#I’m British with a bad sleep schedule

[tyquu]

It’s Kanera week and despite having over a month to prepare I’d didn’t prep ahead at all!! I will endeavour to make something for at least two of the days this week, because I love these two dearly

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Keep Me Close

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ : ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏ

ᴘᴏᴘꜱᴛᴀʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʙᴏᴅʏɢᴜᴀʀᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | 8ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Age gap, Angst, Masturbation, Car crash mentioned, Drinking, drugs, mental health problems, depression, suicide mentioned

A/N : THE DRUG MENTIONED IS FICTIONAL

SUMMARY : Your longtime bodyguard says goodbye, and in his place comes Sevika—silent, intense, and nothing like what you're used to. The day spins by in a blur of rehearsal chaos, tight schedules, forced smiles, and pain you pretend isn’t there. You power through it all with glitter, charm, and the help of pills no one knows about. Sevika doesn’t say much, but you can feel her eyes on you—watching, noticing, understanding. By the time the lights fade and the heels come off, something between you has already shifted. She may be here to protect you, but it’s starting to feel a little more complicated than that.

Sunday evening

The city lights flickered past the tinted windows in streaks of gold and crimson, a blur of nightlife and camera flashes. The soft hum of the limo engine was the only sound between you and the man seated across from you, his hands folded neatly over his lap, tuxedo jacket draped over his arm instead of worn.

“Hard to believe this is the last night,” you said softly, swirling the untouched champagne in your glass. You glanced up at him—Marcus, the only bodyguard you’d ever had. Gruff, dependable, practically family at this point.

He smiled, deep lines forming at the corners of his eyes. “You say that like I’m dying.”

You laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You’re just… the only one who ever got it. You let me sneak out of rehearsals when I needed air, remember?”

“I also dragged your ass back before anyone noticed.” He shifted slightly, wincing a bit at his knee—bad from an old injury. “I’m not twenty-five anymore, kiddo. I’ve got a wife who’s been waiting for me to stop chasing headlines and come home for dinner. Real dinner. Not cold catering backstage at an award show.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to let the disappointment show. You were happy for him. Really. But the thought of someone else watching your back, some stranger who didn’t know your routines or when your anxiety kicked in before a big show—it made your stomach twist.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, voice low, sincere.

He gave a short laugh, reaching over to ruffle your hair like he always did when you were younger. “You’ll be fine. They already found someone. She starts tomorrow.”

“She?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. She. Bit of a change of pace, but I’ve seen her file. Military background. Keeps to herself. Looks like she could snap a man in half without smudging her eyeliner.”

That got a smirk out of you. “Sounds terrifying.”

“She’ll keep you alive. That’s the job.” He leaned back again, exhaling like he was letting the last ten years go with the breath. “Just… don’t give her too much hell, alright?”

You tilted your head against the leather seat, looking out at the flashing lights again. “No promises.”

Monday Morning 

Your alarm screamed to life at 8:47 AM.

You jolted upright, tangled in silk sheets and sleep paralysis panic, blinking against the sunlight that was already flooding your bedroom through half-open curtains.

Three knocks tapped against your door a second later—precisely timed, too proper to be anyone but Geoffrey.

“Miss Y/N,” came the clipped British accent. “You’re currently—how do I put this politely—late as hell.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the mattress dramatically before shouting, “I’m up, I’m up, I swear!”

The sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the hallway as you launched yourself out of bed, hair a mess, eyeliner smudged from last night because you definitely hadn’t taken it off before passing out. The floor was cold against your bare feet as you darted across the room, dodging your neon pink yoga mat and tripping over a pile of half-unpacked shopping bags.

Your massive walk-in closet loomed like a luxury war zone—sequined stage outfits hanging like glittery ghosts, shelves of shoes taunting you with their pristine organization. You grabbed your phone off the vanity, eyes widening at the text from your choreographer.

“If you’re not here in 15 minutes I’m choreographing the bridge solo around a plastic folding chair and calling it avant-garde.”

You whimpered.

“Okay, okay, leggings—black bootcut—where are they—why do I have six identical pairs of leopard print shorts but no normal pants?!”

You yanked a hanger from the bottom row and pulled the leggings off, trying to shimmy them on mid-hop. One leg went in. Then the other got halfway before the fabric caught on your heel and refused to go further.

You cursed under your breath, wobbling across the carpet like a flamingo in crisis, leg halfway in, trying not to fall as you shoved the waistband up with pure desperation.

Outside, your phone pinged again. You ignored it. You had bigger problems. Like getting your damn pants on.

Downstairs, the marble foyer gleamed like it had been waxed that morning—and probably had. Sevika stood near the grand staircase, arms crossed over her chest, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a look on her face that said she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

She shifted slightly, glancing around at the mansion’s high ceilings, ornate crown molding, and an offensively large crystal chandelier. This wasn’t her scene. Her combat boots looked wrong against the tile. Her leather jacket squeaked when she moved. She hated that.

Across from her, your manager tried to fill the silence, smoothing down his already perfectly crisp blazer.

“She’s, uh… not usually this unorganized,” he offered, voice tense, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as thud-thud-thud echoed down—sounded like someone wrestling a wild animal up there. Or possibly a drawer full of bronzer.

Sevika lifted a brow, unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

He cleared his throat. “She’s just been swamped. Album rehearsals. PR gigs. Emotional support animal drama, don’t ask. She’s really very professional, I swear—”

“Mind if I smoke?”

“What? Oh, no, I’d really prefer if—”

But she was already pulling the cigarette out from behind her ear, lighting it with a practiced flick, and letting the first inhale fog up the air between them. She didn’t say anything else. Just leaned back against the bannister like this was all the same to her. Popstar princesses. Mansions. Lipstick-stained chaos. Nothing new.

And then—like a hurricane made of Sephora and regret—you came barreling down the stairs.

Bootcut leggings, a cropped white tank top that definitely wasn’t meant to ride up when you raised your arms (but absolutely did), and a wrinkled cotton jacket hanging off one shoulder like an afterthought. You looked like a sleep-deprived soccer mom who’d just dropped her kid off at practice and remembered she had a concert in fifteen minutes.

Sevika blinked.

This was her?

She coughed once, startled by her own inhale of smoke, then casually flicked the cigarette down and crushed it under her boot. No expression. No reaction.

You bounded up, breathless but smiling, hand outstretched like this was a networking brunch.

“Hi! You must be the new bodyguard—Sevika, right? I’m Y/N.”

Sevika stared at your hand. Didn’t take it.

Instead, she nodded once. “Yeah.”

Your manager ran a hand down his face. “Y/N. One hundred people. Lighting, sound, dancers, band—waiting for you.”

You turned to him with that same sweet smile, as if that was somehow going to stop him from having a heart attack. “I know. I’m ready. See?” You gestured to your outfit.

Sevika huffed a short laugh through her nose, barely audible, already following behind as you made for the door. Soccer mom or not—this was going to be interesting.

The luxury sedan purred to life as the doors shut with a soft click, sealing you inside with thick leather seats and the awkward tension of three people who had nothing in common.

You were squished in the middle seat—middle seat—like some kind of peasant in your own damn ride, shoulder-to-shoulder with your manager on one side and Sevika on the other. Except Sevika had her legs spread wide like this was her car and she paid the insurance. You kept adjusting, trying not to elbow her, but she wasn’t budging. Not even a little.

Your thigh was pressed against hers. Her jeans were rough. Her presence was… loud, even in silence.

You shifted again, subtly trying to reclaim an inch of cushion. Nothing. Not a single concession from her side. She kept staring out the window like you didn’t exist.

Beside you, your manager was already going off, voice rising with each bullet point from his phone.

“Okay, we’re starting at the staduim—soundcheck’s already half set up, then we have the PR shoot at two, then you’re supposed to do that podcast taping and then the red carpet teaser You can’t reschedule the shoot again, Y/N, they flew in the photographer from Milan.”

“Mmhm,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on your phone screen. Instagram. Your last post was still getting comments. Mostly about your hair. Some creepy ones, as usual. You liked a few replies, just to look engaged.

Sevika hadn’t said a word. Just sat there like a wall—muscle, leather, and cigarette smoke residue. Her fingers drummed once against her thigh. Then stopped.

Your knee was still touching hers.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

The sedan pulled up to the studio’s private entrance, and before you could even grab your bag, the door swung open. A production assistant practically yanked it off the hinges.

You stepped out into a swarm of barely-contained chaos.

Crew members paced with clipboards, headsets buzzed with overlapping chatter, and someone was already muttering “She’s finally here” under their breath like it was the day’s worst news. The energy was palpable—irritated, twitchy, caffeine-fueled.

You smoothed your jacket, stepped into the chaos with practiced ease, and flashed that smile. Soft. Sweet. Just shy of apologetic. The one that said: I know I’m late, but aren’t I cute enough to get away with it?

It worked like a spell.

A few sighs. A few glares that softened immediately. Someone chuckled. You heard, “Okay, we’re back on track,” as if you hadn’t just derailed the entire schedule.

You started down the wide hallway, the soles of your boots clicking faintly over the polished floor. The place was huge���glass walls, minimalist white decor, framed platinum records from other artists lining the walls. A place that was meant to look expensive and feel exhausting.

One assistant jogged up beside you, holding out a cup without breaking stride. “Almond milk, extra ice, two pumps vanilla, half a shot of espresso.”

You took it with a grin, lifting it like a toast. “Lifesaver.”

On your other side, a woman with a sleek ponytail and a laminated ALL ACCESS lanyard speed-walked beside you, flipping through her iPad.

“Okay, we’re running behind,” she said in a sharp tone that meant business. “We’ve moved your rehearsal to Studio B and your glam team is waiting in green room two. If you could not sneak off mid-lipstick like last time, that’d be great.”

Behind you, Sevika followed like a shadow, hands in her pockets, eyes scanning every hallway corner, exit sign, and passing crew member with practiced boredom. She was quiet, but you could feel her—solid, imposing, unbothered. She didn’t match the scene at all.

Which, you had to admit, made her kind of hard to ignore.

You pushed open the dressing room door and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar rush of perfume, fresh flowers someone had arranged hours ago, and the faint hum of the building’s sound system leaking through the walls.

“Alright,” the woman with the lanyard said, pausing in the doorway. “You’ve got an hour to do your warm-ups before rehearsal. Studio B at noon sharp. Don’t make me come find you.”

You gave her a little salute with your coffee cup. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes and disappeared down the hallway, already talking into her headset again.

You didn’t look back as Sevika followed you in.

The room was massive. More of a mini apartment than a dressing room, really—white shag rugs, full-length mirrors lined with lights, racks of performance outfits, a velvet chaise in the corner. You slipped off your jacket and tossed it lazily onto a nearby chair, revealing your white tank top underneath—thin, a little sheer, and definitely not built for modesty.

Sevika closed the door behind her with a soft click, but didn’t move from her spot. She stood by the wall like a sentinel, arms crossed, watching everything and nothing.

You didn’t notice the way her jaw clenched. Or how her gaze lingered a second too long before flicking toward the ceiling.

You grabbed your water bottle, took a sip, and began pacing the room as you hummed scales under your breath. Then came the lip trills, the tongue exercises, the silly siren sounds your vocal coach swore by.

And, multitasker that you were, you dropped down into a deep side lunge mid-vocal run, stretching your legs as you sang out a clean soprano arpeggio.

Sevika shifted slightly.

You switched sides, arms overhead as you bent into a wide stretch, breath steady and controlled as you started the next exercise.

Her eyes flicked back. Then away. Then back again.

You had no idea. Or maybe you did. Either way, it wasn’t helping that the room was cold, and your tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Nipples peaked through soft cotton with every inhale.

Sevika adjusted her stance, exhaling through her nose like she could physically push the thought out of her head.

She was here to work. That was all.

You reached for your toes, perfectly flexible, still vocalizing.

Sevika stared at the ceiling like it was telling her the meaning of life.

A sharp knock tapped at the door, snapping Sevika out of her internal crisis.

She cleared her throat, voice low and gruff. “Yeah?”

“It’s glam,” someone chirped from the other side.

Sevika opened the door and immediately regretted it.

Three stylists breezed in like a gust of perfume and hairspray—bags clinking, palettes open, curling wands already heating up. They barely glanced at her, too focused on you, who were now perched cross-legged on your spinny chair like a little gremlin queen, sipping iced coffee and scrolling through your messages.

Sevika stepped aside, pressing her back to the wall like she needed to cool off—which was ironic, considering she was sweating. Literally sweating. In a room that felt like a walk-in freezer.

Her jacket was too hot. Her neck felt flushed. And her face? Yeah, it was red. Tomato red. Great.

You swiveled lazily as one of the makeup artists dabbed primer onto your cheekbones, your eyes meeting Sevika’s in the mirror.

“You okay over there?” you asked sweetly, a little smirk playing on your lips.

She blinked. “Fine.”

The stylist tilted your chin. “Try not to move, love.”

You giggled and winked at Sevika before facing forward again, humming quietly as brushes swept across your skin, your tank top still clinging to your curves like it was part of the show.

Sevika shifted her stance again, jaw tight, eyes glued to the farthest corner of the room like she was monitoring for snipers and not trying to suppress a full-body reaction to you being ten feet away in that top.

This was going to be a long damn day.

The room cleared out after glam wrapped, leaving a haze of setting spray and glitter in the air. You stood up from the chair, makeup flawless—winged liner sharp, rhinestones twinkling at your temples, lips glossy and sweet like strawberry syrup. Your hair was pinned up in big bouncy curlers, held together with an army of pink clips and butterfly pins.

You turned toward the garment rack where your dress for the rehearsal hung like a disco ball had died and been reincarnated into couture. Sparkly. Pink. Dramatic.

As you unzipped the bag, Sevika shifted by the door.

“You want me to step out?” she asked, eyes flicking toward you for just a second.

You waved a hand. “You don’t have to. We’ve got the same parts, right?” you teased, grinning over your shoulder.

Sevika huffed a single dry breath of amusement, but still stepped out. “Yell if someone tries to assassinate you.”

You rolled your eyes as the door clicked shut behind her. The dress wasn’t exactly easy to get into. Glittery corset, off-shoulder straps, zipper that ran up the back and refused to cooperate. You twisted and fumbled and cursed under your breath.

After a full minute of struggling, you groaned.

“Sevika!” you called. “Can I borrow your scary fingers real quick?!”

The door opened.

She stepped back in—and froze.

You were standing in front of the mirror, trying to reach the zipper with one hand, the other braced on the vanity. The corset was already squeezing your waist in that perfect hourglass, glitter sparkling with every tiny breath. The skirt hugged your hips like it was holding on for dear life, and it had definitely ridden up higher in the back—dangerously high.

Sevika’s eyes locked for a fraction of a second too long before she forced them up. Her jaw flexed.

“You stuck?” she asked, monotone, already walking toward you.

“Mmhmm. I got everything but the last three inches.”

She stepped behind you, fingers brushing the exposed skin of your back as she grabbed the zipper. Her hands were cool. Yours definitely weren’t.

“I could’ve just worn sweats,” you joked, breath catching as her knuckles grazed your spine. “You know, if anyone here respected my vision.”

Sevika said nothing. Just pulled the zipper up in one clean motion. You were fully zipped—and she stepped away like you were a bomb that might go off if she got too close.

You turned to her, hands on your hips. “You’re really hard to fluster, huh?”

“Not my job to be flustered.”

“Oh?” you raised a brow. “So what is your job?”

Sevika didn’t blink. “Keep you alive. Keep you out of trouble.”

You took a slow, deliberate step closer, voice dropping just slightly. “What if I am trouble?”

She looked at you. Really looked. Eyes dragging from the rhinestones at your temple down to the glitter clinging to your collarbone. Her expression didn’t change—but there was a flicker behind her eyes. Something dark. Wanting.

Then it was gone.

She turned toward the door. “You’ve got five minutes.”

And just like that, the warmth was gone, replaced by cold steel and a slammed-shut wall.

But you could still feel where her fingers had touched you. And something told you she could, too.

The lights dimmed and the bass kicked in—BOOM-BOOM-CLAP—as your prerecorded track echoed through the rehearsal space.

“Alright, backup plan A, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself, sliding the mic prop into your palm just as the beat dropped and the spotlight hit you dead center.

The first verse hit with a wink and a snap of your hips, glitter catching in the overheads as you strutted downstage with your dancers flanking you like a little glittering army.

“You keep me on ice just in case she says no…” You dragged the line out like it was a punchline, twisting your hips with a smirk that landed somewhere between sultry and I know exactly what I’m doing.

The whole routine was flirty, high-energy—kicks, turns, struts. Your dancers moved in perfect sync, arms framing your body as you danced like the stage owed you rent. The track pulsed with synthy attitude, and the chorus exploded into a kaleidoscope of neon light and heat.

But just as you hit your mark for the bridge, spinning out into a smooth cross-step with a hair flip— your heel snagged.

Your balance lurched forward, and the floor hit your knee hard, pain spiking up your leg.

Gasps rippled through the room, the music still blaring as your dancers froze for just a beat too long. You blinked up from the floor, heart pounding, mascara fluttering as your gaze snapped to the girl behind you—Renee—whose expression was all wide eyes and innocent surprise.

But you felt it. That was no accident.

You pushed yourself up, furious. “Did you just trip me?”

Renee put her hands up like she was the victim. “What?! No—I didn’t even touch—”

“Bullshit!” you snapped. “I felt your leg hook mine, don’t play dumb with me.”

“Okay, everyone take a breath,” the choreographer said quickly, stepping between you both. “It didn’t look intentional from where I was standing. Could’ve just been bad spacing—”

“I saw it,” Sevika’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Everyone turned.

She was standing near the back wall, arms crossed, face unreadable—but her eyes? Cold. Sharp. Certain.

The room fell silent.

“I saw her foot sweep out. It wasn’t spacing.”

Renee opened her mouth—then closed it.

No one argued. Not the choreographer. Not the assistant. Not even Renee, who suddenly looked like she might melt into the floor.

Sevika’s gaze stayed on the girl a moment longer, just long enough to make her shift uncomfortably before Sevika looked away like she was done with the whole thing.

Like she could snap someone’s neck if it came to that—and honestly? No one doubted it.

Your manager appeared beside you almost instantly, his perfectly styled hair slightly askew for once, eyes flicking from your face to your ankle.

“Y/N. Are you okay?” he asked, voice a little too calm to be genuine.

You nodded quickly, brushing some glittery hair from your face. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a slip.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, stepping in closer. “We can reschedule rehearsal, get someone to look at—”

“I said I’m fine.” You forced a bright smile, teeth tight. “Let’s just run it again. I’ve got it.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

As he stepped away, you took a careful breath and shifted your weight to your foot.

A white-hot shock of pain shot up your leg—so sharp and sudden it made your vision blur for a second. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink. You just smiled like a liar and gave the cue to start the track again.

The music blasted. You launched into the choreography again, biting your cheek so hard it might bleed. Every twist, every kick felt like walking on knives. But you moved through it with your head held high and your smile never faltering.

From her post near the back, Sevika’s eyes narrowed.

She saw the tiny hitch in your step. The way you didn’t put your full weight on your right foot. The slight tremble in your thigh when you landed the next spin. You were good—really good—but she was trained to notice weakness. Pain. Tension.

She said nothing.

Just watched you power through it like the stage was a battlefield and you weren’t planning on losing today.

But behind that calm exterior, Sevika’s jaw clenched.

She’d seen people push past pain before. It never ended well.

The dressing room was quiet now—too quiet.

You’d swapped the sparkle for sweatpants, tugged your cotton jacket back on, and were curled up on the futon with one leg tucked under you, the other stretched out in front. Your ankle was bruised and swollen, the purple blooming just above the bone like a warning sign you didn’t want to read.

You sighed, brushing your fingers over it gently, flinching at the contact.

“Cool,” you muttered to yourself. “Real cute.”

You sat there for a moment longer, letting the silence wrap around you like a weighted blanket—too heavy, too familiar.

Then you stood, biting back a wince as your foot touched the floor. You hobbled over to the mirror, bracing your hands on the edge of the vanity. The lights ringed around the mirror cast your reflection in soft gold, too kind for the way your eyes scanned yourself.

Waist. Arms. Stomach.

Your gaze drifted across the curve of your hips, the faint mark of your waistband pressed into your skin, the tiny blemishes under your chin you swore weren’t there yesterday. You sucked in your stomach, tilted your face, pursed your lips like you were posing for a photo no one was taking.

Too puffy here. Too soft there. Not enough here.

You blinked and turned toward your bag, rooting through it until your hand closed around the small white pill bottle tucked inside the zippered pocket.

Hydraxin.

No label, not that you needed one. You knew the shape of the pills by heart.

Your fingers twisted the cap without hesitation.

You shook two into your palm, dry-swallowed them with a sip from your water bottle, and closed your eyes. The cool rush was subtle at first, like the volume on reality turning down just a little. The ache in your ankle fuzzed at the edges. Your breathing slowed.

Just enough to get through the rest of the day. Maybe even smile while doing it.

You set the bottle back in your bag, zipped it closed, and looked at your reflection again. The lights were still too soft, but for a second, you almost liked what you saw.

A knock came at the door—three quick taps, impatient but polite.

You didn’t flinch. The Hydraxin was already working its way through your bloodstream like a warm, sugary fog. The ache in your ankle was still there, dulled now, distant. Manageable. Your heart beat a little faster, but you liked it that way—like your body was catching up to your schedule, not dragging behind it.

“Y/N?” your manager called through the door. “We’ve got to leave now if you want to make the shoot on time. Thirty minutes, tops.”

You straightened up from the vanity, blinking away the haze, and took a second to adjust the zipper on your jacket. Then you tilted your chin up and gave your reflection a practiced, dazzling smile.

Sweet. Controlled. Public-ready.

You opened the door with a light flick of your wrist, bright eyes and white teeth greeting him like nothing was wrong at all.

“Sorry,” you said breezily, stepping into the hallway. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Your manager gave you a once-over, eyes scanning for anything out of place. If he noticed the faint flush to your cheeks or the too-dilated sparkle in your pupils, he didn’t mention it.

“You good?” he asked, glancing down at your feet.

“Perfect,” you chirped, already walking ahead. “Let’s go make me look expensive.”

Behind you, Sevika fell into step silently, her eyes trailing you with that same unreadable expression—but her gaze lingered just a moment longer on the slight favoring of your left leg.

She didn’t say a word.

The luxury sedan hummed beneath you as it slid back onto the road, city lights beginning to flicker awake outside the tinted windows.

Your manager had claimed the front passenger seat this time, already barking orders into his phone about lighting setups and which of your PR-approved angles were best for the backdrop. You tuned him out, focusing on the screen of your phone instead, flipping it to selfie mode.

The camera caught your reflection—glowy, a little too flushed, pupils still dancing a bit too wide, but your lips looked dry. You popped the cap off your tinted chapstick and ran it across your bottom lip slowly, then smudged the excess with your ring finger. You pressed your lips together, analyzing the shape, then did a little pout just to see how it would photograph.

Next to you, Sevika hadn’t moved.

Still sitting like a boulder with legs, her thighs spread, one arm resting lazily on the center console while the other stayed draped across her knee. She hadn’t said a word since getting in the car, but her eyes were constantly shifting—watching the mirrors, the side streets, the alleyways they passed. Her posture screamed ready, like she expected someone to crash through the window at any second.

You peeked at her through the edge of your screen, catching how her jaw clenched slightly as the car turned a sharp corner. She looked like she didn’t trust the driver. Or maybe she just didn’t trust anyone.

“Do you always sit like someone’s gonna assassinate me?” you asked, voice light, teasing.

She didn’t look at you.

“I’ve seen weirder shit happen in quieter cities,” she muttered.

You leaned back against the seat with a little hum, dragging your finger across your phone screen to adjust the filter. “Well, if they are gonna assassinate me, I hope they wait until after I get a good photo in this outfit.”

She finally glanced at you, one brow twitching just slightly.

“Priorities,” she muttered.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

She looked away again. But you didn’t miss the flicker of amusement in her eyes as she scanned the street.

Monday Afternoon

The rooftop was bathed in late-afternoon glow, the sky casting golden hour warmth over the shoot setup. A faux cityscape backdrop stood behind you, sleek and modern, while a glowing acrylic pedestal held the star of the show: a rose gold box of foundation with your name stamped across it in cursive font.

You were draped across a velvet chaise in heels far too tall, the pink corset dress from rehearsal swapped out for a more editorial version—tighter, shinier, lower cut. The makeup team had gone all in: glitter along your collarbones, highlighter on your cheekbones that caught the sun just right, and lashes so long they cast shadows when you blinked.

You shifted into another pose—one leg curled under you, hand resting flirtatiously beside the foundation box, lips parted just slightly like you were in the middle of whispering something scandalous. The photographer yelled encouragement from behind the lens.

“Yes! Right there—hold that! Give me pouty, give me playful, yes, that’s money!”

Sevika stood near the far edge of the rooftop, arms crossed, sunglasses low on her nose. She was trying—really trying—to be professional.

But she was staring.

And not just in a scanning-the-environment kind of way. No. She was watching you pose, watching the way your body arched just right under the light, how your mouth curved around every sultry smirk like you were sending the look straight to her. Your lips were glossy again. Your dress had ridden up just enough to break a few broadcast standards.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Someone behind her fanned themselves dramatically. “God, she’s so hot it’s offensive.”

“Tell me about it,” another crew member muttered. “She’s gonna sell a million units off that look alone.”

Sevika didn’t even register the comments. She was caught up, pulled into the moment despite herself. Just a few seconds too long.

Then your gaze flicked up and locked with hers.

You didn’t break pose. But the smile that followed? It wasn’t for the camera.

She looked away, jaw tight, sunglasses pushed higher on her nose like a shield.

But her ears were red. Just a little.

The flashbulbs faded one by one as the photographer called, “That’s a wrap for this look!”

Applause and scattered praise rippled through the rooftop crew, but you barely registered it. You stood slowly from the chaise, balancing yourself on the balls of your feet, your smile stiffening as that pleasant Hydraxin haze began to slip—like glitter washing off in the rain.

Your ankle throbbed, sharp now, pulsing under the skin where the bruise had darkened. You took a cautious step—

Wrong one.

A spike of pain shot up your leg like a live wire, and you yelped before you could stop it, hand flying to the backdrop wall for balance. A few heads turned.

Your manager was immediately at your side, tablet in one hand, iced coffee in the other. “You alright? You’re good, yeah? Because we’ve got the podcast taping in two hours, then the red carpet teaser—oh, and they still want you to approve the final edits for that beachwear promo—”

You plastered on a smile, teeth clenched tight. “Yeah, no, totally. I just need to… fix my hair. It got frizzy.”

He blinked. “It looks perfect—”

“I’ll be right back.” You were already hobbling off before he could argue.

You disappeared down the hallway that led back to your temporary dressing room. Your vision felt too bright, your skin a little clammy. The weight of your lashes was starting to sting, your heartbeat speeding up in that uneven, post-Hydraxin crash way.

Sevika moved from her corner silently, already starting to follow behind.

But you turned at the dressing room door, one hand gripping the handle, the other holding yourself steady against the wall.

“Hey,” you said softly, not looking directly at her. “Can I… just be alone for a second?”

She hesitated.

You didn’t say it rudely. You didn’t have to. She could hear it in your voice—the crack around the edge, the exhaustion beneath the glitter.

After a pause, Sevika gave a short nod. “I’ll be outside.”

You slipped into the room and closed the door behind you, the latch sounding impossibly loud in the quiet. The space was dimmer than before, your reflection in the mirror already a little smeared around the edges. You leaned against the vanity and finally let your body sag.

Alone. At last.

The room was quiet again—too quiet for the mess happening inside your chest.

You reached for your bag with shaky fingers, pulling it open like a secret you weren’t supposed to tell. The bottle was already in your hand before you had a chance to second guess it. Hydraxin. Just two more. You popped them past your lips and chased them with a lukewarm swig of water from your bottle, the kind that had been sitting out too long and tasted faintly of lemon and backwash.

You peeled yourself out of the corset dress and slipped into your “normal” clothes—those soft bootcut leggings again, the cotton jacket, a fresh tank top. A version of you that felt quieter, simpler, easier to carry.

But your ankle was screaming now.

You sat down at the vanity and lifted your leg into your lap, inspecting the swollen mess. It looked worse. More purple, more angry. Just the pressure from your leggings made you want to scream.

You stared at your reflection for a long time.

The makeup was still perfect. Hair still curled. But your eyes were glassy, red at the corners. Your lips were starting to tremble, gloss clinging to the skin like glue.

You touched your cheek. Then your hip. Your stomach. Your throat.

Not skinny enough. Not smooth enough. Not good enough.

And then—

The sob hit your chest like a punch. Soft, at first. Like a hiccup caught behind your tongue. You tried to breathe through it, pressing your hands to your face like that might hold it all in.

But it cracked. Just a little.

Then another sob. This one sharper. It broke through your clenched teeth as you doubled over slightly, elbows on the vanity, trying so, so hard not to be loud.

Outside the door, Sevika stood with her back against the wall, arms crossed like always.

She heard it. She’d heard a lot of things in her life—screaming, begging, even silence where there should’ve been sound. But this?

This was different.

Your sobs were muffled, soft, like you were still performing even in your own breakdown. It wasn’t the kind of crying that demanded attention. It was the kind that happened when someone had no one to perform for anymore.

And despite every instinct she had to stay neutral, Sevika found herself listening. Carefully. Closely.

And goddamn it, there was something so pretty about the way you cried.

Not because she enjoyed it. Not like that. It just… did something to her. The rawness of it. The way your voice cracked at the end. The fact that you were alone in that room and still trying to sound small.

She ran a hand down her face, exhaled through her nose, and stared at the door like it was testing her.

And maybe it was.

Monday Evening 

The rest of the day blurred like a highlight reel played too fast and too bright.

Car rides. People. Lights. More car rides. More people. More lights.

You smiled when you were supposed to. Laughed on cue. Kissed cheeks, posed next to strangers, waved at fans behind barricades as flash after flash blinded you into something smooth and hollow. Your ankle throbbed through every step. The pills worked, until they didn’t. Then you took more.

You lost count of how many times someone asked if you were “so excited” for what was next. You nodded every time.

By the time you got back to the mansion, it was well past midnight. The staff greeted you at the door—two security guards, a sleepy-eyed maid, and Geoffrey with a glass of lemon water and a warm towel, like you were a prize racehorse coming in from the storm.

You thanked them softly, stepping out of your heels like they were shackles, and disappeared up the grand staircase without a word.

Behind you, Sevika lingered in the foyer, watching as the guards reset the perimeter and the gates slid shut.

Her shift ended there.

No overnight detail. No cameras in your room. You were locked up tighter than most vaults, and Sevika knew the kind of men patrolling your property—men who’d shoot before asking questions. You didn’t need her at night.

So she turned on her heel, heading out through the side entrance, leather jacket slung back over her shoulder, helmet in hand.

She took her bike across the city, winding through neon signs and pothole-riddled streets, where the air smelled like burnt oil and fried food. By the time she pulled up to her building, her buzz was gone. Reality had returned.

Her apartment was small. Cracked tiles in the bathroom. A fridge that hummed too loud. One flickering overhead light in the kitchen and a couch that sagged in the middle. The window didn’t shut right. She shoved it closed anyway.

Sevika dropped her keys on the counter, kicked off her boots, and sat down heavily on the edge of her bed.

Silence.

She rubbed her face with both hands, then lit a cigarette with a tired flick of her lighter.

She could still hear the sound of you crying behind that dressing room door.

Still see the way you smiled after.

She exhaled smoke toward the ceiling, muttering to herself:

“Rich girl’s gonna wreck me.”

The movie played on her busted little TV—some old action flick with bad audio and worse pacing—but Sevika wasn’t watching it.

She sat slouched on her worn-out couch, cigarette burning low between two fingers, eyes locked on the grimy window that looked out over the street below. Neon signs blinked and flickered against the cracked glass, throwing color over the peeling paint of her living room walls. Down on the sidewalk, someone was being mugged behind a corner store.

No one helped.

She didn’t either.

She just watched, blank-faced, the glow of the screen lighting her cheek while gunshots and explosions from the movie echoed behind her like they belonged to someone else’s life.

But her mind wasn’t here—not in her apartment, not in this part of the city. It was there. With you.

That glittery dress. That glossy smile. That yelp when you stepped wrong. That sound—soft and broken—when you cried behind the door and asked to be alone.

She tried to shake it off. She was good at shaking things off. But this?

You were stuck behind her eyes like something lodged in a wound.

Sevika stood up with a grunt and wandered over to her desk. It was cluttered—half-burnt candles, spare parts, a small tin ashtray. The busted laptop sat closed beneath a faded stack of mail. She swept it clean with one arm and flipped the laptop open, the screen flickering to life with a faint whine.

She waited, drumming her fingers against the table while it groaned its way awake. The internet was shit. Everything took longer than it should. But she didn’t care.

She opened the browser. Typed your name.

And there you were.

A dozen search results. Articles. Headlines. Fan forums. Paparazzi shots. Studio interviews. Instagram reposts. Close-ups of your face, smiling with fake lashes and dimples. Red carpet gowns and morning coffee runs. Performance clips. Magazine covers. Grainy phone videos of you blowing kisses to screaming fans.

But none of them looked like you.

Not really.

Not like when you were sitting on that futon in your cotton jacket, staring at your ankle like it might swallow you whole.

Not like when you were crying so quietly it made her chest ache.

She lit another cigarette and leaned closer to the screen, eyes scanning every photo, every word, every digital version of you that didn’t quite match the real thing.

And she whispered under her breath, almost like a warning to herself:

“Shit. This is bad.”

The video buffered for a moment before settling into low-res clarity—an old Tonight Show interview with your name in all caps beneath the frame.

Sevika leaned in.

You were sitting across from Jimmy Fallon, legs crossed in a cherry-red mini dress that hugged your curves like it had been made for you. Your hair was fuller, curls wild and bouncy, and your cheeks were rounder, flushed with that effortless kind of joy most people had to fake for the cameras.

Fallon was laughing—too loud, too staged. “So tell me, Y/N… is it true you once tried to sneak a puppy into a private jet inside your handbag?”

You lit up, laughing hard, full-bodied. “Okay, in my defense, he was tiny and emotionally supportive.”

Sevika blinked at the screen, lips parted just slightly. You looked… different. Not just physically. There was a looseness in your body, a light in your eyes that she hadn’t seen—not in rehearsals, not even in passing.

Same smile. But somehow not the same girl.

She let the video play a few seconds longer before clicking out of it, the sound of your laugh lingering as she scrolled down the search results.

That’s when she saw it. Bold, sharp headline. Tucked halfway down the page.

“Pop’s Rising Star Crashes Hard: Y/N L/N in Tragic Collision—2 Dead, 2 Critical”

She clicked it.

The article was stark. Brutal. The kind of journalistic tone that tried to sound respectful but leaned on devastation for clicks.

“Y/N L/N, the 21-year-old pop powerhouse known for her chart-topping hit ‘Lipgloss Lies’, was involved in a fatal car accident late Thursday night following a sold-out show in Los Angeles. Sources confirm the singer’s SUV was struck at an intersection by an oncoming truck, resulting in the deaths of the vehicle’s driver and another passenger. L/N and one additional crew member were critically injured but survived.

The incident has raised questions about the singer’s relentless schedule and post-tour exhaustion. A representative has declined to comment on the star’s current condition, though fans have flooded social media with well-wishes under the hashtag #StayStrongYNL.”

Sevika leaned back slowly, cigarette forgotten between her fingers, ash curling down toward her boot.

You’d almost died. Two people had.

And you were still dancing. Still singing. Still smiling on cue.

But that sparkle in your eyes? It made sense now.

She exhaled once, smoke leaking out in a slow drag, eyes drifting back to the search bar.

You didn’t need a bodyguard.

You needed a break.

Or someone to see you.

Sevika hesitated before clicking the next link, her fingers hovering over the trackpad like they were second-guessing her choices—like she already knew this was crossing a line she couldn’t uncross.

But she clicked anyway.

The thumbnail showed you curled in white sheets, back arched, soft lighting casting a golden halo across your skin. The title was simple, lowercase and moody:

“just like heaven – official music video.”

She clicked.

The screen faded in slowly—ambient synths humming beneath a heartbeat-thrum of drums. You appeared in flashes: bare shoulders, the slope of your back, your fingers trailing down a silky curtain as you turned to face the camera. You wore nothing but sheer fabric and high-cut underwear, the kind of shot that looked soft and sensual on the surface but had tension stitched into every frame.

Your voice came in low, breathy, aching:

“Touch me like you mean it, Like I’m not a replacement.”

The video shifted—slow pans of your body silhouetted in warm light, long, sensual takes of you pressed against glass, water droplets sliding down your skin like tears. It wasn’t just sexy. It was sad. Intimate in a way that made Sevika feel like she wasn’t supposed to be watching.

She swallowed hard.

Your body was on full display, but there was no hunger in your expression. Just longing. Vulnerability. That same ache she’d heard behind the dressing room door. Except here, it was framed with choreography and camera angles, cut into something palatable for mass consumption.

Fan service. Wrapped in art direction and low lighting.

Her jaw tightened as the video played on—hands grazing your thighs, your lips parting on a sigh, the kind of moan that was meant to be heard, remembered, replayed.

She sat there for the entire thing.

Watched it all. Every note. Every frame.

And when it finally faded to black, Sevika didn’t move for a long time.

Then she closed the laptop slowly, her reflection flickering in the black screen.

Her voice came out low. Croaky. Like gravel.

“…Fucking hell.”

The room was dead quiet now, except for the faint buzz of her fridge and the soft clink of her lighter as she flipped it open and closed, over and over, just for something to do.

The laptop screen had gone black. But the images—you—still flickered behind her eyes. That soft, aching voice. The stretch of your body in golden light. The way your thighs shifted under the sheets, that breathless look on your face that was meant for the camera but felt like it was meant for someone.

Sevika dragged her hand down her face.

She shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

You were her job. Her responsibility.

But responsibility didn’t explain the way her chest tightened when you smiled. It didn’t excuse the heat that crept under her skin when she heard you cry, soft and private, like a secret only she got to keep. And it definitely didn’t make sense, the way her fingers tingled now—restless, twitching—like they needed to do something about this.

She leaned back on the couch, legs spread lazily, fingers grazing the waistband of her sweats. The cigarette still burned between her lips, its cherry glowing like a slow confession. Her other hand hovered over her thigh, motionless.

She let her head fall back, eyes closed.

Thought of you in that video.

Thought of how you looked that morning in your bootcut leggings and that little white tank, hair messy, eyes half-lidded.

Thought of how you’d smiled at her—sweet, like honey on the tongue—right before turning around and limping away like nothing hurt.

Her fingers twitched again.

This time, she didn’t stop herself.

Her hand slipped lower, slow at first. Testing the heat that had built up between her thighs like it wasn’t already coiled there—tight and pulsing. She let out a quiet breath, something caught between a sigh and a growl, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth as she shifted on the couch.

The city lights bled through the cracked blinds, painting her in neon reds and sickly yellows, but all she saw was you.

That version of you.

The one in glitter, dancing. The one in sweats, limping. The one on camera, writhing under the weight of your own loneliness, your voice pleading like it wanted someone—anyone—to touch you like they actually meant it.

Sevika groaned under her breath, dragging her hand down the front of her sweatpants, the friction just enough to make her hips twitch.

She didn’t say your name. She never would.

But you were there in her head—sweet and cruel and untouchable. And in this moment, you weren’t her client. You weren’t some popstar wrapped in gloss and rhinestones.

You were just a girl.

Vulnerable. Needy. Real.

Her breathing grew heavier as her fingers moved faster, teeth clenching around the filter of her cigarette, ash spilling down her chest. She barely noticed. Didn’t care. Her jaw slackened slightly as she tilted her head back, chasing that pull in her belly, the one that was all you, all memory, all forbidden craving coiled around her like a vice.

And when it finally came—sharp and fast and low in her gut—she let out a soft, guttural sound, biting down on the filter to muffle it.

For a long time, she just lay there.

One hand slack between her legs. The other covering her eyes.

The glow of the laptop was gone, but her guilt? That stayed. Warm and bitter.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not about you.

But she did.

And something in her gut told her that was just the beginning.

A/N : woohoo new layout

comment to be added to the taglist!

NOTE : If you or someone you know is struggling with things like mental health, you are not alone.

American Foundation For Suicide Prevention

[wintfleur]

𓈒 ୭ৎ ˖˙ ᰋ ── BITCH , I’M A BRAT !

aka ophelia’s profile

━━━ ❛ miniskirt so cute and I’m bad, baby girl can I smash?

ꪆ୧ BASICS !

name: ophelia lazar  

nicknames: 

pheebs (everyone)

lia (parents)

aunty opie (owen her nephew) 

effy (luke) 

phia (jack) 

heather (seunghan)

birthday and zodiac : April 11th 2002, Aries 

location:

vernon, British Columbia (formally)

manhattan, New York (currently)

ꪆ୧ ABOUT ! 

personality: she has a very strong personality, she's very extroverted, but not in an overwhelming way. She’s very confident in herself and her opinions, but she's not full of herself, she's very down to earth. She has a great sense of her humor like her brother and she loves making new friends. Comes off as intimidating to approach because of her resting bitch face, but she's really sweet — I promise! She definitely gives off party girl vibes, she's very playful and flirty, and loves to tease. She’s definitely that popular girl that you're scared to become friends with because she's ‘too cool’ but she's a friendly person. She's very passionate about the things she loves and when it comes to her work/majors she's very serious about it. 

good traits: very passionate, honest and loyal, hard-working, witty, knows how to break tension (awkward or not) just wants to have fun in her life, very much a yolo type of girl, very trustful and reliable, protective of her family and friends, helpful, 

bad traits: obsessive about minor details (mostly with her work and majors), holds grudges, her determination can turn into stubbornness, brutally honest, can ramble on for way to long, scared of commitment in relationships (from bad relationships in the past) she's smart but can be quite oblivious when it comes to people's feelings about her (especially jacks) a little vain tbh (she loves herself okay) 

quirks/traits: raises eyebrows, always keeps eye contact, talks with her hands, hums, drumming her fingers, twirling her hair, flirting, chewing gum

likes: anything batman, getting her nails done, early long walks, the library, shopping, coloring with her nephew, partying, dancing, f1, train rides, her baby aka her car, candles 

dislikes: selfish people, traffic, riding bikes, rude taxi drivers, being talked down to, cheaters 

hobbies: fashion designing, journaling, drawing, thrift shopping, soccer 

fears: being a failure or not good enough, getting her heart broken again, 

strengths: determined, confident, creative, adaptable, attention to detail, 

weaknesses: commitment in relationships, talking about her feelings, having a healthy sleep schedule, self critical, perfectionism, 

languages spoken: english (fluent), korean (fluent), french (fluent), japanese (learning) 

occupation/profession: Dance major (bachelor of fine arts) at juilliard, takes fashion design classes, and is a professional model. 

ꪆ୧ RELATIONSHIPS ! 

parents: 

Dave lazar

Karen Lazar 

sibling(s): curtis, jenna, ryan and cory. 

curtis and co: 

Out of all of her siblings she's definitely closest to her eldest brother curtis, they have shared a special bond ever since he held her for the first time. He’s always had this strong sense of protectiveness over her as he's the oldest and she's the youngest. He always did his best to go to every single one of her soccer matches or her ballet recitals and he was always the one to stay up late listening to all her fashion ideas and to give her his opinion on her fashion designs. He takes pride in being her biggest fan. He hates how she lives alone in Manhattan, so he's always trying to convince her to move in with them. He will always see her as his baby sister, no matter how old she is. They are very playful and teasing towards each other, curtis loves to mess with her, messing up her hair and calling her spoiled.

Reanne and ophelia have an amazing relationship, normally ophelia was usually hesitant to become close with her siblings partners, but with Reanne it happened so naturally she couldn't really stop it. Reanne is like a proper older sister to ophelia, she's very motherly towards her as well, always making her favorite meals when she comes to visit them and pampering her. Ophelia is very grateful to have such a sweet and caring sister in law. They often have their own girl nights, curled up on the couch with some sweets and wine as they watch rom-coms all night. She is one of the very few people ophelia trusts talking about her romantic life.  

Owen and Cayden lazar, aka ophelia's little angels, also known as her nephews. Ophelia loves them so much, she promised that she would be the best aunt ever when Curtis and Reanne told her! She was full on ugly crying when she held them both for the first time. She tries to spend as much time as she can with them, she loves babysitting them!! She has some of their toys and clothes at her place so they have things whenever they come over. She spoils them so much, always getting them new things, she absolutely loves dressing them up. There is no denying that they are her little babies, and Reanne and Curtis are so thankful for her and how good she is with them, she is the best babysitter. 

best friends: amber jameson, seunghan & sunghoon park, katsuki kozume, maggie samson, mathieu simoneau, intak seo 

friends: luke hughes, tate mcrae, quinn hughes, john marino, matt rempe 

love interest: jack hughes 

ꪆ୧ MORE ! 

scent: she uses a lot of different perfumes, she loves trying out new ones so her collection is pretty big, so perfume wise it's never really the same. She uses rose or coconut body wash and shampoo and conditioner. She likes using the same body products, not really changing up with that. 

outfits: she is very confident and comfortable with herself so she tends to wear more revealing clothes, mini skirts, short dresses, low rise anything, cropped shirts, sweaters and vests, tight off the shoulder tops. But she loves all different styles and she loves trying them out, but those are just some of her main pieces of clothing. She really loves wearing low rise jeans or dress pants with midriff tops. When it's colder she loves layering clothes. Or when she just doesn't feel like getting all dressed up she’ll throw on a short skirt and sweater or some jeans and a top. She has all different kinds of shoes, all different types of boots (cowboy, moto boots, platform chunky boots and more) chunky or platform mary janes, sneakers, heels, she loves them all! She's a big lover of steve madden shoes. 

accessories: she loves accessorizing, she loves anything involving fashion really!! She has a large collection of different types of bags and sunglasses(she loves collecting them), they are definitely her favorite thing + jewelry, to accessorize with. She also has quite a lot of hats, mostly ball caps, beanies and berets. She also really loves utilizing long and thin scarves when she's wearing a short skirt or shorts. She also occasionally will wear a headband, heavily inspired by Blair waldorf. In the colder weather she's almost always rocking ear muffs. She absolutely loves wearing bayonetta glasses, she has so many pairs. Honorable mentions are leg and arm warmers. 

jewelry: ophelia loves jewelry, she's always wearing some! She loves rings, she usually has about four on at a time, small ones, chunky ones, one with crystals or gems, any type of rings really. One ring she is always wearing is a ring that was gifted by her siblings for getting into juilliard. It's a gold band with a mood stone in the middle. She loves layering necklaces. She also occasionally wears anklets and waist chains, it really depends on her outfit. With bracelets she wears all different types, charm bracelets, friendship bracelets, cuff bracelets, again it really depends on her outfit. 

makeup: she's a black eyeliner enthusiast, she doesn't really use foundation, maybe some concealer but that's really it. She loves matching her lip liners with lipsticks/gloss, and loves some highlighter. But she normally just has eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow and her lips done! (it's different when she has her recitals and her shoots) 

scars: has a two inch long scar on her left ankle from an injury playing soccer when she was 11

sexuality: bisexual 

height: 5’5

piercing(s): one in her lobe and second lobe in both ears, helix (left ear) nose ring (right nostril) 

tattoo(s): she has a red heart on her right underboob. 

face claim: zoi lerma 

ꪆ୧ FAVORITES ! 

food(s): new york style pizza, strawberries, cucumbers, muffins, peanut butter and celery, dark chocolate 

drink(s): coffee, redbull, watermelon white claw, water 

color(s): neutrals, black, red

animal(s): cats and penguins 

favorite season: fall/autumn 

bands and artists: rihanna, frank ocean, the weekend, isabel LaRosa, ciara, Arctic monkeys, beyonce, lana del rey, the neighborhood, marina and the diamonds, billie eilish 

show(s): gossip girl, the vampire diaries, h2o just add water, sex and the city 

movie(s): jennifer’s body, kill bill, the amazing spider man, queen of the damned, The devil wears Prada, black swan, hotel transylvania series 

person: owen and cayden lazar and jack hughes 

ꪆ୧ BACKGROUND ! 

Ophelia was born on a bright and sunny day that matched perfectly with her energetic personality. She became the youngest of the lazar clan, aka their baby. 

Ophelia was a very energetic and sweet child, she was like a busy bee, and was given the nickname “the wild child” by her family. 

Ophelia started ballet when she was four, her parents and teachers were quick to notice how talented she was at it despite her age. 

She played soccer from age 8 to 11, and she loved the sport, but after she got an injury to her ankle she had to stop playing because she loved ballet more, and she couldn't risk not being able to dance again. 

When she started soccer, she met her best friend amber jameson who was on her team, they became inseparable since then. 

Amber goes to NYU, majoring in computer science. 

She was 12 when she realized that she loved fashion design when she was helping her middle school play with costumes. Curtis noticed her new passion and bought her some supplies for her upcoming birthday. 

Her modeling career started as just her getting pictures taken for her ballet portfolio, and the photographer brought up her modeling for other things professionally. And it just kicked off from there. 

Over the years her modeling career just got better, ophelia modeling for high end brands, she was becoming very sought after. She even walked the catwalk for fashion week when she was 17, 19 and 20 and many other fashion shows throughout the years. 

She gains a large amount of following on social media for her ballet and modeling. Getting several million followers on her tiktok. 

She got accepted into julliard and moved to Manhattan where she lives alone in her loft/apartment. 

She is a dance major but also takes fashion designing classes. 

Was given the nickname “the next model it girl” and is known as one of the most talented and promising ballerinas in the country. 

Has been in many ballet magazines, for modeling and having her own features/interviews 

Started her youtube channel in 2019, and she now has over 5 million subscribers. (she posts a whole bunch of different content) 

ꪆ୧ FUN FACTS ! 

when ophelia was 14 she went to south korea for a ballet summer intensive program, she stayed with a sweet and welcoming family. Their eldest son Seunghan, who also went to the ballet training camp, quickly became one of ophelia’s best friends. 

He is one year older than ophelia and also attends juilliard with her as a dance major, they are each other's main partners, and they are roommates! 

seunghan’s younger brother is park sunghoon from the popular kpop group enhypen, ophelia has a great close relationship with him, and she's not aware of the small crush he has on her. 

when ophelia was 16 she was on Jimmy Fallon, where she talked about her ballet and modeling. 

ophelia got in her first relationship when she was 18, his name is Ryan James and he is a fellow model, they met at london’s fashion week. He is almost two years older than her. 

they started dating in may 2020 and dated until april 2022, they broke up at her birthday party when Ophelia looked at his phone and saw that he had been cheating on her for months, using her for clout and money. 

ophelia was absolutely heartbroken, she had to put on a brave front infront of her family and friends for the rest of her birthday, making up some excuse on why Ryan had to leave. 

the last 6 months of their relationship wasn't the best, he was bossy, controlling, insensitive, but she was blinded by the idea of being in love with him and being loved back. 

that breakup was very hard on her and shattered her trust completely in relationships. So ever since then she swore of relationships, sticking to hookups (safely ofc) 

shes known as quite the wild child and party girl. 

Has been given many nicknames by the public/media/ fans and her fellow peers, here are a few notable ones

juilliard’s it girl

juilliard’s top dancer

juilliard’s resident party girl

mini natalia (nickname give to her by her ballet master)

the next model it girl 

enchantress on stage 

a lot of people talk about her eyes and how captivating and alluring they are, when she dances and models. She loves holding eye contact and seeing how flustered the other person gets. 

seunghan and ophelia are always getting asked if they are dating because of how close they are, but they are just each other's platonic soulmates. 

ophelia loves going out and partying with her friends, but she also loves just being able to relax at home watching movies in the living room or playing board games. 

ophelia is an amazing cook, she loves learning how to make different cultural foods

ophelia and seunghan have a podcast called ‘on pointe podcast’ 

seunghan and amber are always on ophelia's youtube channel. 

ophelia is one of the top students in her fashion design classes, she wants to create her own fashion line in the future. 

ophelia loves traveling!! 

has an addiction to thrift shopping 

she absolutely loves living in Manhattan, she loves all the friends she has made at juilliard and the life she is making for herself. 

she has a reputation at juilliard for being ‘popular’ and a ‘party girl’ many have said she looks intimidating to approach, but she is really friendly and is a social butterfly. 

seunghan is her alarm clock (she has a terrible sleep schedule) 

she loves video games, and she's really good at them too! 

she has over 10 million followers on tiktok 

she spends an ungodly amount of time in the practice room 

has had her fair share of enemies in ballet because they are jealous of her always getting the lead parts, and the way she's favored by the ballet masters (instructors/teachers) 

her dream is to become one of the best ballet dancers of her generation and ever.

ophelia has a very flirty personality, she loves making people flustered. 

she has a very fun and playful personality, but she's very serious about her work and passions. 

she gets invited to a lot of different events and gets sent a lot of PR packages!

swears she doesn't, but she has an addiction to shopping. 

her nickname ‘mini natalia’ , which was given to her by the ballet masters, means a lot to her. They call her that because they can see that she's very talented and dances very similar to the greats, natalia makarova and natalia osipova, two of ophelia's greatest role models. 

she’s very serious about her love for ballet and ways to improve. Many other ballet students have mentioned how intimidating she can be since she's always striving to be the best. 

really wants to get a pet cat! 

she is very talented in all different types of dancing, and she's trained in gymnastics.

she absolutely loves yoga and Pilates (loves forcing seunghan and jack to go with her) 

Her baby is her car, she sadly doesn't use it a lot in Manhattan, but she loves it nonetheless. 

her middle name is heather

she never loses at just dance, has acquired the nickname ‘just dance queen’

ꪆ୧ HER OUTFITS AESTHETIC !

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( she’s finally here my baby ophelia !! out of all my oc’s she’s the one I’ve worked on the most before posting . I just really want you guys to like her , please tell me what you guys think of her !! I hope you guys soon love her like I do :3 )

au m.list

˖ ་ feel free to send in any thoughts/requests you have !! And please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist mwah

˖ ་ taglist : @yoontwin @toasttt11 @cixrosie @winterbarnesblog @iceflwers

[sunny-reacts-to-stuff]

tma 103 "cruelty free"

Animal Death (Pig), Animal Harm, Child Harm, Meat, Cannibalism, Language, Unsanitary, Mind Control, Compulsion, Clowns

off to new zealand

i bet we get a jared mention

i didnt know this about pigs. wow

yeah thats a disservice alright

"if my human friends would draw a cock and balls on my face when I’m sleeping off the drink, my pig friends might just… eat me. They probably wouldn’t. ‘Cause we’re friends. But they might." wow

is he faking out the british accent

ew

NOOOO TOBY!!

"it wasn’t the sound of a colossal pig eating my brother though, so that was encouraging." good!

weird.

well that was Weird

well at least he likes you

too much meat indeed

right now he can use his archivist powers

you are so bad at people

daisy?

he just loves scheduling!

STOP KILLING

hey uh see how gertrude took her assistants? can you idk take martin?

i think (hear me out) that jon should start doing the most embarrassing uquiz quizzes to his coworkers

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

I've spent most of my writing time working on chapter 3 of Now We're at the Starting Line (I Did My Time) this month. The good news is that the chapter will be out on the 15th as planned! The bad news is that I didn't write anything for Crystal week.

Luckily, this chapter has a Crystal-and-Edwin scene in it that I'm extremely proud of! I'm posting it independently a few days before the chapter for @crystal-week, because I love our little psychic so much and want to post something for her.

Starting Line spoilers under the cut!

CONTEXT: After getting home from an awful meeting with her mother, Crystal finds herself crying on the stairway of the Agency building. Edwin, after a rather emotional moment with Charles, ascends the stairs and sees her there.

-

Crystal should go home. She knew that she should – her bed would be a great distraction right now, and the promise of a night sleeping beside Niko’s ghostly form was a comfort. But she didn’t want to go home to Niko a crying mess, so she sat on the stairs between the parking lot and the Agency above with her knees pulled to her chest.

Her mom really didn’t care about her. She didn’t give two shits what happened to her daughter. It had never been clearer to Crystal than it was today, and it had already been pretty fucking clear.

You have twelve minutes, she had said.

This conversation has been a perfect waste of time.

Crystal, I’ve let you have your little delusion for long enough.

She should be beyond sadness. She shouldn’t be such a baby. She was Crystal Palace Surname Von-Hoverkraft, and she’d always been a force to be reckoned with. Not just psychic, not just magical, but strong. Emotionally sturdy. Reliable.

Even if her memories didn’t feel like her own, she recalled feeling that way. Powerful.

And, apparently, she couldn’t catch a break. Not even to have a good long humiliating cry on her own. Because the last voice she wanted to hear sounded behind her, echoing through the rickety stairwell louder than she’d ever wanted it to. “Crystal?” Edwin sounded weirdly worried. “Are you… crying?”

“No,” she said. “Someone’s fucking chopping onions.”

Edwin sat down beside Crystal gingerly, lowering himself with his hands awkwardly. He cocked his head to the side and hummed. “I can in fact recognize when you are being sarcastic,” he said. “You are not particularly subtle.”

Crystal snorted. “Did you think I was trying to be?”

“I do sometimes,” Edwin said lightly. “Perhaps not now, though, as you seem rather… tense.” He paused. When he finally spoke, his voice was oddly stiff. “Would you like to… discuss your particular malady?”

Crystal touched the buns in her hair, one after the next. She was already crying, and Edwin knew it. She might as well talk to him. What was the worst he could do?

And, as much as she hated admitting it, somewhere deep inside her she knew that she and Edwin were birds of a feather. Crystal might as well talk to him, right? Besides, she didn’t really care what he thought about her. He’d see her, and he’d be honest. Maybe that was all she needed right now. So she took a breath and said, with absolutely no prelude, “it was my mother.”

Edwin’s response was short, and his voice was light. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Crystal said, grateful for his brevity. It made her feel like she could go on. “When Charles and I met up with her today, she was… I don’t know. A real asshole, honestly. But I hate saying that. She’s my mom, even if she was super clear that she didn’t want to see me.” She paused. “Did you know that she only gave me a fifteen-minute appointment? I’m her daughter, and she gave me a fifteen-minute scheduling block.”

“That is… less than positive,” Edwin agreed in an oddly sympathetic voice.

“That’s very British of you,” Crystal told him, and he smirked. She did, too, but felt her face fall again after a few seconds. “Just… and, like, I don’t want to bitch and moan about it, even if I’m speaking to the world record holder for bitching and moaning.”

“Now you are just needlessly instigating,” Edwin said, but there was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “A well-known facet of your personality, to be sure, but unnecessary right now.”

Crystal rolled her eyes. “Well, like I was saying, I don’t want to gripe too much, but like… she didn’t care that I was missing. She didn’t even fucking notice, and neither did my dad. What kind of parent doesn’t even notice when their child is missing? What kind of parent doesn’t even give it a second thought when they learned that their kid was a literal missing person?”

She was angry. She was indignant. But Edwin was looking off into the distance, his expression calm and contemplative. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason.

Which sucked, because one of the reasons that she liked Edwin – though, ugh, why would she think that – was that he never bit his tongue. But his face was careful now, even if his eyes shone with some unidentifiable emotion.

“What is it?”

Edwin turned his head toward her, his shoulders rolling. He assessed her with an almost practiced nonchalance before speaking. His voice was kind, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it that Crystal didn’t understand.

Not yet, anyway.

“I do actually know something of that,” Edwin said. “Believe it or not.”

Crystal blinked. “What does that mean?”

Edwin paused. He opened his mouth once, shut it, and shook his head quickly. “When I went to Hell - ”

“God, Edwin,” Crystal said. “I know that what’s happened to me isn’t as bad as literal Hell. You don’t always have to compare.”

“I’m not,” Edwin said. His fists clenched and pressed together on his lap. “I am very sorry that I have given you reason to believe that I am.”

All the fight went out of Crystal then. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Might I go on now?”

“Fine.”

“When I went to Hell,” Edwin continued, “my disappearance was labeled an Act of God. I believe I have told you that, but… well, I have had decades to contemplate the implications of that, and to research precisely what the declaration entailed.” He paused. “One facet of such a statement is that I was not looked for. Not by anyone. Society at large, to be sure, but I do not care much for the opinions of that lot. I do, however, care that my family abandoned my search.”

“Jesus,” Crystal said.

“Yes, I do believe that is a likely reason that no one searched for me.” Edwin’s voice was saucy, but Crystal sensed an undertone of real hurt. “They did not even start, in fact. I was an Act of God from the day I went missing. To this day, my death is what Charles calls a ‘cold case.’ I remain unburied, and my mother and father could not even be bothered to purchase an empty casket for me despite their abundance of money.”

“That sucks,” Crystal said sympathetically.

“Yes,” Edwin agreed. “It is not an ideal outcome. And I know that you think me unemotional, or cold. But remembering that no one around me cared to search for me – it is the only time that I remember that I was once a person.” He cocked his head. “But this is not about me. It is about the truth that you are far from alone in your sentiments, and-” Edwin made a vibrating sound with his lips, his eyes wide. “Well. That is rather enough emotion for one sitting. I daresay that I had far too many feelings after… well. I shall have to find a way to cleanse myself of it.”

Crystal snorted, and in that moment, she felt a bit herself again.

Then, to bring the mood back to something adjacent to normal, she turned toward Edwin. “Did you know that when I was born my mom signed my forehead?”

Edwin gave her an odd look. “With one of those… magical markers? Whyever would she do that?”

Crystal laughed slightly. “No, it was a temporary tattoo of her signature. It was like I was an art piece they were curating. They wanted to make some weird statement online.”

“Your internet is indeed an odd place. A wealth of knowledge, but also a wealth of independent publications waiting to be ridiculed.”

Edwin sidled off the stair next to her wordlessly and walked away, up the stairs and toward the comfort of his books and notes. Crystal watched him go, and he never turned back.

And she knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t give up, not for herself. Not just for her own sake, though that would have been a pretty damn good reason in itself. She had to understand her powers for Charles, for Edwin… and for Niko, who had been lighting her up inside in a weirdass way lately that she didn’t even understand. She had to know who she was, even beyond her memories, and if Maddy Surname wasn’t going to help her…

Well, fuck her.

Aicha, she thought, are you there?

Her eyes went white as Aicha responded.

Always, my sweet child.

[ladykatdollx]

Some of my Oz headcannons <3

•He just gives me true gentleman vibes😫I know he’s MENTAL but for you he has a soft spot, he’ll open doors for you (he defo checks you out as he walks behind you), calls you “love” “darling” “pretty girl” “sweetheart”, carry you over rough ground if you’re wearing heels. Just things like that🫶

•he’s secretly a true romantic even though he may not show it sometimes, he’ll kiss your neck and breathe heavily, play with your hair and hold your hand. He definitely gets jealous and protective over you and is always prepared to fight somebody if someone approaches you and won’t leave you alone.

•I feel like he’s an animal lover, considering his crime name is literally Penguin…Telltales backstory I’m not actually sure how he got his name, loves birds especially. He’d be the type to laugh at penguins waddling and sliding into the water at a zoo.

•I feel like he’s life in England was great for him and he low-key misses it, as that’s where he was brought up, especially his criminal life and being a boxer, boxing ring proprietor. I feel like he may have had a few flings or maybe a relationship but it just didn’t work out and it may have made him feel shit deep down, then resorting to drinking and other bad influences (such as gambling etc) to get over it, but that’s something he’d probably never admit, he puts on his overly confident, loud and tough boy personality to cover it. Also, when him and Bruce were good friends, Bruce definitely got more attention, especially female attention and it may have had an effect on Oz, thinking that he wasn’t as handsome as Bruce and couldn’t pull girls like Bruce could (even though Oz has natural charm and IS A HANDSOME MAN NOW😫he’d have all of us over him <3)

•he’d defo invite you to watch him at a boxing match, he’ll brush his hair back and flex in front of you to impress you and he’ll do the most to make sure he wins that fight, he couldn’t bare the thought of losing in-front of you.

•I’m not entirely sure how he really feels about the scar across his nose bridge, I feel like sometimes he looks in the mirror to look at it, getting flashbacks to the fight he had that caused it, but he probably laughs it off and thinks it looks cool. But even if he did feel insecure you’ll tell him it’s attractive, which would make him feel better.

•he got prison tattoos in prison FOR SURE AND TELLTALE WE NEED A TOPLESS 3D MODEL OF HIM

•if he’s had some trouble he’d come and find you, you are his peace and comfort, especially if he’s had a brutal fight, I feel like he’d lay down with his head resting on your lap whilst you sort his face out, he’ll groan due to the pain tho.

•I know it’s sort of contrasting to the point I said above this but although he’s highly protective of you, if you were willing to join him in the criminal underworld, he’d feel unsure but deep down he’d love you to be by his side.

•he has a good and silly sense of humour, I love his British humour throughout season 1, especially as me being a British girl. For those who remember episode 5 when Bruce gets back into the computer and Oz used the comic sans font to type “cobblepot enterprises” LMAOO and changing Bruce’s medical history💀💀I can just imagine him messing around and being stupid with you, like maybe physically annoying you too😭

•defo gets drunk on a Friday and Saturday night and is painfully loud but is funny as hell when he’s drunk

•absolutely HATES these young wannabe gangsters that think they’re hard, they irritate him, he thinks they’re dickheads and will say something like “they have no bloody idea of the real world…twats” as he shakes his head

•probably not best to ask him about how him and Bruce’s friendship, he’ll give you a look and you’ll know to stop talking, or he’ll be like “I don’t wanna talk about it, alright?” And he may get annoyed. Although he will eventually open up to you about his parents and how badly he misses his mother especially.

•has a shocking sleep schedule but he’ll happily let you sleep, he’ll keep checking up on you and may sit down on the bed and watch you for a while, when he eventually gets tired he’ll lay down beside you and wrap his arm around you.

•he loves his old fashioned style and thinks modern fashion especially modern men’s fashion is SHITE

•I KNOW ITS BIG I KNOW ITS BIG!!!!

[thekrows-nest]

Huge wall of speculation incoming.

I have no idea if the OG! - Vamp! connection hinting at the mantra relates to stuff I’ve guessed at but hasn’t been publicly confirmed, or if it’s stuff that even I haven’t touched on.

Let’s see… let’s first go over what I do know.

The hunger is obvious. 

OG Krow is notoriously food insecure and that’s where his organ harvesting side hustle comes in. His thirst for fluids… if you know you know. He’s also metaphorically ‘empty’ because he’s been so emotionally neglected and lonely. Also his job and the dog eat dog survival growing up may have desensitised him to a lot of emotions like guilt, empathy (for those who give a reason) or fear.

As well as being a really striking visual it makes sense with all of this for Vampire Krow to have a gaping void at his core, a ravening hunger and thirst, an empty belly and no heart. Traditional vetala also prefer to feed on intestines so there’s that too.

OG Krow is an artist, and creativity is his entire drive outside Dove. (It could be argued that as a muse who broke his art block, Dove is even an extension of that.) Maybe there is some of that remaining.

OG Krow loves music and has sensitive hearing.

OG Krow is clever and sneaky, easily underestimated.

OG Krow loves birds. Perhaps that can be used in some way.

OG Krow was/is homeless, hypervigilant, stealthy, has wonky sleep schedule but great physical stamina. 

Vampire Krow may be tethered to one place or haunting abandoned places, but if he may have travelled to America he may have been cursed to wander. Or just have free will like most vamps. Or is being forced to move around to avoid being killed, or endlessly chase more prey. I don’t know.

I do know he doesn’t have an opulent mansion and probably doesn’t have a safe secure resting place. Vampire Krow doesn’t tire because he has nowhere safe to rest with other monsters hunting him and is always seeking the next meal. He can possibly be active night or day but might use stealth/night for easy meals if he still has enough sanity to not just charge in.

OG Krow is Bengali/Indian. 

In the subcontinent it would reallllly suck for him if he was weak to the sun. Or garlic. Or superstition. Too easy.

You know what? Both Krows have freckles and OG Krow curls up in bed to stay warm (maybe that’s just his substandard accommodation). I headcanon that if Vampire Krow  ever gets a moment of peace or if prey is unavailable he's sitting in the sun to get nice and dark or just not caring about it, he can barely feel the warmth but imagines it’s still a source of energy (prana) and maybe it warms his cold dead body. He tries to remember it from when he was alive. 

Maybe he even uproots and crushes cloves of garlic into his mouth because the strong acrid flavour is the only thing that still registers, or eats it like a starving human eats grass. 

Whoaaa… In some religious contexts Hindus may consider the strong odor of onions and garlic ‘impure’ and avoid them during sacred occasions or religious rituals. It is veg food though.

However like OG Krow he may not have been allowed to learn about Hindu beliefs. Despite having memories of life, having Hindu roots and being traumatized by colonization, I still don’t know what garlic means for Vampire Krow either way. If it’s good or bad. I’m going to say it’s not effective because it’s so well known against European vampires.

I don’t think Vampire Krow gives a single crap about crosses, or (if OG Krow had the religious upbringing I have brought up as a Krack theory) they may just make him angrier. This is a fairly traditional weakness anyway. 

Krack theory… OG Krow as orphan or in foster care?

Part of living Vampire Krow’s trauma under occupation may have been being orphaned or taken from his parents for colonisers to raise. 

I don’t think this is it as OG Krow is Bengali/Indian but there were also cases of British men siring children and returning overseas, abandoning mother and child to fend for themselves. Not a great position to be in in poverty, war, and famine… may have led to the loss of his mother or their separation.

This doesn’t square with him being turned as an adult unless there’s some device like slowly aging or he was just reaching age. But abuse of children of colour in ‘children’s homes’ was rife, mortality was high and covered up, and children were the favourite prey of traditional vetala. I actually have no idea how or why he was turned.

So. This is all I have so far.

Blind unreasoning hunger (greed), (bloodlust?) or rage may lead Vampire Krow into traps or destruction/capture by another monster. (Either Vishnu or Krishna said downfall comes through greed, lust or rage.)

Appeals to any remaining humanity may be somewhat helpful.

He may be bribed with… liquids. Or mangoes?

Water from the Ganges seems to be the equivalent of holy water.

Offers to braid his hair did seemed to give him pause. And marriage proposals? In Indian culture it can be inauspicious to have open (untied) hair and the attention and sensation of braiding might remind him of life. Or lust.

Perhaps Vampire Krow may be mesmerized by art or beauty. Perhaps he can be distracted by looking at or making mehndi.

Maybe he can be enthralled by music or given pause by loud sounds.

Maybe you have to be wary of him pretending to be trapped or enthralled, only to suddenly lunge.

He may pause to look at released birds, or stop to collect strewn feathers.

You cannot sneak up on him or outrun him as you will be taken unaware or tire before he does. I believe the term is persistence predator.

Krow mayyyy be weak to intense cold? Or at least not really like it.

Turmeric is an auspicious spice and to be avoided during mourning so maybe he’s weak to that? He may still be given momentary pause by Hindu taboos from when he was alive? Assuming he was allowed to learn about it.

He may have trauma from life around young ones being taken or hurt, and might be persuaded to spare babies or children.

As to the specific mantra relevant to OG Krow, I still don’t know. There may have to be some more lore drops before I even have the faintest hunch.

But I did look for mantras for abandoned babies and came up with another chant to Narasimha - then randomly stumbled on something interesting.

There was once a deva named Hiranyakashipu who sought the boon of invulnerability against most weapons and causes of death, and to become so strong that only Lord Vishnu could kill him. Beast, deva and man could not kill him, he could be killed neither at night or in the day, not inside nor outside, on the earth or in the sky, by weapons either living nor nonliving… 

Then one day Hiranyakasipu had a grievance and sought to kill Narasimha (the fourth avatar of Vishnu). Hiranyakasipu was then attacked by Narasimha under the perfect conditions to circumvent it all.

Narasimha took a form that was part human and part animal, attacked Hiranyakasipu at twilight, and did it at the threshold to his house. Narasimha laid the deva on his own thighs (off the ground but not in the sky) and killed him by disembowelment with his claws.

Probably not why Vampire Krow is gutted but an interesting coincidence all the same. 

So I’m guessing that Krow has a number of conditions under which he can’t be killed or at least things that won’t work, and so there may have to be some creative thinking, riddling and loophole abuse.

Vishnu/Narasimha also does seem to be the one to pray to for defense from demons or evil spirits.

Took a bit to get to this because my god what a novel that is this ask. /pos

I appreciate that you make me much more of a genius in character design than I really am Krowspiracy. /silly I guess it's one of those things that even if the creator didn't consciously go into a design with certain thoughts, it still subconsciously bleeds (ha) through. Maybe I still am a genius?

...New canon for Vampire Krow. He absolutely lounges in the sun whenever he does have a moment's peace. He probably doesn't really warm up any more, or really feel it, but, it's a moment to try and reflect back on when he was alive. To try and desperately still cling to what humanity he has left.

And no garlic isn't really effective one way or the other to Vampire Krow. The main thing for him is I wanted to get away from "traditional" (western) vampire weaknesses for him. He's not western, so why would those weaknesses apply to him? So someone trying to eat garlic or something as a means to ward him off are in for a nasty shock.

Crosses might not be a magical weakness to him, but they could still infuriate him as a possible reminder of British colonization. So in one sense, is a weakness, but not like how you'd think for a vampire.

I do like the idea that enthralling him with things of beauty is a means to at least give him pause (or even confuse him with unexpected kindness). There's so many stories of terrible beasts being tamed or thwarted or whatever when showing compassion to them instead of aggression. And that is a neat idea to have with Vampire Krow.

As for the specific mantra... I'll give a slight hint. It is to a specific deity but likely not who most would think of. And it does have to do with OG Krow lore. However, that lore hasn't been publicly revealed yet. (For you though, Krowspiracy, as a treat, I'll say you did pretty much nail what the lore was, more or less, in one of your theories.)

Pretty much for a mortal to kill him would require specific conditions I think (or well... basically nuke him sdfnmbdlf). A fellow supernatural would have an easier time killing him, albeit that doesn't necessarily mean they can accomplish the task.

[avastrasposts]

The British Connection - ch. 11

Cross posting this properly on Tumblr for the first time so it's been scheduled out throughout the day:

The plot follows MI6 agent Eve Edwards as she's assigned to help Billy Butcher and The Boys take down a new type of supe killing politicians on both sides of the pond. Not much fluff in this, plenty of canon typical violence, smut and extreme amounts of Britishness

Read on Ao3

By the time Butcher pulled up outside his flat it was three am. He’d been keeping an eye on Eve sleeping in the passenger seat but her breathing had been calm and even so he didn’t bother waking her up to check on her head. Now he put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. 

“C’mon, wake up now, we’re back.” 

Eve blinked a few times and looked around, giving a big yawn. “Already?” she mumbled, straightened up. 

“C’mon,” Butcher said, “you’re kipping at my place tonight. MM said to keep an eye on you for the next twelve hours.”

Eve’s head was throbbing and she winced as she sat up, “Are you sure? I think I’ll be fine at my place.” 

“Ye, and that look on your face says otherwise,” Butcher had come round to the passenger side and helped her out of the car. “Plus I’m bloody knackered and I’m not driving any more tonight.” 

…

Butcher’s place was what Eve had expected, bare bones and strictly utilitarian. A bed with no legs was on the floor in a corner and he directed her to it and went for the sofa himself despite her protests. 

“C’mon, Billy, you don’t even fit on the sofa. I’ll take it.” 

“Just get on the bloody bed, I’m knackered enough to sleep on the floor.” He grabbed a pillow off the bed and sat down on the sofa. 

“Billy, the bed is big enough for both of us, you won’t get MI6 cooties from me. I promise I’ll stay on my side.” Eve scooted herself up against the wall and rolled herself over, closing her eyes. 

Butcher hesitated for a few seconds, Eve was already falling back to sleep and he noticed that she was still wearing his coat, wrapped around her with the long sleeves tucked up under her chin. With a sigh he moved the pillow back to the bed and got on to it, kicking off his boots. 

…

It took Eve a few moments to remember where she was when she woke up the next morning. Opening her eyes she saw Butcher on his stomach next to her, using his arms as a pillow, still sound asleep. She remembered falling asleep in his coat last night, or early this morning rather, and now she was underneath the duvet, his coat hanging over the sofa in the corner. He must’ve taken it off her at some point and pulled the covers over her instead. She smiled at the small gesture of making sure she was comfortable.Seeing Butcher’s softer side was rare but she felt like he’d dropped his guard with her a bit yesterday during their trip to Washington D.C. despite his anger at keeping secrets from him. 

Eve watched him sleep for a little while, he looked younger and calmer sleeping, the change in his face was striking. Suddenly she felt a rush of affection for him, almost reaching out to touch his unruly hair, but she stopped herself. Instead she pushed herself off the bed and looked around for the bathroom. 

When she came back to the room Butcher had woken up and was sitting on the bed, rubbing his big hands over his face. 

“Morning,” she said, pushing her fingers through her hair, trying to tame her bed hair. 

“Morning,” Butcher replied, his voice still rough from sleep. “How’s the head?” 

“Not too bad, the bump is sore but no headache.” 

“Alright, you’re probably out of the woods but MM will check you over when we get to the office.” Butcher stood up and picked up his coat. 

Eve pulled on her boots and looked over at Butcher as he did the same. 

“Butcher…” she began, uncertain about how to phrase her words. “I know I kept things from you about my background and maybe I should’ve told you.” 

Butcher looked up at her, his face unreadable. 

“I’ve just…I’ve been in this line of work for too many years maybe, and holding my cards close to my chest is second nature.” Eve sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair. “Even when maybe I should trust someone.”

“You’re alrigh’, luv, I’m not exactly known for being an open book,” Butcher muttered, tying his boots in his usually untidy fashion. 

“I guess I just wanted to say thank you for looking out for me yesterday, you didn’t have to, letting me sleep at your place, in your bed, stealing your duvet and all.” Eve smiled at him and he gave her a crooked smile back and she suddenly realised he had dimples in his cheeks. 

“Couldn’t let you sleep in me coat, now could I?” Butcher said and pulled the coat over his shoulders, shrugged into it, but he’s still smiling at her. 

He’d been watching her sleep last night, checking her breathing, while he gently tugged his coat off her, replacing it with the duvet. She’d mumbled in her sleep, nightmares making her eyes screw up and low whimpers escape. He didn’t tell her now, but he’d laid down next to her, put his arm over her side and gently stroked her hand until she settled again. Her body had been warm against his and it had reminded him painfully of better days.

Now he shook the memory away with brusk action.

“Right, let's get to the office then,” he said and grabbed his car keys off the table. 

“Please, breakfast on the way, I’m starving,” Eve replied, her stomach rumbling. 

“Ye, let's grab something on the way. 

….

When Butcher and Eve arrived at the office with breakfast, the rest of the team was already in place. As they walked through the door MM stood up from his computer and came over Eve. 

“Let me see your head. Butcher said you got a nasty bump yesterday.”

“Ye, things didn’t exactly go smoothly,” Eve sighed, showing MM the contusion on her forehead. 

“Any headaches, nausea?” MM asked as he lightly prodded around the bruise forming. 

“No, not today. Headaches last night as we drove back, but I slept through the night without any problems once we got back to Butcher’s place.” 

MM raised an eyebrow at this, “You stayed at Butcher’s place?”

“I take it this isn’t a common occurrence” Eve said, glancing over at Butcher who was talking to Hughie, both of them hanging over his laptop. 

“I’ve known the dude for 7-8 years, I’ve never been to his place.” MM bent down slightly so that he could look into Eve’s eyes, “Follow my finger with your eyes without moving your head.” 

“He hated your guts yesterday morning but last night you slept at his place, that’s a sharp 180 even for Butcher. You must’ve impressed him in D.C.”

“Did he tell you what happened? I’m not sure “impressed” is the right word,” Eve said.

“Yeah, he called when you got back to the city, I think you were still sleeping. He said you got both of you in without a hitch and it was just bad luck the supe turned up. I think he was worried he’d hit you too hard on the head. Tell me if you feel any pain.” 

MM ran his fingers down the back of her neck, where her spine met the base of the skull, pressing into each vertebrae. “You’re good, no signs of a concussion.” 

“Thanks”, Eve said as Butcher and Hughie came over.

“Any luck with the security cameras at the hospital, MM?” Butcher asked.

“Yeah, pretty successful. I got a clear shot of the supe and I managed to wipe the footage of you two as well. I think I got to it before hospital security reviewed it.” 

“Nice one, MM,” Butcher grinned. “Hopefully that’ll slow them down.” 

“We’ve got an ID search running, should have a result soon,” Hughie pitched in. 

Eve grabbed the bags of breakfast and put them down on the coffee table by the sofa where Kimiko was already sitting. 

“Coffee?” she asked her and when Kimiko nodded she handed her a paper mug. “We got breakfast for everyone, not sure what you guys might like though so there’s a bit of everything, bagels, muffins, some fruit, help yourself.” 

Eve grabbed a bagel for herself while Kimiko went through the bags and found a breakfast muffin. Butcher made his way over and grabbed a bagel too, sitting down on a chair next to the sofa. Hughie, MM and Frenchie joined too and soon everybody was tucking into the food.. 

“So,” Butcher brushed some crumbs from his hands, “we need a plan of attack once that ID check is done and we know what cunt we’re dealing with. He’s extremely dangerous, seeing as he can control people by just looking at them.” 

“Mademoiselle Edwards,” Frenchie looked over at Eve, “MM said you were controlled by the supe last night, is there any way of fighting his control?”

“No, not that I know. I remember talking to the driver in the hospital bed. The next thing I know I wake up in the back of Butcher’s car with no memory of how I got there.” 

Eve looked over at Butcher. “We need to be extremely careful. All of us are deadly under ordinary circumstances, with a supe controlling us we can wreck serious damage on those around us.”

“I agree,” MM said, nodding his head. “Once we know who this dude is we need to exercise extreme caution. If the search throws up an address I suggest we set up surveillance to see if we can get to him when he’s off guard.”

“Yes, I was thinking the same,” Eve replied. “Even if he’s a supe, he’s got to sleep sometime right? Maybe that’s our chance.” 

“Depends on where he’s sleepin’,” Butcher said, “but I agree. Surveillance first, ‘opefully we can find a way to get to ‘im.” 

He grabbed a breakfast muffin from one of the bags, catching Eve’s eye as she peeled a banana and he pointedly bit into his muffin. She stifled a giggle that made MM look from her to Butcher and back again. 

“The van is ready to go, we just need to check we have the right equipment,” Hughie said. “Once we know what we’re dealing with I’ll get it in order.” 

“Did you get any information from the surveillance tapes Mallory sent over yesterday?” Butcher asked MM. 

“Nothing more than we already knew, same m.o., no clear shot of his face and no obvious motive.”

Hughie’s computer pings behind them and they all look over. 

“The search is done, seems it’s thrown up something.” MM pushed himself up from the and went  to check. “Yeah, come on over, this is it, we got him.”  

The team gathered around the laptop and looked down at the images on the screen. 

“That’s the fucker alright,” Butcher growled, “Daniel McKay, born in Worcester, Massachusetts, dual US and UK citizenship, current address; Franklin Way, Croydon, UK.” MM taps deeper into the record and more information floods onto the screen, including the scan of McKay’s UK passport and his entry date into the US. 

“Any info on where he’s staying now?” Eve asked MM. “If he’s staying under his UK passport he’d have to give it to any hotel.”

“Not yet, he might be staying with friends or family, or he checked in to a place that lets you stay anonymously.” 

“Let me check what I can find on him through MI6.”

Eve pulled out her own laptop and set it up at Butcher’s desk, logged in and connected to Vauxhall. Butcher came over and leaned over her, one hand on the back of the chair, the other on the desk. She was suddenly very aware of how close he was, his hand on the chair brushed up against her back, and his body heat radiated over her as he leaned in closer over her laptop. 

Her fingers fumbled as she typed in the supes name and passport number, Butcher’s close presence was suddenly slightly nerve wracking. As he leaned closer to scan the information that filled the screen his forearm pressed against her shoulder and his scent filled her nose. The heavy fabric of his coat had its own smell and it lingered on his shirt, underneath it he smelled of warm skin and fresh sweat and something else that tugged at her memory. 

Her search brought up McKay’s credit card records and it seemed like he wasn’t too worried about hiding, or didn’t think that anyone knew who he was. There were charges from all over NYC and Washington D.C.

“He’s not hiding himself,” she looked up at Butcher who was still leaning over her. 

“No, he probably thinks he’s safe since he could enter the US without any issues. His passport wasn’t flagged.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out why he’s doing this, what’s his agenda? Is he connected to Vought in any way?” 

“No,” Butcher muttered, deep in thought, “If ‘e was with them he’d been picked up already. Vought doesn’t like unsupervised supes going around killin’ people. Bad for business.” 

Butcher leaned closer and tapped at the screen. “Here, this ATM is next door to a cheap, flea ridden apartment hotel down in Hunts Point. The kinda place that doesn’t deal with credit cards, cash only. Bet ya he’s stayin’ there and took out cash at the ATM to pay for it.” His brow knotted in thought, “We’ll need to bring some firepower with us just to do surveillance.” 

Eve suddenly realised what Butcher’s scent was, she inhaled deeply and laughed. “Gun cleaning solvent, that’s what you smell like!”

“Wha’?” Butcher raised his eyebrows in a confused look as Eve took hold of his shirt sleeve and sniffed it. 

“Hoppe’s number 9 gun cleaning solvent.” She laughed again. “It’s been driving me crazy ever since last night in the car.” 

“I think you’re still feelin’ the effects of that bump, luv.” Butcher chuckled at her but the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her and she felt her breath catch in her throat. He was still leaning close over her and the laptop, shielded from view from the others. Suddenly he lifted his hand from the desk and took a gentle hold of her jaw, letting his thumb run over her bottom lip. His eyes moved down to her mouth and she saw him dart his tongue over his own, before their eyes met again. He held her jaw for another second before he dropped his hand to the desk as Eve let go of his shirt sleeve. She could feel her heart beat hard in her chest and the touch of his thumb was still lingering. 

Butcher stood up straight and looked over to the rest of the team who were all still huddled around MM’s computer. 

“MM,” he barked and they all looked up. “McKay is down in Hunts Point, at The View Point Apartment Hotel.”

“Alright, how you wanna play it?” MM replied.

“You and Hughie take the van down there and check it out, I’ll meet you there. We’ll see what we need and then you two take the first shift. Edwards and I’ll take the second shift this evenin’.”

Butcher was all brusk action as he walked away from Eve, starting to gather gear from various locations around the office. 

Eve had her eyes on her laptop, still scanning the information provided by MI6, but her stomach was full of butterflies. The thought of spending hours in a van with Butcher was suddenly both exciting and nerve wracking. 

“We’ve got to keep it professional, I can’t let the man’s damn swagger get me distracted,” she said to herself. But in a back corner of her mind she indulged in a small fantasy of what it would feel like if he’d followed up his touch with a kiss. She shook her head, pushing any thoughts of Butcher’s lips out of her mind and focused back on the screen in front of her. 

“Edwards, you’re with me,” Butcher called at her from across the room and she looked up. “I’ll get you back to your place, c’mon.”

“You don’t need me now?” she asked as she looked over at him. Butcher’s face caught her eye and she could’ve sworn she saw his mouth curve in a mischievous grin for a second but he dropped his head and continued looking through a box on the floor. 

“No, get some rest and I’ll pick you up tonight. If anything happens before then I’ll ring ya.”

…

Back down at the street they got in Butcher’s car and he pulled out in traffic, heading towards her flat. Eve knew she wasn’t imagining the tension between them. Something had shifted when he touched her and now they were alone in the car with it unspoken between them. 

“So, gun cleaning solvent, huh?” Butcher suddenly chuckled. “Didn’t realise that was such a turn on for ya.” 

“Who said I was turned on by it?” Eve raised her eyebrows at Butcher who kept his eyes on the traffic. 

“You’re the one who wanted me to sleep in the same bed as you last night, darlin’,” he reminded her with another chuckle. 

“Only so you wouldn’t have to bend yourself in double to fit on the sofa, Butcher.” 

“I don’t know, you were getting kinda cosy in my coat there,” he threw her a mischievous grin.

“You offered it to me, remember? Maybe you’re the one turned on by seeing a woman in your coat.” 

They’d come to a stop at a red light and Butcher turned to her, hooking his arm around the passenger seat and leaning closer to her, the air in the car suddenly very thick. His look gave her a fresh flock of butterflies and she mentally slapped herself. 

“Maybe you did turn me on, but the question is, what am I gonna do about it?” he said in a low voice without taking his eyes of her.

Eve couldn’t help herself, her eyes flicked down to his lips and then up at his eyes again and the corner of Butcher’s mouth twitched upwards but he didn’t move. His lips were slightly parted and Eve felt her pulse increase as neither of them moved.

The car behind them honked as the light turned green and the moment broke as Butcher turned back to the steering wheel. 

“You know” he started, “for an MI6 operative, you’re not very good at hidin’ your emotions.” He was grinning again, clearly enjoying ribbing her about the effect he had on her. 

“What emotions?” Eve said, keeping her voice neutral, “You’re the one who touched my lips back at the office, you’re the one going all emotional on me here.” If he was going to keep this up she wasn’t going to let him forget that he’d made the first move. 

“Only after you got me all riled up with your talk of gun cleaning solution,” he chuckled. 

“I knew that was a turn on for you, Butcher,” Eve laughed, lightly slapping the side of his thigh.  

“And you’re the one sniffin’ my shirt an’ all,” he reminded her as he grabbed her hand and put it back on his thigh, his hand staying on top of hers. Eve caught herself wishing the traffic lights ahead of them would turn red but they stayed green and Butcher kept driving. 

“Now you’re definitely flirting, Butcher,” she said as the warmth from his thigh made her palm tingle. She could feel the muscle under the jeans shift as he took his foot off the accelerator. 

“Are you enjoyin’ it?” he asked, throwing her a sideways glance as the traffic slowed down. 

“Maybe,” she replied and he looked at her again with a smirk that said otherwise. “Yes, ok, fine, I’m enjoying it,” she relented and his smirk grew wider. “But we’re tracking a seriously dangerous supe, I’m trying to be professional and stay safe.” 

“Then why is your hand still on my thigh?”

“Because you’re holding on to it, Butcher.” 

“I’m only holding it so you don’t move it higher, my self-control is not that strong, darlin’.” This time he gave her a big mischievous grin. 

Eve rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away from his leg. “Seriously, Butcher, you’re such a tease.” 

He laughed at that and she could see his dimples under his black beard. “I love teasin’ you, luv, you’re gorgeous when you scowl at me. Even when you’re holdin’ a knife to me throat.” 

“I should’ve brought a bigger knife,” she grumbled but he could see the smile in her eyes. 

They reached her building and Butcher pulled over to the curb and turned to her as he put the car in park. 

“Alright, back to business then,” he said, turning to Eve. “I’m gonna make sure everythin’ is set up in Hunts Point and I’ll give you a ring before I pick you up tonight. If anythin’ happens before then I’ll let you know so be ready to leave if I need ya.” At the last words he smirked and Eve sighed and shook her head as she opened the door to the car.  

“I’ll see you later, Butcher.”

“Later, gorgeous.” 

[carmenberzattosgf]

NO IM BRITISH,SCREAMING, STOPPPP THATS SO FUNNY, no i'm just a british gyal with an absolutely FUCKED sleep schedule. i live in like the north of england 😭😭 i thought it was obvious, IM ACTUALLY CACKLING

also a good mullet is elite tho, BUT the only guys i've seen pull it off are two british youtubers (willne and james marriott my beloveds <3) so i lowkey understand the slander

OMG ALSO the fact you're from tennessee is so weird to me, i always thought you would be from like further north?? or even like maine/new england vibes.

DO YOU HAVE A SOUTHERN ACCENT? if so, iconic. if not, still iconic.

-🍓

DUDE THIS IS LIKE WHEN YOU FIND OUT AN ACTOR WHO PLAYS AN AMERICAN IS BRITISH.

Im surprised I give off New England vibes omg. I wanna visit there soon, it all seems so pretty!

I do indeed have a southern accent! It gets rlly bad when I’m tired.

[shoveitevil]

this semester is going to be very very bad i can just feel it ive gone 2 days and already fainted ive nearly thrown up I’ve come in late ive completely fucked up my sleep schedule im tired the Ritalin helps me get through the day but on an empty stomach there is just a pit where my waist should be and ever since my dumb ass decided to look at godforsaken 4chan i now have 20 million new insecurities! year 7 babytrans me would have never imagined me getting fucking hand dysphoria! or knowing what a bideltoid width is! my coming out deadline has 11 more days and if i wait longer I’ll hate myself in the future im already kicking myself for not immediately coming out when I was like 12 if i have to go through the real permanent shit oh my god. whenever I look in the mirror now i can literally only look at my shoulders I hate it ughhhhhhhhhhhhh. what do I tell the school what do I tell my cis guy friends what do I tell my primary school parents what do I tell my nana and my aunt what do I tell my British family. and I need to do the whole transition suffer all the mood swings and awkwardness and everything while I’m studying for the second most important set of exams in my life. when do I stop boy moding because if I pass early than that means that people might treat me like shit but if I don’t even pass by the end of y12 I’ll cry. ugh god if I go through with this ill literally just be a talking point and people will stare at me and I’ll have to wear long sleeves in the summer

[pensat-i-fet]

Take Two: Part 1 (Rúben Dias)

Part 2 l Part 3 

Masterlist

Wattpad

“So the movie is being filmed in London, right?”, asked Mariana.

“Mainly, but there are other locations in England where you’ll have to do some small scenes”.

“Ok, I hope it’s not too cold there”.

She could see her agent rolling her eyes at her. Anyone could tell she had been unbearable lately. Complaining about every little detail when she usually just worked and never mentioned anything in a negative way. But moving to England…it brought back too many memories. The main one was her ex, who was now living there. But she wouldn’t have to see him at all. She’ll go to London and all those little towns in the middle of nowhere and get this film done. After the success of her last two roles, everyone agreed it was time for her to go for a role that could get her nominated for some type of award. And this role was exactly that. 

“Ready to go?”, asked Amelia, her make-up artist and best friend. Life in Hollywood was lonely. One didn’t know who they could really trust, but Amelia had proven to be a good friend multiple times.

“Yeah”, she answered and entered the jet. 

The flight was going to be a long one, so they planned on spending it watching a couple of movies and trying to get some sleep to better adjust to the British timezone once they landed. 

                                                             **

When they made it to England, Mariana was tired and desperate for a relaxing bath. 

“Want to order some food and watch a movie?”, asked Amelia.

“Sorry Ames, I’m shattered”.

“Ok, grandma. Do you want me to get your schedule to your room when Felix gets here? So he doesn’t bother you?”

“Please!”

Back in her room, she quickly took her clothes off and got the bath ready. The selection of oils wasn’t that great for a 5-star hotel but it’d have to do. Just another annoying thing to add to her already growing list of complaints.

Her bath time was like meditation time for her. Almost sacred. She didn’t listen to any music or watch any movies. She just closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying to empty her mind. And more often than not, she fell asleep.

“Babe?”, she heard Amelia say from the other side of the door. She always got a spare key to Mariana’s room.

“Coming!”

The water was starting to get cold and she felt a chill all over her body when she got out of the bath.

“What is it?”, she asked once she was back in the room.

“Your schedule”, said Amelia, with a weird look on her face.

“What’s that look for?”

“Just look at the schedule”.

And so she did.

  -Oct 10th-20th: filming in London. Parts 3 and 5 from the script.

  -Oct 22nd-26th: filming in Birmingham. Studio. Parts 1, 7 and 8.

  -Nov 1st- Dec 12th: filming in Manchester. Rest of the script.

“I thought I was filming in London!”, she yelled. “That motherfucker!”

“Babe, no. Wait! Mariana!”.

But Amelia’s plea fell on deaf ears because Mariana left her room, wearing only a bathrobe, and ready to confront Felix. How could he do that to her?

“Open the door right now!”, she screamed, almost punching the door instead of knocking.

“You got the schedule, then”, said Felix, as if nothing had happened.

“You lied to me! You lied to me multiple times! I said England was bad enough but Manchester?”

“It’s the best role you could get to finally get the award you crave so much. I’m doing what’s best for you”.

“You’re fired”, screamed Mariana.

“No, I’m not. You are going to bed now and you’ll realize that I’m doing what’s best for you. Then you’ll stop being a brat and you’ll thank me when you do your speech at the stupid Oscars”.

Her fury was getting worse and worse. How dare he talk to her like that?

“Felix, do you think you’re untouchable or something?”, she hissed.

“No, I just know I’m good at my job and that I’m doing what’s best for my client. No, actually, not only that. I’m doing what she, what you asked me to do. This is the role you wanted. The film has to be done in Manchester too and that’s that. I can’t tell them where to film when they’ve been preparing for this movie for months just because you don’t want to be there”.

“Yes, I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be in the same country as him and I don’t want to be in the same city as him. The last time we were seen in the same place, people went mad. I can’t do that again!”

“I thought you were over him”.

“I am”, she said, firmly.

“Then act like it. People won’t even know where you are filming apart from London. I’ll deal with the paparazzi”.

“I still hate you”, she said, leaving and conceding this defeat. She knew he was right and that annoyed her most than anything else.

                                                        **

London was full of paparazzi trying to catch her and the rest of the cast filming scenes for the movie. Security had a hard time getting rid of them. But as Felix had predicted, by the time they moved to Birmingham, no one followed them. She even managed to go shopping around the city centre without bodyguards and not one person bothered her. That felt good. Almost like being back to the times before she became famous. It definitely lifted her spirit. She hadn’t been her cheerful self for a while and she could tell that the stories that would come out of this set would be about what a bitch she was.

She was just tired. And homesick. And lonely. So lonely. 

But Birmingham was great. She loved filming in beautiful locations but there was something about studios that she loved even more. And even though some of the hardest scenes had to be filmed on those sets, she enjoyed it. Comedy wasn’t her forte, she was a drama actress and she planned on proving that to everyone with this film.

“Here”, said Amelia when she sat down in Mariana’s bed.

“What is it?”, she asked, unwrapping a box. “Under eye patches?”, she laughed.

“That’s the best present I can give you. Crying so much for those scenes is making your eyes too puffy”.

“Aren't you the best make-up artist?”, teased Mariana. “Then you’ll be able to make me look good next week despite the puffy eyes”.

“I don’t know, babes. I can’t perform miracles”.

And they both fell on her bed laughing. It was so good to have someone she could be herself with. She had missed that feeling.

                                                           **

Somehow, October had already finished. The filming of the movie was going well but it was time for the biggest part of it. The part that was filmed in Manchester.

“It’ll be fine”, said Felix, holding Mariana’s hand while they were being driven to the hotel.

“So you keep saying”.

“I got it under control”, he reassured her.

Felix wasn’t only an agent and publicist, he was her other good friend. Someone who knew how to help her in every situation and not just because of money. He had proven that many times before as well. 

“What’s my schedule for the days before we go back to filming?”

“We have a photoshoot for Vogue. It took a lot to get it so you better make the best out of it. And then we have a gala. I managed to get Louis Vuitton to dress you for it. We’re doing the fitting tomorrow”.

“Sounds good”, she said, sighing and looking out of the window at the city she’ll be spending a lot of time in. His city.

                                                             **

"I don't like not having you as my make-up artist", complained Mariana on her way to the photoshoot.

"You know how these fashion people are. I'm not good enough for them".

"They don't know much then".

"Hey, you ok?", asked Amelia, noticing her friend looking out of the window with sad eyes.

"Just one of those moments when everything feels like too much, you know?”

"Well, I'm here to talk".

"I know", said Mariana, putting her head on her friend's shoulder and closing her eyes.

When they got to the studio, everyone started to move her around to get her ready. She felt three hands pulling at her hair while others tried to put clothes on her to see what looked best. It was unbearable. 

"So you're an actress?", asked one of the women doing her makeup.

"Yes".

"Would I know you from something?"

"I don't know. Did you watch the last Jake Matthew's movie?"

"Oh yeah, the one with the cute blonde on it, right?"

"That one, yeah", she sighed, knowing she meant her coprotagonist, Josh.

"He's so hot. Who were you in the movie?"

"The one that played his wife".

"Can't remember that".

And that was the story of her career. Being the pretty actress next to the actor who got all the fame and recognition. That's why she was tired of those movies and wanted to do something serious. Something real. Something that showed people she was good at her job. 

"Wait", said the stylist. "Didn't you date a footballer?"

From the corner of her eye, Mariana saw Amelia looking at her worryingly.

"No. You must be confusing me with someone else", she answered, wanting to avoid the conversation altogether.

"Yeah, the City guy. The hot Portuguese".

"Who?", asked another one of the make-up artists.

"I can't remember his name. My boyfriend loves him and I love looking at him”, she laughed making everyone else join her. “Are you sure you didn't date him?"

"Confident", said Mariana with a fake smile. It was a good thing she was really good at her job.

The shoot lasted three long hours and by the time she was done, she could overhear the photographer telling the stylist that maybe one of the photos could be used to which she responded that it was ok because “no one knew her in the UK anyways”. 

Mariana took her coat and left without even saying goodbye. She was so tired of all these fake people. And of having to be fake herself.

"You ok?", asked Felix when she got to the hotel's lobby.

"Sure".

"How was the shoot?"

"Alright".

"Do you know how to speak long sentences?", he asked her, annoyed at her attitude.

"I'm just tired. I'll take a bath and go to bed".

"No, you have the Louis Vuitton fitting".

"Now?"

"Don't whine".

"Felix, please", she begged, almost crying. She just needed to be alone for an hour or two.

He hugged her and let her use him as support like she had many times. 

"Just do this quickly", he whispered, "and then I'll get you your favourite food and leave you alone until tomorrow evening, ok?"

"Ok", she sighed and walked to her room, where the Louis Vuitton people were waiting for her. Time for more fake smiles. When had she gotten so good at faking?

                                                           **

Felix had kept his promise and allowed her to have a morning off. She spent some of her time going through the script. Practising her accent as her coach had taught her. Most people were surprised to find she wasn't American when they heard her talk in English letting her accent come through. 

Once she was done, she asked Amelia to go shopping and for lunch. She didn't really know the area but was sure she could find a cute little place to eat. She tended to avoid the big spaces…even if no one really knew her in the UK. She thought about that line again, rolling her eyes. Who knew them two anyway? 

"So because of the gorgeous neckline of the dress, I thought about putting your hair up. And then we'll do a smokey eye in the same shade as the dress. It'll compliment your eyes so well", said Amelia, excitedly. She loved her job just as much as Mariana loved hers, and she also loved playing with her face as if she was a doll. If it made her friend happy, she'd let her experiment as much as she wanted.

"I'm sure you'll make me look perfect but don't use all the time on me, you need to get ready too".

"Eeeeek!", screamed Amelia, making everyone look at them. "Sorry, I still can't believe you convinced them to let me have a dress too so I could attend the event with you".

"A bit stupid of me to take someone prettier than me as a plus one but oh well, I'll allow you to outshine me for one night", she laughed.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure all the big celebs will fall in love with me".

"You never know", said Mariana with a wink.

After a long shower, she started to get ready with the help of Amelia. For once, it was just the two of them, plus the occasional visit from Felix, and it just felt like two friends getting ready for a night out. Mariana didn’t stop smiling the whole time. 

"Ready?", asked Mariana when they were about to leave the limo to join the red carpet.

"No, but I can't hide now, can I?"

"No", she laughed, taking her friend's hand.

The red carpet was another place where she could just act and pretend. She kept her head high while she heard the photographers yelling all types of things at her. And once she reached the end of the carpet, she took a deep breath.

"That was amazing!!!!", said Amelia.

Mariana turned to see her beaming. At least someone enjoyed the experience.

The aim of the night was to show her clothes and to say hello to the important people. Or those who everyone thought were important people. 

"Can I steal her from you for a second?", asked Felix smoothly while taking her away from everyone else.

"What is it?"

"I need you to not freak out", he said, making her freak out.

"Why?"

"Rúben is here".

She could feel her chest contracting at the words. What was he doing here?

"How?"

"I don't know. I checked the list at least 20 times and his name wasn't there. It isn't there now. But he is here. Unless he's got a twin that showed up at the event and I find that a bit unlikely".

Mariana closed her eyes to try and control her reaction. She couldn't see him. They couldn't be seen together. Not again. 

"I need the toilet", she said.

"Don't run away without telling me, please".

"I won't", she promised. And continued her way to the bathrooms.

She kept looking at herself in the mirror trying to find there the strength to deal with this moment. Her face looked pale from the shock of the news and her eyes were watering. But she wouldn't let anyone notice how affected she was. She would just say goodbye to everyone and leave before Rúben could even realize she was there.

Determined, she made her way back to where she thought Felix would be.

"Ana?", she gulped after hearing that voice. His voice. And that nickname. No one called her that anymore. She made sure of it.

"Hi Rúben", she said back, turning to look at him. Seeing him up close after such a long time made her knees feel weak. He had changed a little, but not much. He still looked like her Rúben and that made her heart beat too fast. Hearts can be so stupid sometimes.

"I didn't expect you to be here".

"Yeah, same. I gotta go and talk to people. It was nice seeing you, though", she said and tried to get away from him as quickly as possible.

"Don't go", he said, holding her arm. The contact made her skin burn. "Can't we talk and maybe catch up? We haven't seen each other in so long".

"I don't want people seeing us together", she said and saw him flinch.

"Ok".

"I…I didn't mean it like that. I just, you remember the last time we were in the same restaurant and people thought we were back together. It was madness for our publicists. And we weren't even there the same day".

"Is that all you care about now? About publicists and what people think of you?", he said, with a sad look.

"Don't judge me like that. You play the same game. And I have to care. You don't get how hard this career is".

"Whatever you say, Mariana”, he said, making her own name sound like an insult. “I'll leave you so I don't taint your perfect image".

His words tickled her.

"Don't be a child", she said, following him and tripping on her long gown. Damn it!

"You ok?", asked Rúben, kneeling down to check on her.

"Yeah, just twisted my ankle. But I'll be fine".

"Here. Let me help".

She took his hand and let him pull her up and closer to him than she had been in a very long time. They both were thinking the same. It was clear in the way they looked at each other.

A camera flash woke them up from their daydreaming. 

"Fuck! Great!", said Mariana, separating herself from Rúben.

"Do you need help? To go back to your people?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine. You enjoy your night".

And she ran to where she thought Felix would be, but couldn't find him at first. Her panic kept rising but Amelia found her to save the day once again.

"You ok?"

"No. Can we go?"

"Of course. You've done the red carpet already and talked to reporters. Let's go find a car".

                                                            **

Once they were back in their comfortable pyjamas, Amelia made them some hot chocolate and they sat down on the bed to talk.

"I'm sorry I cut the night short, Ames. I know you wanted to experience this kind of event but seeing him…".

"Hey, I get it", she told her, holding her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know. We hadn't really seen each other since our break up and…I just, I…having him so close and talking to him, it felt so natural. But then we were already getting annoyed at each other. It confused me".

"He was your first love. It's understandable".

Rúben wasn't just her first love. He was her only love. 

"I just hope I don't see him again while I'm here. I don't need this".

"I'll get him banned from all of the places we go to", said Amelia, trying to make her friend laugh and achieving it.

"It should be fine. No more events. Just work and then we go back to LA".

"Yes", agreed Amelia. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

"Please".

                                                         **

The next morning, Mariana woke up determined to not let her encounter with Rúben affect her. 

"Morning Fifi", she said to Felix, joining him at his table for breakfast.

"You are in a good mood", he said, like it was a bad thing.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Have you checked your social media?", he asked.

"No, why?"

She had actually avoided her phone last night. It wouldn't have been the first time she felt vulnerable and went to Rúben's Instagram to check what he was up to. Seeing him moving on with his life both helped her move on with her own and made her hurt. It depended on the day.

"See it for yourself", he said, giving her his iPad.

There he had collected all the articles about her and Rúben. The photo featured in all of them was of them holding hands and looking into each other's eyes. She couldn't deny they looked like a couple. 

The headlines and articles weren't much better. All of them wondered if her being in Manchester had anything to do with him, if they had decided to give their relationship a second chance. 

The hardest part was seeing all the old photos they posted. All of those photos from their happy times together. She had those photos saved and looked at them sometimes, remembering the good times. They actually tended to lift her spirit but they did the exact opposite this time.

What would be Rúben's reaction to all of this? Would he care? He seemed upset at her for being bothered by what people could think but would he just brush it off and move on? She wished she could ask him. But asked Felix instead.

"What do Rúben's people think of this?"

"I still haven't been able to talk to them", he told her, disappointing her. "Are you ok?"

"No", she said, laughing sadly. "But I will be. People will forget in a couple of weeks like they did the last time, right?"

"We can hope. Besides, you're back to filming soon and can concentrate on that".

"Yes", she said with a smile. "I'll do that".

                                                         **

For the next couple of days, Mariana concentrated on work. She and her co-lead had decided to do some rehearsals on their own. It was great to finally work with someone who took his job as seriously as she did. And that allowed her to forget about Rúben for a couple of hours every day. Until she had to go back to the hotel and ask Amelia to stay with her and take her phone. She was so tempted to contact Rúben. Felix told her his publicists kept ignoring his calls and emails and she didn't know what to think of that. Did he not care at all? Did he not care about her being hurt by this situation? She wondered about how he was dealing with it all the time.

"Hear me out", said Felix when he got to her trailer where she was going through her lines.

"Nothing good has ever come out of your mouth after saying that. Plus, we are in a public place and you know I can't make a scene. So rip the band-aid quickly so I can refuse your idea just as quickly and we move on".

"You need to fake date Rúben".

Out of all the things he had ever said, that was the craziest one yet.

"I'm sorry. Are you on drugs?"

"I've tried to keep you away from all of it, but everyone is going crazy over your photos together. Your name has never been mentioned in the press this much and his social media engagement has gone crazy. And his publicists need the good press. He's been single for too long and that leads to rumours they don't like. A serious boyfriend image gets contracts more easily. You know how it works".

"No, you're actually high. I'll get someone to get a cup you can pee in and test it".

"Mariana, come on. It wouldn't be your first rodeo".

And that hurt more than the suggestion of this publicity stunt with Rúben. Yes, she had done the same with her last two co-protagonists. Everyone in Hollywood did it. But this was different.

"It's not the same. I dated Rúben for two years and it was very real. I can't act when it comes to him. I'm not a sociopath", she said, fighting the tears.

"I know it would be hard for you. It wasn't my idea, you know?"

"Whose idea was it?"

"Rúben's PR people".

Why would they want that? Didn't people just assume football players slept around? Wouldn't they prefer for him to be single so a potential cheating scandal could be avoided? It made no sense.

"What would I get from that? He's the one who wins in this situation but what about me? He isn't even famous in America and that's my main market".

"All fair points", conceded Felix. "But you really wanted to get that role in the next movie by your favourite Portuguese director and this would help. You’ve been away for so long, people don’t even see you as Portuguese anymore but he represents the national team in soccer".

"Football", she corrected him but Felix ignored her.

"And I've already gotten requests from many magazines asking to feature you both if you are back together. Do you know how hard it was to get one photo of you in British Vogue? And now I have all these Portuguese magazines asking to have you on their covers".

If it was someone else, she would have said yes. She hadn't been interested in dating ever since her break up with Rúben anyways.

"Can I think about it?", she asked.

"Talk to him".

“I don’t…I can't”.

“Talk to him”.

But she wasn't sure that was going to help.

                                                          **

After much debating and getting Amelia's advice, Mariana decided to talk to Rúben. She needed to know if this was as crazy of an idea for him as it was for her. It had to be. He would have never accepted something like this before and she doubted he had changed that much in these two years.

Many meeting spots were out of the equation because of how public they were. And so was Rúben's apartment. Paparazzi had been there ready to get a photo of the two of them for days. So they met at one of his teammate's houses.

"So, what do you think?", she asked.

"I don't know. When I was first told about it, I wanted to tell them to fuck off but they made good points, I guess".

"That's why we hired them. They make crazy ideas sound slightly logical", she said with a small laugh.

"I guess. Um…so what do you think of all of it?"

"I mean, the decision is yours, Rúben. I have so much work between filming and castings. I don't have time to date anyways, so there's no risk of meeting someone. But if you did and this got in your way, I'd feel so bad and…".

"What do you mean not having time for dating?", he interrupted her. "You were dating those actors you worked with. So there is time for that".

When she looked up at him, she realized how quickly he understood what her look meant.

"It was also fake".

She nodded.

"So you haven't been with anyone else since we broke up?", he asked.

"No. I mean, I've been with men but…nothing serious. You?"

"Same".

And there was something about that admission that made both of them feel relieved. 

"So, are we doing this?", asked Rúben.

"If we do it’s with one condition. Non-negotiable".

"What?"

"We don't lie to our parents", she said. "I loved your parents and mine loved you. I can't lie to them about this. Give them…hope, you know?"

"We'll disappoint them instead, then?"

"Better than lying to them", she said, seriously. It really was her only condition. 

"Deal", he said, offering his hand for her to shake. And that's how they embarked on what could be their best idea…or the worst.

[drtanner]

I keep forgetting that you’re English. Like, it’s jarring every time that I’m reminded that you’re English. Not that it’s a bad thing but I guess I never notice when you use more English slang terms or spellings and whatnot. In my opinion, I would’ve pegged you for being somewhere in the Central Time zone in the USA. Probably Illinois or Tennessee. Colorado is in the Mountain time zone but that would be another pick.

Sidenote; do the English and British get mad when called the other? Because if you’re actually British and I’ve been calling you English, my bad, I was going off of what I saw. Anyways bye love you (no romo) (I’m drinking, can you tell?)

Honestly my sleep schedule is fucked so I can't even blame you for thinking I live in a US timezone. I wish it were different but I have the ADHD so here we are. ( b ._.)b

Re: British/English, you'll get different answers depending on who you ask. To make this abundantly clear, England is in Britain, so it's true that an English person is British, but someone who is British may not necessarily be English. Britain also includes Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, so a British person may be English, Scottish, Welsh or (Northern) Irish.

However.

While English people are generally (generally) fairly happy to be called "British", if you call a Scot, a Welshman or an Irishman "British" you're probably going to get some choice words in return! This is largely because "British" has become more or less synonymous in a lot of folks' minds with "English", which is itself because historically we've been a bunch of domineering cunts who only care about ourselves and the Scots, the Welsh and the Irish have all suffered for it immensely over the centuries. And they still do! Which is why none of them like us and hate it when someone calls them "British"!

Saying "British" when you really mean "English" is a weirdly widely-accepted kind of erasure, and I don't particularly like being called British myself because of it. Then again, I'm not a unionist. Unionists just fucking love being called British.

Anyway! I'd tell you to enjoy your evening but it sounds like you're already well on the way there, lmao.

[someone-give-me-a-hug]

update timeeee

Ello there guvnor! tis I! Huzzah! 

Yeah i dont know what that was either. hello hello! much better. it has been a little longer than expected to update but i wanted to wait until after my exams finished to give you a reply! 

first of all, i think I've only ever had a tomato once. my grandma gave me one and i felt too bad to say no after absolutely hating it. But hey maybe I’ll try it again! Beans however? well i could live off of beans on toast, which granted aren’t the beans you are probably on about but omg maybe its that British in me but beans on toast is an absolute banger of a meal (and was the first thing to come to mind after Bean Crock, which we eat in the winter, another classic).

To answer your very valid question about the number of exams i had, it was 21. 21 exams :) In all fairness exams sorted out my sleep schedule like a charm. i decided to get up at 6am everyday i had an exam so i could have breakfast and revise the content. which then meant i went to bed earlier (around 23:00) and slept like a log the whole night! the longest exam was 2 hours and 30 minutes. and let me tell you, i made a big fat mistake; i decided to take my friends advice and go through the paper backwards. what an oopsie that was. I ended up forgetting that the outside world even existed during that exam, it felt like lifetime! but honestly, oh well too late to change it now. 

We had a BAV (Beliefs and values) exam (3 actually, catholic christianity, judaism and then philosphy and ethic) becuase it’s required to learn. we needed to use a source of wisdom and authority in most answers and the one i mustve used a hundred times was ‘Love thy neighbour’. I’m also pretty sure I made a few up but hey ho it’s done now. 

It’s officially the summer holidays and school doesn’t start again until September so I’ve got so much time on my hands I have no clue what I’m gonna do! when I go back though I’m doing my Level 3 certifications (A-levels) in history, English lit and philosophy and ethics!

on the note of wildlife, there are so many birds in my garden it’s insane. I’m starting to think they’re building an army to come hunt me down and peck out my brains. although i doubt they eat brains, maybe I’ll have to stuff my pockets with seeds as a sacrifice. Also i had to search up what a bull moose was but oh good heavens THEY ARE HUGE!? I swear i’d literally cosplay Jesus and ascend to heaven if i saw one of them. I love the fact that you get to see wildlife, it’s so cool! I once got chased by a flock of geese and that was scary enough. I think geese talk to each other because they always seem to stare me down. Now listen, I may have a seriously moody resting face but come on! I just want to go about my day and here I am getting glared at by the most viscous bird ever. unfair if you ask me. 

Oh oh oh! about the tumble drier situation, I have been known to lack common sense at times. For example, when i start a task and don’t plan ahead. Imagine I’m baking something and as I wash up i haven't got out a tea- towel to dry my stuff. i will freeze like a moose in headlights (see what i did there? eheh funny). It’s like i have no issue remembering what the emergency quota act did during the red scare in USA history yet if something is missing or new my brain just grows legs and goes on holiday. 

In the words of my grandmother, if brains were made of dynamite i wouldn’t have enough to blow my cap off. 

Random thought I had the other day to finish off: the saying ‘Hold you horses’ comes from literally slowing down a horse. like ‘stop, slow down’ ‘Hold your horses!’. it has taken me an unbelievably long time to realise that. like what else was ti meant to mean?! I’m literally as thick as a plank of wood sometimes. 

Anyway, I hope you are well! I hope everything is good and that you’re good! 

Love ya! Little sib!

[chaletnz]

The Home Stretch: Lima to Cusco

The Cusco airport was more of what I’d been expecting - run down and dated without any useful or well-maintained facilities. I was at least able to get myself a map of the area and then headed out to be ripped off by a taxi like a lamb to the slaughter. I had not slept at all in over 24 hours, and there was no free wifi in the airport so I was willing to pay anything for a ride to the hostel so I could lie down and shower. I’d seen articles online saying it should be about 15 soles but he said 40 - in the grand scheme of things $12 for my own taxi in my current state of mind was not bad! There were a lot of stray dogs that I noticed during the drive, and the houses built small and close together with fences topped with bits of broken glass to deter intruders. I had a bit of a wait to get to my room so I sat in the lobby area to plan my afternoon and then a group arrived that I’m convinced are an Intrepid group like the one I’d done in Central America - mostly British, and including a guy who ended up breathing oxygen from a tank since he couldn’t handle the altitude. I showered as soon as I was able, and just in time because they shut off the water to work on some pipes in the courtyard. I laid down for a little bit and then once I was sufficiently hungry I went out for an early dinner of a 1/4 chicken and chips at Super Pollo which was good but super greasy so I needed to burn some of it off with a walk around the San Pedro Central Market and nearby streets. The market was only about half open with a lot of stalls closed for the day already. It was different to other markets I’ve been to too in the sense that people did not harass me to look at their wares, rather I was able to browse openly. It was the perfect temperature to be walking around in a tshirt while I admired all the trinkets and things for sale. I didn’t end up buying anything right away, since whatever I buy I will have to carry around for a month but I have some ideas of what to pick up at similar markets in Lima before I head home. I carried on walking around the small Cusco city centre to see some of the plazas, there was one with a huge crowd of people standing in a circle and some street performers in the middle. There were about six vendors selling popcorn just behind them, and numerous street dogs running around everywhere. One of the dogs peed on one of the popcorn stands which immediately put me off buying any street food! I was totally exhausted by this point so I headed back to the hostel to get some internet and plan out a few things to visit when I have my free days to explore Cusco. The tour ended up calling me ahead of schedule to explain everything important for me to know for my upcoming Machu Picchu tour tomorrow. While I was talking to him a girl sitting nearby had apparently been listening and trying to pick my accent. Her name was Jordyn, she ended up being from Steamboat Springs - very close to where I live in Colorado. Our plans were a little different for the week but after talking for two hours like old friends we arranged to meet up on Thursday for dinner after my day tour of the Rainbow Mountain. At last it was time to sleep at about 7pm after preparing all of my things for the tour and a quick shower in the morning.

[sinfull-lifestyle]

I got tagged by @bvrgundybxtch cheers! ☺️

Name: Ronan

Sign: Leo 🦁

Height: 5’6 ( I think)

Current time: 10:35pm

Birthday: 11th August

Favourite Band/ Artists: Amy Winehouse, Sam Cooke, ABBA, Frankie Valli & the 4 Seasons, SZA, Summer Walker, Kehlani, Bad Bunny, Rosalía, Popcaan, Collie Buddz + lots more

Last Movie: The Hobbit 1,2,3

Last Show: (Lord of The Rings) Ring of Power

Blog Created: 2013/14?

What I Post: Mainly art, cottagewhore 😉, men, shit humour and quotes sometimes for anyone needing reassurance etc.

Last Google: Types of Musical notes - It was so I could cheat on a game lol

Other Blogs: 0

Do you get asks: Very rare occasion lol

Following: 949

Followers: 2,461

Sleep Schedule: Normally 1/2am - 7/9am (depends if I’m working from home + varies if I nap lol)

Do you play any Instruments: I wish

Currently wearing: Pyjamas with 👄 on lol

Dream Job: Interior Designer/ Fashion Stylist

Dream Trip: A trip around Italy 🇮🇹

Nationality: British 🇬🇧

Favourite Song: Will you still love me tomorrow by Amy Winehouse

Last Book: The Witcher

Tag, you’re it @youareamemory @jparadox @powerbottom @honeyed-heliophile @awrtx @bryanrl @otpcruiseliner @zaksmiles

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 2

First part

Next

Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades

Tim wheeled his bike into the alleyway nearby and set the alarm to call him if someone messed with it beyond the normal ‘must touch cool thing’ instincts.

Once he was sure that his bike couldn’t be easily stolen, he turned back to where Marinette was waiting for him.

She struggled with her phone with her gloved fingers. His lips twitched into a grin and he took a moment to school his face into a neutral expression before he started over.

After a second, her head turned to look at him and she flashed a wink, pocketing her phone.

“Cheers!” She chirped, flashing him a wave.

Tim raised an eyebrow at her behind his domino mask. “I hate to break this to you, but that’s a British thing.”

He could only see the top half of her face, and yet he was sure she was pouting. “Kwami, this is Canada French all over again.”

“Canada --?”

“They speak the language all wrong,” she said, as if that made it make more sense.

“I feel like you’re implying that I speak English wrong.”

“Would you rather I say it outright? ‘Cheers’ is a cute word and it sucks that Americans don’t use it.”

“Is this really a hill you’re going to die on?”

“Not just a hill I’m going to die on, it’s the hill.”

He scoffed lightly at that, then turned to get the door for her. The moment they stepped inside they tensed. The silent stares pressed in on them on all sides and he felt Marinette shuffle just the slightest bit closer to him as they took their place in line. The Gothamites continued watching them -- no, they were watching her -- warily, and of course they were (new people in costumes usually meant pain for them).

Well, he could assure them she was safe, at least.

He slowly, carefully, threw his arm over his shoulders. Marinette’s hand twitched towards the arm on instinct to throw him off, but otherwise she didn’t give much indication that what was going on was weird. There were a few more tense seconds before people turned back to what they were doing, visibly relieved by the fact that she was apparently on the good side. Chatter started back up.

Marinette relaxed slightly under his arm and he gave her shoulder a little squeeze in a weak attempt at comfort.

“Kwami, I forgot how much being a new hero sucks.”

“Vigilante,” he corrected her absently.

She rolled her eyes. “At least try and make it sound like you’re not a cop with a bird theme.”

He sputtered, pulling away to cross his arms over his chest. “Hey!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes!”

She rested her hands on her hips.

“We break laws!”

She snickered. “So do cops.”

Tim… didn’t have a retort for that. Luckily, he didn’t need to have one, because it was their turn to order. Neither of them hesitated and within a minute they had their drinks and were out the door. They waved for the few cameras pointed at them on their way out, false smiles lighting up their faces, and then quickly ducked back into the alleyway to have their drinks in privacy.

“I’m going to start going places as Red Robin more often since it seems to mean I’ll get served quicker,” joked Tim as he leaned against the wall.

She gave him a puff of laughter and then pulled the bottom of her mask up to take a sip of her caramel frappe. He watched her expression for a moment and then decided that it must have been good because she didn’t instantly recoil. He pulled his coffee to his lips and took a confident gulp, only to choke.

“Shit,” he hissed, fighting the urge to spit it out.

Now that he knew what to look for he could see the pain behind her eyes.

“It’s really bad,” she informed him, purposefully just a moment too late in her warning.

He huffed a little, looking at the cup in his hand. It’s an iced coffee! How do you even mess that up?

There was a beat as the two vigilantes considered their options, before giving each other shrugs and downing their drinks. It may have been bad, but at least it was caffeinated. Marinette, lucky her, had an easier time of it because she’d gotten whipped cream with hers. He was tempted to snatch the drink from her hands to have something to wash down the cup threatening to sully the good name of coffee for him…

But he didn’t have to. She smiled and offered him the last of her whipped cream. He squinted at it suspiciously as if expecting it to be poisoned. After the coffee incident just a moment before he wasn’t about to take any chances.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s actually good, promise.”

“If you’re lying I’m taking back vouching for you to Batman,” he told her.

Her eyes crinkled with mirth.

“I’m serious! If it’s terrible I’m marching back to the Batcave --!”

“All the way back?”

“Yes! All the way back to the Batcave! And I’m going to revoke my vouching!”

“Oh noooooo, not the vouching!” She said, bringing her hands to her cheeks in mock terror. When he continued to ‘glare’ at her she snickered and assured him that: “It’s fine, I’m pretty sure it’s from a can.”

He squinted at her, because canned whipped cream was still far below his normal standard, but he did end up taking it. It was… okay.

“See? Not poisoned.”

“Very suspicious thing to say unprompted but okay.”

She grinned, reaching over to swipe some cream off his nose. “You’ll die in exactly four hours”

He rolled his eyes. “Hm. I guess I should go home and work on making an antidote, then.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that. I’ll see you later.” She leaned forward and pressed her mask to his cheek in a sort of kiss before heading off.

He watched her leave, smiling to himself. He leaned back against his motorbike absently, thinking.

Well, he supposed he didn’t need to watch her to make sure she was safe anymore. She was Ladybug, she could take care of herself in a fight…

But then a thought occurred to him: she couldn’t detect him when he had been watching her earlier. He bit his lip anxiously. Sure, he was trained to evade detection but did he really want to chance it? In a place like Gotham the ability to tell when you’re being watched is an absolute must.

Okay. Fine. He’d watch her just a little longer…

~

Marinette frowned when her phone rang while she was doing some late-night work.

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, M’lady?”

A wide grin stretched across her face and she fell back in her bed. “Chaton! And here I was thinking you would never call!”

Adrien laughed. “Well, our time zones don’t exactly match up and I forgot that your sleep schedule is less of a schedule and more of a suggestion.”

“Fuck you, too, then.”

He laughed and she could hear him shifting around on the other side. She heard him zip something up on the other side and she lit up. “When’re you coming over?” He sighed and that was all it took to let her know that he had bad news. The momentary silence afterwards as he tried to figure out what to say was a good indication, too.

“I can’t, unfortunately. The Son of Hawkmoth moving away right after he gets jailed isn’t a good look. The United States Government isn’t that eager to have me, either.”

She wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Just steal the horse miraculous from Fu and come over illegally.”

He snorted. “Yeah, no, straight up disappearing is even more suspicious, thanks.”

Marinette frowned. She supposed that made sense…

She pulled her cat plush over so she could rest her head against it. “It’s so boring without you.”

“You’re making new friends, right?” He questioned, concerned. “I saw on the news that you’ve met the other vigilantes already.”

“Yeah, I guess… but they clearly don’t trust me.”

“Well, did you trust me when we started out?”

“No…”

“So give them time. They’ll realize you’re the best person on Earth soon enough.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, obviously. They’d have to be blind not to notice that.”

“Well, one of them is called Batman --.”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

He laughed at her and she smiled as she burrowed into her plush.

“Thanks, Chaton.”

“Anytime. Now, go to sleep.”

She rolled her eyes and hung up on him without promising him anything.

~

He leaned against the concrete of the roof, head on his arms to prevent scratching up his chin as he watched her through the window. He kind of worried about her having the blinds open like that, anyone could look in at her, but at least she closed it at night.

Still, he couldn’t deny that it certainly made things easier for him. She did most things by window light -- to save electricity, he theorized -- so he didn’t have to work all that hard to keep track of her.

Currently, she was working on stitching some pieces of an outfit. Her tongue poked out of her mouth a little when she concentrated, he had learned. A tiny part of him wondered if she did that as Ladybug, too, and he just couldn’t see it under her mask.

He kind of wished he could ask. Maybe one day he would (if they ever got close enough for him to reveal he’d been watching her without her knowledge, of course).

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts, and he groaned to himself as he synced his earbuds and picked up.

“Yeah, B, what do you need?”

~

Listen, Marinette liked her job. She had the privilege of designing most of the outfits she did and that was a lot of fun -- certainly more fun than working solely on commissions -- but… sometimes she just wants to be told what to do. Artist’s Block is real and it fucking sucks.

Thankfully, Gotham gave quite a bit of inspiration. The difference between Gotham and Paris was striking. Paris was pristine; lots of tourists meant keeping the city in a constant state of newness, all bright colors and surfaces so clean you can see your reflection in them. Gotham, on the other hand, felt exceptionally lived in; graffiti, decaying buildings, cracked sidewalks…

She found a nice vantage point that overlooked the city and looked out over the horizon. That was another difference between the two: the height of buildings in Gotham was far more varied than those of Paris. It was more interesting to look at, she thought.

(It had been a point of annoyance at night as she could no longer jump from rooftop to rooftop with ease, but that’s not the point here.)

Maybe she could do something inspired by all the different heights. Audrey would probably like a dress like that.

She smiled walking to a nearby gargoyle. Red graffiti dubbed them Charlie, and who was she to not use his preferred name?

“Hello, Charlie, may I sit on you?” She joked quietly.

Charlie did not answer, not that she really expected him to.

She perched herself on the gargoyle’s back and pulled her sketchbook from a secret pocket in her leather jacket. She hummed tunelessly as she sketched out the shape.

Layers of different lengths -- and different colors, too, of course, she thought as she pulled out some colored pens (what’s the point of different layers if you don’t make it rainbow?) -- and oh it definitely had to trail a little in the back for the drama…

Artist’s block hit her like a too-high wall on patrols as she stared at where the bodice needed to be. What should she do? Obviously it needed to be relatively simple otherwise she risked the dress being an eyesore but…

It was just her luck that the moment she came to a decision about what to do for the bodice and accessories is the moment the first water droplet hit her sketchbook. She pulled her gaze to the sky and noticed the storm cloud overhead.

Shit, it was starting to rain.

She looked back down at her sketchbook, irritation spiking under her skin.

Option one: tough it out and continue drawing so she doesn’t risk forgetting the idea she’d had.

Option two: don’t risk her outfit (or her health, she guessed) and just head inside like a sane person.

… Marinette chose option one. She wouldn’t be herself without the occasional bad decision.

She drew her jacket over her head and hunched over her sketchbook as she continued sketching out her design.

Except, after a few minutes, she didn’t feel the beat of the rain on her jacket. She blinked a few times because she could still hear the rain nearby and she started to wonder if she had died somehow before she caught the sound of someone moving just out of her seeing range.

She turned her head to see a man holding an umbrella over her head, her jacket falling back to rest on her shoulders.

She gave him a once over. It was a little paranoid, she could admit, but she was in Gotham; it paid to be cautious. He was wearing a thick trench coat and gloves, which was a big red flag. He also had open posture -- more open than was natural, actually -- what with his slight slouch and hands spread wide in a somewhat placating gesture. The only good thing was that he was keeping a respectful distance, even standing a bit in the rain in order to avoid crowding her.

… well, he had an umbrella, at least.

She gripped the gargoyle tighter with her legs just in case he decided he wanted to try and push her, then turned to face him more.

“Hi,” she said carefully.

“You know, it’s illegal to be up here,” he said, flashing her an almost blindingly white smile.

She grinned. “You’re breaking the law, too, then.”

“Yeah. I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me.”

She reached a pinky out and, after a second’s hesitation, he returned the gesture.

Deal made, he wiped some of the water away with gloved fingers and took a seat beside her.

He clearly trusted her more than she trusted him, even allowing his legs to hang over the side of the building. She wondered why, vaguely, but she couldn’t exactly go and ask...

So, instead she smiled and said: “Thanks for the help. Water stains are a bitch to get out of leather.”

“You’re welcome, but I really can’t believe you went out without an umbrella in this city of all places.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a little new here, to be honest.”

She watched him carefully out of the corner of his eyes. The man frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by her laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m not stupid enough to genuinely tell someone that. I was just going for the Manic Pixie Dream Girl aesthetic.”

His shoulders relaxed in a way that would have been imperceptible if she hadn’t been trained to check body language. She let herself relax her grip on the gargoyle a little as well; he had been concerned about her right then, he was probably pretty safe. Safe enough to not strain her legs too much, at least.

“Well, I do like your aesthetic,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl stuff, my outfit, or what I’m drawing?”

“All of it. But mostly the outfit.”

She felt a faint blush rise to her face but she brushed him off with a: “Yeah, thanks, but I’m not about to start taking fashion advice from a guy in a trenchcoat.”

He gasped and brought his free hand to his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, this is peak Gotham fashion!”

“It’s shady, that’s what it is.”

“That’s what Gotham fashion is!”

She couldn’t have rolled her eyes harder if she tried. And she did try.

Her gaze fell back to her work and she sighed as she pulled out her pens and started working on finishing up her sketch.

“So, what’re you up here for?” She asked because she didn’t want to risk him getting bored and leaving with the umbrella.

“Hm? Oh, I do photography in my spare time. Figured I’d scope out some new areas.”

“Know all the best places in Gotham?”

“You have no idea.” The man flashed her a grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone in person, though, so I figured I’d get some update shots.”

“Well, if we both need to go sightseeing around Gotham for our things, why not do it together?”

He raised an eyebrow at her but she could see the way his lips twitched downwards with concern. “Trust me that much already? We’ve just met.”

“Well, you seem like a nice guy...” She smirked. “And I could totally beat your ass.”

He scoffed and unbuttoned his trenchcoat to prove to her that he did, in fact, have muscles hidden beneath all those layers and she laughed before she noticed the shirt he was wearing.

Holy shit. She’d made that shirt. He was wearing one of her shirts. She could see the gold stitching partially hidden beneath his collar, and fuck maybe she was concerned about all the wrong things.

Her eyes narrowed in on him just slightly. He clearly wasn’t actively hiding the shirt and didn’t seem concerned that he had shown her, which meant he:

a) didn’t know she was MDC,

b) saw her as just another artist,

or c) was showing her on purpose so she could make an informed decision about being his friend.

So… he didn’t seem to be a threat to her.

Maybe she could do some checking up on him, though, just to be safe.

She smiled. “I realize I never got your name. Probably would be a problem if we’re going to be spending more time together from now on.”

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to be friends with someone if you don’t even know their name. I’m Tim Drake.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said, watching his expression carefully.

He remained impassive. She wasn’t sure what that meant -- or if it meant anything at all, for that matter.

She pulled out her phone and offered it to him, taking the umbrella so he could type his number in with both hands. That done, she stuck the phone back in her pocket and smiled up at him.

“I’m stealing your umbrella, by the way,” she informed him, grip tightening on the handle in case he tried to take it back from her.

He grinned and made no move to do so. “If you must. Can you at least walk me inside the building before you run off with it?”

She giggled. “I guess I can do that, yes.”

~

It had been a long time since Tim had fanboyed this hard.

If he was any younger, he would have fallen back on his bed and squealed like a person in those old movies. As it were, he still wore a dopey smile.

He had MDC’s number! And not her work number, because he’d already had that, this was her real number!

And, even cooler, she might just let him go with her to get inspiration! Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to watch one of their favorite artists do their thing?!

… oh, yeah, also the protection thing, obviously. That was the whole reason he was doing this, after all.

It would be so much easier to protect her if he went out with her on these excursions. Just being around men tended to ward off potential assailants. It was perfect!

Which meant he wouldn’t have any reason to follow her for her own protection anymore…

Wait, what about when she needed to go out for chores like groceries? She’d still need to be safe for that! Gotham is a scary place! What if someone tried to follo -- what if someone tried to mug her or something dangerous like that? No, she still needed his help!

Yeah, no, he has to do this. It’s for her own safety.