#I think this was sitting in my wips for at least six months

[skitskatdacat63]

My Christmas wish is to finish all my pertinent wips 🙏

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

HI I'm so sorry I vanished, I've had an absolutely MAD few weeks and I'm still going to be insanely busy over the next few months, but now that I have a free moment, have this oneshot I wrote at 2am a few days ago! I'm wrapping up a few chapters of my wips that'll be out soon too!!

It's not the most descriptive thing, but I'm playing around with the concept of turning this into a six chapter thing, so this is more me testing the waters lol

-

For a while, it's just a cough.

Sirius has noticed the hacking cough developing over three weeks, but he doesn't think too much of it. Why would he? Remus downplays everything that happens to him, and anytime Sirius brings up getting it checked out, he's just waved off with a small, gentle smile.

It's only when he passes out that Sirius gets him to do something about it.

He's just gotten out of the bloody hospital wing after the full, and although it's not exactly normal for Remus to be this... shaky, they all just think it's that. As they walk, Sirius can't handle watching Remus struggling with his bag.

"Right, hand it over," Sirius says simply, stopping. Remus stops with him, James and Peter moving a little more before they turn back too.

"Hm? What?"

"Your bag. Hand it over."

"I'm fine, it's fine," He tries to dismiss it, coughing once, but Sirius isn't having it this time.

"Moony, you look like you're about to keel over. You don't get a say in it."

Remus rolls his eyes, but he's quite clearly biting back a smile as he pulls his bag off his back and hands it to Sirius, who slings it over his free shoulder without hesitation. They both go to keep walking, when Remus is hit with a coughing fit. He stops again, hands still jittering as he uses the back of it to try and stifle it.

"Hey, d'you need water?" Sirius asks, going to open and rifle through Remus' bag, but Remus just shakes his head.

"I- I can't- can't-"

Sirius doesn't need him to fill in the blanks. He can see the panic, the paling of his face.

Remus can't breathe.

"Shit, right, come on." Without thinking, he wraps an arm firmly around Remus' waist and pulls him as quickly as he can to the hospital wing. "Madame Pomfrey?!"

She appears in less than a second as Sirius sits Remus down onto the bed. Remus can't exactly complain, resting both forearms against his thighs and dropping his head down as he struggles for breath. Forcing himself not to panic, Sirius reaches out and claps Remus on the back a few times. It seems to work, dislodging something enough to give Remus a breath, but not to free it from his windpipe altogether.

Still, relief courses through him as Remus finally starts taking heaving breaths, and Sirius opts for moving his hand in a gentle circle over Remus' back. Madame Pomfrey crouches in front of Remus, taking hold of both of his shoulders and pushing him upright. Breathing seems to come a little easier for him then, as Madame Pomfrey watches him carefully.

"You're staying here overnight, at the very least."

"Why?" Remus asks with a frown. "I'm fine. S'just a cough."

"That isn't just a cough," Poppy says carefully, pointedly. "It sounds like there's either some kind of blockage, or another serious issue. Either way, you need monitoring. You're staying, you are not allowed to refuse that."

"I'll go and grab you come food," Sirius says, moving his hand to squeeze Remus' shoulder before standing.

"M'not really hungry..." Remus admits. "I haven't been for a while, really."

"Moony, why haven't you said anything?" James asks, stunned. Remus just shrugs, unsure.

"You're still eating. I'll be back in a few minutes."

With that, he makes a beeline for the kitchens, lets the elves gives him enough wrapped food for a small feast, then heads straight back to the hospital wing. James and Peter are still there, Remus having conceded to sitting in the bed, Madame Pomfrey having checked him over carefully and is now leaving him alone with his friends. Sirius drops down into a seat and starts pulling the food out of his bag.

As they all eat in silence, Remus clearly trying to stifle his own coughing every now and then, there's an unspoken knowledge that Remus is probably going to be in the wing for a while. Still, Sirius at least expects Madame Pomfrey to have it figured out by the next day.

Instead, Remus just seems to get worse.

Three days pass, and Remus has gone from bad to awful, having coughing fits at least once an hour, and Sirius is barely leaving the hospital wing at this point. Every day sends him spiralling slightly more into his own anxiety, waiting until Remus has fallen asleep every night to let himself feel.

It's takes another two days for Madame Pomfrey to figure it out, and they're all there when she does. She emerges from her office, making her way over to the bed.

"I know what's happening," she starts simply. "Did you want me to tell you alone, or...?"

"No, it's fine," Remus says, "they can stay."

"You have Hanahaki Disease," she starts, confusing all four of them. Obviously she's expecting this, as she keeps talking. "It's incredibly rare, very few known cases. I had to get in contact with St. Mungo's to get real information about it. Essentially, it is a disease that causes red roses to develop in the patient's lungs."

"Roses?" Sirius asks, stunned.

"Sorry, I- I didn't tell you. I didn't want to freak any of you out." Sirius doesn't even have time to think about that part before Poppy continues.

"It is actually caused by love. Romantic love that the patient believes to be unrequited."

"Oh." That even throws Remus, whose eyes flick to his hands as he starts fidgeting with them over the covers.

Remus is in love.

That almost crushes Sirius.

Mostly because of the word unrequited. It means that any hope he had of Remus ever liking him back flies down the drain.

He doesn't let himself process those emotions, quashing them to focus on Remus. There's no fucking time to wallow.

"There are actually two treatments for this," Poppy says, taking the book from under her arm, titled 'Mysterious Magical Ailments', pulled it open to a bookmarked page and started to read from it. "The patient should initially attempt to confess their emotions to said object of their affections, due to the possibility of the love not truly being unrequited. Reciprocated love is the simplest solution to Hanahaki Disease.

"If this is not successful, the base of the roses can be removed magically. However, this only has a seventy percent success rate. Also, the patient's romantic feelings for the object of their affection will go, and many patients are unlikely to feel romantic attraction again." She closes the book and watches Remus carefully. Remus glances up, eyes meeting Poppy's decisively.

"Remove it."

"Moony, wait. Don't you think you should at least try the other one first?" James pipes up quickly, carefully. "You never know, she could feel the same and, even if she doesn't, you'll get the feelings taken anyway, right? It's worth a shot."

"He doesn't. I'm sure he doesn't. He has no reason to," Remus snaps quickly, devolving into another coughing fit. Sirius doesn't hesitate in doing the same thing he has done every time since he first went to the hospital wing, as Remus leans forward and Sirius reaches out to tap his back, to dislodge the flower in his throat. Poppy pulls her wand put with her free hand, ready, but she doesn't need it. Nobody even has time to acknowledge Remus' revelation, but Poppy steps in the moment the coughing stops.

"I'll have to bring someone in, as it is a procedure I've never carried out before, and it has fairly high risks attached to it. I can get in contact with the same healer from St. Mungo's, she should be happy to perform it."

The healer agrees.

She offers to arrive in two days to resolve the problem. That gives Sirius a lot of time to think.

Firstly, Remus is gay. Sirius could actually have been in with a chance, if he wasn't in love with someone else. Also the fact that he's so adamant that the mystery guy doesn't love him back. Remus doesn't seem to understand just how incredible he is. How much he can brighten someone's day. He's doing everything in his power to avoid telling this person, and it's really bloody confusing to Sirius.

Even Remus starts to second guess it, that evening.

Poppy has accepted that Sirius isn't leaving, and he's nodding off in the chair beside the bed when Remus' quiet voice pipes up.

"Hey, Padfoot? You awake?"

Sirius opens his eyes and lifts his head, offering Remus a smile through the increasing darkness.

"You okay?"

"I was just... is James right?" He asks quickly, eyes meeting Sirius' anxiously. "Is it worth telling him, even if it's just so it's off my chest before I get the roses removed?" Sirius shrugs.

"Yeah, I think so," He says honestly. Remus asked for his opinion, so that's what he's getting, even if it's slightly upsetting Sirius to say. "If he doesn't feel the same way, surely it's worth him knowing. You never know, and it won't mean anything if it goes wrong." Remus nods to himself, glancing down and, for a moment, Sirius thinks he's done with the conversation.

"What if it ruins our friendship?" He asks in a rush. "What if he can never let go of the fact that I literally almost died because I'm in love with him?"

"Then he can go fuck himself," Sirius answers bluntly, clearly throwing Remus.

"Sirius!"

"No, I mean it!" He's bloody frustrated now. "If this mystery guy is uncomfortable because of your feelings and an illness that you can't control, then fuck him! I can't imagine anyone not wanting to spend time with you, so if he really does care about you then he'll get the fuck over himself-"

"It's you, Sirius." Remus' voice is low, almost inaudible, but Sirius catches it. It actually stops him in his tracks, turning to face Remus as shock ripples through him. Remus keeps his eyes fixed firmly down, forcing the rest of his words out. "I'm in love with you. Have been for a while, actually. I know there's no world where you'd ever feel the same way, but I'm getting it sorted, so-"

"You love me?" Sirius asks breathlessly. Nothing feels real, thousands of questions racing in his head.

Mostly the fact that Remus' feelings aren't unrequited.

Sirius has been in love with Remus for years. At this point, it feels as normal as breathing. So how the fuck has Remus got Hanahaki Disease?

As Remus nods, face flushing a deep red, Madame Pomfrey's words come flying back to him.

"Romantic love that the patient believes to be unrequited," he whispers to himself, everything finally clicking.

"I'm really sorry Sirius, I never meant for it to- to do this, I just- I don't know. I'm really sorry," Remus is rambling, and Sirius just can't take it anymore.

With a new resolve and years of unexpressed feelings, Sirius stands, leans in and connects their lips. Only for half a second, pulling away to gauge Remus' reaction. His expression seems to match what Sirius' own must have been a few seconds before. Nothing but shock sitting there.

"...Remus? You okay?" Sirius asks gently, watching him carefully.

"You don't... you can't..." Remus can't quite get through the sentence, stifling a cough as Sirius decides to fill in the blanks for him.

"I love you, Moony. Christ, it feels like I've loved you forever." Remus opens his mouth to protest, but Sirius isn't done yet. Remus needs to know just how important he is. "If you need me to tell you that every single day for the rest of your life then I will. You mean everything to me." Carefully, he sits on the side of the bed and waits with bated breath.

He watches as Remus' eyes dart across his face, seemingly searching for an ounce of truth. Then, before Sirius has a change to register what's going on, Remus has pulled him back in, lips meeting in a much more urgent kiss.

Still, Sirius isn't complaining.

He lets one hand rest across Remus' cheek, the other finding one of his. For someone who is essentially on his deathbed, he's a bloody fervent kisser. Something in the back of Sirius' mind is reminding him that the only thing separating the two of them from the outside world is a curtain that could be pulled back at any time, but it doesn't really matter to him. All that matters is Remus in front of him, real and there and his.

After what could be a few minutes, could be an hour, they both break away, Remus scarily out of breath. Yeah, he's still unwell, they both kind of forgot. Still, it doesn't stop a smile making its way onto Remus' face.

"Okay, yeah, I believe you."

"I think it's safe to say that you're free to go, Remus!" Madame Pomfrey says brightly, sending relief through Sirius. Remus has done nothing but improve, but it's still amazing to hear Madame Pomfrey confirm it.

He turns to Remus, whose hand is in his, and shoots him a gentle smile. A fucking gorgeous blush makes its way across Remus' face, sending a jolt through his stomach.

God, he loves Remus.

Thank fuck he didn't get the flowers removed.

[athina-blaine]

Bloodweave Fic Recs (12/23/23)

I come bearing gifts 🎁

First fic rec list here!

||

Start the Day by Anonymous (G, 500+ w || Slice of Life, Idiots in Love) A soft, sleepy sort of morning routine.

Small Traditions by Velwyn (G, 2k+ w || Fluff, Established Relationship, Post-Canon) It's the first snowfall of the season in Waterdeep and Gale is insistent he and Astarion brave the cold to meet up with his mother and Tara.

Gravity series by Kivea (T, 19k+ w || Slice of Life, Humor, Developing Relationship) A series of shorter, light hearted fics intended to glimpse at the downtime between the companions as they seem to gravitate to each other and couple up from Gale's view, feeling as though as Wyll and Karlach grow close, and Lae’zel and Shadowheart, he and Astarion are left together with no one but each other for company.

in the margins by theamazingbard (M, 1k+ w || Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship) Gale, with all the wisdom he claims to have, has gotten himself skewered by a dirty blade. The scent of his blood is so familiar at this point, yet it has never turned Astarion's stomach as it did then.

Don't Feed Me, I Will Come Back by Binary_Sunset (M, 2k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Goats) Gale finds a starving, half-crazed vampire in the woods.

Gale's Year of Rest and Relaxation by sapphala (M, 2k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Grooming and Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms) A modern AU where Gale and Astarion find pain and then solace and then violence in each other (in that order).

different hunger by little_bugger (M 4k+ w || Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking) After an impossibly long three days, most choose the privacy of their tents over a group dinner. It doesn't escape Astarion what effect this seems to have on Gale. However, the effect Gale has on him escapes Astarion entirely.

The Robberwing by trashmaven (M, 4k+ w WIP || Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Slow Burn) Gale goes to Baldur’s Gate in a desperate attempt to find a cure for his condition, but after a chance encounter with a pale elf, the orb becomes the least of his problems.

With This Ring by AuroraBiggsWrites (M, 4k+ w || Post-Canon, 1st Person) Gale works on a special project for Astarion.

Ask My Glass of Wine For Guidance by Caelanmiriel (M, 5k+ w || Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Academic Misconduct, Abuse of Power) Gale sits in the back of the taxi, fiddling with the wires of his headphones and bouncing his leg up and down, and tells himself that he does not feel sick. It’s just a party.

Bring me home in a blinding dream by Perching_Owl (M, 5k+ w || Whump, Suicidal Thoughts, Established Relationship) Gale is not doing well after he goes back to Waterdeep.

The Fourth Ring by Vamillepudding (M, 19k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort) Astarion is near the docks when he feels Cazador's compulsion on him snap. He doesn't think twice. He just takes the next available ship out of Baldur's Gate. Its destination: The City of Splendors. Waterdeep.

mortal bonds, immortal regret(s) by Sinister_Queer (E, 4k+ w || Epilogue, Ascended!Astarion, God!Gale, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships) The God of Ambition and the Vampire Ascendant attend a party. Gale has spent six months alone and Astarion is not afraid anymore. An arrangement is made.

Strigil by ZiGraves (E, 5k+ w || Soft Gale, Hand jobs) Gale is having some difficulties with stains on both skin and clothing. Astarion has a solution.

Disobedience by mossfloss1 (E, 19k+ w || First Time, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers) Good old-fashioned rumination on choice and compulsion. Gale and Astarion shake off their metaphorical shackles.

Stay Though My Arms Shake by Lunarwench (E, 34k+ w WIP || Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Domestic Fluff, Post-Canon) Two months after the brain falls, Baldur's Gate has picked up most of the pieces. The band of heroes that saved Faerûn has been there through most of it, helping the city back on its feet. But now it's time to move on. Old lives to get back to, families to return to. Gale is going back to his tower, back to Tara and the blessed quiet. Alone. Or, at least, that was the plan.

[pappydaddy]

how you get the girl (j.m.)

a/n: i got a little carried away with this one lovelies! but i hope you enjoy it💛!

tv show/movie: outer banks

pairing: jj maybank x fem!kook!reader

not requested

style | i wish you would | how you get the girl - you're here

synopsis: after an increase in reckless behaviour, jj's friends confront him, giving him an ultimatum. jj enlists the help of sarah and kie on how to win y/n back.

taglist: @rottenstyx | @boxofsilentwords | @popeheywardssecretgf | @lexi-2004 | @i-always-come-back-xoxo | @rootbeerfaygo | @luvhanns | @thelakespoets | @lonely-simplicity | @tenaciousperfectionunknown | @k-k0129 | @maybankslover | @smarie7543

*line through your user means i could not tag you lovely!

au where there was no treasure but sarah and kie mended their friendship and brought everyone together

warnings: angst, heartbreak, mentions of an unsafe party, drinking, drug use, voyeurism/exhibitionism, mentions of witnessing public sex, inappropriate relationships mentioned, john mayer referenced, being hit on during a vulnerable state, older women (40) hitting on drunk jj, spicy content (not smut).

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

-not my gif - my header-

“Six months. It has been six months of this and I am tired,” Pope exclaimed as they all gathered in the Twinkie. “We are basically acting as his parents and I can barely take care of myself!” He continued as John B drove down the road. 2 AM, just like clockwork. 

  “Tell me about it. I think I’m getting grey hairs. I need to go to the hairdressers sometime,” Sarah muttered, picking up her blonde hair, intersecting it before flipping down the visor, looking at the roots. “Seriously, we need to do something about this. I cannot be going grey at eighteen, John B.” She looked to her boyfriend, flicking the visor back up. 

  “Look, I don’t know what you guys want me to do. JJ’s gone off the deep end, there is no talking to him when he is like this. The harder we push, the further he pulls away from us,” John B sighed. “Look, the best thing for him is for us to give him space, he will come around when he’s ready. If we push him too hard, he won’t have us to protect him anymore.” 

  Kie hummed, agreeing with him, but Pope and Sarah shared a look. “Well, he’s off the deep end about his break-up with Y/N so, why don’t we use that to reel him back in? At least stop making us go get him at 2 AM.” Pope suggested, looking between Sarah and Kie, trying to gauge if it was a good idea. 

  “How did you know about JJ and Y/N?” Kie asked, sitting up straight, fearful. Pope blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

  “It was obvious-” 

  “Painfully,” John B chipped in, turning into a random driveway. “This is the address he texted. Let’s go find him. And I’m not hating the idea Pope had about using Y/N.” He remarked, eyebrows raised suggestively. 

  They all climbed out of the van, approaching the house with the obvious party going on. It was as if they wanted the cops to bust it. The stench of weed and alcohol. It was enough to make anyone who wasn’t drunk or high run away from it. And if that was obvious, there was sure to be an abundance of drugs being used. It would probably be a drug dog’s worst nightmare. “I do like it, but how would we use her? It’s not like she’ll be up to talking to him. The ball is in his court. It is up to him to tell her how he feels.” Kie stressed, earning a hum of agreement from Sarah. 

  “Yeah, she laid down the conditions, he was the one who refused to answer. She should not be responsible for his actions and she should not be responsible for making this right. Besides, she’s really torn up about this.” Sarah explained further as they opened the door, the noise hitting them like a brick wall. 

  “We give him an ultimatum. He either stops this behaviour or next time we’re calling Y/N and telling her about everything he’s doing. We no longer protect him from her finding out all of this,” Pope gestured around to the party full of people tripping on some sort of drug or so horribly drunk he is amazed they are still alive. “Is happening. I mean like, there are at least two couples having sex right there.” 

  “Oh my god, there is,” Sarah gasped. “John B, all of these people are way older. Like John Mayer old and creepy. This is so much worse than the other parties he’s been to.” She pointed out. 

  “Yeah, I’m catching the drift that this might be a tipping point for JJ’s behaviour. This is not safe for any of us to be here.” John B noted as they moved around the house some more, the thumping music and random yelling overwhelming them. 

  From between the noise, they could hear a familiar voice. “You know, I would love to do that with you, but I have someone already.” JJ. He sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall as an older woman dragged her hand up and down his leg, lips pressing kisses all over his face. 

  “JJ, man,” John B quickly rushed over to him, swatting the completely drunk woman away from his best friend. “Get away, you’re old enough to be our mother.” He shooed her off. With a huff, she stumbled off, her heels scuffing against the hardwood. 

  “John B! My man! My buddy, have you seen this party? It’s full of cougars! I’ve been hit on so much, it’s insane.” He was beyond drunk, his speech slurred and his eyes half-lidded. 

  “Yeah, we saw that Buddy, but you don’t want these people to hit on you, they’re too old and don’t have good intentions.” John B coached him. A sober JJ knows this. He might get an ego boost, but he knew not to accept any advances. Drunk JJ, John B wasn’t too sure. 

  John B wrapped JJ’s arm around his shoulder, Pope taking the other one and doing the same. Together, they hoisted JJ up to stand. “But, I couldn’t accept any of them because all I can think about is Y/N. She’s ruined sex for me.” He slumped, not being able to keep his body weight up. John B and Pope stumbled, but kept themselves standing. 

  “Why are you even at this party, JJ? How did you get yourself into this situation, Dude?” Pope asked, looking around. He wasn’t even sure how JJ knew this was happening. It’s not like he runs in any social circles with forty-year-old women who think sleeping with a barely legal teenager is okay. 

  “I heard about this from my cousin. He was supplying some of the weed,” JJ slurred, his eyes closing as his feet dragging as they neared the door. “Last party I was at, I saw Y/N. She was with Topper. Not only did she ruin sex for me, how can I go to another party where she might show up looking so amazing with Topper on her arm,” He rambled, opening his eyes as he felt the cold night air hitting him. “So, I thought that Y/N would never come to a party like this and if she did, I would drag her back out of the party because it would be so unsafe for her to be in there. She would get John Mayered! So, I went to the party.” 

  “You went to the party you deemed unsafe?” 

  “Well, yeah. What if she did come to this party? Who was going to protect her? Topper? Yeah right. He would be too busy snorting cocaine up his nose to realise she was in trouble.” He reasoned as they unceremoniously shoved him into the back of the Twinkie. 

  Turning to the group, John B said sternly. “We’re talking to JJ tomorrow about the ultimatum.” 

____   

  “JJ, we need to talk.” JJ looked up from John B’s coffee table where he was carefully rolling a blunt - his second one since noon. The voice came from John B himself, Kie, Pope, and even Sarah in tow. They had been out together all day, since even before JJ got up.  

  “Okay, then talk away dude, I’m not bothering you.” He shrugged, packing the loose weed in the paper carefully, eyes trained on it. His friends all settled into spots, Pope and John B sitting on either side of him. It raised a red flag within JJ’s mind, but he didn’t care too much about it - he knew they would never hurt him.  

  “Talk with you, Buddy.” John B clarified, gently reaching in front of JJ when he stilled for a second. Pope did the same, grabbing the baggie of weed and handing it to Kiara who quickly moved it away from the living area. John B gently pulled the blunt in progress away from JJ, both to avoid a fight and to make sure none of the weed spilled onto his floor (it’s like catnip of JJ). 

  “Don’t see what we need to talk about, but okay,” JJ shrugged, seeming to be playing obliviously. He knew what they were wanting to talk about. He’ll just pretend he doesn’t. “Talk away, my friend.” He leaned back on the couch as the four of them shared nervous glances. 

  “Well, okay,” John B cleared his throat, looking at his friends in a silent way that said he would start the conversation. “We wanted to talk to you about your behaviour lately. You’ve resorted back to reckless JJ. It was first getting into week long fits of rage-” 

  “Particularly when you see Topper-” Pope added in.

  “Especially when you see Topper and Y/N together,” Kie piped up, sitting on the now clear coffee table across from JJ, Sarah sitting beside her. They were ready to jump up at any time, knowing JJ doesn’t like to feel cornered. “Then you get all mopey when you see Y/N and then all of a sudden, you’re angry again.” Kie explained as gently as she could. 

  “Now, it's the endless partying, but last night with that dangerous party you went to, it’s too much. It’s much worse than what you’ve done in the past. You surpassed your own level of recklessness last night.” John B told him. 

  “So? I won’t go to any more of those parties. I realise now that it was dangerous. Happy?” JJ asked, moving to stand up but John B and Pope simply put their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down.   

  “It’s been going on for six months, JJ. Which also is about the time you and Y/N stopped talking suddenly. After that phone call you had that night.” Sarah observed. 

  JJ shifted, elbows resting on his knees as he shrugged. “I don’t see it. And I don’t know why you guys are bringing Y/N into this. She has nothing to do with anything, she’s innocent in this.” He denied, blue eyes avoiding everyone.

  “She told us about you a couple of weeks ago, Sarah and I,” Kie informed him, his blue eyes widening, snapping up to look into Kie’s calming brown ones, trying to see if she was bluffing or not. Didn’t matter if she was or not now, she for sure knew from his reaction. “We already knew about you two, but she told us what happened.”

  “We haven’t told her about your behaviour. We figured you wouldn’t want her knowing about some of the things you’ve done.” John B informed him.

  “We have been working double time trying to keep her from getting any information. Your drunken adventures, the attempted hook-ups, the drug use, last night’s party. We have made sure none of it has reached her,” Pope explained. JJ’s blue eyes shifted from each person, a sense of gratitude within them. “But, we have reached the breaking point with your behaviour, especially after last night, JJ.” 

  “So, we’ve decided to give you an ultimatum. You work with us to figure out how to help you fix this or the next time you call us after doing something stupid. We call Y/N and tell her everything.” John B ripped the metaphorical band-aid off. And surprisingly, JJ didn’t flip the table or his lid. 

  They all watched him as he let the words sink in. They could see his blue eyes moving from side to side as if the answer was written on the floor. “I want to get her back. But she’s with Topper now-”

  “You think she’s with Topper? She hates Topper- well, hated Topper,” Sarah spoke up. “Her and Topper were set up on a date by their parents. She called him out on his shit and they became friends. He’s basically just standing in for us while we’re here babysitting you. Once you’re back in her life, I am sure both of them will be more than happy to go their separate ways.” 

  “Okay, that takes care of that, but I don’t even know the first step to getting her back. She is the first girl I actually like, let alone love and this is all uncharted territory for me.” 

  “That’s where we come in.” Kie smiled, pointing between her and Sarah. JJ slid back in his seat, a bit unnerved with their smiles and the gleams in their eyes. 

  “They are going to use this opportunity to enact their revenge, aren’t they?” JJ questioned.

  “Possibly.” Pope agreed. He hoped they did.  

____ 

  Gruelling.That was the word JJ would use Sarah and Kie’s seven day program designed to help JJ get Y/N’s back. They sugar coated it, of course, saying that it was all necessary, but he hardly thought it was necessary for him to run all around The Cut getting them things while they sat at John B’s. They wouldn’t even let him use his bike. “If I get a cold, I am coming for your heads.” JJ painted. It was fifty degrees go and they had him outside running since the early hours of the morning. 

  Sarah and Kie shared a look as they dug through the bag JJ just brought them. “Oh, I didn’t realise you didn’t want our help to get Y/N back,” Kie hummed, pulling all the candy out of the bag. “Well, Sarah, I guess we can just leave since JJ doesn’t-” 

  “No, wait,” JJ exclaimed, hands shooting out in front of him in case they tried to leave. “I need your help, I do. But I don’t see why I need to be out running in fifty degree weather. Getting a cold isn’t going to help get Y/N back.” 

  Kie rolled her eyes at his overdramatics. “You’re not going to catch a cold-”

  “Wait, he might have a point,” Sarah remarked, hands stilling as she shifted through the snacks herself. Kie threw her a questioning look. “Risking a cold,” Sarah spoke again as if that was to make it all make sense. “He’s risking his health to show her how much he loves her! It’s the ultimate romantic gesture!” 

  JJ slumped down in one of the free chairs littering the living room. He really thought Sarah was going to stop this madness. “Should we still do flowers and candy then? Or should he just show up at her doorstep in the middle of the storm we’re getting tomorrow night?” JJ’s mouth fell open to protest, but Kie and Sarah already launched into re-evaluating the plan. 

  “I’m definitely getting sick after this.” He groaned, hand falling over his eyes as his skin felt like a million needles were sticking into it - his skin unthawing from being out in the cold all day. 

  “Oh, hush. This means you don’t have to run anywhere anymore,” Sarah scolded him. JJ let his hand drop, somewhat relieved. “By the way, do you even understand what happened between you two?”

  JJ looked at her, eyes wide as he questioned her sanity. “You mean the thing you explain to me everyday even though I showed a full understanding of how I screwed everything up from the start of these past seven days,” Sarah and Kie nodded. “Oh, well than yes, but I am sure you’ll torture me by revisiting it.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about this before you broke Y/N’s heart.”  

____

  “Wow, they were not kidding when they said it would be a storm.” Y/N muttered to herself as she pulled the curtains covering her bedroom window back, looking at the downpour. She could see it in the yellow gleam from the streetlight, if she didn’t know better, she would assume they were having a hurricane in February. She never understood the expression raining cats and dogs until now. In an odd way, it was beautiful. Especially when she closed her eyes and listened to it hitting her house. She could be lulled asleep standing right there if she allowed herself. 

  Stepping away from the window, the curtain danced back into place. She never used to have curtains, but following the imposition of her relationship with JJ, every time she saw headlights shine through her window, she thought of him. In an effort to squash any hint of regret, she begged her parents to buy her curtains - which they did with little to no fight. Since then, they remained closed, plunging her in darkness that she found suited her recent mood for the past six months. 

  With a sigh, she picked up the pizza take-out menu she had found. It was her and JJ’s favourite place to order pizza from. Topper had innocently fetched it for her in case she lost power and couldn’t look up websites to order pizza from. He claimed that she should save her phone data for texting and emergencies. She thought he was insane. 

  “I could go for a pizza,” She hummed, opening the menu as if she didn’t know what she already wanted. Picking up her phone, she dialled the number she knew by heart. After a few rings, the girl’s voice spoke through the speaker, obviously chewing gum in the obnoxious way. “Hi, I would like to place an order for delivery. My info should be in the system already, it’s under L/N. I just want what I usually get.” 

  She pinched the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stood up, gathering some blankets that were carelessly thrown on her floor. “Large pizza with extra sauce and extra cheese with pepperoni?” The girl questioned after a few seconds of typing and clicking. 

  “That’s the one. Could I also get two orders of breadsticks with that?” She paused the gathering of blankets, blinking as she listened to the typing on the other side of the phone. 

  “Okay, anything else tonight?” 

  “No, that will be all. Thank you.” 

  “Should be delivered in about twenty minutes. Any later than thirty and the order is free.” She drawled before hanging up the phone. Y/N smiled, looking forward to the greasy food as she slipped her phone into the pocket of her (JJ’s) hoodie. Shifting the mass of blankets, she started to make her way down the stairs to set up in the living room. Her parents were away in Cuba, celebrating their wedding anniversary meaning Y/N was alone in the house. Humming, she set the blankets down on the couch, hands hitting her legging covered thighs as she looked around, seeing if anything else needed to be changed. 

  The sudden sound of a rough knock startled her. Her gate was closed and nearly impossible to scale so it had to be someone she trusted enough to give the gate code to. This eased her nerves slightly, actually making her feet move towards the door. “Oh my god, what if it’s the cops. Did I do anything wrong? Did they get evidence that I was drinking at that party Topper dragged me to like a week ago,” She whispered to herself, her mind spiralling. “I can’t go to jail. They’ll take one look at me and know I cannot offer anything but tutoring sessions which are useless in prison.” She panicked, but another knock pulled her from her mind. 

  Grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, she didn’t give herself anymore time to think. “JJ? Are you insane? You’re shaking like a ghost!” She exclaimed, worry taking over so much she couldn’t even think about questioning why he was here after six months. He stood there, his figure vibrating from the freezing rain. She wanted to take him and pull him into he warm house, but something stopped her.  

  “It’s been a long six months, Y/N,” JJ started, making her furrow her brows in confusion. She was well aware of how long the six months have been. She’s still moping around. “I was too afraid to tell you what I wanted that night and for every night for five months.” He confessed, his face red but she wasn’t sure if it was the bitter cold, him catching something, or him blushing. His blue eyes stayed on her despite his teeth chattering. 

  “So what changed, JJ. Why are you here right now,” She paused, gesturing to him. “You’re going to catch a cold.” She sighed, her still burning love for him outweighing her judgement as she grabbed his arm, pulling him into the house. 

  “In the last month, specifically the last week and some days, I wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore. I want you, Y/N,” JJ was still chattering as she wordlessly led him to the couch, wrapping a blanket around him. “And not in a secret hook-up situation. Like I actually want you for worse or for better. To be in an actual relationship with you and I will wait forever and ever until you can trust me again because I broke your heart and I knew that from the second you hung up the phone, but I was too hurt to do anything about it.” 

  He panted slightly, still shivering like a chihuahua. Y/N sighed, grabbing his freezing hand and pulling him up the stairs. He let out a low, unsure noise as she did so. “Look, I am still hurt and heartbroken, but I am willing to listen to you because that’s what you do when you are mature and ready for a relationship,” She informed him as she pulled him into her room. “I still have some of your clothes so sit on the bed while I get them.” She instructed, pulling open a drawer in her dresser. 

  “I just want you to know that if you give me another chance, I will do my best to fix your heart, to put it back together,” JJ spoke up after a few beats of silence. He could tell she was still listening as she rooted through the drawers. He looked at the dresser, seeing many photos in frames that were all too familiar. “You kept them up.” He whispered. 

  She stood up, looking back at him in confusion before following his eyes, spotting the pictures. “Oh, yeah,” She hummed, looking back down in her drawer. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. They reminded me of the good times. Reminded me of how it used to be between us before I pushed you too hard.” She muttered, throwing a shirt and a pair of sweatpants at him.

  He put them on the bed beside him, standing up, his eyes locked on her as she wrapped her arms around herself, nearly curling into herself in a way to protect her heart (surely). The blanket fell from his shoulders as he strides towards her. Her bedside lamp was on, casting a dim light around the room, making her look magnificent, but he wasn’t too focused on her looks - she always looked magnificent to him. 

  “I lost my mind, Y/N-” He spoke, startling her as she thought he was changing. Whirling around, she was once again startled by how close he was to her. Surely, she would have heard him moving. It’s not like he was a light guy. With all his muscle tone and his usual work boots on his feet. 

  “What do you mean?” She asked, eyes searching his face in confusion, noting how he looked in the dim lighting himself.

  “I lost my mind. When I refused to label it. I knew I didn’t want to lose you, but yet I did because I was stupid and I lost my mind. Then, I actually did lose my mind and I didn’t find it until a week ago,” His voice was scratchy from the raw emotion as she looked down at her. “I left you because I was scared and I don’t have an actual reason for being scared, but I lost my mind. You didn’t push me too hard. This was all my fault.” 

  “JJ, it’s both of our faults. I shouldn’t have sprung that conversation on you. I should have approached it another way-” He cut her off with a shake of his head.

 “No, you aren’t getting it. It is my fault. I love you and I was too chicken to say it while you were so ready and I couldn’t see it,” He let his hands grab her biceps in the most gentle way possible. Despite the fact that his skin was freezing, Y/N found warmth filling her from the contact. “I was a mess for the past six months. Like a literal mess. I was drinking, going to dangerous parties, and putting myself in dangerous situations because without you, I am nothing, Y/N. I have nothing without you-”

  “That is not true-” She tried to protest but he cut her off again. 

  “But it is true. I couldn’t even perform after you-” 

  “Oh,” She looked shocked at this, eyes drifting down to his lap before looking back up at him. “Really? You couldn’t,” She glanced down again before looking back into his eyes. “Because I left you?” 

  JJ nodded. “I mean, I got it up, but only when I was picturing you. But it was in the dead of night. But it was like that when we were dating,” He used that word for lack of a better term. “It was always you. From the very second Sarah introduced us all till this moment.” 

  The doorbell sound of the buzzer on the gate went before a voice echoed through the house, someone speaking into the microphone. “That’s my pizza,” She told him, voice soft as if not to break the delicate energy in the room. “I should go pay-”

  “Let me, I’m already soaked. I don’t want you to get a cold.” He patted her arms before taking out his wallet and making his way down the stairs. She followed him, her heart suddenly light for the first time in six months. Sure, his words were slowly mending her heavy heart, but this act of kindness, for whatever reason, just fixed one of the biggest cracks. 

  She stepped outside on the covered porch, wrapping her arms around herself to fend off the bitter wind, as she watched him run down the paved driveway the best he could without slipping. Even in the dark, blinded by the gleam of the delivery car’s headlights, she saw him paying for her pizza and breadstick with his own, hard earned money including a tip (but it was a minute over thirty minutes so he pocketed everything except the tip again). JJ didn’t seem to notice her standing out in the cold and she didn’t realise she had walked off the porch into the pouring rain until JJ spoke up. “I thought I told you I was getting it. Now look at you, you’re completely drenched and-”

  “Kiss me.” She spoke in such a sure tone with such authority in her voice it shocked JJ. Not just because she, the girl who he thought I would have to beg to take him back, was telling him to kiss her, but the way she said it. 

  “What?” He asked, breathless. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

  “Kiss me.” She repeated, stepping closer to him. Her clothes were soaked and sticking to her uncomfortably. Her hair was sticking to her face. But none of that was noticed by her nor him. She shook from the cold, but so was JJ so he couldn’t scold her for being out here. 

 “Y/N, are you sure-” JJ started but she cut him off as she took another step closer to him. The two pizza boxes were soggy and nearly hitting her from how close she was but JJ was too stunned to move them. Instead, he was staring into her eyes, searching for any sign of unease.   

  “I am completely and irrevocably sure, JJ,” She whispered, the sound would have been drowned out by the sound of rain hitting the pavement around them if they were not so close together and JJ wasn’t hanging off of every word she was saying. “Kiss me.” She urged, a small smile playing on her lips. 

  “But,” He looked at the pizza boxes in his hands. “The pizza-” She simply shoved the boxes out of his hand, sending the already ruined food and boxes to the ground. Pizza slices and bread sticks flew into the grass of the yard, the cardboard of the boxes breaking and ripping upon impact. 

  “It was free anyway. Kiss me.” This time, he listened. His hands slid along her jaw, angling her face up towards him as he stepped the rest of the way, his lips pressing against hers in such vigour it nearly knocked the two of them over. Eyes instantly closing, awareness slipping from their minds. Her hands instantly gripped his side, fisting the material of his jacket. His lips tasted the same, but this time she noticed a hint of unflavoured chapstick. Kie and Sarah were the masterminds behind this, Kie only ever had unflavoured chapstick. 

  Quickly, any form of thought was stripped from her mind as the kiss deepened. Both of their lips were desperate for one another. Their bodies pressed against each other as they stood there. Rain falling down on top of them, cold droplets hitting their faces, making their muscles jolt, but the kiss never broke. 

  “I had a whole speech planned-” JJ muttered against her lips, eyes opening, pulling back slightly, but she wasn’t having that. Her lips instantly fitted against his before he could say anything else, making him hum against her, his eyes closing again.  

  She could feel him pulling away to speak again, her eyes remaining shut as she spoke. “Shut up and take me inside, Maybank. You’ve said enough. Now show me.” She ordered, re-attaching their lips. 

  “Message received.” He mumbled, hands leaving her jaw as hers let go of his side. Just feeling his fingers dance over the tops of her thighs, she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist as if no time had passed. His hands stationed on her butt, he blindly carried her into the house, mouths attached, tongues exploring the all too familiar areas of each other’s mouths, and eyes closed. 

____

  Y/N groaned, pulling her lips away from JJ’s as his phone rang for what felt like the hundredth time within the hour. “JJ, could you just answer it or put it on silent?” She asked, nails dragging up and down his bare back. She was under him, her legs straddling him. The sheets were a mess, tangled around JJ’s legs while they were pulled over the pair. 

  JJ sighed, letting go of some of his weight as he let his head fall into the crook of her neck. She giggled as he placed open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder. “I think I have more important things to take care of,” He muttered as her fingers trailed up into his hair. She giggled at his ticklish kisses. The sound of the phone stopped. “See, now we can go for another round-” 

  The shrill ring started again. JJ was conscious not to put all his weight on her as he slumped more. “JJ, just answer it and get whatever it is over. Maybe it’s important.” She urged him, pulling his face from her neck. 

  “Oh, I know who it is. They are still trying to torture me, I am sure,” He groaned, lifting himself up enough so he could grab his phone, holding himself up by one arm. Y/N let her hold on his hair drop, one hand rubbing up and down the arm he kept her caged in. He plopped the phone on the bed next to them, resuming their position. She could see Kie’s name on the phone, a picture of her she took once when she stole his phone as her contact. He hit answer before clicking the speaker phone button, settling against her body once again. “What?” He asked as Y/N went back to dragging her nails up and down his muscular back. 

  “What do you mean ‘what’, Maybank,” Kie’s angry voice sounded through the phone. JJ huffed, rolling his eyes as Y/N silently giggled. “You were supposed to call us two hours ago to tell us what happened and how it went.” She scolded him. 

  “Well, we were busy.” JJ snapped, looking down at Y/N, winking. 

  “Busy for two hours? What on earth-” Sarah cut her rant off, presumably because someone gave her a hint. “Well that’s good, right? That means you guys made up?” She spoke hopefully. JJ and Y/N looked at each other, ridiculous smiles on each of their faces. 

  “It is good.” Y/N agreed, eyes consumed by JJ. 

  “So, are you dating? Are you guys feeling it out? Tell us!” Sarah pressed, sounding like a kid on christmas morning. 

  “We’re dating. Officially and not secretly.” JJ informed them. Hoping this call will end soon. Y/N found herself wishing the same thing which made her start to press kisses along his chest, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He groaned, leaning his head down to lightly bite her shoulder - trying to stay quiet. But that only egged Y/N on. 

  “Say,” Pope’s voice popped up over the phone, pausing for a second. “You two aren’t in bed naked by any chance, are you?” He posed the question, most likely knowing the answer to it already. 

  “I think you already know the answer to that, Buddy.” John B spoke for JJ and Y/N.

  “What JB said.” JJ pulled his mouth away from Y/N’s shoulder. A chorus of disgusted noises and complaints left their friends.

  “How are you not grossed out by this, John B?” Kie questioned, her nose turned up. 

  “I told you not to call him! I told you they would be busy!” He defended himself as JJ hit the end call button, smacking his phone off the bed carelessly.

  “Another round?”

  “Another round.” He answered, lips crashing against hers as he settled his weight on her just enough to earn a hum from her.                

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

It’s Sunday! How’d that happen again so soon?

Here’s a little more from my Time Travel WIP, Back and Back and Back. Keeping the name, since I got a lot of positive feedback on it. As a reminder, this story features an older Simon who travels back in time and visits with a young Baz throughout his childhood. At some point, I might start worrying about sharing all the good bits on Tumblr before I’ve actually started posting this thing. Then again, I always love seeing tons of snippets in advance as a reader. Gets me hyped for when the thing finally gets published. So here you go!

“So,” he says, folding his legs in and scooting around to sit cross legged to face me. “Catch me up. What’s been going on lately?”

“Well, I’ve been taking tennis lessons at the club this summer. And Father gave me a violin for my eleventh birthday,” I remind him. “So I’ve been taking lessons for that, too. I’ve only been playing for six months but I quite like it.”

“Wait,” he puts his hands up. “You’re eleven now?”

I nod.

“So you’re starting at Watford soon?”

“I leave tomorrow,” I say quietly, pulling my knees up and hugging them to my chest.

It’s how I knew he’d come. He always comes when something important is happening. I prepared the [redacted] three days ago, and have been out here everyday, waiting.

He starts to smile, though it falters a bit. He forces it back in place, though it looks strained.

“That’s great, Baz.”

I feel the corners of my mouth tweak up. I’ve gotten quite used to his nickname for me over the years. I think I might even start using it with other people, when I get to school.

I’m loving writing these past bits. I’ve yet to find the rhythm of the parts in the present, though. Setting things up and having to wait for the conflict or character connections is always the least fun part of writing though. At least for me. Hopefully, I’ll hit my stride soon. Wish me luck!

Tags, tag backs, etc. I’m still working my way through posts from this last week, but I continue to love seeing all you guys are sharing! @whatevertheweather @cutestkilla @artsyunderstudy @emeryhall @whogaveyoupermission @thewholelemon @facewithoutheart @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @aristocratic-otter @hushed-chorus @roomwithanopenfire @monbons @noblecorgi @forabeatofadrum @that-disabled-princess @youarenevertooold @prettygoododds @ileadacharmedlife @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ic3-que3n @wellbelesbian @run-for-chamo-miles @rimeswithpurple @best--dress @mooncello @blackberrysummerblog @iamamythologicalcreature @valeffelees @orange-peony @angelsfalling16 @raenestee and anyone else who’d like to share!

[janicho88]

I Got You - Chapter 4

Pairing- Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female!Reader

Word count- 2,225

Warnings- Language, mentions of domestic violence, injuries, and abuse, abusive boyfriend, hurt reader, protective Jake. If I missed something, please let me know.

A/N- Before we get any further into this, there will be a few differences from the movie. Ice was sick, but beat it, the aviators are there for a six-week training, not three. I'm sure there are going to be Naval inaccuracies. This one has been sitting in my WIP since last fall. First Jake story, I hope I can do him justice. The first few chapters will be a little heavy, but we will move past that. Thank you to @slightly-psycho-multifan for beta'ing!

Summary- When you have finally reached a breaking point, you call the one person you trust for help. He’s never seen you as more than a friend, but he is the person you know you’re safest with.  It’s been months since he has had so much as a text from you, but Jake Seresin would do anything for the Navy princess he met years ago.  The pilot knows she means more to him than he ever will to her, but he will do anything for her.

Series Masterlist

Unsurprisingly, it’s the quickest you have fallen asleep in a long time.  Sometime during the short night, you moved over closer to Jake.  It’s the weight across his chest that stirs him from the little sleep he has gotten.  It takes a minute for everything to register back with him, and what he felt was your casted arm moving across his chest as you curled into his side.  Taking a glance at his phone on the table to check how much time he has before his alarm goes off the exhausted aviator sees 6:40 glares back at him.

He yawns as he closes his eyes once more. 6:40, okay I just have to be in the briefing room at 7, I’ve still got twenty minutes, he thinks to himself.

“Shit,” he hollers while quickly sitting up.  His alarm should have gone off at 6, he must have forgotten to set it with everything else going on last night.  At Least he remembered to plug in his phone. 

His shout has you jerking awake and cowering away from the noise.  Jake immediately feels guilty when he sees the worry in your eyes. Then he notices you holding your wrist.  That was the arm you had draped over him, and he must have aggravated it when he shot up so fast.

“I’m sorry darling, I shouldn’t have done that.  I forgot to set my alarm, I have to get going before I’m late.”

While he rushes into the bathroom, you sit in bed trying to calm your racing heart. He comes back out in his boxers and a black sleeveless shirt.  Grabbing a green flight suit off his dresser, he starts talking to you as he stumbles into it. 

“I’ve got to get to base. I’m sorry, but I don't think there’s much here for food other than what we picked up yesterday. We should get some kind of a break for lunch, I’ll grab something and bring it back for you.  I’ll drop your prescriptions off then.  I shut your phone off last night, just in case there was any tracking app on there.  I will check it over later before you turn it back on.  I’ll go grab the motrin, you might want to take one to help calm the wrist back down.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt it.”

Your brain is too foggy to quickly grasp everything he is throwing out at you. When it all catches up, you just nod.

“It’s still early, after you take some medicine, why don’t you try and get a little more sleep.”

You try to respond, but your throat is pretty sore, so you just nod.

He disappears out the door, and is back a few minutes later with pills, a bottle of water and the crackers from last night.

“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach.  Help yourself to anything in the house.  Keep the door locked, and I will be back as soon as I can alright, darlin?”

“Alright.  Thanks Jake,” you whisper out.  The water helps coat your throat, but time will probably be the best remedy.

There are two stop lights between Jake’s house and base, and he manages to hit them both red.  Pulling in the first empty park he finds, he grabs his bag and is racing inside.  There is no running inside the buildings, so he is speed walking to the locker room to throw the bag on top of the lockers.  No time to mess with getting the locker open right now.  Then down the hall to the briefing room.       

Jake pauses before he opens the door taking a deep breath, he slips into Hangman.  A mask of arrogance he has perfected over the years.  Very few truly see the real Jake. Standing tall he opens the door and heads inside.

“Hangman.” Maverick calls out from the front of the room. “So good of you to join us this morning.”

Jake takes a quick inventory of available seats, and finds the only empty row is his usual spot up front. He doesn’t say anything as he walks up the aisle.

“Can you tell me the time Lieutenant?” Maverick questions. 

Stopping at his seat Jake glances down at his watch.  “7:05 sir.”

“Your watch works, so what is your excuse for arriving late?”

“I don’t have one sir.”

He can hear the snickers of his fellow aviators.  A few of them are thrilled to see him in trouble. 

“You don’t have one?”

“No sir.”

“Tardiness is not rewarded, or tolerated,” a voice from behind Jake says, “you’ll sit out the morning hop, Lieutenant.”

Hangman turns around to face his superior.  “Yes sir Admiral.”  Of course Cyclone had to be in here already.   

Maverick picks apart their dog fights from yesterday, before telling them he expects better today.  The pilots are dismissed to change into their flight gear.  Jake doesn’t bother putting his on since he won’t be flying yet, then they move to the ready room.  The first group is in the air when Coyote comes over.  

“Man, what happened this morning.”

“I didn’t set my alarm.  Won’t happen again.”

“How could you forget that?”

“Had a long night.”

“Did you even get her name this time?”

Hangman rolls his eyes at his friend, “wasn’t that kinda night.”

“Well then…”

Jake notices Rooster and Phoenix listening in, so he quickly cuts Coyote off.  “Javy, could we please just let it go right now?”

“Fine.”  His friend gets up and moves back over to listen to the radio.

Rooster smirks just before he opens his mouth, but Hangman is ready for him too.  “Bradshaw, don’t even think about opening your mouth.”

Of course the other pilot ignores him.  “The too good to be true Hangman, finally starting to fall apart?”

“I swear Chicken, if you keep talking I will…”

“You will what Hangman?” Cyclone questions walking in.

Jake closes his eyes, quickly running his hand over his face, “Nothing sir.”

“Next two should be getting ready.  Hangman come with me.”

Jake follows the Admiral to his office, and stands at attention in front of Cyclone’s desk while the senior officer tears into him.

He leans forward in his chair to emphasize the end of his rant.  “This mission isn’t a joke Lieutenant.  If that’s the way you are going to be approaching it I should just send you back to Lemoore right now. One more toe out of line and you’re gone, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Back to the ready room, you're grounded for the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he returns, the second group is already in the air. He walks in taking a seat in the corner, doing his best to ignore everyone around him right now.  He wouldn’t be in this mess if he just remembered to set his damn alarm.  

When the last group finally lands, Maverick dismisses them for their break.

“You all have 45 minutes to grab lunch and report back to the briefing room.”

While the last group of aviators heads to the locker room to get out of their gear, Jake runs in for his phone and keys.  Heading out to his truck, he is stopped by Maverick.

“Where do you think you’re going, Hangman?”

 “I have to take care of something, I’ll be back before the briefing.”

“You’ve already demonstrated this morning you can’t be trusted to be on time, I don't think you should be leaving base right now.”

Hangman clenches his teeth in frustration, “is that an order sir?”

Maverick thinks it over for a minute.  “Yes, it is.  Get back to the mess hall.”

“Yes, sir.” 

He turns around and heads back toward the building, but stops shy of going inside.  So now he can’t pick you up anything, or take your prescriptions in.  Worse, he doesn’t have a way to get a hold of you to tell you what’s going on. 

Pacing around outside, he finally thinks of who he could ask.  He’s going to owe her big for this.  Picking up his phone, he hopes she answers.

“The Hard Deck.”

“Penny?”

“Yes, can I help you?”

“It’s Jake  Seresin.”

“You disappeared very quickly last night. I’d ask if it was the blonde, but she was still pouting in the corner when I checked.”

“Yeah, something came up.  Penny, I need a huge favor.”

“You know I’m not open yet Jake, and I can’t bring you alcohol on base.  No matter how crazy Mave drives you.”

“It’s not that exactly.  I was planning on running home during our lunch break, but now I’m stuck on base.  There’s…a…um…I…um…have…a…friend at my place.  She can’t leave right now.  Is there any way you could run her over something for lunch?  Just knock on the door, and tell her you know me, and I asked you to drop it off.”

“You could Doordash it from someplace.  I’m not a delivery service for your hookups Seresin.”

“It’s not like that.  I don’t want to send some stranger she doesn’t know coming to my house and freaking her out.”

“But you want me to go?  You could call and tell her what’s going on, and you were sending her food.”  Penny responds.

Too late Jake realizes that while you do know Penny, she can’t know that she knows the person staying with him..  You don’t want anyone to know you are here yet.

“I know you.  Please Penny, my dear.  I wouldn’t bother you if this wasn’t important.  I can’t call and tell her, her phone isn’t working.”

“Fine, because I have a few errands to run anyways.  You owe me Lieutenant.  What does she eat?”

“I know I do. How about a turkey sandwich, no onion.  Maybe a side of soup if you have it.  If you just let her know it’s there and leave it on the front porch she can grab it from there whenever.”

“Alright, I’ll get this over there in a little bit.”

“Thank you so much Penny.”  

After making sure Penny knows where she is taking it, Jake heads back inside.  He never noticed Maverick back inside watching him through the window. 

Hangman picks at his lunch, not much of an appetite even though he only grabbed a protein bar for breakfast.  Coyote tries to get him to talk about this morning, but he keeps avoiding the questions.

While the aviators are back in the briefing room with Maverick, Penny is about to pull into Jake’s driveway.  She decides at the last minute to go past and come back around.  She parks her car on the other side of the road facing Jake’s place and walks up to the front porch. 

Penny tries to peer in the windows as she moves closer to the house, but can’t see anything with the curtains pulled. This all just seems a little off to her.  Once she’s outside the front door, she can faintly make out sound coming from a tv.  Knocking on the door and ringing the bell, she waits for Jake’s guest to answer.  After a minute or two, no one comes, but Penny can no longer hear the television.

“Hello, I’m Penny.  I know Jake, or Lieutenant Serisen, he asked me to drop off some food here because he got stuck on base,” she calls out to whoever is in the house.

Curled up on the corner of Jake’s couch, you are frozen in place once the knocking starts.  You mute the movie, hoping whoever it is will go away thinking no one is home.  Then you hear the visitor call out and identify herself.

Your heartbeat starts to slow back down when you realize the person outside isn’t a direct threat, but you still don’t want her to know you are the one inside.  Penny’s friends with your mom, so there is a chance she could tell her about seeing you.  Why did Jake do this?  You could have just waited for him to get home.  Although your rumbling stomach disagrees, especially with the thought of something Penny made you.

A few more minutes go by, and you hear your favorite bartender call out again.  “Okay, well if anyone inside can hear me.  I’m going to go, but the food is sitting outside the door.”

You give it a few minutes and slowly move toward the front window and pull the curtain back slightly.  There isn’t a car in the driveway, so she must be gone already.  Moving toward the front door, you check out the peephole to be sure before unlocking it.  Sliding onto the porch you pick up the bag in your good hand before locking yourself inside once again. 

Penny is still sitting in her car, watching Jake’s front door, trying to figure out what is going on with the aviator she’s grown fond of.   It has been a few minutes and she just about gave up on anyone appearing, when a woman slowly steps out the door in a too big Navy sweatshirt, and leggings.  It looks like there is something on her left hand, and even from the road, Penny can make out bruises on her neck and face.  It isn’t until she really looks at the face before the woman slides back in the house that she realizes she is looking at Y/N Kazansky.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 5

IGY Tags

@dempy @fox-bee926 @acarboni21 @novagreen04 @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @bethbunnyy @senjoritanana @abaker74 @mygyn @lynnevanss @m-rae23 @djs8891 @supraveng @loving-and-dreaming @mayhemmanaged @kajjaka @delightfulheroshoeflap @imaginecrushes @donna-lynn

[chobani-flip]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged for tidbit tuesday by @tiltingheartand and @actuallyitsellie so I'm taking the tags as carrying over to wednesday and will be taking no objections to my impeccable logic here's three snippets for three prompt fics I'm writing for @wakeupnew @bucktheally and @apartmentsmoke (they can have fun guessing what is for whom😁)

#1

In the aftermath, they’re sitting - a little stiffly - on Tommy’s couch, taking turns sipping from six different cups (sipping in Buck’s case, anyway; he’s doing his best to avoid describing the unholy noises Tommy’s making in order to "aerate his palate") as Tommy determines if any of the coffee samplers Buck brought are worthy of being dialed in on his espresso machine. All the while, Buck’s trying not to stew in the delayed embarrassment at his own knee-jerk overreaction and hypocrisy. He’s famously tried to walk off much worse injuries in the past, and after the lightning strike, he’s extremely familiar with how it feels to want to be left in peace and quiet for a while.

#2

He raises his head and opens his mouth the smallest amount to inform Tommy of his plans, but gives up half-way through when he feels his lips come into contact with tantalizing warm skin and downy hair. It’s only been a couple of months but already his body has adopted new unconscious rituals, automated motions; like grabbing the largest plate out of the cupboard for Tommy when they have croissants for breakfast because he likes to unravel them in a spiral and fling flakes all over the kitchen island, or like now when his lips make contact with Tommy’s skin, and the new directive his body obeys without thinking is to kiss, caress, taste…

#3

Evan Buckley arrived in his life on the wings of a Category 5 hurricane. Everything else follows from that. 

At least that’s how Tommy rationalizes the frankly insane decisions he’s found himself making in Evan’s presence and under the influence of his gorgeous blue eyes and smart smiling mouth. 

After the shitstorm that was the end of his last long relationship, Tommy was careful with his heart in a way that he never felt the need to be in any other aspect of his life. And yet with Evan, he found himself agreeing to meet his family after a single failed date, and asking the 90 engine driver to drop him off at the hospital to try to make it, and deciding to risk exploding his kitchen by experimenting with new recipes because Evan was coming over for dinner, and last time Tommy was over at Eddie’s, Chris mentioned how much Evan liked caramel sauce and then showed him a TikTok where a credible abuela insisted you can make the perfect dulce de leche every time out of condensed milk if you boil it in an unopened can.

all of these may be subject to change but MIGHT be ready before the episode tomorrow? anyone else who feels like it, consider yourself tagged, tag me and show me your fic snippets *grabby hands*

[socialmediasocrates]

MITZIE AND THE THINGS SHE FOUND IN THE RIVER; a wip intro

(intro graphics by @veneritia)

Genre: new adult, urban fantasy

Tropes: Cloudcuckoolander, But for Me, It Was Tuesday, Her Boyfriend's Jacket, Non-Linear Character, Red String of Fate, Necromancer, Child of Forbidden Love, Anthropomorphic Personification, Revenant Zombie, Interactive Narrator

5 Song Playlist: Inkpot Gods, Bulletproof Heart, The Last of the Real Ones, Call Your Mom, Breath of Life

TL;DR: Keyesville, PA's got a serial killer, and it's up to "undergrad" witch Mitzie Morse and yoga instructor Khalil Bashir to stop them.

Summary:

For six months, Mitzie Morse has been pulling murder victims out of the river.

She gets them fixed up, so she figures it's not really a big deal, but there's definitely a serial killer on the loose. One who's ramped up their activity lately, a pattern of escalation in both violence and frequency of killings that would give anyone other than Mitzie some pause. Necromancers have a dysfunctional relationship with reality. Someone has to remind them that death is scary for most people, or they forget. Luckily (for Keyesville, not Mitzie) the latest victim, burnt out physical therapist turned yoga instructor Khalil Bashir, is happy to remind her that she has the power to stop these killings once and for all. Unluckily (for Keyesville, for Mitzie, and mostly for Khalil) a quirk of fate and magic has bound the two of them together. Doubly unluckily (for Keyesville, for Khalil, and mostly for Mitzie), the killer has set their sights on a new target: Mitzie Morse.

Characters

Mitzie Morse

like all necromancers, mitzie has a sense of style kindly described as "macabre" and accurately described as "fucking gross." dir en grey, gazette, and my chemical romance posters war with gruesome anatomical diagrams of creatures ranging from humans to unicorns to, somehow, dodo birds for wall space. her kitchen cabinets are home to a collection of mismatched thrifted cups, plates, and bowls, an ancient, somewhat decrepit, rice cooker, and an array of body parts preserved in mason jars. the colorful ones your least favorite high school classmates use for drinks in their instagram posts.

[…]

"i think he might need a new left eye." she takes a step back to survey her handiwork. "maybe a couple toes and fingers, too. do i still have toes and fingers?"

unfortunately, the answer to that is yes. they're in the pantry, next to the box of gushers. the one that's already open, not the unopened one on the top shelf. kind of wedged between the gushers and the canned ravioli. yep, she's found them. she's never explained why she keeps them in there, to me or anyone, at least not in a way that i'm willing to accept.

"i told you, there's not enough space in the cabinets."

there would be plenty of space if she got rid of all the novelty cups.

"i don't want to get rid of my novelty cups."

she should, they're grungy in the gross way.

Khalil Bashir

"who are you?"

anyway, the yoga instructor, khalil, is up.

he's still sitting on mitzie's kitchen table, the blanket she threw over him folded over itself in his lap. he's twisting around, trying to figure out where he is (you're in mitzie's apartment, i just said that) and where i am (everywhere all at once, but i'm incorporeal so you can stop looking).

"who are you? who the fuck is mitzie?" he's got that high-pitched edge to his voice that people get when they're panicking. unfortunate.

"hello?"

oh. right. i'm stevie.

[…]

"what is this?" he holds the gift card out from himself like it's going to bite him.

"a twenty five dollar gift card!" mitzie stares at khalil. khalil stares back at mitzie. this goes on long enough that she decides to elaborate, "you know, for your trouble."

he looks like he'd like to say something but isn't fully certain what he wants to say or how he wants to say it. this is a common reaction to mitzie. she does tend to just open her mouth and say things. khalil opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens his mouth, then closes it. he looks at the gift card. he looks at mitzie. he looks at the gift card. he sighs, shakes his head, and stuffs it in a pocket.

"why did you settle on twenty five dollar gift cards?"

"i dunno, it seemed fair."

"right."

khalil's been having the longest day known to man for two and a half weeks.

Fatima Bashir

fatima is one of those unspeakably fashionable people that makes everything she wears look good. even, more than occasionally, dog vomit.

see, much like her brother burnt out on the whole "living in philly and fighting the demon in the homeless man outside the wawa for his life every time he wanted a hoagie" life, fatima got tired of having to sit through putting people's dogs to sleep for eighteen dollars an hour and no health insurance. so khalil's a yoga instructor, and fatima owns keyesville's first doggie daycare. somehow, her perfect manicures never get too fucked up.

"any news on khalil?" asks the office worker, passing a tupperware container of cookies across the counter. this is the fifth time today that someone has asked this. it is seven in the morning.

"not yet, but we're staying optimistic. thanks for the cookies; mom loved the last ones." it's true that her mom loved the cookies, but it's not true that she's thankful for them.

Johnny ???

"so, what's up with the mcdonald's napkins?" khalil is sitting extremely inadvisably unbuckled in the back of the van.

"no clue." two sharp turns and a hard stop at a red light. johnny sips his cucumber water placidly while everyone behind him climbs back into their seats. "gotta take 'em somewhere in oklahoma, though."

"how do you know that?"

"no clue."

johnny is a mystery wrapped in an enigma lodged in a mound of horse shit. you'll recall that his previous identity was cursed or something, so he turned it over to edna in exchange for the first of many mcdonald's napkins and a broken magic guitar. some garage sale special of unknown make, black paint flaking off the wood everywhere, strings curling around the pegboard like medusa's snakes. it doesn't matter how many times he changes the strings, or what he does when he changes them, they will always break as soon as he plays them, and the only song the guitar will reliably play is the mysterious one written on the mcdonald's napkins he keeps finding everywhere.

@seasteading ; @writinglyra ; @asablehart ; @zorya-km ; @silent-creed ; @cheshawrites ; @thewritersplace

[verfound]

WIP Wednesday: 08.21.2024

Mostly better, and the next chapter of A Thousand Words is almost done. Hopping back six years to the time Juleka and Rose ended up in the photobooth... 👀

When Juleka didn’t say anything else, Marinette just smiled and waved before running over to her seat, and Juleka sighed as she started climbing the steps to her own. She sat down and started pulling her books out, but there was an odd feeling that made her pause a moment later.

It wasn’t the same odd that had been plaguing her all morning. This was…a prickling. Like the feeling of eyes on the back of your neck. Or…

She slowly turned her head and glanced up from her books, her eyebrows lifting as she saw the girl sitting beside her. She…she wasn’t new. She couldn’t be new. They…they hadn’t had a new student since the first day of school, when everyone was new.  Or…no.  Chloé had started a few days after everyone else, but she had been in New York visiting her mom or something.  It didn’t really count.  So the girl next to her had always been sitting there, right? Except Juleka would have sworn she’d been sitting alone at the desk the past month…

The girl was leaning onto the desk, her chin propped up on a hand and a wide smile on her face. Large, doll-like blue eyes glittered at her from an elfin face framed by short blonde hair, and she was…she was so…pink. Juleka tried not to shudder at that. She’d never seen so much pink on one person before — even Marinette balanced it out with neutrals.

The girl was just…staring at her. It was creepy, and Juleka was well-versed in creepy. It was her whole aesthetic, after all. This was just…unnerving.

“Good morning,” she finally said, her voice as high and airy as her otherworldly features. Juleka blinked and looked back at her books, her face warmer than it had been a second ago.

“Um…hey,” she mumbled. The girl giggled and scooted a little closer. Juleka tensed as she leaned in.

“Isn’t it just a glorious day?” she whispered, like the nice weather out was some kind of big, national secret. “I hope we don’t have an akuma today. Oh, it’s entirely too nice for an akuma! I’m in such a good mood today, and an akuma would just ruin everything. Don’t you think?”

“Ah…” Juleka said, glancing back at her. “I…I guess?”

It’s not like they could actually control the akumas. They tended to just…pop up.

“Do you know why it’s such a good day?” the girl continued, scooting even closer. Juleka tensed, her eyes sliding to the side to glance at her. She was getting too close now. The girl blinked, her smile slipping a fraction of a moment, before it came back in full force. “Sorry, sorry. Not good day — great day! Glorious day! Absolutely wonderful, fantastic, splendiferous —”

“What’s so great about it?” Juleka asked, turning to her. She had a feeling if she didn’t cut her off the girl would just…go on forever.

…shoot. What was her name, anyway? She should know her name, right? She had to. They’d been siting next to each other for almost two months — how did she not know her name?

“How could it not be the best day ever?” the girl asked, blinking those too-wide, innocent eyes at her. She leaned in again, her voice low as she continued. “I have it on very good authority that, last night, I met my soulmate!”

…what.

The girl just kept smiling at her, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction, but…Juleka didn’t know what kind of reaction she was waiting for. Was she supposed to be happy for her? Juleka didn’t see how — the girl was clearly crazy. At least…soulmates were crazy, right? For someone like Juleka, who had been raised by someone like Anarka Couffaine, soulmates were definitely crazy.

“…um…yay?” she hazarded after a moment, but the girl just giggled like the absolute crazy person she was and opened her mouth to —

“Rose! Juleka!” Mlle. Bustier called from the front of the room, and they both jumped as they turned to the front. “I’m glad you two are getting along so well, but can we please start class? If you don’t mind?”

Juleka nodded and sunk down in her seat, her face burning as their classmates snickered around them. Beside her, the girl — Rose — just giggled louder.

“Sorry!” she said, scooting back over to her side of the desk. “We’ll be quiet now! Promise!”

Juleka glanced over at her, her face burning hotter when Rose winked at her.

She was so weird.

…she kind of liked it.

[weepingfromacedartree]

Surviving the AO3 Drought

Hi friends!

We're coming up on almost an entire day of AO3 being down. Since I'm sure most of you are like me and going insaneee with the blackout, I wanted to share this incredibly ROUGH draft of chap 1 of my current Polin WIP for anyone desperate for content.

A few warnings:

This fic is nowhere NEAR being done (emphasis on this being a ROUGH draft). It will most likely be a few months until I start posting the finished chapters.

This chapter (and the fic in general) deals with issues like grief and neglectful parenting, so TW for anyone who might not want to read about that.

Most of this chapter depicts Penelope and Colin as children. It was annoying to write. Might be annoying to read. I promise, they're teens/adults in all future chapters.

I do not condone children taking in stray cats and keeping them as pets. This fic is not meant to be a tutorial of any sort.

Ok if I didn't scare you off... please enjoy!!

Chapter 1: First Pet

Today: April 29th, 2023

Relationship Status: Dating (Semi-Secretly)

꙳

“Gregory just texted to ask if we’re dating. I didn’t think he had my number.” 

“That little arsehole probably sent it to himself when he stole my phone.”

It’s Saturday. Penelope and Colin are sitting on the floor of his flat, a few containers of chinese food littered between them. It’s not a particularly unusual setting to find either one of them on a Saturday night. However, some things are different now. 

Two weeks ago, they would not have been playing footsie. Not this shamelessly, at least. 

“I assumed that Eloise’s ‘vow of secrecy’ would involve her immediately telling Benedict… And that Benedict would tell Anthony… And that Anthony would tell Kate… But I don’t know how the rumour managed to spread to Cambridge in…” She glances down to her phone again. “Six hours flat.” 

“‘Rumour?’” he echos, a smirk on his face. “Surely, you’re not trying to keep this sordid love affair hidden from me as well.”

“‘Sordid?’ God, Colin. You make us sound so dirty.” She kicks his foot away, turning her attention back to the shrimp fried rice. “And I’m not trying to keep it from anyone. We both knew what would happen the second I told El.” 

“Frankly, I’m surprised Greg didn’t text you sooner.”

Colin tries fixing his attention on the kung pao chicken in hand, but it unsurprisingly wanders. 

“So… What are you gonna tell him?” 

Penelope quirks an eyebrow, a look of uncertainty making a quick appearance on her face. 

“Well… I was going to hold him in suspense a little while longer. Maybe take the ‘no comment’ approach at first. Then — I don’t know — the truth?”

“Which is?”

Colin watches as uncertainty turns to downright confusion. 

“Yes?”

Internally, Penelope wonders if Colin is teasing, or if there has been a miscommunication of monumental proportions between them. The look on his face confounds her, though. Neither option seems to be the correct one. 

“‘Dating’ is a bit too casual a word for us, I think.” 

Penelope’s confusion fades away as a familiar tingling sensation lights up her stomach. 

“It’s only been a week. What do you suggest we call —”

“We should get married.” 

“What!?”

He’s teasing. He’s teasing. He’s —

“I said we should get married.” 

Penelope waits for him to expand on this insane notion, but all she gets is that smug little smirk. 

“Okay. Why?”

“Why does anyone get married?” Colin says matter-of-factly. “I love you. I wish to continue loving you forever and ever. Ergo, marriage.” 

“This isn’t funny.” 

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“It —”

“It was a proposal.”

“Colin.” She uses the sternest voice she can manage to muster up, which happens to be quite shrill at the moment. 

“Pen.” At least he has the decency to drop that stupid smirk. He also drops his kung pao chicken, leaning forward to place a hand on her knee. 

“Just, think about it for a moment. We didn’t meet a week ago, we just finally said the thing we should have told each other a decade ago — at least. I’ve been in love with you forever. ‘Dating’ you just feels like an unnecessary step to the rest of forever.” 

Penelope feels at war with herself. At her core, she is sensible. Logical. Reasonable. She knows — objectively — that skipping straight from friendship to marriage is illogical and senseless. 

But is it truly reasonless?

At her core, Penelope is also a romantic. A willing fool. An idealist against her better judgement. And in her heart, she holds twenty years worth of love for Colin. Would it really be so crazy —

Shaking her head ever so slightly, Penelope tentatively — regretfully — brushes his hand off her knee. At the loss of her touch, Colin’s lip juts out in a pout. 

“People date for a reason. It’s an institution — it has a purpose. It’s like a test run for marriage. Different than friendship. Teaches you different things about a person — things that set you up for a successful lifetime together.” 

“Friendship is not so different than dating. At least, not the way we did it.” 

“Colin —”

“You’re right, Pen. Dating is like a trial period where you decide whether or not the person you love is suitable enough to spend the next lifetime beside. You —”

“Do I really sound that unromantic?” she interrupts. Something about hearing her words on his lips makes them sound so clear. 

Colin laughs. “I think pragmatic is the word you’re looking for. But seriously, can you name a single thing you don’t know or feel unsure about me as a partner, after twenty years of friendship? What’s holding you back, Pen?”

Nothing. That’s the truth. There’s not a single thing about Colin that she feels unsure of. Not anymore.

But still… Even if there love has lasted decades, that sense of assuredness has only existed between them for a week. She’s spent more time wrestling on whether or not to cut bangs (and the answer always ends up being not). 

Still…

“Let’s consult the experts.” His words break her from the daze Penelope hadn’t realised she fell into. In those few measly seconds, Colin’s eyes broke away from hers and has rested on the phone gripped in both of his hands. 

“What are you doing?” she asks him. Her voice sounds far away. 

Colin taps something on his phone, out of view from Penelope’s curious eyes. Then he clears his throat. 

“Ten milestones every couple should celebrate before walking down the aisle,” he reads aloud. “Number One: Your First —”

“What are you doing?” Penelope asks again. This time, a laugh escapes her lips as she does so. Something about the seriousness on Colin’s face reminds her of the absolute absurdity of this situation. That it is a joke, even if it was intended as such. 

“I know you think this is all very funny, but I’m being serious. I know you better than anyone else in the world — you know me better than I know myself! I have loved you more than half my life and spent so much time delaying the inevitable. Why waste any more of our time by ‘dating’ one another? It just seems silly.” 

Colin stops ranting briefly, as if to allow Penelope to get her rebuttal in before he has the chance to make his point. When she stays silent, she can’t help but notice a hint of a smile crawl back up his otherwise serious face. 

“And while I know the romantic in you is buzzing to say yes and run down to city hall right now, I know the realist in you needs some convincing.” He briefly holds up his phone to display the article he pulled up. “So we will go through this list, which details everything you need to accomplish during the dating stage of a relationship. If, at the end, we realise that we checked off every single to-do item while we were still just friends, we will make the reasonable decision to get married.” 

If there’s one thing Charming Colin Bridgerton can do, it’s make a convincing argument. The realistic and romantic on each of Penelope’s shoulders suddenly go quiet.

“And where exactly did you find this scholarly article you are basing such a life-altering decision on?” 

He looks down. 

“TheMarriageExpert.blogspot.com” 

“Colin!” 

“They’re an expert, Pen!” 

After her giggles finally let up, Penelope sighs. He has convinced her to play more tedious games before…

“Fine. You have yourself a deal, Bridgerton. What’s first on that list of yours?” 

Finally, that serious expression on his face drops completely. He grins at her in that way that always makes Penelope’s heart skip a beat. 

“Number One: Your First Pet As a Couple,” he reads aloud. “During the course of your marriage, you and your partner will come to share many things together. Finances, homes, memories, and a million other things you cannot even begin to fathom now. A pet will help you prepare for those shared responsibilities. It will teach you both about the importance of…”

As Colin continues reading, a frown pulls at the tips of Penelope’s lips. When he finishes, she attempts to cover her disappointment with a shallow laugh. 

“Game over, I guess.” 

His eyebrow arches. “Pardon?” 

“We’ve never shared a pet, so…”

Colin’s mouth falls open. He pulls his free hand to his chest, underscoring the aghast look on his face. 

“Pen… Did Mr. Whiskers mean nothing to you?”

-------------------------------------------------------

Twenty Years Earlier: July 21st, 2003

Relationship Status: Sister’s Best Friend // Best Friend’s Brother

꙳

How did I get here again?

It’s Monday. The first real day of summer holiday. For most kids, that means the start of freedom. Six weeks of fun, followed by real life crashing down on them when the fall term begins. But for Penelope, it means the loss of structure. For six weeks, it is up to her to determine how — and more importantly, where — she spends her time. 

She didn’t want to spend it at home. Not this morning, at least. So she went to Grosvenor Square. 

At just eight years old, there aren’t many places Penelope can run off to unaccompanied. Even the Square, just two blocks away from her home, is hard to get away with. Her mum only allowed it because she was under the impression that Eloise would be joining her — that between Penelope’s sense and Eloise’s toughness, the two girls would be safe in the nearby park. But when Penelope ran across the street, she learned from Anthony that Eloise was not available for a morning stroll in the square. 

She could have just gone back home, but she really, really didn’t want to. So she went to Grosvenor Square. Alone. 

She was walking around the park, careful not to step on any cracks in the concrete. She moved to the grass when she realised that everyone was walking around her (even for an eight-year-old, her legs are rather short); she did not want to pull too much attention to herself and have someone question where her parents are. 

She was listening. To the birds chirping. To the nearby traffic. Mostly, to the people. 

Two teenagers were fighting. She was mad, he was sorry. She said something about him cheating, but after that, their shouts turned to whispers and Penelope couldn’t make out the rest. She wondered what type of exam he could have cheated on.

A little white dog barked at her. His owner looked apologetic. 

A neighbour of hers walked past her, pushing a stroller. Penelope thought about hiding behind the nearest tree, certain that Mrs. Abernathy would notice her and say something. Thankfully though, the baby started crying and distracted her. 

Just as Penelope was about to turn the corner and listen into the couple’s fight again, she had heard something different. 

“Meow.”

She thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she walked over to the nearest bush to investigate, a two giant blue eyes stared back at her. 

Oh, right. 

Penelope looks down at the kitten currently sleeping in her arms. 

He had white fur with little patches of black around his ears and nose. His whiskers were long — so long that they didn’t look like they were placed on the right cat. He was so small and scrawny — Penelope couldn’t tell if he was actually a kitten, or just a cat who spent too much time with too little food in his stomach. 

Without a collar or any family in sight (she had spent over an hour looking for them), Penelope decided to take him home. She spent 20 minutes taking the 10-minute walk home. She slowed her steps. She took unnecessary turns and waited too long before crossing crosswalks. She held the kitten tightly to her chest, shielded slightly by the nest she made out of her yellow cardigan. She practised what she would say to her mum. 

“Penelope. Anne. Featherington. Get that rodent out of my house!” 

It had not gone well. Although, even before she landed back on the front steps of her home, Penelope had suspected that there was nothing she could say that could convince her mum to let them keep him. 

She followed her mother’s instructions, fleeing from her house with the kitten in hand. Penelope didn’t have much of a plan once she hit the pavement outside, but like they so often do, she found her feet walking in the direction of the home across the street. But they stopped before they could reach it. 

Ever since Mr. Bridgerton died last summer, Penelope’s mum had warned her about showing up at their house unannounced. There are eight fatherless children in that house now — the youngest of which never even got to meet her father. They have enough going on as it is. 

They have enough going on as it is, she repeats again and again. 

That’s how she got here. Sitting on the edge of the pavement outside the Bridgerton household, a cat sleeping soundly in her lap. 

“It’s gonna be okay, buddy,” she tells him. She wonders if the kitten can sense the hesitance in her voice. 

Silently, Penelope wonders what the right thing to do is. Where the right place to go is. The first place she thinks of is an animal shelter. Surely, that is the most logical place to bring a lost kitten to. They would know how to take care of him, how to find him a home with people who want him. The only problem is that Penelope does not know of any actual animal shelters in Mayfair.

The second place she thinks of is the fire station down the street. Firefighters save cats, don’t they? Or was that —

“Pen?” 

Colin, her mind registers before she even has the chance to turn around. When she finally does, she attempts to smile, while also shielding the contraband from his view. Colin, in turn, throws her his usual smile — bright and true. The one that always manages to make Penelope’s stomach flip over inside herself. It does so now, even with the fresh sting of disappointment still welling up inside her. 

“Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to —” 

“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to the kitten she clearly failed at hiding away from him. Before she has the chance to answer, he sits down beside her on the curb.

“I found him in Grosvenor Square. He was all alone and I didn’t know where else to go…” Her voice trails off, once again contemplating what a responsible person would do next in this situation. 

“You gonna keep him?”

“No.” Disappointment is evident in her voice. “Mum won’t let me. She hates cats.” 

Penelope takes her eyes off the kitten to look up at Colin. While only two years older that her, he stands nearly a head above her (he’s tall for his age — she’s short for her’s). Even sitting, she has to tilt her head up just to look him in the eyes. As usual, his brown mop of a haircut hangs so low that it covers his eyes somewhat, but Penelope can still see the blue-green colour peaking through. She’s always quite liked that colour. 

Colin tilts towards her a few inches, then raises his hand to gently pet the kitten’s head. “I’d take him, but mum and Daph are both allergic.” 

Penelope can feel her eyes go wide. Mr. Bridgerton was allergic to hornets…

“Not that kind of allergic,” he reassures her, seemingly reading her mind. “They won’t, like, die or anything. Their skin will just get all red and scratchy if he gets anywhere near them.” 

“Oh — sorry. I should just go.” Pulling the kitten out of Colin’s grasp, Penelope stands. She starts to turn away from him, but is once again reminded that she has no idea where she is supposed to go. 

“Wait — no. Where are you gonna take him?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Where are you supposed to take stray cats?” 

He shrugs. “I dunno.” 

“Okay. I —”

“But I have an idea.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The Bridgertons live on a gold mine. Metaphorically. Literally, they live on nearly an acre of land in the middle of Mayfair. Their back garden is massive compared to the neighbours that surround them, a feat that is only possible due to the home being passed down from one Bridgerton to the next for so many generations. That’s the same reason Penelope’s family is still able to reside in the house across the street, but their garden is not nearly as sprawling. 

“Where are we going?” 

She and Colin hadn’t gone through his house, rather, they went around it. Now, he leads her towards the very back of the estate, a few steps ahead, one hand on the wall to their left. His index finger traces the cracks between the stones. 

“Have some patience, Pen.” 

“I — I do.” And she does. Usually. Usually, Penelope is a remarkably patient girl. Well-mannered. Quiet. She usually wears those attributes on her shoulders like a uniform. But for some reason, they tend to slip away from her whenever Colin is near. 

Penelope’s eyes flick right, towards Colin’s family home. It seems purposeful, that they’re walking along the shadows of this wall. 

“Is Eloise home yet?” she asks, for no other reason than to fill the silence between them. Usually, Penelope prefers such silence. But not right now. 

“Uh, no. Ben took her into the city for her, uh… Her doctor appointment. They usually don’t get back until supper time.” 

Out of Colin’s view, she nods. For the past year — ever since Mr. Bridgerton died — Eloise has been seeing a doctor in the city pretty regularly. Penelope’s mum told her to never ask any follow up questions about these visits… but silently, she’s always questioned what type of doctor is able to fix an ailment like heartbreak. 

“Are you doing anything for the summer holiday?” she asks, another attempt to just fill the silence. She already knows the answer. They always travel up to Aubrey Hall for at least a week, this time of year. Always. 

“Nah. Just staying here, I guess.” 

“Oh.” Dread appears suddenly and sits heavily in Penelope’s stomach. Mr. Bridgerton died at Aubrey Hall last August. Of course they’re not eager to return.  “Us too.” 

“Cool. I’ll see you around then.”

She feels her cheeks instantly flush. “Yeah. Cool,” she says, hoping her voice does not expose the growing warmth on her skin. 

Without a word, Colin breaks away from the stone wall beside them and walks towards a particularly dense cluster of trees. When Penelope follows, she finds Colin standing next to something she’s never seen before, despite the many years she’s spent playing with Eloise in this yard. It’s a wooden shed of sorts. It’s wide and just about as tall as Penelope. 

“What is that?” 

“Some old shed. I dunno… I think they used to store firewood in here, back in the olden days.” He kicks open the latch with his foot. “Empty now, though. I don’t think anyone else remembers it’s here.” 

“So…” 

“So, your cat could live here.” 

Penelope looks down. At some point in the last few minutes, she had somehow forgotten the kitten held tightly against her chest. She had forgotten her whole point in being here. 

“Oh! Right. That’s, um…” 

She steals another glance at the shed. It certainly does look like it was last used during the “olden times.” 

“That’s really kind. But how would he — how would that work?” 

“We get him a bed, milk, food… Everything a cat needs to survive.”

Penelope’s brow furrows. “Those things cost money…”

Colin shrugs. “I’ll steal a $20 out of Anthony’s wallet.” A smile erupts on his face when he sees shock overtake Penelope’s. He didn’t know a child could open their mouth that wide. “Kidding — I’ll just tell him I’m sad. He’ll probably hand me a $20 and tell me to go fix my feelings with ice cream.” 

“Oh — okay. But…” Her mind stalls, searching for another flaw in his logic to voice aloud. There are just so many to choose from. “Mum always says we can’t get a pet cause they’re too much responsibility. You have to take care of them, feed them, make sure —” 

“Hey — we’re both very responsible people. I help keep Greg alive, and that kid thinks licking an electrical socket is a fun pastime. If I can do that, keeping a cat alive will be nothing.” 

“So we would, um…” She steals another glance at the shed before them. She can’t help but look at it and see a cage. “We would just lock him in there all day?”

“No!” He says quickly, a bit nervously. “We’ll keep the door open — or I could even cut a cat-sized hole in the side. You know, so he can come and go as he pleases.” 

“But if he’s able to leave that easily… Won’t he get lost again?” 

“No. If I know anything about cats, it’s that if you feed them, they’ll always find their way back to you. And since you found him hanging out in Grosvenor Square, clearly he’s an outside cat, not an inside cat.”

Penelope looks down at the kitten again. His attention has turned away from her; his round eyes dart back and forth wildly as he takes in all the space around them.

“I thought only strays went outside.” 

“No. A cat can have a home and not want to stay cooped up in at all day long.” Colin takes another step towards her. He raises his hand and scratches behind the kitten’s ear, who immediately starts purring. “Clearly, this little badass wants to roam free.” 

Yet again, Penelope can feel her cheeks burn pink. She’s lived in London her entire life, she’s heard words far worse than “badass” a million times before — but never from Colin’s lips. In fact, the two of them had never really been alone like this before. He was her best friend’s brother — a friend of sorts, but tangentially so. He was only ever in Penelope’s company through her friendship with Eloise. She isn’t used to having this much of his attention on her. 

“Here.” After what feels like hours, she pulls the kitten away from her chest and nearly shoves him into Colin’s. “He seems to really like you.” 

“Oh — okay.” Unsurprisingly — and annoyingly quickly — the kitten settles into his arms. Clearly, Colin’s natural charm works on animals just as well as it does on people. 

Colin finally takes his eyes off of hers, turning around to show the kitten what could be his new home. With his gaze finally off her, Penelope’s mind flushes with panic. With words she had brushed off just moments before. Colin offering to spend his own money. To cut a hole in the shed. To take care of the cat, himself. 

He has enough going on as it is. 

Penelope looks up to see Colin setting the tiny creature down in the shed. Then, without much thought, she steps forward and takes the kitten in her arms again. 

“I’m sorry, Colin. I didn’t mean to get you wrapped up in this.” She turns away, pulling the kitten closer into her chest.  “I’ll drop him off that the fire —”

“Pen, stop.” His hand falls on her shoulder, then squeezes it once, gently. Although she is not very experienced in receiving such small physical gestures, Penelope can tell that he meant it to be reassuring. “He’ll be fine here, I promise.” 

She turns slowly. His hand drops. By the time they face each other again, her blush has almost abandoned her cheeks. Almost. 

“Are you sure it’s not too much?” 

He laughs. Genuinely. Kindly. Just as he always does. 

“No.” Gently, Colin pulls the kitten out of her arms again. “How could this little guy ever be ‘too much?’” 

Pushing away all thoughts that scream that this is a bad idea, Penelope pushes her shoulders back. She stands tall (metaphorically, of course). 

“I’ll do half the work — at least. I can check on his bowl every morning. Make sure he has water and food and whatever else he needs. Maybe you can do the same at night. And if you ever can’t, just let me know and I’ll help. And if it ever does become too much, I can find him somewhere else to live.” 

When she finally closes her mouth, Colin’s smile returns. Then, he extends his hand towards her. “You got a deal, Featherington.” 

Tentatively, Penelope raises her hand to seal said deal. But before she can make contact, Colin’s hand moves, as if to signal her to “stop.” 

“Once last thing. We should just keep this whole thing between us, or ya know… Anthony will send both me and the cat to the nearest shelter.” 

“Colin! I —” 

“Kidding!” He laughs again, which has a surprisingly good effect on Penelope’s nerves. “But really… It’s simpler if we don’t tell anyone else. Not even Eloise — she can’t keep a secret for her life.” 

She tilts her head again, stealing a not-so-quick glance at his eyes (through the mop of hair still obscuring that blue-green colour). Since as long as she can remember, Penelope has always wanted more of Colin — in some ways that she will not be able to define with words until she is much older. But even at just eight years old, Penelope knows she wants to be around him. She wants his attention. She wants to share a secret with him. Even if she knows it’s a bad idea. 

“Deal.” With that, Penelope shakes Colin’s hand and seals their fate forever. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 5th, 2003

꙳

It turned out to be a rather easy secret to keep. 

Penelope was good at staying unseen — at blending into the shadows. Every morning at approximately 7 AM, she snuck into the Bridgerton back garden. And every morning at approximately 7:10 AM, she snuck out without being noticed by anyone other than Colin. Not that has mum or siblings would bat an eye if they happened to find Penelope back there. Before Edmund died and her own mum warned her to keep herself scarce, there were times that Penelope spent more time at the Bridgertons’ home than her own house. And despite Portia’s warnings, they would gladly invite her inside, any day. 

Colin was also quite good at escaping his family’s notice on his own daily task. Every night around dusk, he would sneak into the kitchen or bathroom, fill an 8-ounce bottle with tap water, then hide it in the front pocket of whatever hoodie he happened to be wearing that day. They kept the cat food in the shed, in a locked container Colin bought at the pet store down the street (with money he had stolen from Anthony’s wallet — although he never admitted that he followed through on the theft “joke” to Penelope). The longer time went on, the less effort he put into sneaking out of the house everyday. The longer time went on, the more obvious it became how easy it is to disappear from a house with nine people. Especially when the one person everyone searches for is no longer around. 

The only conspirator that ever put them at risk of being found out was Mr. Whiskers (a name Colin had thought of, after Penelope complained that they couldn’t just keep calling him “little guy.”). Three times in two weeks, Whiskers had loitered around the Bridgerton’s back steps, meowing for attention. Colin had caught him the first time and shooed him off. Daphne caught him the second time and screamed bloody murder. Anthony caught him the third and nearly called animal control, but thankfully, Benedict had stepped in to tell their older brother to “chill out.” Thankfully, Whiskers seemed wary of coming close to the Bridgerton household after that last encounter. 

A routine formed. Penelope would sneak into the garden in the morning. Colin would sneak out of his home at night. Mr. Whiskers would come and go as he pleased between meals. Their paths rarely cross. Until tonight, when Colin spots someone running towards the back of the garden in the moonlight from his bedroom window. 

Someone quite short. 

Less than five minutes later, Colin runs along the same path — far less cautious than he usually is at dusk. He prays his mum or siblings are not watching out their windows like he was his. That they’re asleep — not pacing circles in their rooms in the middle of the night. He knows the risks are there, but the further his feet carry him, the more faraway they feel.

He hears crying in the distance. Quiet, but persistent.

He sees her before she sees him — sitting criss crossed on the entry of the shed, Mr. Whiskers climbing into her lap tentatively. She does not notice him until he is standing but a few feet away. 

Colin had felt distinctly uneasy since the very moment he spotted her in the back garden. But a wave of fear strikes him cold when their eyes meet. Hers go so wide that he swears he can see the moonlight reflect off of them. She does not immediately speak; even her crying goes silent when she realises she is not alone. 

“Pen, what’s wrong? How can I help?” 

“Noth — nothing.” She sounds scared. At least the fearful look in her eye is somewhat obstructed by nightfall. Her words cut clean through the darkness. 

He steps forward, now standing only inches away from her. Instinctively, his hand raises and gently grips her shoulder. He feels her flinch beneath his touch, but not enough to remove herself from it. 

“Pen, whatever it is, you can tell me. I can help.” 

She averts his gaze, focusing intently on the cat still sitting in her lap.

“It’s nothing, really. I — I just wanted to see Mr. Whiskers for a little bit.” 

Colin doesn’t say anything, too busy internally trying to make sense of the words she spills and the worry in her voice. They do not fit together. 

“I’m sorry,” she continues. She uses the back of her hand to wipe at her nose. “I shouldn’t have — I’ll just go.” 

“Don’t go.” Before Penelope can move, Colin squeezes her shoulder again. His mum does the same thing when he gets so upset and that he needs help calming down. 

Slowly, under Colin’s grasp, Penelope’s shoulders stop heaving. Her breath evens out. She meets his eye again.

“What happened?”

“Honestly, nothing.”

“Pen —”

“Nothing that isn’t, like, normal, I mean.” He does not know what she means. He can’t imagine a single normal thing that would cause someone to run away crying from their home in the middle of the night. Especially someone as small and defenceless as Penelope. 

“Mum and dad were just fighting,” she confesses after realising that Colin’s look of concern will not fade unless she tells him the truth. “A bit louder than usual, I guess. But it’s not like I haven’t heard them fight a million times before.” 

“That’s —” Not normal. But he doesn’t say that. He can’t say that. He’s suddenly — alarmingly — struck by the fact that what he deems “normal” might not be the same for Penelope. That there are “normal” things in his life — all of which came about in the past year — that other people would scoff at and tell him are unimaginable for a kid to deal with at his age. 

That’s not right, would be more accurate. But he doesn’t say that either. Instead, he simply asks: “Do you want to come inside? El is probably asleep, but I could wake her —” 

“No — thank you, but no. I should actually get going.” With that, Penelope slips out of his hold. “Mum will kill me if she realises I slipped out.” She places Mr. Whiskers back in the shed before turning to leave. She takes four steps before Colin finds his voice again.

“You don’t have to do deal with this all by yourself, Pen. I’m here. I want to help.” 

At his words, Penelope goes completely still. Deer-in-deadlights type stillness. Then, before he knows it, she’s walking towards him. 

Her arms wrap around his torso. Her hands land firmly on his spine. Her forehead falls on his shoulder. Without a single thought, his body reacts. His arms wrap around her and his jaw settles on the crown of her head. For a moment, it feels like its just the two of them in the world. Until Colin feels something furry cross his ankle. 

“I guess Whiskers was feeling left out,” he says. Penelope laughs and Colin feels a bit lighter. That lightness is quickly followed by something hollow when Penelope pulls herself out of the hug to pick up the kitten meowing at her feet. 

“He keeps trying to follow me home after breakfast.” She giggles softly. “Clearly, he doesn’t remember meeting my mum, or else he would stay away forever. I think she thought he was a rat that day I found him.” 

Colin chuckles, and it’s only somewhat forced. “Yeah, he tried sneaking into my house a few times. He met Anthony last time, though, and I don’t think he’s ever gonna forget that.”

She giggles again. “Was he mad?” 

“His face was red — literally! Although, I’m starting to think that’s just how is face normally is and that it takes great effort for him to appear like us normal people, if that’s how he reacts to a cute little kitten hanging around our back door.” 

Penelope scratches Whiskers behind his ears. Eyes not leaving the cat, she whispers: “I don’t know how people can see something so sweet and get so mad.” 

Colin’s eyes don’t leave Penelope when he responds, suddenly a bit deflated: “Me neither.” 

Slowly, she lowers Mr. Whiskers back to the ground. The cat does not appear to be very keen on leaving her side just yet, but Penelope still insists: “I should really head back now. Before anyone notices I left.” 

Colin spares a glance over his shoulder, towards the family home he had nearly forgotten about. It’s likely past midnight already, but there are still a few lights on upstairs. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Me too.” 

Penelope nods. She looks like she’s about to turn and leave when Colin blurts out: “You wanna meet here again in the morning? When you feed Whiskers, I mean.” 

She doesn’t immediately respond with words, but rather with a very confused expression lit by the moonlight. “I thought —”

“Our system’s like efficient and all,” he cuts in, “but we haven’t exactly seen each other much since we started taking care of him. I dunno, I guess I just thought that we would hang out more.” 

“Oh!” Her voice registers barely below a squeak. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I…” She pauses so long that Colin wonders if it is his turn to speak again. But right before he can blurt out something again, Penelope says: “I’d like that.” 

For the first time in days, a smile creeps up on Colin’s lips. 

“Cool. See you tomorrow.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 14th, 2003

꙳

“I’m not sure I understand the rules of this game.”

“It’s our game. The rules can be whatever we want them to be.” 

Penelope stands with the tips of her toes and the palms of her hands pressed neatly against Colin’s matching sets. There’s a piece of cat biscuit placed between her right palm and Colin’s left. There’s a tiny kitten peering up at them from where their shoes connect. He looks just as confused on the parameters of this game as Penelope feels. 

The rules, they eventually settle on, are these: 

Before getting into the aforementioned position, one person briefly presents the biscuit to Mr. Whiskers (taking turns to avoid leading the cat towards favouritism of one player over another).

On the count of three, one person takes the biscuit into their hands, both turn around and run in opposite directions. 

Mr. Whiskers follows whoever he believes holds his treat. 

Penelope ends up with the biscuit three times. Colin ends up with it five times. It falls to the ground between them eleven times. Each time, without fail, Whiskers immediately takes off after Penelope. 

“This isn’t fair!” Colin calls out from behind a tree on their twentieth attempt at this so-called ‘game.’ “It’s not my fault you bonded with him first.” He points a finger at the cat currently pawing at her ankles. “I feed you just as much as she does — traitor!”

“Shhh, Colin!” Penelope whisper-yells. “Someone might hear you.” 

“Oh, who cares?” he says nonchalantly, retreating back towards the shed. 

I care, Penelope thinks. She doesn’t want any one of Colin’s many siblings to stumble upon them back here. She’s not ready to give up this secret. She’s not willing to end this game. Not yet, anyway. 

“Mr. Whiskers cares. I doubt he wants to be evicted from his home just because you’re a sore loser.” She picks the kitten up and plops him down on Colin’s lap, now sitting criss-cross in the shed’s doorway. 

“Well, he should have thought about that before picking sides.” He sticks his tongue out at Mr. Whiskers, who continues to appear unphased by his surroundings. 

Like she has come accustomed to doing over the past two weeks, Penelope sits down on the other end of the shed’s opening. His body is turned towards her, but she keeps her positioned outwards, as if to keep watch. Her legs cross in front of her at the ankles, her nails scratch into the grain beneath her, and, sitting upright, the crown of her head brushes the wood frame. Colin is — obviously — slouched in his spot beside her. 

After a moment of quiet, Colin clears his throat. 

“You know, you can come over for dinner tonight, if you want.” 

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” Penelope says quickly. Dismissively. “Mum will expect me home soon. I think we’re having stew.” 

“Yeah, but what about tomor—” It’s a pretty uncommon occurrence for Penelope to see a blush pass by Colin’s typically unblemished face, but right now, it hits his cheeks in an instant. He turns away. “Well, not tomorrow. Obviously. But another day.”

The mention of tomorrow brings a feverish feeling to Penelope’s chest. Much different than the warm feeling she usually feels in that same spot when she’s around Colin.

“I can’t. I — I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t.” He finally looks her in the eye again. “You wouldn’t, I promise. When you have eight kids, one more mouth to feed hardly makes a difference.” His eyes travel to the side again. They point towards his house, partially obstructed by the scattering of trees they’ve found themselves in. “El would be happy if you stopped in. Mum too.” 

Penelope tries to push out her mother’s voice from her head when she says: “Yeah. Another day. Soon.” 

“Good.” 

After another moment of quiet, she pushes herself forward and lands with two feet on the grass. 

“I really should head back now, though.” 

“Okay, I’ll —”

“But, Colin?” She interrupts — a truly rare occurrence for Penelope Featherington. 

“Yeah?”

“I was just thinking… Maybe I could feed Mr. Whiskers breakfast and dinner tomorrow. I know we have our system, but… I just — I don’t want you to have to deal with taking care of him on top of any… family stuff.”

Colin, now holding rather tightly onto Mr. Whiskers in his arms, considers her offer for a moment. His brows furrow. His eyes glance downward. He starts forming a word on his lips and Penelope expects to hear the word “no” escape from them shortly after. But instead, he nods and says: “That’s kind of you to offer. Thanks, Pen.”

Kindness isn’t something that Penelope has ever been thanked for before. She had been rewarded for it in other ways, but not like this. Kindness had always been something that was expected, not appreciated. Now, she feels hesitant to accept thanks for something as small as offering up a few minutes of her time for someone who has gone through more grief than she can even imagine. So instead of accepting it outright, she simply nods and says: “Goodnight, Colin.” 

 ꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 25th, 2003

꙳

When Penelope walks towards the shed at approximately 6:55 AM this Monday morning, the door is shut. This is strange. The door is always open. Penelope had convinced Colin not to cut a little cat door on the side of the shed (he had wanted to use a saw from their garage), so the door always has to be open for Whiskers to come and go. Always. 

The closer she gets, the harder it is for her to take another step. Her head is already filled with the image of an empty cavern on the other side of that door. It couldn’t have close on its own; the latch is locked. Someone closed it. 

Just as her hand grazes that metal latch, Penelope hears footsteps. Quick and increasingly loud footsteps. She jumps (literally) around — heart pounding, eyes wide — and sees…

“Colin! Where’s Mr. Whiskers?!

“In there.” He points to the shed behind her, still shut tight. Once he gets close enough, he reaches over he shoulder and finally undoes the latch. Just as promised, the cat is there, curiously looking up at them.

“He keeps trying to follow me back into the house after I feed him. Last night, he was scratching at the back door. Thank God I got to him before Anthony.” 

“So he was just locked in there all night?” 

She spares another sideways glance at the shed’s interior. It’s not nearly as bare as it had been that first day she looked inside. There’s two containers. Two bowls. Two electric lanterns. A blanket. A few cat toys. And a few human toys she assumes once belonged to Colin. To an animal as tiny as Mr. Whiskers, it might seem huge, but to Penelope, it all feels very claustrophobic. 

“Yeah, but… Sometimes it’s just safer to stay put for a little while. Even outdoor cats need to be reigned in some nights.” 

Penelope doesn’t know whether to agree or disagree with his words, so she tries her best to ignore them. She climbs into the shed, gives Whiskers an affectionate bop on the head, then fills his bowl with breakfast. 

“I wanted to wake up early and let him out, but… I guess I slept in.” Colin’s out of her view, still standing just outside the shed, but she can guess there’s a guilty look creeping up on his face. 

“You’re not wrong,” she finally settles on. When Whiskers finishes his meal, she finally looks back to Colin. Just as expected, guilt is evident on his face. “But maybe Mr. Whiskers isn’t an outside cat after all. Maybe that’s why he keeps trying to follow us back to our own homes.” 

“I thought that was just because he loves us.” Leave it to Colin Bridgerton to transform guilt into charm in under 30 seconds. 

“Well…” Penelope turns back to Mr. Whiskers again. As usual, he’s peering up at them with a transfixed — maybe even loving — stare. “Maybe you have a point.” 

“I usually do —” 

“But still — do you really think this is what’s best for him?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean…”

She bites her tongue — literally. All of this started because of her own selfish wants. To keep the cat. To occupy Colin’s attention. To have a reason to get out of her house every morning. But the more time has gone on, the harder it has become to see past the potential consequences of her selfishness.

“Summer’s almost over. We have to go back to school and can’t look out for him all day. It’s gonna get cold soon…” Colin’s face looks serious now. More serious than she’s used to seeing it. She looks away. “What if he gets sick? Or needs a vet? I just don’t know if this is really his best option.”

Penelope points both hands towards the shed. Towards the small wooden structure that completely transformed her summer. Towards the only home Mr. Whiskers has ever known — dim and claustrophobic as it may be. She expects Colin’s eyes to follow her lead, but they don’t. For a moment, it feels as though her presence completely slips from his view. His eyes are fixated on something in the distance — something in the opposite direction. Then —

“Shite!” 

His arms hastily wrap around Penelope’s waist. It takes everything in her not to shriek in surprise as he practically throws her into the shed. Thankfully, Mr. Whiskers jumps from the doorway to the back of the shed in an instant, or else she surely would have crushed him on impact. 

“Colin! What —”

“Shh!” Colin climbs in and shuts the door behind him. Thank God those electric lamps are still (just barely) holding onto life and dimly illuminating the space, or else Penelope would not have been able to discern him mouth: “Anthony.” 

The tips of their toes touch in the limited space. Penelope wonders if he can feel her shaking through the plastic tips of her yellow converse. The concerned look he throws her way tells her that he must.

“You okay?” he mouths. 

She thinks about nodding. She briefly wonders if a nod can count as a lie, or if lies can only be spoken aloud. But she doesn’t do anything, except stay frozen in her spot. 

Everything is quiet. For a brief moment, Penelope thinks they may have actually gone unnoticed. Then, she remembers that the latch — the flimsy piece of metal that keeps these doors shut — is on the other side. When Mr. Whiskers paws at the wood beams, the door swings open. The morning light nearly blinds her, but not enough to miss Anthony Bridgerton’s very mad — very red — face. 

“Colin — what the hell?!” 

Just as Colin had thrown her into of the shed mere moments ago, Anthony now pulls Penelope out of it by the shoulders. Just like Whiskers, she somehow manages to land on her feet. 

“I knew it! I knew you were irresponsible, but this —” He bends down and grabs Whiskers by the scruff of his neck. “This is insane. Even for you.” 

Anthony turns to Penelope, as if he has only just now discovered her presence beside Colin. In mere seconds, she watches his face turn from anger to shock to annoyance. He turns to his little brother again. 

“I will be the responsible adult and make sure this — thing — finds an actual home and doesn’t continue living on the streets.” With a near-growl caught in his throat, Anthony tells Colin: “We will discuss this later.” 

He turns to leave, but stops. “And Colin, do not mention this to mum. Or anyone else.” 

He starts then stops again. “And Penelope, please do not let my brother’s bad influence rub off on you. A nice girl like you has enough trouble as it is being friends with Eloise.” 

It isn’t until Anthony has properly stomped away, Mr. Whiskers securely tucked in his arms, that Penelope seems to regain control of her body and mind. Slowly, she turns towards Colin. She uses every second between then and the moment she looks him in the eye to begin preparing an apology. For getting him in trouble with his brother. For getting him caught up in this mess to start with. For being a bad friend. But the moment that their eyes meet… Colin does not look like he is expecting an apology of any sort. 

He laughs. 

“Did you see the look on his face?!” 

“Uhh. I don’t —” 

 “He looked like a tomato! I swear one day he’s gonna burst and —”

“Colin,” she says, concern in her voice, too low to break through the noise of his continued laughter.

“— marina sauce is gonna go flying —”

“Colin!” she says again, a bit louder this time. Thankfully, it seems to get his attention. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have —”

“Oh god, Pen. Don’t be sorry.” 

“But —” 

“But your — your brother —”

“I should be apologising for Ant— even if you and him were both right about Whiskers needing somewhere else to live.”

“Yeah…” As much as she will miss her tiny, furry friend, this is for the best. For Whiskers, at least. “But Anthony was so mad at you. And I —”

“He’ll get over it. That’s the great thing about having seven siblings — wait five minutes and someone will do something even stupider than you. Daph and El are probably inside getting into a fist fight as we speak.” 

The mention of her best friend temporarily draws Penelope’s thoughts away from her internal pity party. She saw Eloise plenty of times over the past few weeks, but not nearly as much as she did during previous summer breaks. Before last August. 

“You wanna come over for dinner tonight?” Colin asks, breaking her from her thought spiral.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he smirks, “do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” 

“I don’t know… Anthony seemed —”

“Don’t worry about Anthony. He’ll get over it — and you heard him, he’s not even going to rat us out to my mum.” He takes a step forward, then places his hand on Penelope’s shoulder. He squeezes it once. “It’ll be fun. Everyone will be excited to see you.” 

Not for the first time — and certainly not the last — Penelope feels at a loss for words. All she can manage is a tiny nod. A nearly imperceptible movement. 

Colin smiles. 

“Good. Just so you know, the door is always open. Always.” 

Finally, little Penelope Featherington finds her voice again. 

“I know.” 

-------------------------------------------------------

Penelope tries to hide the smile on her lips by shoving another fork full of shrimp fried rice into her mouth. Colin — of course — sees right through her attempt. 

“So…” 

“Anthony was right. We were awfully irresponsible that summer. He was better off after Danbury took him in and he became Lord Whiskers.”

“Hey — give us a little credit! How many 8 or 10-year-olds do you know who could keep a cat alive for a summer all by themselves?” 

“The only impressive thing we did that summer was keeping our little secret hidden from the rest of your family.” 

“What are you talking about?!” Colin says, unable to keep his ever-charming laugh from escaping his throat as he speaks. “Do not downplay our role in raising that cat. You rescued him from the mean streets of London. I —”

“I found him hiding out in a bush in Grosvenor Square!”

“Exactly! And I —” 

“Colin!”

“I built him a home,” he barely manages to get out through his laughter.

“That’s a bit over-dra—”

“We fed and took care of him for over a month. We were just kids — that’s pretty impressive. That means something.”

In her heart, Penelope knows that — obviously — it means something. But does it mean what Colin wants it to mean? That they should get married? Even with the rules he set forth, it seems like an insane connection to even consider.

“I don’t know…” 

“For five weeks, he was ours. That means a lot.”

For a moment, Penelope does consider it. She thinks about who Colin was to her before she found Mr. Whiskers. A friend — of sorts. Her best friend’s brother. A neighbour. A crush. Someone she looked at and longed for. After, she thinks of who Colin was to her on that morning Anthony found them hiding out in that tiny wooden shed. A friend. A fellow kid. A conspirator. Someone who saw her cowering in the dark and asked if she was okay. 

So what, if their hypothetical marriage hinges on a technicality? People have married on flimsier grounds before. 

“Fine,” she relents. “It counts.” 

A moment ago, she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Colin’s grin grows even wider. 

“Of course it does.” As Penelope attempts to cover her own grin with a scoff, Colin picks up his phone again.

“Let’s see…”

[nomazee]

take me home

march 7th x reader 

word count: 1.3k

summary: it’s late at night, and your hands are stained with the harsh charcoal of your artwork—which means, naturally, that march’s hands are softening just to take care of you. 

content: COLLEGE AU, roommates, comfort (without any hurt really), pining, reader is an art major (I AM PROJECTING), sickeningly sweet, unspoken love

notes: a request has been sitting in my inbox for months now. this is not that request. i am so sorry. every time i add another wip to my in-progress page suddenly i lose all motivation to work on ANYTHING on that list and instead i do this. i vomit on a google doc. ok. anyways... ENJOY

<><><><><>

at midnight, you come back to the ground after working on autopilot for two hours. now that you’re present, grounded, in this world, you can feel the tremble of your hands and the ache in your stomach from only drinking lukewarm plain tea for half the day. 

it’s an awful, awful habit, and you know that. you just don’t have the space to work on fixing it in the throes of three midterm projects and an exam. you look down at your hands, stained with a mix of white and black charcoal. it’s caked under your fingers, too, and eraser shreds cling to your skin. in the dim light of your desk lamp, they kind of look like tiny worms, and the thought makes you shiver. 

march comes into your room, the only indicator being the clicks of your door opening and closing and the gentle shuffle of her slippers against your carpet. you don’t turn—you never need to, with her, because she’s already putting a gentle hand on your shoulder and leaning down to whisper something in your ear, something like “come eat, i made you dinner,” or maybe “take a shower, i’ll clean your room.” whatever it is, the specifics don’t matter, because these nights always end the same. 

it’s a gentle routine. something you don’t get often, which is good, because at least that means you don’t overwork yourself near the point of sickness too often. but it’s also terrible, because that means the uncharacteristic softness of march’s hands against your shoulders and voice against your cheek and weight against your back will always be that—uncharacteristic. like an astrological event that only comes once every million years, except you get it maybe once every month, which still isn’t enough for your yearning, empty hands. 

you’re in the kitchen, suddenly, led by march’s arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as she walks in tandem with you. her mouth presses against your cheek, you’re pretty sure, as she sits you down in your cramped, tiny kitchen and slides a hot bowl of something in front of you. 

“i’m gonna tidy your room. is there anything you don’t want me to touch?” and there’s a twitch in your face now, because you were right about the cleaning-your-room part, and march always asks this. if there’s anything she shouldn’t touch, because there’s something about the late hours of the night that makes her suddenly so considerate about little things like that. 

“just the drawing,” you tell her, because the drawing is thirty-six by forty-eight inches and took you two weeks and a lot of stress to finish, and if something happened to it then you’d burn the entire campus down, “but everything else is fine. thank— thank you.” 

and it’s hard getting that out, and you feel ridiculous for it. like you’re some spoiled kid who was never raised to say thank you in your life, but this is hard. this is different, because you’re twenty and your roommate has taken care of you more times than you’re willing to admit and yet she never expects anything of you. and it hurts because she’s the type of person who you think might hold it against you—in a joking, lighthearted way, like you have to get me one of those expensive coffee’ from the campus cafe before class tomorrow, or next time we order food you’re paying, but instead she just never mentions it and it makes you want to throw up, maybe. 

but you don’t—throw up, that is, because there’s a steaming bowl of rice and vegetables in front of you and the sound of shuffling and pencils being put away echoes from your room down the hall and everything is so domestic and it’s so late at night that you just sink into it. happy and content and warm, deep in your gut where the emptiness was sitting. 

march pulls you away, again, once your bowl is empty and you finish the cup of water she gave you. you close your eyes blearily and feel a wet wipe on your face, one of those cleansing wipes that you buy for times like this when you’re too tired to actually wash your face. of course, you didn’t expect them to be used like this when you first started buying them—with your roommate rubbing firm circles into your skin, close enough that you can hear the whistle of her nose every time she exhales. you don’t complain. not with march. never with march.

“i’m tired,” you’re saying, and your eyes are still shut and the ache in your hands has spread through your entire body. you’re well-fed and satiated and your face is damp with diluted tea tree oil instead of the icky sheen of sweat from before, and you’re tired. you whine it out, almost, like a petulant child in the car on a road trip asking are we there yet, and pretending to be asleep when the car engine slows to a stop and the car doors start to open.

march’s hands cradle your face, cleansing wipe discarded somewhere on the counter. and your eyes are still closed, and you’re really considering it—the whole faking-being-asleep thing, because you’d love nothing more than for march to guide you to bed with a hand slung around your waist, tracing the strip of skin under the hem of your shirt and maybe a gentle kiss on your cheek, or maybe even your neck. the night is deep, and your eyelids are weighing down on the rest of your body, and your inhibitions have dwindled with the sun a long time ago. there’s nothing stopping the flood of stupid sappy thoughts rushing through your sleep-addled brain. 

“i know,” march mumbles, something like affection in her voice. her words are cut off, like she wants to say something else, like she wants to tag on a pet name and call you my love or baby or sweetheart. you say, “i’m really tired, march,” because if you don’t get to bed soon then you’re going to start saying these things out loud and to her face. 

but that just makes it worse, because now it’s like she’s pouring everything she can into you. all her half-reluctant affections and the tenderness of her eyes and the way her thumbs are rubbing circles into your jaw now. she looks at you with furrowed brows and a corner of her mouth presses downward, like she’s worried, and you want to laugh because you never thought your stupid, half-rude, stubborn roommate would be worried for you. 

“okay. let’s get you to bed.” she puts an arm around your shoulder and guides you up from the couch that she set you down on when she was cleaning your face, and you want her to pick you up so badly that you can’t stop the way your hand comes up to clutch at her shoulder, too, while she walks patiently next to your weak, sluggish legs. you might cry, or kiss her, or fall asleep slumped against her side, and you don’t know what would be worse. 

there’s no more time to contemplate that, anyways, because now you’re in bed and march is tucking you in and you feel childish. “i’m sorry” bubbles up at your throat and you get half of it out before she clicks her tongue, letting out a heavy sigh as she kneels by your nightstand, tidying the scraps of paper and gum wrappers and dusty glasses of water. 

“what are you even apologizing for?” she asks rhetorically. it’s almost scolding, but she cares in her own way, and you’ve known her long enough to understand what her tone means. you wish she’d get mad instead of being so kind. you wish she would be as sarcastic as she is in the daytime with you instead of softening at the edges and at the center and at the sides. you wish she’d kiss you, maybe. 

“i don’t know.” you’re not even sure if your words are making any sense, if the vowels slur together or if your tongue even hits the roof of your mouth or if you’re already asleep—but you must be asleep, because you can feel a pressure against your cheek and surely that can’t be march kissing you goodnight. of course it wouldn’t be.

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @inkweedandlizards @lightningboltreader @lemonlyman-dotcom and @carlos-in-glasses for the tag! 🥰🫶

This is for my prequel, TK's growing up years fic -

Dad: Hey, kiddo! We have finally set a date. Your old man is getting hitched on July 23rd, 2013. Be there or be square!

TK had received this text message from his dad a week ago. At the time, he’d replied, “Sounds great!”

And he’d seen his dad several times at work since then. But TK couldn’t get this text out of his head.

First, the word “finally” really did not need to be used. There was no room for “finally” for two people who were engaged after they had been dating for seven months.

The wedding date his dad had sent him, that was six weeks from now. And on that day, it still wouldn’t have been a year since his dad started dating Lorraine. It would be a year in October that he started dating her.

The following January, it would be a year since she moved in with him. TK felt like he was still trying to understand that when his dad told him that they were engaged. There was a part of TK that wondered if Lorraine really had a roommate that she had problems with, or if that was made up.

Every single one of the twenty days between when his dad told him he was engaged and the text with the date, TK had been hoping for the call saying that it was called off. But no; Lorraine and her knives of décor were here to stay (but seriously, who has a hobby of making wind chimes made of KNIVES?! His soon-to-be stepmother, that’s who).

TK was pretty deep into his thoughts that he didn’t pay much attention to the feeling of fingers flicking the tip of his ear. But the back of the same meaty hand colliding with the side of his face — now that he felt.

“Fuck!” TK exclaimed. “Malcolm, what the hell?”

“What?” snapped the 26-year-old firefighter who was straddling TK. “You were like a million miles away. Sue me for trying to get your attention”.

“Try?” TK repeated. “Dude, my ears are ringing”.

“God, you’re dramatic, Probie”. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

“I’m not your probie,” TK snapped. “And you know I’ve had concussions. I have a shift in four hours; I’m not trying to get a migraine”.

“You’re not trying to get off either, man,” Malcolm retorted. TK couldn’t argue with that.

“Yeah, well, I think I’m good”. TK moved to sit up, but Malcolm pushed him back into the mattress.

“I didn’t say we were done”.

TK glared up at him. “Well, I did. Lobster roll. Enough”. Malcolm muttered something under his breath that TK didn’t catch, but he acknowledged that TK had used his safe word. He moved enough for TK to sit up. “I’m sorry”. TK sighed. “You’re right. My head’s not there. Could we talk, actually?” Malcolm looked at him quizzically. “Talk?” he repeated, like it was a new concept.

“Yes. Talk”. TK sighed. “I’ve got a lot on my mind”.

“Well, I know a surefire way to get your pretty little head clear,” Malcolm purred, rubbing his hands up and down TK’s arms. “And besides TK, I can think of six better uses for your mouth… than to talk”. TK hated himself a little bit that it made him blush when Malcolm said shit like that.

“I’m serious,” TK said, grabbing Malcolm’s hands in his. “I’m really worried about my dad”. Malcolm sighed.

“You know, you’ve said that way too many times for someone who is legally an adult?” Malcolm told him. “TK. You don’t come here to talk. Your dad is a big boy. And Topher is going to be back in twenty minutes, and he can’t know you’re here, so…”

“Yeah, got it”. TK rolled off the bed and reached for his jeans. He knew that Malcolm was implying that they could still do something in that time, but TK really wasn’t in the mood for something. At least, not with Malcolm. There were times where he wished that he and Malcolm were in the same firehouse, but times like this made him glad that they weren’t.

As TK went back out into the humid New York summer air, he scolded himself for trying to open up to Malcolm in the first place.

Malcolm had been very clear on that several times over, that there was only one thing he wanted TK for.

And, TK thought bitterly, he couldn’t even really complain; at least this time he didn’t have to sit in Malcolm’s closet buck naked because Malcolm’s parents had stopped by their son’s (who they thought was straight) apartment unexpectedly.

But not talking with Malcolm hadn’t allayed TK’s need to talk to someone about this, he realized as he tried not to be jostled around too much by the subway train. After all, he was supposed to be the best man at this wedding; a wedding which he thought had no business taking place. A wedding that had severely dwindled down the list of people he could talk to. He did think of one person, though.

TK was fighting against the current of college students exiting their federal income taxation class at Columbia university. TK was trying to get into the lecture hall, because he needed to speak with the professor who was teaching it.

“TK?” Enzo said when TK had finally reached the front of the hall. “This is certainly a surprise,” he said, greeting him with a hug. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine”. TK nodded. That wasn’t a huge lie. “But Enzo, could we talk for a minute?”

“Of course, acorn,” Enzo smiled. “Do you want to sit, or…”

“I’ll sit”. TK nodded and sat in the swivel chair behind the desk at the front of the hall. “It spins,” TK said as he used his foot to turn the chair around a few times. “Cool”.

“I don’t know why they have that in here, to be honest,” Enzo chuckled. “If I were to sit there while teaching, I wouldn’t be able to actually see any of the students I’m addressing”.

“Huh”. TK said as he moved side to side in the chair.

“TK,” Enzo cleared his throat. “I know you didn’t come down here to play with the chair. What’s going on, acorn?”

TK brought the chair to a stop. “My dad set his wedding date. It’s in July”.

“Ah”. Enzo nodded as he leaned on the desk. “That’s soon”.

“Right!” TK exclaimed. “Why is it so soon?” He was struck by an unsettling thought. “Oh God, what if it’s that’s soon because they’re having a baby together? She doesn’t look pregnant, though. Would he tell me if that were the reason?”

“TK”. Enzo said gently. “I’m going to take a guess that you’re here in the event that isn’t the reason?” TK nodded. Enzo was otherworldly smart, the same way his mom was. If those two ever had a kid, that kid would find the cure for cancer before they started kindergarten.

“It’s just…” TK sighed. “I’ve never felt like I couldn’t talk to him about something. But I can’t talk to him about himself. I can’t talk to Mom about this. And Sophie’s thrilled, she loves Lorraine”. He started to nibble on his thumbnail. “Soph has spent a lot more time with her than I have, though”.

“But you don’t love Lorraine”. Enzo guessed.

“I don’t know her well enough”. TK shrugged. “But neither does he. They were barely together six months before getting engaged. This is the man who wants to plan everything in his life to death; what part of the plan is this?”

No pressure tagging - @dreamingofmickeywaffles @rachelsversion1 @firstprince-history-huh @tailoredshirt @herefortarlos @paperstorm @reyestrandd @kiloskywalker @eclectic-sassycoweyes @omnivorousdilettante @sugdenlovesdingle

[leofrith]

[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

Tagged by @aeide and @ainulindaelynn 💖 I did this one a few months ago but a few answers have changed since then so I'll update those. 😊

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Six now! Four one-shots, a short-ish multi-chapter which was supposed to be a one-shot that got away from me, and my longfic which at this point I should have just waited to post but am definitely still chipping away at.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

33,030 which is almost double my count from a few months ago. Woaaaaaaaaahhhh

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still Assassin's Creed, now dipping into Baldur's Gate 3 as well.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Still the same five fics in the same order but with slightly different numbers:

Hideaway - 149

Bright Skies - 139

Press On, Move Along - 94

Out of the Cold - 43

Honor Bound - 29

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Always.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Still Press On, Move Along.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Still Hideaway.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Still hate-free, for now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Sure do 💀 and I've posted some of it since the last time I did this. I think the only way I can really describe it is emotionally-charged, because if I'm going to horny jail it will at the very least be in service of some kind of character development. 😭

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Still occasionally poke away at the AC x Star Wars AU, but I'm not super invested in it right now. But I'm sure that will change as soon as a new Star Wars thing comes out. Since I last did this I also went digging through the depths of my writing folder and found a Walking Dead x MCU crossover that I must have started when I was like 14 years old. Absolute fucking horror show that I am so very thankful I never wrote enough to post. 🤡

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Still no, as far as I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, except for yelling back and forth about ideas with friends. I would probably be open to it but also maybe not because I know I am extremely unreliable.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Saying "all-time" favourite feels a bit much, but as far as mental real estate and also just sheer number of words written, Leovor far surpasses any other ship I've been into. 🧍🏻‍♀️

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Since I did that ask game a few weeks ago, the Inquisitor Ahsoka/Rex starting a clone rebellion/post TCW AU has been on my mind. But I know that, realistically speaking, I'm unlikely to ever be invested enough to actually sit down and write it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm trying to make a point to read more fiction and while it's possible that the few books I've read thus far lately just haven't been particularly good, it's certainly made me way more confident in my ability to write dialogue that feels like it would be spoken by real live humans and not aliens pretending to be humans. Similar deal with internal monologues. I'm convinced that none of these authors read their work aloud.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Still generally the same—overthinking comma usage, editing while I write and therefore being very slow, going back and forth between being stuck because I didn't plan enough and feeling stifled because I planned too much. Etc etc.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I try to avoid it as much as possible, with the exception being words or phrases that are used a lot in canon.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Still Marvel :(

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Honor Bound is still my baby, but I didn't expect to actually like A Different Kind of Solace as much as I do, mostly because I didn't really go into writing it expecting to hit the emotional notes that it does. Also still Out of the Cold. There are some banger lines there.

Not tagging anyone because this one has gone around a few times recently but if you want to do it, you're welcome to pretend I tagged you. 😌

[loverhymeswith]

The Only Place I Want to Be | Rick Flag x F!Reader

A/N: As part of No Fucks Given November, I will be posting my unfinished WIPs throughout the month. Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for reading this all those months ago!

Summary: A continuation of Something Just Like This

Words: 1.1K

Warnings: None

Rick is waiting for you in the airport parking lot, leaning casually against the hood of the beat-up old Jeep, arms folded over his broad chest and tattoos on full display. You’re so accustomed to seeing him in tactical gear, you almost don’t recognise him in the t-shirt and jeans combo, but your traitorous heart still skips a beat at the first sight of him after all this time.

The last six months have been kind to him, that’s for sure. His hair is a little longer and his jaw more stubbled than when you parted ways on the Louisiana runway, and when he spots you wheeling your suitcase towards him, there’s a sparkle in those hazel eyes that you haven’t seen in a while.

Striding over to intercept your luggage, he flashes you a brilliant grin. “Hey you. Glad you could finally make it.”

You return his smile, thankful that he has no idea how fast your pulse has been racing ever since you got on the plane. You’ve been putting off this visit to DC for months now, coming up with all manner of excuses until Rick eventually took matters into his own hands. “Well, you bought me the ticket. Would have been rude not to show up.” 

Rick surveys you for a moment, eyes scanning you from head to toe in that familiar, clinical way of his. At least he’s no longer assessing you for injuries. The only danger here is from your own emotions and over the last few months you’ve turned hiding them into an art form. 

Satisfied by whatever he sees, he beckons you forwards into his waiting arms. “C’mere, darlin’.”

He never did need to tell you twice.

Slipping into his warm embrace, you allow yourself a moment to savour this – to savour him - the feeling of having his large body wrapped around yours again. It’s almost too much to bear. Despite your reluctance to visit, the truth is you’ve missed him more than words can say. More than you could ever divulge over the late-night phone calls and sporadic text messages.

His voice is muffled as he presses his face into your hair, but there’s no mistaking the words that spill from those familiar lips. “I missed you.”

Before you can return the sentiment, you’re distracted by the sound of barking coming from the back of the Jeep. Withdrawing from his arms, a spark of excitement chases away your lingering anxiety. “Rick, is that...?”

Fishing the keys from his back pocket, he nods. “You wanna meet him?”

Without waiting for your answer, Rick takes the handle of your suitcase and leads you round to the back of the Jeep. The instant he opens the trunk, a huge streak of golden fur leaps out at you. “Darlin’, meet Sarge.”

The ex-military dog you’ve heard so much about almost bowls you over, but a short sharp command from Rick stops him in his tracks. Tongue lolling out, and tail still wagging furiously, Sarge sits to attention, his eyes never leaving Rick. You know that adopting the Golden Retriever was one of the first things Rick did after moving back to DC and seeing them together now, two retired soldiers, you can’t help but think what a perfect match they are.

“I see you’ve got him well trained, Colonel. Why am I not surprised?”

“Can’t really take the credit for that.” Rick shrugs, a soft smile tugging at his mouth as he watches you drop to your knees and fuss over the dog.

“Who’s a good boy?” You coo, gliding your fingers through Sarge’s silky fur and temporarily ignoring your friend. “Are you a good boy? Yes, you are.” 

Sarge responds with a wet lick to your cheek.  

“I love him already.” You grin up at Rick, who offers you his hand to pull you back to your feet.

“Think he loves you too,” he chuckles. “So, you ready to hit the road?” 

Once Sarge and your luggage are safely stowed in the car, Rick – ever the gentleman – helps you into the passenger seat. With soft rock tunes playing on the radio, he starts the engine and begins the drive to his apartment on the outskirts of the city.

“How was the flight?” he asks, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in time to the music. Rick has never been one for small talk, but you’re thankful for it now.

“Shorter than I expected,” you admit, trying to keep your attention on the road instead of him. You’d pictured a distance of a million miles lying between the two of you. But with the flight from New Orleans taking a little over two hours, you realise it’s really no distance at all. 

When Rick first told you he was leaving Louisiana, you’d be lying if you said the news hadn’t come as a shock. For five long years you’d worked together as Colonel and Lieutenant, practically inseparable given the long hours and impossible schedules. Perhaps it was naïve of you to assume this wasn’t going to change when you finally found yourselves free from Waller’s clutches. But almost immediately after receiving your ARGUS severance packages, Rick broke the news that he was moving back to DC for a ‘fresh start’. 

After everything you had been through together, everything you’d shared, you can’t deny that this hurt. You’d always imagined you’d have more time. Time to talk, time to figure things out. But equally, you couldn’t begrudge him for wanting a clean slate. After all, it’s what you want too, deep down. But Louisiana isn’t quite ready to release its hold on you.

“Didn’t think you were ever gonna come and see me.” He shoots a playful look across at you, despite the accusatory tone.

“What can I say,” you shrug. “I’ve been busy.”

The truth is that you needed to work up the courage. You’ve been so worried that there would be no room for you in his new life.. Would he really want to see you again - a reminder of all the terrible things he witnessed, all the terrible things he did?

Not only that, but you still haven’t spoken about the flight back from Corto Maltese. At the time, it felt like the start of something… real. Something special. But the more you think about it, the more you wonder how you could have been so mistaken. The pair of you were coming down from a near death experience, adrenaline coursing through your veins and pushing you together. Neither of you can be held accountable for what happened on that plane, for any promises made.

The slight crease in Rick’s brow suggests he doesn’t believe your lie, but he doesn’t prod, allowing you to slip into a comfortable silence. You’re grateful for that. Grateful that your Colonel still knows when to push you and when to let you stew.

Joel Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @babblydrabbly @phoenixhalliwell @mayhem24-7forever @lavenderluna10 @kirsteng42 @katjnordstrom96 @lacontroller1991 @11thstreetvigilante @weallhaveadestiny @justin-hammers @littlefreakingfangirl @xoxabs88xox @bewitchedignition @yespolkadotkitty @heresathreebee @s-u-t

[thetragicallynerdy]

Alright, I'm back for one more for the wip folder game: jim ed modern flower shop tattoo parlour biker au ☺️

Ooooh yes yes!!!! I think I've rambled about this one elsewhere, but I can't find it, so here you go! This one is a long sad t4t Jim/Ed modern au where the gist is:

Ed, recently divorced from Stede, gets in a bar fight with a homophobe. Jim saves his ass and takes him home because he's too drunk to remember his new address

They become friends, and eventually lovers. Very much a vibe of Ed coaxing feral cat Jim into a relationship with love and good food.

Jim in this one has multiple warrants out for their arrest, and is a little stuck in "I need to kill the remaining few siete gallos, but fuck, I'm so tired of it." They work under the table at a bar, have basically no connections besides Ed, and are just scraping by.

Ed is also trying to rebuild after divorce, making a new home etc.

There are a lot of mental health and trauma vibes with both of them.

Eventually Jim gets stabbed, saved by Ed, loses their shitty bar job, and gets offered a job in Stede's flower shop (Stede is still good friends with Ed, or at least, they're rebuilding the friendship). Ed, meanwhile, is a tattoo artist with a shop nearby. So, the tattoo parlour/flower shop aspect is VERY loose.

This one also features Jim who hasn't had an actual relationship or friendship like, ever, and is terrified of commitment and always ready to run, and pretends Ed is just their FWB until they can't anymore. Very "yeah we're fucking but I won't say I love you or call you my partner for 75 thousand words" vibe

It's my baby. This is absolutely my most self indulgent h/c fanfic. No idea when it'll be finished but I adore it so much have I said I love it so much??

Anyway here's a snippet XD

--

Jim struggles to sit up on their shitty mattress on the floor, and it makes Edward doubly glad that they let him make a copy of their key. They look like shit still, hollow cheeks and skin that still hasn't regained all its colour.

"You're here early." Their voice is a slur, and he frowns, not sure if it's because they just woke up or if something is wrong.

"Last appointment of the day got cancelled, thought I'd come over. Sit the fuck back down, don't get up, I can come to you."

They slump back down with an audible sigh, waiting until he makes his way over and sits on the bed beside them. When he kisses them they relax into it, hand curling around his thigh in a way that feels lovely. Like maybe they're starting to feel comfortable with casual touch that's doesn't lead to something more. Like maybe they're starting to feel comfortable with him, with them, together.

"How're you feeling?" he asks softly when he pulls away.

They yawn, blinking when their jaw clicks together again. "Okay. Fucking tired, man." The hand on his thigh edges higher. "I don't think I can do a ton, but you can ride my mouth, if you want. Or my hand."

He stares at them. "What?"

"That's why you're here, right?" They yawn again, barely bothering to cover it with an elbow. "So we can have sex."

It hurts far, far more than it should. He forces a laugh, picking their hand off his thigh and dropping it back to the bed. "I was there when the doctor spoke to you, Jimbo, six weeks until you can do strenuous activity." When they open their mouth to argue he taps them on the nose. "Which means you've still got five fucking weeks to go."

They look terribly lost, which hurts even more than the assumption. "... then why are you here? You only come over to hook up."

To hook up. As though they hadn't been practically dating for months, now. Fuck. Fuck.

He thinks bitterly about how he'd told Stede that Jim was his friend, and wonders when he got so good at underselling things. Does Jim even think that the two of them are that much?

Instead of asking he hefts the backpack still in his hands up. "Well, now I'm here for movies and dinner. Pick one while I get started on the soup."

Jim stares at him like he has two heads. "Soup?"

"Yes, dummy, soup. You know, delicious meal with broth and vegetables thats easy on the stomach? I'm making you enough to last the week. Brought you groceries too. Those muffins that you like."

They look down at the backpack in their hands, face twisting for one brief moment before settling into careful neutrality. “… you didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did.” He leans in, presses a kiss to their forehead before pushing himself to his feet and heading for the groceries left by the door. He doesn’t want to see whatever their face does next, isn’t sure he could take it. “That’s what friends do, mate. Take care of each other.”

He doesn’t see it, but he hears it.

“Oh,” Jim says, voice soft and small. “Okay.”

If anyone feels like dropping me an ask for the WIP folder game, my long list of WIP titles is here!

[practically-an-x-man]

This has been sitting in my Google Docs practically since Stranger Things s4 came out, and I've done nothing with it since then (haven't had time with my other WIPs), so here you go! It only about half of the first chapter, but it went down well on the page.

Anyway, I'll write the full thing eventually and I'm sure I'll make some changes to it, but I felt like posting this first bit since I felt pretty good about it.

Pairing: future Eddie Munson (and maybe Steve Harrington?) x OC

Words: 2.5k, unfinished first chapter

____

Tutoring. 

As if it wasn't embarrassing enough to be held back for two extra years, now the school had decided to take matters into their own hands. 

In a word: humiliating. And that wasn't a term he used lightly. Eddie typically renounced shame as an overrated and generally useless emotion, but this was taking it a step too far. 

Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, sitting in the library as some geeky kid with perfect grades and no will to live tried to accomplish what dozens of professional teachers had failed to do. They all did it the same way: long-winded lectures, going page-by-page through the books, then most of them eventually just giving up and sliding Eddie the class notes. And they all wore that small stupid half-smile… smirk… thing. That blend of trying-to-be-friendly mixed with oh-you-poor-thing and a little bit of thank-God-I'm-not-like-him. And a little bit of fear. Always a little fear of Eddie the Freak.

He was no stranger to this. It wasn't the first time the school had tried this. This was… Tutor Number Five? Six? The first one this year. And all the other ones were off to college to become doctors and lawyers and other professional-people, and Eddie was left in the dust.

His best record: three months. Three months of the library-lectures, dutifully plodding on in search of that just-passing D+, and then his tutor - a tall ginger girl with more freckles than she had hairs on her head - just stopped showing up. Oh well.

His worst? Nine-point-five days. Some squirrely-looking kid with glasses and a reddish-purple scar across his cheek. Eddie didn't even remember his name, he was gone that quick. He figured he must have spooked the kid somehow, because he ran off in the middle of the session. Hence the point-five.

Really, it wasn't that bad at first. Annoying, sure, but it was clear they all just saw him as any other kid in need of tutoring. The indifference was relieving, if a little dry.

Three years in, though, he'd built a reputation for himself. He didn't mind having a reputation… when he was on his own turf. Or even neutral ground, the lunchroom or the courtyard. But the library was their turf. Geekville. Population… not Eddie. Which just made him feel like he was swimming with the sharks.

This particular shark was small. A lemon shark, maybe. A dogfish at best, ready to gnaw at his ankles. She was even smaller than Dustin, though it was hard to tell with most of her figure hidden behind the table and the stack of books on top of it. Her hair was somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, tied back out of her face in a braid. She was lacking the expected glasses-and-braces, though he could see the Badge of Geekville painted all over her Purdue University sweater. Early Decision, he guessed. Maybe even graduating early. She'd be out of his hair soon, then.

"Ashley Kinzler," his counselor had said, "I think you'll like her. The two of you share a few common interests."

Yeah, right. he thought back. 

Ashley Kinzler looked up as he approached, and flashed him a smile that was, of course, all straight white teeth. Maybe he wasn't so wrong about the braces, then. She must have had them at some point. Her top lip seemed to disappear when she smiled. Her bottom lip wasn't swayed quite so easily.

It wasn't the usual sort of smile he got. At the very least, he didn't see any pity-the-lost-cause or fear-the-Freak in there. That was a start.

"Ashley, right?" he guessed as he climbed into the chair across from her.

"Edward." she deadpanned in response, that smile falling, and Eddie blinked. She had gray eyes. Stony gray eyes, not a hint of laughter, and she said his name (full name, no less) with the same tone as the principal whenever he caught Eddie skipping class.

Jesus H. Christ. This was going to be some fresh Hell if this was how she was going to-

Ashley Kinzler broke out in laughter so suddenly it made Eddie's head spin. He blinked again.

"I'm kidding!" she laughed, sticking out a hand, "Only my dad calls me Ashley. It's just Ash."

Just Ash. The girl who, within five seconds of meeting him, pulled the rug out from under him (and usually that was Eddie's job). Whose gray eyes, eyes the same color as… well, ash, were now gleaming with humor. Eddie relaxed. He liked this one. For now, at least.

"Got it." he said, baring her a toothy grin of his own and shaking her offered hand, "Nice to meet you, Just Ash. I'm Just Eddie."

She laughed again, apparently ignoring the way it made a few disdainful heads turn in their direction. Maybe she wasn't quite as meek as her teeny-tiny dogfish body would imply.

His counselor's voice echoed in his head again.

"She's got a four-point-oh GPA and has taken half the AP classes at Hawkins. If anyone can help you, it's her."

"So, um," Ash stammered, tapping her nails on the desk a little nervously. She had on black nail polish. All black, all ten fingers. Eddie found that a little interesting. He would have expected… purple, maybe. Or blue, like a soft blue? Not black. That seemed a little too intense compared with the rest of her.

"Should we get started?" she asked finally, drawing his eyes back up to her face.

"Sure." 

Sooner we get started, sooner we get this over with. Sooner I can go work on setting up tomorrow's Hellfire session.

"Alright," Ash said, "Three strikes." 

Eddie's brow crinkled, but he recovered quickly.

"It's gonna take a lot more than three strikes to get me through pre-calc." he replied with a grin, "Can I interest you instead in a game of bowling? Y'know, where strikes are a good thing?"

"No, no, that's-" Ash cut herself off with a breathy chuckle, "That's not what I mean. It's a game- well, sorta. It's how I start all my tutoring sessions. But we don't have to do it, if you don't want to."

"I like games." Eddie said, leaning forward across the table, "Hit me."

"Okay… here's how it works. We take turns. You say something you think is true about me, I say something I think is true about you. Every time you get something wrong, you get a strike. First to three strikes loses." 

Ash gave him a challenging grin, "But I always win."

"Oh yeah?"

She shrugged, eyes still gleaming. "People make more assumptions about me than you think."

"Straight A's." he said, tilting his chin at her. Ash gave a singular nod.

"Metalhead." she returned, an equally easy assumption. 

"You're in band." he guessed. Another nod.

"Percussion." she answered, "And… you play guitar." She gestured at his hands, and Eddie realized he had been picking at the calluses on his fingertips. 

"I'm making this too easy, aren't I?" he said, dropping his hands into his lap with a grin. Then he tilted his chin towards her, "You're going to Purdue."

"Strike one." Ash responded, a conspiratorial smile twitching at her lips. She tugged at the sleeves of her sweater, "This was my mother's."

Her gray eyes flicked over his figure, lips pursed as she hunted for some sort of clue.

"That lunchbox," she said, gesturing to the black tin box by his elbow, "That lunchbox doesn't contain food, let's put it that way."

"How'd you-"

"I pay attention." she responded vaguely, "But don't worry." She pinched her fingers and drew them across her mouth, "My lips are sealed."

Eddie pressed his lips together, but nodded.

"You're going to work in crime. A lawyer or a detective or something." He didn't have much evidence for that one (well, except for everything about this conversation), but he had a hunch.

And sure enough, Ash nodded.

"The last book you read was for school." she guessed.

"Nope." Eddie replied, popping the "p" for dramatic effect, "Strike one."

The second Monster Manual was sitting in his backpack as they spoke. Not exactly fine literature, but it definitely wasn't for school.

"You're probably into Cyndi Lauper or Fleetwood Mac." he countered.

"Strike two." Ash replied, then shrugged, "They're not bad, but not really my kind of thing."

"What is your kind of thing?" 

"That's not the game." she pointed out, flashing him a cheeky grin. "Did your dad teach you guitar?"

"No. My uncle." he responded, careful to keep his tone from sounding guarded. She meant it as a harmless question. So he just tilted his head and smirked at her. "Strike two for you."

"You are a tough nut to crack, Eddie Munson."

"And you… have never done anything stronger than Tylenol."

Ash frowned at that one, as if it were a hard question to answer. After a long moment, she nodded. 

"I'll give you that one. Hospitals don't count."

"Hospitals?" he repeated. Ash shot him a warning look, gray eyes going stormy. Eddie decided it was probably best to back off.

After a moment, the storm clouds gave way to clear skies again, and her eyes flicked over his shirt. Ash smiled, as if she'd just cracked some great code.

"You got the Hellfire Club thing from X-Men." she said, "Which means you… are more of a nerd than you let on."

"Not bad." he admitted, glancing down at the stylized demon on his shirt. He looked back at Ash, drumming his fingers on the table as he thought through his next play. "And you have a sister, don't you?" He thought he’d seen her before, here or there, and sometimes she was accompanied by a girl a few years younger.

"Stepsister. I'll count it." she responded, "You don't. You're an only child."

He nodded.

"Dog person?"

"Yeah. You haven't cut your hair since middle school."

"Yeah. Neither have you."

"Cheap. But you're right." Ash shrugged, "English is your best subject.”

“What, did they show you my grade records?” Eddie challenged, leaning back in his seat, “That’s cheating, you know.”

“Nope. Those are confidential.” she countered effortlessly, “I can just tell. You like telling stories. You like being a part of the stories. Which means English is probably your best." 

His eyebrows must have lifted straight to his hairline, but he nodded.

"You’re good.” he huffed, competitive annoyance sparking through him. Eddie chewed his lip, dark eyes flicking over her as he tried to pick out another clue. She was still picking at the hem of her sweater, fiddling with a loose thread. It was her mother’s, she’d said. And she had a stepsister, which meant one of her parents had gotten remarried at some point. He was willing to bet it was her father. 

And just like that, he had his guess.

“I'm sorry you lost your mom."

"Damn, Munson," she muttered, "Though I guess I set that one up, didn't I?"

"Just a little." he admitted, though he felt a pang of guilt for having guessed correctly. Was the game usually this intense when she played it with other people?

"You like making people laugh." Ash guessed a moment later, looking at him with those inscrutable gray eyes. It was like she was looking straight into his mind and plucking out all the thoughts that sat there. The next time he put a wizard into his Hellfire campaign, he was sure he’d give the wizard the same sharp, all-seeing gray eyes.

"Who doesn't?" he pointed out, remembering at once what she’d said.

"But I mean, you'd do anything for the sake of a joke. Like standing on lunch tables." Ash replied. He couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Yeah, alright." 

The game seemed to be moving into tougher territory, past the east and obvious assumptions and moving into more difficult realms. And he wanted to give her a hardball.

"You… have had a crush on the same guy for years, but you won't ask him out because you're afraid of rejection. And he's probably on the basketball team."

And Ash laughed.

"Hell no! Those guys are assholes." she blurted, shaking her head, "Strike three, Munson. I told you I always win."

"I guess we'll have to have a rematch." 

Despite the game, he still didn't know all that much about her. But, maybe even because of the game, he was curious. 

“I suppose we will.” Ash agreed, shooting him a warm smile, “But another time.” She drummed her fingers on the table, and Eddie found himself wondering once again at that black nail polish. He was sure it didn’t mean anything. She probably just liked black. Enough people did. But he had a hunch.

“So,” she started, sliding a notebook off her massive stack of books and flipping it open, “Tell me about your day. Any day. What do you like to do?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing pre-calc?”

She pressed her lips together for a long moment, debating how to respond. Her fingers were tapping on the table again, and Eddie could have sworn the rhythm sounded like a few of the drum fills in For Whom the Bell Tolls. 

“We could, if you really wanted to get it over with,” she finally said, “But I don’t think you’d retain much. I don’t mean that in a rude way- not at all. But it seems like that’s not your kind of learning, and it’s not really my kind of teaching either. I think this’ll go a lot better if I know a little more about you.”

He found it a little funny, how quickly she could switch from tutor-mode to what sounded like genuine friendly conversation, then back to tutor-mode just as quickly. He still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her.

“I could start, if you want.” she blurted a moment later, “If that’s more comfortable.” She didn’t give him a chance to decide, just leaned back in her seat and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Ash Kinzler. I’m nineteen years old, and I’m a senior. I grew up in Muncie, and my family moved to Hawkins two years ago. It’s me, my dad, my stepmom and stepsister, and our dog. Her name’s Layla. The dog, I mean. My stepsister’s name is Isabelle. Let’s see… I’ve played percussion since I was in sixth grade… tried out for All-State once but didn’t make it past the district level. I’d love to be in a band sometime- like, a real band, not a school band. I like music and horror novels and word puzzles, and I’m planning to study law in college.”

“Wait, you’re nineteen?” Eddie asked, so focused on that part that’s he barely heard the rest, “But-”

“Yup.” Ash replied, apparently reading his mind, “Long story short - very short - I ended up in the hospital and had to re-do my freshman year once I got back. Don’t ask, because you’re not getting anything else. Your turn.”

He didn’t miss how cagy she’d gotten at the mention of the hospital.

____

[And that's all I've got of it so far, didn't even finish the first chapter, but I really enjoyed the energy of it. Definitely need to go back and give it a little more attention once I have the chance.]