draw while you cook. 

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to learn. Show me your ways, Master,” he teases, bowing to you. 

Chuckling, you pass him the can of Spam. “I guess the roles are reversed this time.”

“There’s a lot we can both learn from each other, don’t you agree?” He cracks it open, tapping it out onto a cutting board. “So, how should I cut this?”

He dices the meat into bite-sized pieces, per your instructions, then pours it onto a pan to crisp the edges. Meanwhile, you slice the green onions and place the eggs in a pot of boiling water, explaining exactly how you get them to be perfectly soft-boiled. It’s nothing extraordinary, like you told him earlier, but he watches you carefully, nodding along as if he’s retaining every single detail in his head. That’s what you admire about him. He treats something so simple, so ordinary, as if it’s special.  

When your timer sets off, you place the eggs into an ice bath, letting them chill for a few minutes before peeling them. Mitsuya remains beside you, hovering over the pot with the noodles and broth simmering. “Already smells amazing, can’t wait to eat this. I’ve been craving ramen for a while now.”

You decide to pose the question that’s been on your mind, hoping it comes off nonchalant. “What do you usually eat on Friday nights?” 

“Draken’s been cooking recently, so it’s whatever his girlfriend is in the mood for that day. Last week it was chicken katsu.” he answers, stirring the soup. He turns the dial, shutting off the burner. “I think it’s done.”

You arrange all your cooked and prepped ingredients on the countertop, passing him a bowl. “Is Draken also part of your gang?”

He pours broth into it, carefully handing it to you. “Yeah, but we go way back before Toman. We’ve been friends since we were kids. We even have matching tattoos.”

“Tattoos?” 

“Yeah. Want to see?” He runs his fingers through the hair on the right side of his head, showing off the ink etched on his scalp. “It’s hard to see with my hair in the way, but it’s a dragon tattoo. Draken caught me spray painting this on a wall when we were kids. He offered his beef bento in exchange for it. A month later, we saw each other again and we both happened to get the same tattoo without either of us knowing. We’ve been the Twin Dragons ever since.” 

You garnish the assembled ramen with green onions and a sprinkle of sesame seeds. “That’s amazing. I can’t believe you designed that, too. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“It’s a dragon. Nothing special, really.” He scratches the back of his neck, blushing. 

You set the food down in front of Luna, who thanks you happily, waiting for it to cool down. “It is, though,” you say, repeating his comment from earlier. “And the story behind it is special too. Draken seems like a good friend.”

“He is. He’s a great guy.” He starts on the second, adding, “And he’s going to be dad soon. His girlfriend is pregnant.”

“Wow! That’s exciting, congratulations to them.”

He chuckles, on the third now as you finish the second and present it to Mana, who claps. “Yeah. I still can’t believe it. They’re going to have a little baby in this crazy world.” He trails off, a sudden shift in his demeanor, almost like he’s sad. 

“Aren’t you happy for them?”

“Of course I am. I just…I don’t know. Draken’s had a rough life, ever since he was a kid. A couple years ago, he went into cardiac arrest after being stabbed almost to death. He finally has a chance at a normal life, and I don’t want to see him lose that. Part of me believes leaving Toman is his best bet to prevent that from happening.”

You empty whatever is left into both bowls for you and Mitsuya. With all the dishes in the sink and the two sisters already slurping on their noodles, you slide him his serving. “Would you ever leave?”

He doesn’t answer right away, contemplating your question. “I don’t think I have a good enough reason to.”

You’re tempted to keep this conversation going, but you start feeling guilty for prying so much into his life. A life that you’ll never understand, no matter how hard you try. So instead, you ask, “Ready to eat?”

He nods, smiling at his ramen. “Definitely.”

You join the two girls around the table, rubbing your palms together, excited to dive in. Luna and Mana are already halfway through their food, lips glossy with the broth they’ve been slurping. Mitsuya takes a big bite, eyes lighting up once it hits his tongue. “Wow!”

“It’s good, right Taka?”

“Open your egg! Open your egg!” Mana demands, excited to see it. 

He grins at his sisters, holding it out to show them the perfectly runny yolk dripping from the spoon into the soup, resulting in a round of applause. He faces you, expression warm and bright. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Your chest swells with pride, and an odd sensation you’re unfamiliar with. All you can do is nod, smiling back at him, focusing on your meal to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks and the flutters twisting in your belly. 

~~~

The four bowls on the table are licked completely clean, not a trace of meat or garnish left. Mitsuya checks his phone for the first time in what seems like a while, too busy enjoying the moment with his sisters and Shimizu, sharing childhood stories about the shenanigans they all got up to as siblings. When he sees that it’s almost nine, he curses, causing Luna and Mana to scold him, “Taka! No swearing!”

“I need to go. I’m going to be late.” He looks at Shimizu, guilty that he’s leaving her to clean the mess they made in the kitchen. “I’m so sorry. Leave it and I’ll get to it later tonight. I promise.”

“It’s fine,” she reassures him. “It’s just a few dishes. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you, Shimizu. Seriously. This was really great.” Before he dawdles even longer, he puts on his Toman uniform, grabbing his backpack with the two jackets they finished earlier. He sprints out the door, hopping onto his bike to speed his way to the Shrine.

Draken sits on the steps, greeting him with a smirk. “You’re late. Lucky for you, so is Mikey.”

“Sorry. I got caught up with something,” Mitsuya explains, wiping sweat off his forehead.

The two of them head up the stairs, chatting idly with the others until Mikey finally shows up, beginning the meeting. There’s plenty of topics that are discussed, including Kisaki’s and Hanma’s efforts to infiltrate the rival Leviathan gang. However, Mitsuya is only half paying attention; his mind keeps going back to the dinner he had with his sisters and Shimizu. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he hung out with someone that wasn’t his family or a member of Toman. In fact, he doesn’t have any friends outside of that. For the first time, Mitsuya felt like himself. Not big brother Taka or Second Division Captain of the Tokyo Manji Gang. He was Takashi Mitsuya, eighteen-year-old student who sews, occasionally cooks, enjoys eating, and happens to be in a gang. 

Admitting his fear about Draken was a huge weight off his shoulders. He’s thankful to his new friend for giving him the outlet to confess what he could never to anyone else. Would anyone else understand him? Is he the only one who has these hints of doubts about the future? Mitsuya has never considered a future outside of Toman. He figured he’d grow old wearing the jacket or die protecting it, whichever comes first. Could he have a life outside of the gang? Sure, he’s dreamt of it before. Pursuing a career as a designer. Watching his sisters grow up into independent, strong women. His mom marrying a nice man who would give her the life she deserves. And maybe, just maybe, he could follow in Draken’s footsteps and create a little family of his own with someone he loves. 

It's a possible future for his sisters and mother. There’s nothing stopping them from that. But for him? Could he ever leave the gang behind? Does he want to do that? Toman is also his family. How could he turn his back on his brothers?

He snaps out of his reverie when the meeting is over and Draken pats him on the shoulder. “Man, what’s with you today? Your head is in the clouds.”

Mitsuya punches his arm lightly. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Oh right, Hanma’s and Kisaki’s jackets. I’m assuming you finished?”

“I did, thanks to Shimizu,” he replies, smiling. 

“Ah, so she has a name,” he teases, nudging him as they walk down towards their bikes. “And now she’s helping you sew. What else can she do for you?”

“I told you, it’s not like that. She’s a good person, so don’t talk about her like that.” He shrugs his friend off, oddly defensive.

Draken cackles. “Oh shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to offend your woman.”

Before he can give him a harder punch, Hanma sneaks up on them, voice as sleazy as it usually is. “What’s this? Little Taka has a woman?”

Mitsuya does his best to ignore him, actually upset now that this asshole is butting into their private conversation. If only Draken didn’t have such a big mouth.

“C’mon, don’t be shy. Tell us all about her,” he says, a creepy smirk on his lips. 

Draken interferes, stepping between them. “I was teasing him. It’s nothing.” 

Hanma shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Fine. Keep your little secrets. I guess I’ll just have to find out who Shimizu is myself.” He laughs, walking away as Mitsuya and Draken slow their pace, staring at him, concerned.

~~~

It’s almost midnight when you’re awoken by the sound of keys jingling at the front door. You fell asleep on the couch after putting the girls to bed about an hour ago, watching a familiar show on the lowest volume with all the lights off. You rouse awake, sitting up to meet Mitsuya’s gaze as he stands by the couch, waving at you. “Hey. Ready to go home?” Minutes later, still not fully awake, you’re riding behind him on his motorbike, clinging to his waist. He remains quiet; he must be tired from his meeting. 

He pulls up to your driveway, stopping the ignition so you can hop off. “Thank you for the ride,” you say, pulling the helmet off your head. “And thank you for helping me cook. That was fun.”

He nods, eyes averted towards the ground. “Yeah, it was.”

With nothing else to comment, you turn on your heel to head inside. Before you can, you feel him grip your wrist gently, his touch radiating up your arms and throughout your entire body. 

“Shimizu.” His voice is soft; you like the way your name sounds coming from his mouth, maybe a little too much. 

“Yes?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, struggling for the right words. Eventually, he utters, “Have a good night.” 

He lets go, starting the engine, leaving you to stand in the driveway, alone and confused.  

[foxydivaxx]

Yugioh Pretty Little Liars Style Chapter 1

Imagine the Yugioh protagonists as Pretty Little Liars characters or in a universe similar to that one. This was originally posted on A03 years ago which is why Yusaku, Yuga and Yudias aren't featured here as they hadn't debuted at the time this story was written.

Their chatroom usernames are as follows:

NeosHero- Jaden

StardustBoy- Yusei

XYZPrincexx- Yuma

PedulumPastel- Yuya

Jaden sighs as he walks into his bedroom. His mum was out thankfully so he could do whatever the heck he wanted. He flops on his bed and reaches for his phone in his backpack. A year has passed since the burial of  Yami Yugi aka the Original Doll and King Bee of Domino City. He and the rest of the gang have since moved on, or are trying to. Yusei is in Satellite City with his mother, Yuya is in Kyoto with his brothers and Yuma is in England with his family. Jaden meanwhile decides to stay in Domino as of the three of them, he is the only one that has not truly moved on from the whole ordeal. Not suprising considering he was Yami's closet confidante and second in command plus his lover. Yes most people are not aware of them being lovers though there was still speculation about that considering he and Yami tended to get 'friendly' at a couple of events.

Jaden's thoughts get distracted when a familiar beeping noise arouses his attention. Checking his phone, he raises an eyebrow as soon as he sees a rather mysterious message:

 Still crying rivers Jay? How long do you think you can continue to deceive others with your mask?

Soon that bridge you have put up to protect yourself shall burn. Mark my words.

                     -Y

Jaden raises an eyebrow at this. How strange.  This seems like the type of shit Yami would say to me.

Elsewhere, Yuya had just wrapped up with his art class and was heading home for the night. He too gets a similar message whose contents are as follows:

Remember that night Yuya? 

Don't think I have forgotten.

      -Y

Yuya panics upon seeing this. The night in question was a rather infamous incident involving himself and his older brother Yuri. Basically, Yuri caught him with his boyfriend Rex and that caused a fight between them. To be quite fair, Yami actually beat him there as he had a brief fling with Rex a couple summers ago. Still Yami egged him on to do the deed as a way of getting even with Yuri who had always been an evil bitch to him. Why did I agree to come back here?! I need to get out of this shithole and return to Domino as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Yusei finishes up fixing a bike that he made. He had always been passionate about racing and always looked for opportunities to race.  Heck he is thinkin of joining Formula 1 someday. Yusei's phone buzzes and sure enough, he gets a  mysterious text as well.

Those that cheat do not last long at the top.

Remember that.

      -Y

Yusei blinks after reading it. "What?" he says. It was then that the realization sinks in. "Oh shit..."

Yuma sighs as he walks into the house. "What a long day." he mutters. "Yuma are you home?" came his mother's voice. Yuma smiles softly and pokes his his head through the door. "Yeah mum, I'm home!!" he shouts. His older sister Kari ruffles his hair. "Hey!!" he yelled. "Yuma go get changed." she says. He nods and runs up the stairs. "Careful!!" Mrs Tsukumo calls after him.

As soon as he gets into the room, he throws his bag onto the floor and jumps on the bed. Just then his phone buzzes. Yuma snatches it up and sees a text. His jaw drops upon reading it.

No matter how hard you fight it

The thorns are still gonna kill ya

      -Y

"T-thorns?" Yuma whispers. The door swings open, forcing Yuma to quickly throw the phone onto the bed. "Why haven't you changed?" says Kari. Yuma frowns. "Jeez, Kari must you nag?! besides, I am trying to decide what to wear!!" he snaps. Kari rolled her eyes and walks away. Once the coast is clear, he goes back to examine the text. Who else besides Yami and the others know of that?

Jaden then sets up a group chat for himself and the others as he suspects that the others may have gotten similar texts to his.

NeosHero: Is anyone here

StardustBoi: Yo!!

XYZPrincexx: Waddup y'all!!

PedulumPastel: OMG!! I missed you guys so much!!

Jaden smiles softly. All of them have been way too caught up doing their own thing to properly communicate and catch up with each other. Now that has all changed.

NeosHero: How has life being treating y'all?

PedulumPastel: I am beginning to question my very existence because of well......Yuri

NeosHero: Warned ya didn't I?

StardustBoi: Aside from mechanic sshit, nothing special

XYZPrincexx: Same. Might as well return to Domino.

PedulumPastel: Was about to say that

StardustBoi: Say, have any of you gotten some strange text from some bitch called Y?

XYZPrincexx: Yup

PedulumPastel: WHAT?!! YOU GUYS ALL GOT THAT SHIT!?! I GOT THAT JUST NOW!!

NeosHero: Same. That is why I created this chat guys. I have a bad feeling about this.

PedulumPastel: Same

StardustBoi: Who is this person though? How can that person know our secrets?

XYZPrincexx: Yeah Yami is the only person I know that knows all our secrets. I mean, isn't that how he initiated us into our little merry band?

StardustBoi: Yup but still it is better that Yami does that unlike some other random bitch

PedulumPastel: Does anyone have any suspects?

NeosHero: Loads. Anyhow, you guys coming back to Domino at some point?

PedulumPastel: Won't it be better if we all just move back in?

StardustBoi: Agreed

XYZPrincexx: Same

NeosHero: Perfect. Let me know when y'all will be in town

After a couple more random chats, they all sign out. Jaden smirks at this. "All according to plan. Now onto phase 2."

Yes Jaden is very suspicious once again. Who do you think is Y?

[ravendruid]

Be In My Eyes - Chapter 10

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3. Summary: Vox Machina get invited to a party, and Keyleth has the hardest task ever: convincing Vax to go with them.

Keyleth sighed in relief as Greyskull Keep’s automatic glass doors closed behind her. She hated having classes late in the afternoon, especially during fall and winter, since it meant she would have to walk alone at night two days in a row. No matter how many people said the campus was safe, Keyleth was still scared of walking by herself at night in the big city. But it was finally Folsen, and the weekend was upon her, although thinking about the mountain of homework and essays she had due next week made her nauseous and dreading the weekend. 

“Hi! You’re Keyleth, right?” A tall blond girl stood by the elevator with a large backpack and a stack of books in her arms. Next to her was a shorter girl who looked at her surroundings with a scowl. Keyleth recognized the first one as Allura, the girl who had welcomed them on their move-in day, but she hadn’t seen the second girl before.

“Hi! Yes, you’re Allura, right?”

“I am. I remember you from move-in day. This is Kima,” Allura pointed at the shorter woman, who was now smiling, and Keyleth nodded in greeting. “How are you liking the dorms?”

“Oh, they’re really nice. Are you also staying here?” Keyleth asked as they stepped into the elevator. 

“We’re on the top floor,” Kima said, pressing the last button on the list. 

“Keyleth, do you have any plans tonight?” Allura asked with a smirk. Keyleth shook her head and waited, giving the two girls a curious look.

“We’re having a party,” Allura started.

“No, we are not. Gilmore is,” Kima corrected her, and Allura rolled her eyes.

“Our friend Gilmore is having a party at his bar, and we’re in charge of spreading the word. You should stop by.”

“Gilmore?” Keyleth recognized the name. “From Glorious?”

“Yes! Have you been there?” Allura asked enthusiastically. 

“No, but my friends go there almost every week. I will let them know about the party.” Keyleth smiled. The elevator dinged, and she realized it was her floor, so she rushed to exit before the doors closed.

“I hope to see you there too!” Keyleth heard Allura’s voice, but when she turned around to reply, the doors were already shut, and the elevator was on its way up.

“Welcome home, Keyleth,” Pike shouted from the kitchen. Keyleth toed off her shoes and dropped her bag and jacket on the couch before she followed the scent of food. 

“Hi,” She greeted Pike and Vex, who were busy preparing dinner for everyone. Since only three people in the apartment knew how to cook, they had worked on a cooking schedule between them, so on the days Keyleth had classes until late, Vax or Pike would take over the chore. Keyleth didn’t mind it. She had been the first to step in and offer her cooking services since she loved to cook, which she did to show her roommates she cared about them. Pike, being the pure-hearted person she was, had immediately offered to cook as well, claiming to have tons of practice in cooking for large numbers due to her experience with her church events. Vax, however, hadn’t been as easy to convince. He had hemmed and hawed until Vex stepped up and tried to cook one day, and he felt concerned for everyone’s health if they had to eat his sister’s food, so he agreed to cook at least once a week. 

“Hi, darling. How were classes?” Vex asked, doing a poor job at mincing garlic. 

“They were fine,” Keyleth grimaced as a piece of garlic flew off the cutting board and almost hit her in the forehead. “Do you–Vex, do you need help?” She offered sympathetically. 

“No, I’m alright. Pike says I need to practice,” She frowned, clearly unhappy with being forced to learn how to cook.

“That’s right. You can’t survive on frozen meals and fast food, Vex.” Pike scolded, pointing at her with a wooden spoon.

“I ran into Allura in the elevator,” Keyleth raised her hands defensively as another piece of garlic flew in her direction. “She told me there’s going to be a party tonight at Gilmore’s.”

“Party at Gimore’s?” Vex perked up with a smile. “Oh! We have to go.” She turned to Pike, who nodded enthusiastically. “Is there a theme?”

“I don’t think so. At least Allura didn’t mention anything.”

“You are going, right Keyleth?” Pike asked, glaring at Keyleth, who cowered under the piercing blue eyes. 

“Uh–I am?” 

“Yes, you are, and so is my brother. You two are always home. You need to have fun sometimes.” Vex huffed. 

“I have fun all the time,” Keyleth crossed her arms, outraged.

“Reading books and watering plants?” Vex sneered. “I’m sure it’s lots of fun, but you should try new things. Did you come to Emon to stay home or to explore the city?”

Keyleth felt like she had just hit a wall. Vex wasn’t wrong about it. She had come to Emon intending to get out of her shell and try new things, but she had barely left campus since classes started.

“Can you please talk Vax into going? It seems like he only listens to you these days.” Vex continued, seemingly not noticing the effect her words had on Keyleth.

“I–I can try. But I won’t promise anything.” Keyleth offered with a shrug. 

“He’s brooding in his room.” 

“Okay, I’ll go talk to him, I guess. Are you sure you don’t need help?” Keyleth asked Vex, glancing at the onion she had picked up and was about to butcher. 

“Nope, I got it.” Vex gave her a fake smile as she slammed the knife into the onion.

—

Vax’s breath matched the movement of his hands, fast, uneven, and harsh. Sweat beads trailed down his torso and back, and he was glad he had remembered to pull his hair up in a bun beforehand. His arms felt like they were being torn apart from the repetitiveness of the movement, but he wasn’t done yet, far from it. One punch, one breath, in and out faster than his lungs could handle. He was out of shape and knew this was the price to pay for slacking off again.

Vax almost missed the rapping at the door from how loud his heart was thumping in his ears, and the blood quickly rushed from his brain as he stopped abruptly. 

“Come in,” he managed between breaths, his chest heaving and burning.

Keyleth walked in with a smile that vanished as soon as she saw the scene in front of her, her face immediately getting as red as her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Keyleth closed her eyes and turned her back to him. “Vex asked me to come to talk to you. She said you were brooding. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Vax breathed in deeply, and as he was exhaling, his breath got stuck in his throat, and he started coughing.

“Are you okay?” Keyleth turned around concerned, walking towards him with her hands up, ready to support him.

Vax nodded and raised a hand to her, holding her wrist as he finished coughing.

“Sorry, I was working out. Out of shape,” Vax was barely able to finish the sentence before he had another coughing fit.

“Sit down,” Keyleth helped him sit on his bed, holding his arm tightly. “Here, drink some water,” She handed him the bottle he had on his nightstand, and Vax drank slow sips, resisting the urge to chug down the entire bottle.

“So, what did my sister want so bad that she sent you to ask for it?” Vax asked once he recovered. Keyleth’s face was still red, and he figured he knew why: he hadn’t bothered to put on the t-shirt casually crumpled right next to him on the bed.

“There’s going to be a party at Gilmore’s tonight, and we are all going, including you,” Keyleth’s smile did not reach her eyes. Vax knew she wanted to go as much as he did, but if she was saying we, it meant his sister had found a way to convince her to go, which meant he had to go. 

“I don’t know Keyleth. It sounds like there might be a lot of people there,” he dragged. If his sister wanted him to go, enlisting Keyleth to ask was definitely the right move, but Vax needed to know if Keyleth wanted him to go or if she was only asking for his sister.

“Listen, Vax,” Keyleth glared at him, and Vax recoiled, smiling in amusement. She looked adorable when she was trying to look menacing. “Your sister was very insistent that I go out and have fun. I get it, okay? You know I don’t like crowds either,” She paused, allowing him to reply, but Vax was speechless, and all he did was nod at her. “You need to go out and have fun as well, and I would–” Keyleth looked down at her lap and started fumbling with her hands, “I would feel better if I had you there with me, someone who would understand…”

Vax’s heart clenched as her voice lowered to barely a whisper. She wanted him there with her. She wanted him to go with her. 

“Alright, I’ll go on one condition,” Vax offered with a smirk, knowing she couldn’t see it.

“What is it?” Keyleth asked, raising her head, her eyes gleaming with excitement. 

“We’re going to have at least one drink and one dance together,” Vax cocked his head, waiting for her reaction. Keyleth seemed to think for a second, a myriad of emotions that flowed through her brain mirrored in her eyes, and he worried, for a moment, that she would reject him.

“I’m not a great dancer, but I would love to get a few drinks with you,” She counter-offered with a smile.

“One dance and a few drinks. It doesn’t matter if you can’t dance. I’m not asking you to waltz with me, Keyleth. It’ll be fun!” he leaned in, pouting in front of her face, which became even redder against all odds. 

“O–okay. If you’re sure it’s fine,” Keyleth mumbled. “Just don’t yell at me when I step on your toes.”

“I would never,” Vax smiled, pulling away. 

“Does that mean you’re going with us?” Keyleth’s face opened in a grin, and Vax could swear her eyes were even brighter.

“I guess,” He said, leaning back with a smirk.

“Yay!” Keyleth cheered, lunging forward to hug Vax, who was caught unaware and fell onto the bed with Keyleth on top of him. Vax wasn’t sure if Keyleth hadn’t noticed they were horizontal or if she didn’t care because she had still to let go of him after a few seconds.

“Uhm, Kiki. Are you okay?” He asked in a whisper, rubbing the middle of her back.

“Shit, sorry, Vax.” Keyleth got up really fast, hiding her face in her hands.

“It’s okay,” Vax sat up, avoiding looking at her as he was sure his face was as red as hers.

“I’m gonna go tell Vex,” Keyleth turned to face him, but her eyes widened, and she turned back suddenly, almost running to leave the room.

[antisociallilbrat]

Even When The Sun Rises, Don't Wake Me Chp. 6

Read on Ao3

Chp. 5

Chp. 7

A/N: I have such a love - hate relationship with this chapter my God. The ending almost killed me to write.

My friends I had covid, for the third time, this past week. So I'm sorry to say this is actually another small chapter because I split it. You get the fluff first and the pain in the next chapter.

“I can’t believe you would betray me like this.”

“Bill, I’m sorry but this was your own doing.”

He drops his fist to the table, “Buh-Bullshit! You’ve hhhad it out for me th-this whole time! You kuh-killed me!”

“You’re the one who charged the Kraken without waiting for your other party members!” Mike bites back, “First rule of D&D, don’t split the party!”

“He was doing it for his honor!” Max defends Bill.

Bill parrots her, “Yeah! My hhonor!”

Mike deeply regrets putting Max and Bill together in the same room. And he means deeply regrets it. No, he doesn’t. They have done nothing but antagonize him. Push his buttons on purpose. Just for the laughs. They got along quickly. Maybe it was Bill’s easygoing disposition or the fact that Max loves annoying Mike and was overjoyed when she found out Bill also enjoys that hobby.

It’s both, it’s definitely both. 

He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t nervous about how the campaign was going to go. It had been so long since he ran a campaign- the last time being the night Will went missing- he's only ever played in recent years, not dm'ed. That combined with the fact that Max was a total wild card. There was no way of telling if she was going to actually show up or not. 

After their incursion in the bathroom, they exchanged numbers before departing their separate ways. Which was a little weird because Mike doesn’t think he even had her number before. Sure at one point they must’ve all been in a group chat with the Party but he never bothered to save her number. There wasn’t a need for it. 

The Friday after classes let out for Winter break, he held their first session. Max never confirmed that she was coming when he texted her the details but she still showed up. “I’m here to play your stupid nerd game,” she satirized when he opened the door. The great thing was that she didn’t appear to be high. Now of course later that first campaign night when Bill offered weed, she took him right up on it. It looked like she was jonesing for it too, but this is progress. It has to be.

Now it’s Monday and their second night of the campaign. The first one was a success and he’s proud that everyone had fun. It was nice to see Max laugh again, he can’t remember the last time he saw her do so. He shocked himself when he realized he missed it. 

The weather outside is horrible and the wind rattles the windows. It’s below freezing and flurries of snow have started to stick to the ground. Everyone is bundled up under a blanket as they sit around the coffee table and the fireplace has a nice fire crackling in it. The light from it reflects nicely on the ornaments of the Christmas tree. Emily thought it was sad that they had a tree but no decorations so she surprised them by buying some.

It’s the perfect atmosphere for a boss fight. Cold, dark, gloomy, it couldn’t have worked better in his favor.

Emily’s, Max’s, and Bill’s characters were in a dungeon with a staircase that just kept spiraling down, leading to different levels before continuing its descent down. They’ve finally gotten to a level with a boss monster, a flooded basement with a Kraken, and Bill, like the barbarian he is, just decided to charge it.  

While it was in the water.

While he had heavy armor on. 

And his character had horrible dex. 

He drowned. 

Max and Emily’s characters were safe on the little dock but Bill has to make a new character. Max’s ‘zoomer’ has a magic board that can take her basically wherever she wants. Meaning her character could just glide over the water. Better yet, Emily’s druid could part the water with a spell. Bill just didn’t want to wait. 

He’s still grumbling about his character, his brave and noble character in his words (always the fucking writer) dying. Mike didn’t have a choice! Bill could have at the very least checked to see how deep the water is! Or just pass his dex checks! Too bad luck wasn’t in his favor tonight. 

“Can’t I revive him?” Emily asks, oh so innocently, “Surely there’s a way we can save him?”

“His body is at the bottom of the water, he’s pretty dead. Unless one of you wants to risk your lives and dive down after him to see if there’s anything you can do, go for it. But also the Kraken has noticed you and is eyeing your every move.” God, Mike missed this feeling of fucking with his friends. 

Bill juts his bottom lip out and mutters, “Poor Tibiscus,” as Max puts her hand on his shoulder. 

“Tibiscus I loved you like a brother but I’m sorry, I’m not risking my ass to save you. Find it in your heart to forgive me,” she dramatically pleads. 

Bill makes a few fake snivels but nods his head, “All is fuh-forgiven Madwonder. It was an hhhonor fuh-fighting alongside you.”

“Grah-eight! Our barbarian is dead and the Kraken has seen us!” Emily pulls at her hair, “My Aridena is not strong enough to fight him! I doubt Madwonder is too!”

“Hey now! Madwonder took out two skeletons in the last level all by herself! Don’t doubt her skills!” Max ignites.

Mike knows exactly what he’s doing when he says the next sentence, he just doesn’t care, “Yeah but this is a Kraken, Madwonder can’t take on a Kraken.”

Her head snaps towards him, a challenge in her eyes, “Madwonder can kick any ass of your dumb monsters. In fact, I charge the Kraken because I’m not afraid of it!”

Emily gasps, “No Max you can’t!” At the same time Bill whoops, “Let’s go Madwonder!” 

Max moves her piece towards the Kraken’s, “I’m powering up the thrusters on my board to hit him right in his ugly face.”

She moves her piece closer and he can’t stop the snigger escaping his lips, “Boom!” he yells, making them all jump, “Right as Madwonder approaches the sea monster one of his massive tentacles rises from the water, smacking her across the room! Crushing her against the wall!” He hits her piece across the board, sending it to the floor.

“You can’t do that!” Max retaliates but Mike isn’t done.

“It’s all over! Madwonder is dead, all that remains is a blood splatter on the wall! What a sad day for our heroes!” he chides. Emily cups her hands over her mouth horrified and Bill is trying to refrain from laughing. 

Max looks like she’s legitimately contemplating punching him, “You didn’t even let me roll for attack! Or try to dodge! Madwonder would’ve tried to dodge that!”

“Mhm,” he shakes his head, “It was a spring attack, you had no time to do anything,” he pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth from the snack bowl, smiling like the smug bastard he is, “You shouldn’t have tried to charge in, you just saw how it went for poor Tibiscus.” 

“He’s out to guh-get us MMax!” Bill accuses suddenly, slapping the table with one hand and pointing at him with the other in that melodramatic fashion of his, “We nn-need to make new character th-that’ll fuck with him! B-Better characters that’ll ruin his little schuh-schemes!” 

She agrees with him, taking Bill's diversion of her anger, “You’re right Bill. We need to make new characters that’ll ruin any storyline he has planned out. Better characters whose sole purpose is to fuck with him.”

Mike should be annoyed that these pair of fools are conspiring new, twisted, ways to get under his skin but he’s not. Max is here, with his friends, and is laughing. She’s not over at Oliver’s, getting high on heroin and doing God knows what with him. She’s safe right now. He did that.

He’s fully aware that there is a palpable chance that once she leaves here, that’s exactly where she’s heading. To snort something or shoot something into her veins. He has no idea how long she can go without doing so before the craving gets intense. In both D&D sessions, she hasn’t shown up high, probably out of not wanting to deal with the judgment she assumes she would get from him, but he’s not an idiot. 

He can’t control what she does when she’s not with him and if he was to try to, that would just result in pushback from Max and odds are he would never see her again. He doesn’t want that to be the case. Constantly he has to remind himself to only focus on keeping her safe when she’s with him. Doing baby steps, don’t make it about her drug habit but offer a distraction. Instead of having her focus on drugs, she can point that energy towards messing with him and playing D&D.

The last time they played, before Bill offered weed, Max was starting to get more restless with her movements. Jumpy at every little thing. Kinda like how she’s starting to get now towards the end of this session. If Bill or Emily noticed anything unusual about Max, they haven’t said anything to him. 

Mike’s not too worried about Bill or Emily though. Derek would’ve been the problem roommate but he’s away for the break. If Bill was to find out about Max or if he’s even guessed at anything, he’s not the type of guy to say anything about it. Bill leaves people’s business alone and he’s not one to judge. Bill just accepts people as they are. This is part of the reason why, even though he’s known Bill only for a couple of months, he enjoys being good friends with him. 

As for Emily, he knows she has an idea that something is up with Max. She was there when he first brought her back. Since that night she’s tried to get some answers out of him but Mike is stubborn when he wants to be. 

After he had come back from fall break, when he still wasn’t too sure what to do about Max, Emily broke him down a little. They had just had reunion sex, something he was really needing to relieve some stress, and she was curled up on his chest in her bed. The sheet haphazardly pulled over them. They were still naked and the position was more intimate than what was normal for them. She was tracing a vein on his chest when she asked what was eating at him, telling him that he was distracted, far away. 

“I need to help an old friend. I don’t know how to though and sometimes I’m not sure if I even want to. At the same time I do want to, I think,”  was what he told her.

She knew he was talking about Max, so there was no need to elaborate. Emily just hummed and murmured, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Then she slid the hand on his chest down to his naked cock, rubbing at it until he started to fill out. She kissed him and he was thankful, this meant the conversation was over. They had a great round two. He was much more present for it. 

Later in the week when he asked her if she would want to play D&D with them, she agreed. Happily too but…he’s felt a rift crack between him and Emily. She’s been distant since that last time in her bed. As to be expected, Mike always manages to fuck up his relationships and situationships. Hopefully, they can still be friends.  

“But what about Aridena?!,” Emily fake cries, pulling him out of his mind and back into the moment, “She’s just watched her two friends die and now she’s alone with the Kraken.” Her eyes are glazed over, she’s genuinely worried about the fate of her little character. 

He thinks for a moment. He could have the Kraken kill Emily’s character or he could be merciful. This is a boss that they were supposed to fight together because that was their only shot at beating it. He just didn’t take into account that Bill is stupid and Max is stubborn. A fault on Mike’s part.

It’s a good thing for Emily that he's in a good mood. “The Kraken watches Aridena but he makes no moves toward her. She gets the sense that the beast will stay where it is as long as she doesn’t do anything treacherous,” he says perilously, coughing to change his voice so that he sounds normal, “Basically the Kraken won’t attack Airdena until Bill and Max make their new characters.”

Max groans, “I have to do all that again?”

“You killed your character by being reckless, not me.”   “But you’re the one who killed her!” she cuts back. 

“Max you charged at this monster that you know nothing about, one that you were severely underprepared for! I had to kill your character! I swear you’re just as bad as Bill.” he laments. 

Bill squawks out a “Hey!” but neither of them acknowledges him. Too busy trying to glare each other down. It's easy to remember that when they were fighting real monsters, particularly, the demadogs, Max doing exaclty as she did now. Charging in, ready to protect her new friends. Maybe Max is thinking of that now too since she, surprisingly, relents first. 

“Fine! I’ll make a new stupid character but it’ll have to be next time,” her eyes dart to the door, “It’s getting late and I need to head out.” She runs her hands up and down her arms, trying to keep herself from fidgeting too obviously. She’s still wearing Mike’s sweater, one that she almost gave back the day in the bathroom. He had to plead with her just to keep it, it’s cold outside now and he doesn’t trust that she has anything else to keep her warm. 

Mike concedes, “Fine, this is a good stopping point anyways,” Emily moves to protest but he raises a hand silencing her, “Aridena will be safe until the next session because the Kraken can see that she’s not as dumb as her companions so it will leave her alone.” Emily lets out a breath in relief.

They all agree to play again on Wednesday. It’s winter break, it’s not like any of them have much to do. Max is quick to get up and start pulling on her winter boots. A pit of dread blooms in Mike’s stomach.

He knows where she’s going. She’s acting as if she’s aching for a hit of something strong. What’s the longest she’s been sober in recent times? Is it these times they've played D&D? God, he’d hate to know the real answer. 

But…at least she’s showing up here sober. She’s making an effort. Sure it may just be because of fear of ridicule but it still has to count for something. Max cares enough to make an effort to not be high around him. He can’t control what she does when she leaves here and for now, he just has to accept that. 

Carefully he puts their pieces away, picking up Max’s from the floor. Bill has already made his way to the pantry, scouring for a late-night snack and Emily starts to walk Max to the door. Those two have become fast friends which Mike wasn’t fully expecting. He appreciates it all the same. 

None of them are prepared for what happens next. 

“What the fuck is this?” Max yells from the front door.

He doesn’t have to guess what she’s yelling at, he can feel it. When she opened the front door a gust of wind came in and chilled him right down to the bone. When he stands to see the outside, it’s as he suspects. 

The snow is at least three feet high and growing. It's spilling into their doorway. The heavy wind blows more in and Mike rushes to shut the door. It’s completely dark outside and the wind is whistling, the snow coming down in heavy layers. 

It’s a snowstorm. One that snuck up on them.

Mike has his back against the front door and can feel the wind trying to blow it open. His back breaks out in goosebumps as it’s against the cold metal. Max looks at him, eyebrows drawn together as she’s probably trying to figure out how to get out of here. Emily diminishes any hope of that.

She has her phone pulled out, one step ahead, “It says here that the roads are closed and the University is telling us to shelter in place ‘till it blows over.”

“When did they announce this?! Max demands her. 

“About an hour ago,” Emily tells her, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Max is starting to border real anger. Not the playful kind Emily has only ever seen her have during D&D, but the white-hot anger that Mike saw her display multiple times during their youth. Emily seems unsure of what to make of it. Mike's just happy that that anger is still there, it proves that Max is still there. 

Max rounds on him, fists clenched at his sides, “So it was when we were playing you’re stupid nerd game! We missed the announcement because of that!”

“Max even if we knew of the announcement when it first came out, it still would’ve been too late,” Emily tries to soothe, “It was a sudden snowstorm, it’s no one’s fault.”

Max ignores her, “You did this on purpose!” she blames him, “I know you did!” She’s shaking with anger. And with the beginnings of drug withdrawals. 

He laughs at how ridiculous she sounds, “Yes Max, I planned this snowstorm! I wanted to trap you here because you’re such a delight!” 

There’s a chance she may punch him. She’s angry enough and Max got into fights back in high school. That much he did know about her back then. And Mike has a smart mouth, a dangerous combination. 

She does shove him out of the way of the door, “God you’re such an ass! Fuck this shit, I’m leaving!” The wind makes him shiver as she throws open the door again. She takes one step out the door before she stops, starting to get unsure of the situation. The snow is now almost to here knees and its covering the front of their doorway.

Is he really just going to let her leave? He can’t, it’s well below freezing and Max could actually die. Fuck.

Thankfully Emily steps in before Mike has to swallow his pride and beg Max to stay. “Max,” she grabs her wrist and gently tugs her inside. Max’s fight is already draining out of her so she lets her, “The snowstorm can’t last forever and besides it’s not safe to go there now. We can all weather this out together, yeah?” 

It looks like a warzone is taking place in Max’s head. Trying to decide to either to stay here, safe, but be forced to go through drug withdrawals, or brave the storm just so she can get high. It doesn’t matter, Mike’s already decided she can’t leave. He’ll tie the brat up if he has to, Max is not dying on his watch. 

“Fine whatever,” Max mutters and barrels past both of them. He might be wrong, but he swears he saw tears starting to well up in her eyes. They hear a door slam from down the hall. 

This is when Bill makes his reappearance, eating away at Derek’s bag of potato chips, “D-Dude I think she just locked you out of your ruh-room,” he comments over a mouthful of chips. 

Well, this is going to be an interesting couple of days. 

“Bill?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

This is when the power decides to go out. 

A/N: Get the fluff in while you can bc it's about to go to shit.

Full disclosure, I live in the south. Where the low of winter is 50 degrees. I've never seen snow. I am winging this snowstorm that has blown for plot convivences.

The next chapter won't be uploaded till the beginning of next week at the latest bc even more things happen. Check those tags again.

No seriously I spoon fed ya'll some fluff because shit is about to go down. The next chapter is over 3k words already and it's painful ;-;

Also one last note, and an important one, the reason why Max jumps around with her emotions is because that's what realistically drug addicts experience. Please bare with me through the ups and downs of Max's emotions.

Thank you for reading! I always appreciate you guys <3

[floofysmallbob]

I worked so fucking hard, so fucking hard, and I’m stuck behind everyone again.

I’ve always been so far ahead, I’ve always prided myself on being the best, that’s my whole fucking value, that’s all I fucking am. Other than that, I just make my whole personality being being a retarded ass faggot. I have no character, I just make dirty jokes and hate myself, and that’s all I ever do. I’ve always thought I was an artist, but now I can’t even make the simplest things, the things I was best at look like they do in my head, or even decent. I got rejected from art school, I can barely finish a single piece, and haven’t for months. I’ve prided myself on being the smartest my whole life. I started reading chapter books at 4, I was always gifted, I was always a grade ahead in reading and math, I had to skip a grade when I transferred schools and they didn’t have the same acceleration program because it was so frustratingly easy, I had to prove so many fucking times that I belonged in the class that they didn’t put me in, I got all As while being suicidal and depressed, I would cry when I got 94s, because I had to be smart, because that’s all I know I am.

I had to take a month off of school due to mental health, and it felt like I failed. I felt horrid when I ended that year with a B in math, I felt like I didn’t deserve the class that I had pushed to be put in. I got kicked out of school last year, and the homeschool program just felt like they were ridiculing me, underestimating me, putting me down. It felt terrible, it made me feel the way I did when I had to skip a grade, when I left my one friend at that school behind and had to deal with being made fun of behind my back, just so I could take classes that were my level. I may have finished that homeschool program with As, but I felt undeserving, unworthy, and useless.

And then my friend texts me, my friend who has always said they were in higher level math courses despite not doing so in school, and says that my old school, the one I was kicked out of because the teachers were ableist pieces of shit, has changed up their math program, that they’re now in a math curriculum I haven’t done yet. My friend who has always been in classes below me.

And they told me our mutual friend, the one I’ve always felt inferior to, the one who has never had her grades drop below a 90, who is so incredibly smart and works so hard despite being there on financial aid, is now two grades ahead of where I am, which is already 1-2(depends on the school) years ahead of average. That our mutual friend has to take an optional course because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have a math class for senior year.

Because despite my efforts, despite being younger than everyone in my grade, despite all of my dumb fucking irrelevant struggles, I’m still being surpassed. By people that I thought I could compete with, that I thought I could be on the same level as. But I’ve been stuck at home since November, I haven’t seen any of my friends in months, I’m lagging behind now because of how shitty that homeschool program was, and I’m afraid I’m just going to get kicked out of another school, because my mental health is terrible and people talked behind my back(and right in front of me), and one of my only good qualities is disappearing, because I can’t do basic addition or remember anything, let alone do duel fucking enrollment.

What the hell was I thinking, planning to take a French III class at the community college this year, and try and do math with people two grades my senior, and try to keep my friendships when everyone is either changing schools of moving and my old school has just gotten worse and I can’t trust anyone and I have to TALK TO FUCKING INTERNET BASTARDS BECAUSE I CANT TELL ANYTHING TO THE PEOPLE I’M SUPPOSED TO BE CLOSE WITH and I can’t cry or scream because I stopped being able to a while back, and I can’t even trust my own feelings or this fucking tumblr rant because of hormones, and menstrual cycles, and being a teenager, and I can’t do anything because it just feels neon orange and I don’t even want to kill myself anymore and I wish I did because then I would at least have something to blame and hope for but if I don’t want to die I don’t know what to do because I don’t want to be stuck like this and I can’t

I can’t be stuck here with terrible mental health and silent tearless sobbing and people who are leaving me and surpassing me and a lack of being able to do anything and feeling horrible and terrible and like I’m about to start convulsing and stuck with a sibling that screams and a dad who has to have his teenage child clean his apartment and a retarded brain that just hates me and I can’t

and I’m stuck on my device all the time because I can’t do anything else and and d jchejxihdjskndnxnannsnc dna dnd andand how is it that I’m such a mess and I can’t do anything and it feels like my heart is trying to escape my body and maybe I wish it would and nothing had to be like this and I could have been better and I could have dont better and I know I need to be better because how the hell did I end up here having to spill all my worst thoughts onto a screen and everything is bricked up and it’s that color too and it just feels like something is knocking against that wall so hard and I wish it would just fall over already but it won’t and it won’t just fall and I just won’t fucking die and I want to want to die and I’m just some incompetent little shit and I don’t know anything about myself and I’m just trying to grab fucking attention because I’m desperate just like I’m desperate for validation and I’m desperate to be the best because I need to be the best, I need to be the best at something, just one thing. And I tried to go to the climbing gym because that used to be my thing, too, I was a climber, I was good at it, and I used to be good at gymnastics, too, when I was little, and now being smart is becoming the ‘used to’ and my younger sibling is doing all those things now and doing them so much better than I ever did and now I’ve just got reading, and I’m just barely holding on to that feeling of intelligence and now I don’t think I could beat a 5th grader in an academic competition and I’m just losing everything and I can’t fucking deal with it and I’m overreacting and I’m being dramatic and this isn’t real just like how I’m probably lying about everything else too and I’m doubting the words I’m writing right now and I can’t.

I’ve said it so many times when people try to tell me to just do but I can’t

I can’t

[olboypacman]

Dragon Falls to Spider's Venom, Chapter 5. Stick Em' Up!?

A/N: I don’t own street fighter or any associated trademarks.

Also, there’s a part in this chapter that I feel I’m pulling the trigger on too soon for a story like this. But when going over the outlines I have already mapped out for this story I found I have nowhere else to put it. Oh well, I think it turned out well. Happy reading!

***

“You’ve must have been practicing since we last met,” intoned Juri as she walked backwards down the darkened streets in front of Ryu as he faced forward walking the same, “what’s you’re secret how’d get so good so quick?”

Juri was dressed in a black long sleeved see-through dress with assorted flower patterns throughout, with a white sleeveless dress underneath with a small white handbag in her clutch. Both dresses reached mid-thigh level and she had black stockings that were also see through with similar flower patterns as her top-level black dress that led down to a pair of stylish black leather boots that had a small heel. Her hair was done up in tails, though not in the usual fang style. They were more wild looking, locks sticking in this direction or that direction. She wore minimal make up on but did wear black lipstick.

Ryu with an easy look on his face responded, “I took your advice to heart and looked at dancing like a fight.” He went. Though his face dropped slightly, like he’s left something out.

Juri really liked that there was no presumption to this man and that he was easy to read.

She leveled a look at him, “I feel like you’re not telling the whole story, tough guy.”

“I also may have asked Eliza for some pointers,” he went as he met her eyes.

“Eliza,” Juri questioned, slightly anxious, crossing her arms and huff in her cheeks, “is this someone I should be worried about,” she went on as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

Ryu, still looking into her eyes, stopped walking. The light looks on his face morphing into something more somber but earnest. As if he knew he should tread forward carefully. “Right,” he went on, “Eliza is Ken’s wife. I guess you haven’t been acquainted yet. When told her I was planning on seeing someone she couldn’t help herself but to lend a hand. When I told her our first date ended up with an impromptu dancing session, she invited me to one of her dancing classes. I’m happy to see the lesson paid off,” he finished smiling at Juri, “I know we’re pretty fresh in whatever we are doing here,” he continued motioning between him and her, “but I figure honesty is the best policy.”

Ryu wore a casual black jacket to fight off the unusual chill this evening, with a black shirt underneath that was tucked into black pants that lead down to black dress shoes. And his look was completed with a big shiny watch. A Cartier, by the looks of it. The outfit hung just right over the Ansatsuken fighter, Juri felt.

He’d look right at home in a fashion mag, she thought, though that watch seems a bit much.

Speaking of being much…

“I guess so,” she said, looking away from Ryu, trying to take the subject off of her small flair of jealousy at Ryu mentioning another woman, “you managed to not step on my toes the entire time.”

I was supposed to be giving you the next dance lesson, she thought to herself as she pouted, remember that tough guy!

But Ryu didn’t take the hint.

“This outfit was her idea too,” he said as lifted his arms as if to display himself and spun around, “she threw the shirt and what not at me saying I needed to make an impression if want to be in for the long haul.” He then brought his left hand to his face, bringing attention to the watch. “I found this in one of the pockets of the jacket. I hope Ken doesn’t miss it.”

At that moment, they were pounced on by two, no three men.

Juri no longer had the time to be sidetracked by her jealousy.

They were pushed into a nearby alley.

One of the men was on her, in the middle of the space. She felt the cold steel of a knife that was set to her neck before she realized, as she was restrained from behind.

The two other men had dog piled Ryu and pushed him into the wall.

One had hit a combination of punches to his face and body as Ryu bounced off the brick.

He looked unfazed.

He was ready to fight back, clenching his fists, bringing his hands up, taking a stance.

“Yo, cock sucker!” Called the man who held Juri at knife point, “stand the fuck down or we’ll get to see what this pretty little thing looks like on the inside!”

Ryu let out a breath, he unfurled his hands holding them out and opened in a placating manor.

“Fine, fine,” he said calmly, “just take what you want and leave us be.”

The one of the two men in front of him presumably didn’t take to kindly to Ryu’s tone.

“You hear that? It’s almost like he’s demanding,” said one the muggers, “how’s about we beat this guy to the ground and show his lady a good time in front of him.”

This was not how Juri imagined ending the night at all.

But then again, the club they went to tonight was just outside the Tenderloin.

Juri was still getting used to the city, so maybe they were in the notorious neighborhood.

But anyway, a plan comes to Juri.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said loudly, over dramatically even as she brought the back of her hand to her forehead, as if she’s some starlet in a soap opera about to faint, “please be merciful with us!”

The other two brigand’s attention is now on her, but the knife is still to her throat.

 “What is it that you want,” she continued in the same fashion, “Money? Jewelry? Oh darling! Please give them your wallet!”

She felt the knife relax from her neck.

Her performance must be working.

“Darling,” she goes, once more, “the Cartier! Won’t you give it to them so that we may be done with this,” she finished as waggled her eyebrows at him, signaling him to make a move.

But once more he’s not getting the hint.

Oh, fuck this!

Now that there’s some room between her neck and the blade, she can do something without getting her windpipe cut.

She grabs the knife welding mugger by the wrist, peeling his arm away from her.

She twists it, hard, so much so that he drops the blade with a yelp of pain.

She lets go, then performs a spinning heel kick, the blow landing dead center, knocking the formerly armed criminal out of the alley.

“Ryu,” she yelled, “do I need to knock all of these fuckers out myself!”

This knocks everyone out of their stupor.

The other two muggers try to charge Juri, but one is pulled back then thrown into a trash can by Ryu.

“Sorry,” he said as took his stance, the floored mugger now standing, “I didn’t know you were making a move,” Ryu said apologetically.

 “Subtlty’s not a not a strong suit of yours,” she said, “luckily you’re pretty!”

Juri was beset by the other man, but his reckless charge had him running straight into Juri’s extended leg.

He grunted in pain at having guts rearranged by her kick, she then quickly dispatched him using her senpusha, cartwheeling forward into two more powerful kicks.

The first kick landed once more in this mugger’s midsection, causing him to double over.

The second kick landed just as the man was leaning forward, his action accentuating its power. He landed hard on the ground motionless.

She turned just in time to see Ryu landing a powerful stepping mule kick causing his opponent to go flying then bouncing off the wall.

He finished this man with a shoryuken, as the mugger rebounded.

They walked back to each other.

Ryu took her chin in his hand inspecting her for any damage with his brows creased in concern.

He went to say something, but they were interrupted.

The third mugger ran toward them screaming in rage.

Poor little guy never stood a chance.

The Feng-Shui engine whirred to life, Juri’s left eye lighting up in a purple flash of unleashed ki.

The final mugger found himself in maelstrom of powerful kicks and ki blasts.

He dropped to the ground, somehow still conscious but clearly done for, groaning as he writhed in pain.

The Feng-Shui engine didn’t finish cooling down before Ryu took her chin in his hand once more.

“You’re hurt,” he said, still wearing a worried expression.

“Please,” she said, “those chumps weren’t even half a Dan Hibiki.”

Though if she were honest with herself, she did feel just a slight bit excited.

And Ryu fretting about her and the way he’s gently cradling her face is causing a flutter in her stomach.

Nah, she tight to herself, it’s gotta be the Feng-Shui engine.

Ryu runs his fingertip under her chin, toward her neck and lightly touches her neck.

She suppresses a shiver under his caress and at the same time feels a slight sting.

He brings his finger back showing the tip covered in a bit of blood.

Her lips shift into a grim line, “I guess that was a closer call then we realized.”

Ryu produced a napkin from his pocket wiping his finger, “Seems so,” he said, “its not deep but it doesn’t look like it’s stopping.”

He goes to try wipe at her wound once more but stops.

“Hold on,” he said.

Ryu tilts her head up gently.

“What are y…” Juri mutters, but then lets out a sigh of surprise as his lip are upon her neck.

She goes to try pull him against her to her as he nipped and sucked at her wound.

But it’s over before it starts, its done, him finishing the action with a good, long lick.

This time she breathes out in frustration, as his ministrations have definitely left her stirred up.

He leans back as if to examine his handywork, “That’s better, the bleeding stopped,” he said.

Juri tilts her head down, a heavy shadow going over her eyes.

Ryu takes a step back apprehensively, “Juri…”

Her left eye flashes once more and then she lunges forward.

The force of their bodies impacting is so great it knocks Ryu off his feet.

She’s straddling him, holding his hands above his head, his look of apprehension now that of surprise.

“My turn,” she said.

She crashes her mouth roughly into his, her lips sliding gracefully over his. While his lips are soft the way he’s returning the kiss leaves a bit to be desired. Dissatisfied with the way he’s sloppily returning her kiss, smacking his mouth against hers too quickly for her taste, she stops releasing his hands now grabbing his face. “Slow down,” she commands.

His cheeks are now flushed and his lips a little swollen. He’s looking her dead in the face, his mouth slightly open wearing a stunned look, “Juri, I was just trying to…” he went.

Juri interrupted, “Its fine, its fine,” she muttered before she kissed him again.

He returned it, this time much more to her liking; he went slow this time. It still needed a bit of work but for now it will do.

She tilted her head, and he followed the lead, his hands going to her hips.

She introduced her tongue, still tasting a bit of her blood though she didn’t mind.

He moaned into her mouth, and she took it as her time to stop.

They separated, breaths mingling with heated looks.

“I think,” Ryu stammered, struggling to catch his breath, “I think we should call Chun-li.”

Well, that was the last thing she expected him to say.

“What,” she questioned, almost incredulously now bunching up the lapels of his shirt in her hands.

“To get ahead of this,” he said motioning to the assorted bodies of their would-be muggers, “I’d really hate to see you sent away behind this.”

Her grip relaxes, she stands up helping Ryu to his feet.

“I guess you’re right,” she said.

She thinks back to being jealous when Ryu brought up Eliza.

After this display and his concern for her freedom, Juri recognized she didn’t have anything to worry about.

Now if we can just work on his kissing, she thought, well getting the good officer involved guarantees there will be other times to work on it.

***

This isn’t how I expected the night to go, thought Ryu as the opening of the once barren alley is now crawling with emergency personnel.

Though I am pretty happy with how some things turned out.

He’s seated at a set of stone stairs at the entrance of a building adjacent to the alley, his eyes falling to his company for the night.

Juri’s at his side wiping her face, more specifically her lips with something.

She looks over to him, “You want one,” she said offering what appears to be some kind of portable wipe.

“What is that,” he asked somewhat curiously.

“Make up remover,” she simply, a knowing smile on her face.

“I think I’m good,” he said.

She shrugs, “Suit yourself,” she went putting the wipes away as she grabbed his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. “You sure you called Chun-li? Last thing I expected was half of the police force and paramedics on this side of town to show up.”

“She did say she would send for help,” Ryu responded.

“Help,” she questioned, raising her head from its relaxed position, a prying look on her face.

“Her words,” said Ryu, “you were wounded.”

Juri brings her free hand to the fresh bandage at her neck, “Just barely,” she said. She then nuzzled up to him, her breath tickling him sending pluses of delight throughout him, “Plus you can always kiss it better for me, tough guy.”

“That’s super unsanitary you know,” responded Chun-li, with Lei-Fen in tow as she walked up to the couple.

“Chun-li,” Ryu greeted, squeezing Juri’s hand to let her know he’s about stand, “Li-Fen.”

“I’m comfortable here,” she said in an adorable huff, snuggling in closer to him, returning the squeeze of his hand.

 “Hey, Ryu,” Chun-li returned in hello with a small smile on her face, but then dropped slightly as she saw something on his face. Come to think of it, some of the paramedics and officers on the scene gave him the same look. A faded smile still on her face her eyes go to his company, “Juri, interesting night looks like you two have had. I advise against getting too comfortable. I’d like to get both of you to give statements,” said Chun-li authoritatively, “and it’d probably be a good idea to formally press charges.”

Chun-li folded her arms under her chest as she eyed the couple.

She was dressed very casually, comfortably even as if she was dressed for bed in a pair of black board shorts with white trim paired with a white T-shirt tucked into them and her badge hanging from her neck. She wore a decently thick-looking purple robe with crescent moons and stars patterned throughout and had house slippers on.

“Oh, come on,” protested Juri, “first officer on the scene already took our statements!”

She broke away from Ryu, though still close to him.

Ryu missed the warmth.

Suddenly, his jacket was not enough to keep tonight’s chill at bay.

“Ms. Juri,” the small, tired voice of Li-Fen called from Chun-li’s side, “not so loud,” she went on as she yawned. “Hey there, Mr. Ryu.”

She looked at him weird too.

Li-Fen was dressed in a set of onesie panda themed pajamas, with the hood down and her own pair of house shoes on her feet.

Chun-li pulled her to her side, lightly stroking her hair, looking down at the little girl with a tender smile. Li-Fen returned by wrapping her arms around Chun-li’s waist, “Yeah sorry about that,” went Chun-li, “I had to pull her out of bed. And the statements not for the department.”

Juri nodded knowingly, “Yeah, yeah. I’m glad I have you two looking out for me.” She went back into Ryu’s personal space, grabbing his hand again, “Hey kid,” she greeted Li Fen, “I see you liked the pj’s?”

Li-fen nodded at Juri, “Their comfy,” she responded.

“You don’t seem surprised to see us together, Chun-li,” said Ryu curiously.

“Ken brought it to my attention the other day,” said Chun-li, looking back at the couple. “It was in a gossip newspaper he reads. Come on,” she turned around, “we can get this done at my apartment. My PC is linked into the SFPD servers so we can get those charges on paper too. We can take my car. You guys can stay the night if you feel it’s too late to go home from there,” she then turned around leveling a serious look to them, “But if you stay, I want both of you in separate rooms. The couch in my office and the couch in my living room should suffice. No more funny business tonight.”

Both Ryu and Juri nodded in agreement and stood to follow Chun-li, still hand in hand.

She looked at him impishly, her lips and a single eyebrow with an uptick.

She then poked her lips out at him with a smack as she completed the action.

His eyes went to her lips, and his mind traveled to her kiss.

He remembers he was fervent in his return as he hadn’t expected one to be laid on him like that but wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing.

Luckily a little bit of couching was all he needed.

Then when she introduced her tongue, that moan was embarrassing but when she did it felt quite good.

Not to mention how she positioned herself on him. How she felt soft, warm and almost airy on his lap.

“Umm, Mr. Ryu,” Li-Fen called, interrupting his revery, “you’ve got some black stuff your face. Around your mouth.”

“I, what,” he questioned dumbfounded.

No wonder everyone was looking at me weirdly, thought Ryu.

“Lipstick I suspect,” went Chun-li with air of mirth, barely holding back a lough, “right Juri?”

He looked at Juri, in mock betrayal.

“Hey, don’t give me that look. I offered you some makeup remover!”

***

A/N: This is it for this story for now. It’s not finished by any means. I just wanted to get this story to this point. Plan I on update another story in the meantime. I had the 4th chapter for it sitting on my computer since 2019. It’s for my story Dark Knights, Darker Queens, a Yan Sim x Ouran Host Club cross over. Speaking of which not sure how much cross over there would be with that and this story. I’m, going to re-write the 1st 3 chapters in addition to the 4th chapter as previously stated.