#IN THE ACTUAL PRESENCE OF THE POPE

[mollymarymarie]

papal audience person here! Yes I was in the presence of the pope!! I am also not catholic and have never been catholic but being surrounded by it made me want to reread… so I did… while listening to the pope speak

this is amazing, you are incredible, i love you so much

[shortnspidey]

SILENT RIFT

jj maybank x fem!cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

➩ main masterlist

➩ obx masterlist

"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

[loves0phelia]

hi! I wanted to request a cute jj fic where they’re just being cute together and he’s overprotective (can you base it off an episode in the series?)

thanksss!

Risking

Summery: Moments JJ risked his life to protect you.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: near death experiences, grammar mistakes.

A/N: I'm like 100% sure this is not what you meant but this is what i came up with, thank you for requesting xxx (for anyone that requested i will do them all eventually, might just take time)

JJ was always protective of his friends no matter what, whether it was in a fight, an argument or just a small altercation, he was ready to protect. But with you, it was quite different. He wasn't just protective, he was ready to kill to assure your safety. He followed behind you wherever you went like a personal guard. He would do anything to shield you from any harm.

The first time you noticed just how much he was committed to your protection, was during the Kegger at the beach. You and him had begun dating a couple of months prior and it was the first beach party of the summer, where kooks, pogues and torons met to have a good time.

“Hey, y/n! How are you doing?” Your head turns when you hear the call of your name. You notice  Topper, Rafe, and Kelce approaching. Their presence quickly becomes hard to ignore. They are always looking for trouble, even when there is none.

“Oh, uhm I'm good Rafe, thank you for asking” You began looking around for the familiar head of blond hair you loved combing your fingers through but only failing.

“Looking for someone?” It was now topper's time to speak up.

“Actually yes, I'm looking for JJ-”

“Yeah I don't actually care, you want a drink?” Topper smirked, a glint of arrogance in his eye; it was in no way comforting. It was malicious.

“No thanks, I'm not drinking tonight…” You slowly start backing up feeling cornered by the trio.

“Relax, we’re just being friendly. Have a drink with us. Unless, of course, you’re too good for that. But you won't deny a free drink, right, pogue?” Topper pushed and almost shoved the red plastic Solo cup filled with beer that tasted like pee in your face.

“What the fuck is going on here” Sighing in relief, A weight was lifted off your shoulder when you heard his voice coming up behind you. You turned to see JJ striding over, eyes hard and jaw clenched. His gaze flicked from you to the three boys, warning in his stare.

“There you are, we were just offering your little bitch of a girlfriend a drink, isn't that right y/n?” Topper laughed, feigning innocence. 

JJ didn’t back down, his voice low but clear. “The fuck did you just call her?.”

Topper took a step closer, his grin mocking. “I called her a bitch. What are you gonna do about it, tough guy?” He laughed and earned a slap on the back from Rafe.

Before anyone could process what was happening, JJ's fist was swinging toward Topper landing a solid punch across his jaw.

The air was thick with tension, and you instinctively took a step back—until Rafe's hand caught your arm, gripping tight.

“Let go of me!” you snapped, trying to pull free.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Seeing you struggle, JJ’s face darkened

JJ lunged toward Rafe as Topper troubles to stand from the sand still winded from the hit he received. Then, In a second everyone at the party began circling the fight.

Both blond boys punched and kicked around earning cheers from the crowd surrounding.

“Stop!” John B and Pope push through and quickly pull JJ off the bloodied Rafe.

“Lay a hand on her again, and you’re dead. Got it!?” He screamed at his face before getting completely pulled off.

JJ’s demeanour softened as soon as He turned to you, “Hey, you alright?” he asked, gently brushing his fingers over the red handprint on your arm.

You let out a relieved breath, meeting his concerned gaze. “I’m fine, thank you,” you whispered, slowly raising your tippy toes to press a delicate kiss on his cheek.

His hand raised to your cheeks and pulled you into a proper kiss before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and bringing you away from everyone. He couldn't wait to lay in bed close to you.

the second time you noticed was when he was ready to take a bullet for you. You and your friend hadn't expected your summer to turn into a treasure-hunting adventure but here you were with a nugget of badly melted gold in your pocket on your way to a “warehouse”.

“Is there really a warehouse out here?” Your friend, Kiara asked, confused. The route you were on only had forest and maybe a couple of cabins nearby, no place where someone could be keeping 70k in cash.

“That's what she said, hehe that's what she said” JJ smirked and you from your spot on his lap slapped his thigh and gave him a warning but playful look.

‘Shut up” Pope said unimpressed which only made JJ's smile fall into a frown.

“Sorry baby,” You said and kissed the tip of his nose and his smile was back immediately. He had already forgotten his bad joke.

“Cops? out here?” Your little make-out session was interrupted by the flashing of the red and blue lights and siren.

“Hide the gold!” All the pogues panicked and tried acting as innocent as possible, but JJ only tightened his arms across your lower stomach holding you against him.

Barry appeared, his face hidden with a skull scarf, and in his hand was a shotgun. He raised it, pointing it directly at John B. in the driver's seat. You all froze, hearts pounding.

“Why don't you get out and raise those arms in the air” Barry sneered. “Right now!”

John B stepped out of the van, hands raised high in fear.

“Come everyone get out! Let's go”  Shaking you slowly got up from your place in JJ's lap and got out of the car.

“There you go pretty girl, hurry up!” He pointed the gun in your face, the barrel touching your forehead.

“Relax bro!” JJ jumped out after you and instinctively pushed you behind him. His face was dark with anger as he screamed. Your heart jumped in your throat when the gun shifted from you to him.

“Stay back bitch!” he shouted at JJ.

“Face down in the ditch, get down on your knees” He threatened with his gun and pushed down Pope's head as you all got down in the dirt.

After a short while, Barry went into the van and went looking for the gold but as he was searching John b got up and went into his car to ambush him.

Thankfully his plan worked and as soon as John B got the gun out of his hand you all rushed to help. JJ ran and punched him in the ribs, Kie punched his face, Sarah pulled the car door on his face twice and you kicked him as hard as you could where the sun dont't shine.

Barry spat, his anger mingled with a hint of fear now. “You’re dead for this. You hear me? All of you!” You all just took what he had stolen from you and left.

Later that night in bed pressed against JJ's stomach at the chateau you thought about the situation.

“You can't jump in front of me when there's a gun involved” You whispered and JJ's rubbing movement on your back stopped.

“the hell I can't” he scoffed.

“You're gonna get hurt badly if you keep protecting me.”

“It's my job to protect you, if something happens to you I will literally die, I can't live without you” His sentence made your head shoot up.

“You mean that?”

“You're the love of my life y/n, nothing matters more to me than you.” You carefully laid your head back down on his chest where you could hear his heartbeat and hugged him tight, almost wanting to crawl into his skin.

The third time you were out in open water, nowhere to turn, and adrenaline was coursing through your veins. Sarah had gotten kidnapped by her family and you and the rest of the pogues were on a mission to save her.

The boat pitched and swayed on the ocean. JJ and you stood side by side, backs pressed to the railing, as you faced off against Renfield, an employer of Ward Cameron. 

The man grinned wildly, holding a machete with a terrifying confidence, the blade shining menacingly in his hands. 

“JJ look out!” He lunged forward, machete raised, his eyes locked on JJ. Your heart leaped in fear, but JJ ducked, narrowly dodging the swing. The machete sliced through the air, missing by an inch.

Before he could make another move, you stepped in, launching a punch right into his nose throwing him off his balance. But he quickly got back up continuing the fight.

Before JJ could fully react, Renfield rushed forward, landing a brutal punch across his jaw. The force of the blow sent JJ stumbling backward, right up against the railing. Disoriented, he struggled to regain his balance.

His vision was blurry but he didn’t miss how The blunt end of the machete in the man's hand was making a beeline for your head.

“Y/N!” He lunged from the floor and pushed you out of the way. 

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your feet as you watched JJ topple backward receiving the hit that was initially meant for you, arms flailing as he plunged into the dark, icy water below.

“JJ!” you screamed, rushing to the side, your eyes frantically scanning the water for any sign of him. The boat rocked beneath you as you leaned over, the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

Without a second thought, you kicked the man and jumped in after your boyfriend.

“JJ!” You swam closer and closer until you reached his floating body, you held him and hugged him close to your body, elevating his face above the water.

“Please! John B.” You felt yourself sink further as you frantically moved your legs beneath you.

“Please, JJ I can't, I can't” You choked on the water filling your mouth.

As you sank several pairs of hands grabbed onto you and JJ pulled you onto a smaller boat when you realized your friends had saved you you rushed to JJ's side, begging, and shaking his shoulder attempting to bring him back.

“Please get up!” suddenly he began coughing up water and slowly opening his eyes.

“Oh my God” You sobbed and held his face gently with your hands.

“Sup” Everyone around you erupted in laughter and you laid your forehead on his chest giggling.   “Don’t… ever do that again,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

JJ chuckled weakly. “Can't promise anything”

You rolled your eyes, a smile breaking through despite the panic that still lingered. 

“I'm coming with you,” you argued.

“No you're not,” JJ said as he was putting his diving gear on.

“Yes, I am” You take the second wetsuit and start unzipping it.

“Hey, no” he takes it from your hands and puts it aside.

“Yes, JJ. I am going down with you whether you like it or not” Your tone hardens which took him aback, JJ rarely saw this bossy side of you, you were always soft-spoken and gentle or at least with him you were. 

After pulling on the suit and oxygen gear both you and JJ were ready to go down.

“Okay guys remember the safety stops, or else you get the bends” Pope warned and you both nodded.

The water was calm and clear. Underwater, everything was peaceful and quiet, the only sounds coming from the rhythmic hiss of your breathing through the scuba gear and the faint echo of distant waves above. It felt like a different isolated world.

He gestured to you, pointing toward a dark shape partially buried under a rocky overhang. You nodded, eyes bright under the goggles as you swam toward it, fins propelling you through the water. 

But before either of you could examine the wreckage further, a shadow passed over you, casting a sudden darkness across the sandy floor.

Just as you looked up, the unknown diver was on you. The stranger grabbed you by the shoulder, yanking you backward, forcing you to drop the small underwater flashlight you had been holding. 

“y/n!” JJ’s eyes widened as he took the spear he had brought down with him and stabbed the attacker without mercy. But that angered him. Quickly he turned and punched JJ, with his skills he swam quickly and locked JJ up in a room inside the wreck while he was disoriented, leaving you alone with the man.

“NO!” he yelled but it was muffled by the oxygen tube.

The stranger’s hands reached for you again, trying to get hold of your air tank, and when he did he cut off your oxygen supply. Your lungs burned instantly from the lack of oxygen and panic.    As soon as JJ managed his way out of the trap he was in, he shoved his regulator into your mouth, completely uncaring about his need for oxygen. He took your hand while you were taking desperate breaths and he kicked himself forward, rushing to the surface and escaping from the attacker.

As you broke through the water, you both gasped for breath and clung to each other, adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

“Are you okay!” His hands reached for your face, and you only weakly nodded.

“Talk to me please, baby” 

“I'm okay” You swam closer to him and he held you without daring to let go until John B was near.

When you finally reached the safety of the boat you and your boyfriend sat close. You were still panting, your chest heaving but as you took another breath, you felt a sudden, sharp pain twist through your chest.

"Guys, are you okay?" Kiara asked, noticing the pained expression on your face.

You tried to respond, but winced, feeling an intense, stabbing ache radiate from your joints to his abdomen. Your head spun, and you suddenly felt nauseous as though your blood had turned to acid. Panic flashed in Pope's eyes as he watched you and his best friend struggle, the realization hitting him hard. 

"They have the bends, we need to get them to the hospital" Pope and Cleo slid their arms around JJ's back lifting him up and John B. and Sarah did the same to you. 

JJ panicked at the sudden disconnection between you too, You were so close now so far apart because of your friends separating you. 

“y/n” JJ moaned as pain shot through his side.

“We're getting you both to the hospital!” pope shouted. The ride felt like thousands of hours, the pain was unbearable. 

"Almost there, guys, just hold on," Sarah encouraged, as she tried making you both take deep breaths. 

The van rattled down the dirt road, jostling you and JJ in the back as you leaned against each other, pale and clammy, both fighting the building pressure in your heads and chests. 

“go, go, go” one of your friends screamed and tore the van door open pulling you out of the car. You struggled through the hospital door and in a second you were shoved into a small, cramped hyperbaric chamber that was barely big enough to fit one person, let alone two.

After a couple of minutes of groaning, heavy breathing and twitching you both cooled down shoulders pressed against one another, his breath shallow and quick, matching your own in the tightness of the space. His fingers slid into yours sneakily.

JJ glanced over, a spark of guilt in his eyes as he shifted uncomfortably now tracing his fingers on your face. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from all this” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You met his gaze, his face so close you could see every freckle on his sun-kissed skin. You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his hand brushed your cheek as he reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I'm glad you didn't,” you said. JJ’s hand lingered, his fingers warm against your skin, and you felt yourself leaning in, just slightly, as though pulled by a force.

“I'm glad you didn't because if you did I wouldn't be here with you ” you whispered, unable to look away.  Before you could stop yourself, you closed the gap, kissing him with a fierceness you didn’t know you had.

JJ’s lips met yours, soft and warm, and his hands found their way to your waist, pulling closer. The hum of the machine, the aching in your muscles, even the fear — all of it fell away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in this moment.

“It’s the first and last time I ever let something happen to you, got it?” You grinned and rolled your eyes. You shifted, grabbed a pillow and quickly pushed it directly in front of the circular window before climbing on his lap pressing a deep kiss to his plumped pink lips.

Only the two of you know what happened in that chamber in the minutes that followed.

[ovrgrwnivy]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!oc, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; changes are being made! see this post to learn more. to me, this part seems a little like a filler, but i want to explore veronica as a character and develop each relationship with each character as something more than a side character, not just honing in on her relationship with jj, which of course is a huge part of the story also.

part one. part two. part three.

when veronica begins to stir, the sun had long set. there was no way of knowing how long the pair had been asleep, all she knew was the lights of the chateau were off and there was a bright pink post it note stuck to jj’s head.

‘gone fishin’. jb pissed.’

pope signed off on the note, a small smiley face drawn inside the o of his name. veronica knew the pouges hadn’t actually gone fishing, that is was some sort of code jj would decipher when he came to.

in this moment, veronica was content. wrapped in the arms of the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

what could only be described as a war was ongoing in her head. she wasn’t exactly one to believe in love at first sight, she thought this entire ‘spark’ thing was something made up by male authors to keep women reading their shitty romance books to keep them hooked, waiting for it to happen to them.

but then she met jj, and he was like a magnet. every time veronica was in his presence she was mesmerised, whenever he was gone she felt like all the colour was drained from the world.

there was only two problems.

there was a maximum of forty eight hours that they knew each other, add to that he was her brothers best friend, then add to that said brother made it crystal clear that inter-group dating was not allowed.

oh, and then the whole ‘nobody knows i’m his sister but us’ thing.

“you’re staring, baby” jj mumbled, his voice low and tired as he stirred beneath her “can’t say i blame you”

with a sarcastic scoff, veronica sits upright in the hammock, her legs laid out across the blonds lap “just admiring the drool on your face”

“aren’t you funny.”

comfortable silence follows, jj crosses his arms behind his head and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. even though she was staring off into the water, veronica could feel jj’s eyes on her.

“can i help you?” veronica quipped, a teasing lilt to her words as she face the boy in question “use your words, you’ll get there.”

unexpectedly, jj sighs and lets his head fall back “what am i doing?”

veronica knows he didn’t intent for her to hear him, but she did. she would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed, but she was even more disappointed in herself at the pang of sadness that hit her.

before she can say, or do, anything, jj is sat up a little straighter and speaking again.

“listen, you’re a really cool girl,” he pauses, shaking his head and starting again “you’re hot as shit, damn it!”

barely, veronica manages to mask her giggle with a cough.

“don’t ask me how or why, but i gotta tell you i’m super into you.” he blurts out “yeah, makes no fuckin’ sense, we barely know each other, no pouge on pouge macking, you ain’t feeling me like that-“

her body is moving before her brain can even comprehend what she’s doing, chipped nail polish framing blond hair as she held his face in her hands and pressed their lips together.

then, her brain kicks in, and veronica jumps back like she’d just been burnt.

“fuck, jay i’m so sorry. i wasn’t thinking,”

seconds pass agonisingly slow and veronica can’t help but think about just how badly she had just fucked up.

but she doesn’t get to overthink for long.

a calloused hand tangled in long, brown hair. the other gripping her waist like it was a lifeline, helping her into his lap as his tongue makes its way into her mouth.

the kiss is messy, it’s desperate. like two people drowning, taking in the other like they were air. hands cling to whatever they can, afraid if they let go it would all be over.

any reservations veronica may have had about ‘the spark’ were discarded, undermined even, this wasn’t a spark, it was fireworks.

but fireworks don’t last forever, and when the sound of john b’s rickety van can be heard drawing closer. the newfound excitement being dulled by the shadow known as a protective older brother, a protective best friend.

by the time the missing pouges pour out of the twinkie, veronica and jj are in much less compromising positions, now sitting beside each other trading menial conversation about the earlier events of the day.

“welcome back to the land of the living,” kiara teases, a yellow vape coming up to her mouth as she took a hit “you two were out cold.”

instinctively, veronica’s hand shot out, wordlessly pleading for a hit of her vape. with a groan, kie handed it over.

veronica lets her head fall back against the hard oak of the tree behind her, relishing the feeling of her first hit of nicotine in two days. she had a vape when she left home, but it died before she even made it to the outer banks and being broke meant she couldn’t even go buy a replacement.

“you could’ve woke us up, y’know” jj defended, trying his hardest to act as if nothing happened, reminding himself to stop staring.

pope scoffs, not missing the longing stares sent the brunettes direction but purposefully ignoring them “we tried, it nearly cost us our lives.”

unamused, john b walks past the rest of the group in silence. when he gets to the door of the chateau he looks over his shoulder and nods for veronica to follow.

the girl is suddenly more attentive, climbing over the human embodiment of a golden retriever and padding her way into the house behind the older of the two.

“does the name redfield mean anything to you?” john b questions, passing a beer from the fridge and getting one for himself “like, the surname.”

veronica is quiet, her finger tracing the rim of the can as she goes through every crevice of her brain in search of any name even remotely close, there’s only one.

“chris redfield.” she answers with a nod, popping the tab of the can and taking a swig “but i don’t get how he’s involved.”

“why not? who is he!?”

“a video game character.”

with a huff of annoyance john b drags a chair across the kitchen to sit beside veronica, unscrewing his compass and placing it down on the table. the name ‘redfield’ is carved into the metal.

“we went back to the boat, found a motel key, whatever.” john b shrugs off the rest of their findings, more invested in whoever this redfield person was. “then i remembered when you showed me that note, the one in the compass. then i found this, figured you would know more than i do.”

veronica gently traced the carved metal, it was definitely their fathers scrawl, she’d memorised it from the note she read over and over and over.

it couldn’t be a coincidence, her fathers note asking her to meet, the matching compasses. now this?

“if i’m going to help you, i need to know..” she trailed off, biting at the edges of her nails as she wondered how to phrase her next question “does this have anything to do with dad dying?”

“he’s not dead.” john b’s voice is louder, stern. then his face softens and he tears his gaze away from the compass and to the floor “sorry, just, i know he’s out there. and this? this is proof.”

“john b, i get it.” the younger routledge speaks slowly, trying not to tread on any toes “you’re not the only one who wants him to be alive, that needs to see him. but i don’t see how this—”

“dad found the royal merchant. four hundred million dollars in gold, and he found it. he’s trying to tell us where to find it.”

veronica sighs, fingers rubbing at her tired eyes as she once again tried to think of any connection to any redfield. when it came to family, she only knew the bare minimum, her fathers name and her mothers maiden name.

what she did know, however, was the royal merchant. as a child her father sent her maps and books on birthdays and christmases without fail, until one day they stopped.

“you’ve got books and stuff, right?” she finally asked, not wanting to get either her or john b’s hopes up. a nagging feeling was telling her their dad was alive, but she knew he wouldn’t just up and abandon his son.

the walls of her fathers study feel like they’re closing in on her, john b let her inside and left her to it. veronicas hand ghosts over the framed maps and dusty books. blueprints of ships with her fathers messy scrawl written randomly around the paper.

there’s pictures of john b littered all over the office, all different life stages, a few feature jj and veronica can’t help but smile at the photo of two little boys holding a fish between them.

on the desk there’s a picture frame, immediately veronica recognises her mother, years younger and a gentle hand placed on her tummy. in the same frame, there’s an ultrasound that veronica almost bypassed as john b, but when she looked at the date it was a long time after he was born.

it was her ultrasound.

it was her in her moms tummy, framed and proudly placed right on her fathers desk.

everything comes back at once. finding the note, and in turn the years worth of letters her mother had hidden from her. the dateline special with john b pleading for information about his father, their father. the fight with her mother, packing a bag in the middle of the night and making her way to the address stored safely inside her compass.

the tears don’t register until they hit the glass of the frame, the last few weeks of pent up anger, sadness and hurt bubbling over from the flame that single photo sparked.

her dad loved her.

for years she’d heard about her absent father, then the absent father that passed when she was a baby. the father who didn’t want the responsibility of a child and ran away once he found out.

but the letters, the compass, this picture? john routledge loved the daughter he was forbidden from seeing, from the second he knew about her he loved her.

and now he was dead.

a sudden wave of anger rushes from her head to her toes, glass shattering when she throws the dusty old frame against the wall with a scream. papers fly and maps fall from the walls as she turns her fathers office into her own personal rage room.

the racket coming from the small room shakes the chateau, so it’s no surprise when the pouges come crashing through the door.

the pouges eyes briefly flash with fear when their eyes land on the destruction caused by the newest arrival, but it’s quickly replaced by a familiar sadness when veronica crumples to the ground, screaming as loud as her lungs would allow for them to get out.

they don’t know what’s wrong, but it doesn’t matter. veronica was now considered a friend, and they gathered that’s what she needed right about now.

jj is the first to enter, drawing closer slowly as if he were being cautious “it’s okay, ronnie.” he mutters softly, dodging shattered glass as he knelt beside her “we’re here, we got you.”

kiara, john b and pope are close behind, wrapping veronica in what could only be described as a group hug until her tears subsided.

taglist!

@ren-ni @marleymarleymarleymarley @miidollaasignnn @rainingcecilias @tanyaherondale @xspideyhollandx @sluterainterlude @loverofmarsss @xoxo-ada @gigistalked @genderlessmenance

[tanadrin]

I mean, renaissance does extend to the modern era but started during the middle ages. Discovery of the Americas / reformation are what are usually used as the symbolic cut-off points

no, this is actually completely wrong. modernity is a sticky but diaphanous fluid which began to seep up through a crack in the earth's crust below florence, italy, after the earthquake of september 28, 1453. it adheres vigorously to animal flesh, and minute traces are spread by person to person contact. even in trace amounts, its presence inhibits miracles, spiritual apparitions, and feudalism, and encourages the mercantile spirit, which is why its spread ended the middle ages. it also enables the visual cortex to comprehend perspective, which is why paintings looked so funny before. unfortunately it also tends to accumulate in the inner ear, dampening transcendent vibrations that otherwise are naturally picked up by the auditory nerve, making it impossible for humans to hear the voice of the divine.

that sounds bad, but most of what untainted humans in europe were perceiving as the voice of the divine was actually just the voice of a lesser divinity that pope adrian iv trapped in the roman catacombs, harvesting its body for communion. while non-sentient, the psychic defense mechanism of this creature produced aggression, zealotry, and visions of fire. since modernity is toxic to divine beings, despite the church's best efforts it began to sicken in the 17th century and by the 18th was in dire condition. its death finally enabled the first vatican council to occur.

of course if you ask about this at the vatican they won't tell you the truth. it's not on purpose: when divine beings die all memory of them vanishes from this plane of existence as well, including written records. but traces remain if you know where to look. you didn't think the eucharist was always just a little cracker and a sip of wine, did you? that wouldn't make sense. it doesn't even look like flesh.

[princesssarahblog]

jj with his mean girl - headcanons 2

jj maybank x mean girl!reader

warnin: this part is already visible from the reader's face, mini one shots!, reader is not pouge and kook, rudeness on the part of reader, fake killer, practical joke, jealousy on the part of the kie

author notes: happy new year! 🎅

— reader who actually likes jj's compliments

over time, you begin to get used to all his compliments and this nickname of his for you: "princess" your ardor began to subside and you already calmly react to his compliments. with each passing day, you only begin to like his compliments more

— reader who begins to wait for blond's visits to his house

you start to just want to see jay jay again, you started to like his company. being alone was so unpleasant. you liked the way he lay on your bed or your chases after him, you started to appreciate his presence next to you. but you will never tell him that

— reader who gets into trouble with pogues and has to endure a jj who is high

it so happened that the police were chasing the pogues again, and you ended up next to them because of jj. you all started running in twinkie. pope was lagging behind, and jj took some strange and rather strong drugs

"pope you out!" - jj yelled and literally kicked pope in the stomach causing him to fall.

john b was driving and unfortunately didn't hear jj's words and started the twinkie, you and kie looked in shock at the blonde's antics

"stop.. where's pope?" - muttered jj, you saw how he could barely stand on his feet and held his head

"idiot, you kicked him!" - you scream at jj but you are interrupted by his finger touching your lips

"shh.. princess, it doesn't matter. what matters is that.. I had a friend and his name was.." - jj said in his delirium, not understanding what he was talking about.

blond boy fell silent and his eyes widened, for a moment he realized what he had done

"POPE!!" - jj leaned against the door of the twinkie and looked out the window trying to see pope

(the friend that jj was talking about is pope. because of drugs jj thought he lost him)

— reader who has to endure kiara's rudeness and jealousy

whenever you encounter kiara, she always gives you a cold stare and blames you for no reason telling the rest of the pogues that you can't be trusted and you can betray them at any moment. but, jj always stops kie and says the opposite.

once kie even compared you to rafe and gave examples, and.. you all heard it behind the wall

"she is as rude and cold as rafe, even though she never physically harmed us.. someday she will stab us in the back!"

"my money on princess" - says jj handing it to pope watching as kie yells at the guys

— reader who can no longer stand kiara's anger and decides to teach her a lesson

the day you heard kiara's opinion about you, you decided to scare her and teach her a lesson

girl was walking home late alone, she didn't suspect anything. kie held her bag tightly on her shoulder and her gaze was focused on the road. her mother would kill her for coming home late again.

when kie turned the corner to while away her time, suddenly someone pushed her to the ground and she fell with a crash and a scream, dropping her bag

"who's there.." - the brunette said in fear, looking around, she did not find the culprit of her fall.

when suddenly a dark figure came out of the darkness, it was in a black robe and a dark mask.. was there a knife in their hands?

when kie wanted to scream she was interrupted

"relax pogue girl, I'm just playing with you. you have something against me.. talking all sorts of crap about me and I won't keep quiet." - you took off your mask, throwing your hair over your shoulders looking down at girl putting her in the place she deserved for all her words

"this is not a real knife, but someday... someday it might become." - you said calmly and coldly, easily twirling the fake knife in your hand and after... you hid in the darkness as you came from it. you hoped that you taught her a lesson.

kiara looked at you in shock, there was panic on her face. she was afraid.

— reader who is scolding rafe and is in the police office. and jj is sitting next to her

"this rafe cameron broke into my house! he trashed my kitchen and beat him up! and now you're accusing me of something?" you said with anger in your voice and pointed your hand at jj when you mentioned him.

jj was silent and looked at you with admiration

"yeah.. but i mean you knocked out rafe-" policeman said shyly, but you immediately interrupted him

"the police have always been so useless. write it all down on my family's account" - you said coldly, looking at the policeman with contempt and stood up from their place, leaving and telling him to put the fine on your family's account

(this is a continuation of that very moment with rafe)

[princessbrunette]

what do u think the boys would be like with a sleepy gf

rafe: all exasperated and dad-like about it. he’s like those dads that say shit like “wow, good afternoon.” when you wake up at like eleven. all condescending about it, blaming any negative feeling you have throughout the day on the fact you sleep so much. “my head hurts.” “uh, maybe cos you sleep until fuckin’ noon, i dunno.” he starts to set alarms for you, and if you turn it off and roll over in the morning he scoops you up and carries you to the kitchen — huffing and puffing as he holds you on his hip and lets you wake up slowly, burrowing into his neck. “i’m making you a coffee, to wake you up. jesus— how is it possible for someone to sleep this much, huh?”

jj: sleeps with you, because something about your sleepy lethargic presence makes him sleepy too (hes an empath 😍) so if he sees you dropping off on the couch, he squishes himself right up behind you, dragging you back into his chest. “hey, make room for me. i’m tryna sleep too.” the two of you can literally sleep until afternoon if you let it happen, cuddling beneath the sheets without a care in the world for your responsibilities.

pope: he worries and tries to over analyse why you’re so sleepy. you curl up to his side in his room whilst he does some work on his laptop, heavy breathing indicating you’ll fall asleep in the middle of the day soon, again. “hey, why are you sleepy?” he asks, dropping everything to shift his body to face you. “hm?” you ask, disturbed by his voice. “i keep telling you you’re iron deficient. you know no one sleeps this much. are you depressed? what can i do? actually let me google—” his fingers are already typing at his keyboard and you groan, explaining that you’re just like this.

john b: it doesn’t bother him in the slightest because he doesn’t mind the peace and quiet, even letting you nap on his lap whilst he’s sat at the table overlooking maps. he accepts that sleeping is just a part of your personality, and he’s such a caregiver at heart that if you’re not napping — he knows you’re gonna get all crabby, so he is constantly enforcing routine on you, leading your grumpy self to the couch and pulling a blanket over your body. “i think someone needs a nap. c’mon, down girl.” he gently eases you to lay down, arm resting on the back of the couch as he focuses his attention on the tv quietly buzzing. “i’m gonna be riiiight here.” he soothes, rubbing your back as you fall asleep, your boyfriend focused on some old game show on the screen.

[leebrontide]

I ever tell y'all about the South African nun I used to work with?

She's the only nun I have ever personally known. No idea how good of an example she is. I'm guessing she's an outlier in many respects.

She had a masters in social work, and worked very hard at the addiction counseling center I used to work with. All her paycheck went to supporting the order. She was, indeed, a bit severe for my taste sometimes. I guess she followed the stereotype in that way.

But I was under the distinct impression she joined the order to help protect her from retribution for her anti-apartheid activism. Don't get me wrong, she was a big fan of Jesus, but she also used to sneak out of the convent when she was young to go clubbing. The met the Pope in jeans.

When I decided to be a good ally to deaf folks by being honest when I couldn't make out what someone was saying (lol. That was a learning experience) she was the first person to offer to tutor me in ASL. (First of 4. Turns out I'm kinda deaf.)

She was AGGRESSIVELY pro queer. Like if someone said something homophobic in her presence they were IN FOR IT.

And one time, she was called in for jury duty, and she was gone for over a month. Which, to be fucking honest, was a massive pain in the ass for the rest of us, who had to cover her work. At the end she came back, looking absolutely smug. Apparently they'd put her holy but on a jury looking to convict a young trans woman of something that, if you listened to anybody but the cops, she was obviously being framed for.

The prosecution pushed hard. Several jurors were willing to convict.

But this sweet, holy troll not only gave her entire paycheck from her work to the convent, her entire living came from her order. Which meant, out of the whole jury, she was the only one who could sit there in deliberation indefinitely without loosing a cent. And she sat her ass down and argued and protested and refused to budge until this girl was officially not guilty.

None of us were irritated for her being gone so long.

She didn't always know the right words, and she didn't understand everything, but she knew the main thing- take people at their word, and trust that they know their experiences and their selves better than you do. And she was always very kind about asking me questions that might irritate.

The final thing that won her my heart tho, actually came after I was fired from that job for, frankly, being disabled. Which you'd think would be illegal but since the manager had kindly offered me what looked like a good deal, to let me go contract instead of salary, for more flexible hours, they'd talked me into signing away many of my worker's protections. So, they could get away with it.

And this nun marched right into my boss's boss's office and blasted her with the full force of her catholic guilt beam. Or however that works. I don't know. I'm not Catholic. Boss-boss was reportedly in tears. As frankly she should be! Ableism in a therapy setting is a special level of evil. Common, but still evil.

I have no point, I was just thinking fondly of her this evening, and how sometimes your allies aren't where you expect them to be.

[bumblesimagines]

The Deal

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Pope needs some extra cash, he takes up the opportunity of helping others with their studies. However, things take a turn when he decides to help out a known troublemaker.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, teasing over virginity, (Y/N)'s kinda an asshole, mentions/implied JJPope (should've been canon), implied bisexual JJ, Pope is bisexual and possibly ooc,

Super short but felt like doing something with sweet ole Pope

~~~

(Y/N) watched with a lazy grin as Mrs. Heyward shuffled into the room with a charcuterie board in hand, her smile big and warm and utterly welcoming as she carefully set the food down on an empty part of Pope's desk. Her son rolled his lips into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut at her presence, his fingers rubbing into his forehead in pure embarrassment that only made (Y/N) snort quietly. Mrs. Heyward leaned back and clasped her hands together, her eyes crinkling when she faced them.

"There you go, sweetie. Eat as much as you want. You boys let me know if you need anything, 'kay?"

"Okay, Mom, thank you." Pope practically groaned, giving Mrs. Heyward a tight-lipped smile and watching her leave his bedroom while (Y/N) quietly snickered under his breath, his knuckles pressing into his lips to muffle the noise before it could reach the kind older woman's ears. Pope exhaled heavily and stood up to fully shut his door, ensuring to lock it before he returned to his bed and softly cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout that." He muttered, swallowing down the mortification that'd filled him when his mother had strolled into the room.

"That was cute, Heyward." (Y/N) laughed, picking up a juicy apple slice and taking a bite from it, a bit of juice dripping off his bottom lip. Slowly chewing on the crunchy apple slice, he watched Pope retrieve some notebooks and flip through them until he reached his desired pages full of biology notes and some poorly drawn scribbles. He popped open the cap of his highlighter and took a peek through the pages of (Y/N)'s science notebook, unsurprisingly finding them mostly blank.

"Okay, so, uhm," Pope cleared his throat. "You know what monomers and polymers are, right?"

And right on cue, (Y/N) promptly zoned out and fully allowed his attention to shift onto the surprisingly semi-cluttered room of Pope 'Golden Boy' Heyward. He eyed the posters and drawings on the wall, some movies he recognized whilst others were characters from anime series with bulky muscled men and petite women.

(Y/N) shoved the rest of the slice into his mouth and squinted as he looked at the Polaroid pictures pinned to the wooden wall near him, recognizing a younger Pope with his parents in a few but JJ, Kiara, and John B were the subject of half of the pictures stuck around the walls of the room. 

Scooting his chair closer to the wall, he felt the corners of his lips curl up into gleeful mischief when he took note of the way Pope looked at Kiara in most pictures; softened adoring eyes, a gentle smile, the look of knowing written all over JJ's smirking face in each photo. Pope liked Kiara, (Y/N) realized, and spun the swivel chair around to look at him. He'd never seen Pope flirt properly before, only ever spewing random weird facts that had chicks furrowing their brows and walking away when they got the chance. 

"-dehydration synthesis is actually pretty cool if you think about it. Basically what happens is-"

"Heyward." (Y/N) purred, slowly rising from his chair and plucking another apple slice from the board. Pope's eyes darted away from his notebook to look at him questioningly, his body perking up and shoulders squaring as if awaiting (Y/N)'s question about whatever he'd spent the last few minutes blabbering about. (Y/N) popped the apple slice into his mouth and nudged the notebooks off the bed, letting them slip and fall onto the floor with soft thuds. "You're a total virgin, right?" 

Pope blinked at him, his mouth flying open and then slamming shut. He visibly gulped, his adams apple bobbing and eyes flickering away to bounce around different objects in his room. "N-No, I've... I've- I've-" Pope stuttered roughly, his grip on the notebook in hand tightening and crinkling the paper. "I'm- I-"

"Wow," (Y/N) snickered, snatching the notebook from his hand and dropping it onto the floor with a soft thud. Pope's hands were forced to rest over his thighs, fingers flexing and curling into fists. "Never even kissed anyone, have you, Heyward?" 

"Okay, what if I am? Virginty- Virginty is a construct."

"Sure, if it helps you sleep at night knowing even Routledge of all people has gotten laid before, it's totally a construct." (Y/N) laughed again, albeit more cruelly, and plopped down on the bed beside Pope's crossed legs with his head cocked to the side. "You can't leave high school a virgin with a face like that, Heyward. Besides, girls like guys who know what they're doing, trust me; I'm kind of an expert on this shit."

Pope grimaced. "Yeah, I've heard." He'd seen the pouty, sullen looks on the classmates he'd snatched up and then dropped once he bored of them. He'd even seen the occasional fight with a Kook when he slept with a taken rich girl. "It's- It's fine, I don't care. Peer pressuring someone to lose their virginity is something straight from an early 2000s movie."

"I'm not peer pressuring you, Heyward. I'm making fun of you." The shit-eating grin on (Y/N)'s face reminded him all too much of JJ. "But, because I am such a nice guy-"

"That's debatable."

"-I'm going to help you, Heyward." The grin grew at the bewildered look on Pope's face, his brows knitting tightly together and lips pulling into a line. Pope stared at him, his fingers rubbing into the fabric of his jeans, the contemplation clear in his eyes. "You think Kiara has time to teach someone how to please her?" 

"W-What? I-I don't like Kie! She's like- I-"

"I can teach you how to kiss someone properly. I've had plenty of practice since middle school." (Y/N) pressed the bottom of his sneaker into the heel of the other, pushing until the shoe fell onto the floor before ridding himself of the other one. He dragged himself further onto the bed and arched an expectant brow at the stammering boy until Pope shut his mouth and swallowed again. 

"I..." He trailed off, his eyes jumping toward the picture wall, his lips pressing together. 

"Come on, you wouldn't be the first of Routledge's minions I've made out with." (Y/N) revealed and Pope's considering gaze turned into surprise as his wide eyes darted back to him. "J and I make out drunk all the time. You should try it sometime when you're wasted and bored."

Pope would've been lying if he claimed he'd never thought of kissing the chaotic Maybank. Hell, sometimes he wondered what it'd be like to kiss John B; especially on lazy days when they lounged on the boat after a swim and the setting sun warmed John B's skin, making it glitter from the droplets of water while he stared off into the distance. With JJ, the thoughts emerged more often. JJ cared little for personal space, his hand or arm somehow managing to always press against one of the Pogues, and Pope often found his space invaded by the blond. He assumed it to be natural thoughts, but he wondered if his curiosity expanded past innocence. 

His skin simmered with heat, his hands curling into fists and his back straightening with determination. If JJ trusted him, so would Pope. He gave (Y/N) a firm nod and braced himself, his eyes squeezing shut and cheeks flaring with heat when (Y/N) giggled.

The bed shifted and creaked with movement, his eyes parting immediately when he felt hands grasping at his crossed legs and pulling them apart. (Y/N) hardly gave him time to question before pressing their lips together, his hand slipping toward Pope's hip and squeezing lightly; the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to (Y/N)'s clothes filling Pope's nose.

"Relax." He murmured into Pope's mouth, half-lidded eyes finally shutting and lips pressing harder against Pope. 

Slowly, Pope forced himself to relax, his body slumping back against the pillow that began pressing into his back when (Y/N) pushed him into lying back. His lips felt soft, if not a bit chapped and sticky from the apple slices, and Pope felt a surge of insecurity bubble in his stomach at his blatant inexperience. His hands awkwardly fumbled around until he pressed them against (Y/N)'s sides, finding himself fully unsure of what else to do besides pressing back into his lips. 

"There you go," (Y/N) cooed and the way his heart skipped a beat at the praise made Pope want to bury his face into his pillows. The top of (Y/N)'s thighs pressed into the bottom of Pope's, his knees sinking into the mattress as he began adjusting his position. He moved fully on top of him, propping his upper half up by bracing himself against his elbow. His fingers took Pope's chin and lightly squeezed. "Open."

With a face set ablaze, Pope meekly parted his lips and shut his eyes again. (Y/N) kissed him again, his lips wrapping around Pope's bottom one and teeth digging lightly into him, an action that shot heat down his spine before he mushed their lips further together. Their teeth almost clacked together as Pope weakly began mimicking (Y/N)'s movements, a muffled noise leaving him when their tongues collided and he tasted the apple juice on his tongue. 

(Y/N) pulled back after a minute or two, a short string of saliva connecting them and quiet panting leaving them both. Pope's fingers dipped under the hem of (Y/N)'s shirt, carefully massaging his flesh as he attempted to ground his spinning, light-headed brain. He stared up at the ceiling of his room, chest heaving with pants and lips slick with salvia. 

"Did- Did you know-" He paused to catch his breath again. "-that kissing releases a multitude of chemicals in your brain-"

"Oh, Jesus, Pope." (Y/N) dropped his head down onto the soft pillow beside Pope, his breath fanning against Pope's ear and making goosebumps rise along his arms. "If you want to nerd out, use it as a segway into kissing."

"I'm surprised you know what segway means."

"Fuck you." (Y/N) laughed, light and breathless. "I'm not dumb; school is just boring."

Pope traced the lines in the slanted wooden ceiling over them, his hands squeezing (Y/N)'s sides when an idea struck him. "Yeah? What if... what if it wasn't boring?" Pope tilted his head to look at him, their noses brushing against each other and a smile spreading across his lips. "I can teach you something about biology and in return, you can teach me something I can do to- to... to my future girlfriend, or something." 

"Mm," (Y/N) grinned, a quiet chuckle leaving him. "You've got a deal, then."

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [2/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After her meeting with the Pope, she had been writhing around all night, terrified and humiliated, unable to sleep. She couldn't forgive herself for her stupidity, for not seeing in time that it was obvious her uncle was trying to slip her over to the head of the Catholic Church like a snack he might be tempted to focus on.

The worst part was that he had hired her and she didn't know how she could take it back, defy the Pope himself, communicate that she was rejecting his proposal.

She got up before dawn, recognising that she would not get any rest anyway, and decided to take a warm shower. She thought while standing under the stream of hot water that she would try to distance herself, be professional and not give satisfaction to either her uncle or the Pope himself.

She hoped that when he finally decided to give any sort of interview the commotion around him would quiet down and she could quickly offer her resignation.

She sighed heavily, running her hand over her wet face, wondering how she was supposed to reconcile this madness with her classes at the University.

A car with the same driver as the day before arrived outside her townhouse again and took her straight to the Vatican; driving through its streets, she noticed that many people had pitched tents in and around St Peter's Square, waiting for any new information about their Pope.

She sighed quietly, resignedly thinking about how unnecessary his stubbornness actually was.

This time it was not her uncle waiting for her in the square, but a middle-aged priest who could have been her father, dressed in a plain black cassock. He smiled at her in a way that seemed genuine to her and she reciprocated the gesture when he indicated with a movement of his hand that she should move to follow him.

"The Pope is just having breakfast in the garden and he will receive you there." He said as they walked along the marble corridors filled with works of art; she looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, glancing out of the window, finding that it was indeed pleasant warm weather, the sky was cloudless.

They walked out one of the back exits to the cloisters into a small garden consisting of a maze formed of walls of shrubbery, which, however, easily led them to its centre, on which stood a large arbour styled in antique manner, with a dome and Corinthian-style columns.

She grinned with some kind of disbelief when she spotted his figure seated at an ornate small white table, his cassock also white, he held in his hands a newspaper he had just been looking through.

She thought with amusement that he was reading about himself.

Only when they got closer did she notice that other gazettes from different countries lay folded on the table top; the front pages of each asking who the new pope was, why he wasn't showing himself, why he was silent.

"Your Holiness." Said the priest standing next to her and nodded; the young pope, however, did not even bestow a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his thumb go to his mouth, he licked it and then used it to flip the page of the newspaper.

The priest who had brought her left them alone, as if he had already become accustomed to the lack of reaction and any culture on his part. She stared at him in silence for a moment, standing in front of him in the same dress as the day before, not having time to buy anything else.

"Holy Father." She said softly, wanting to get it over with, standing a few steps beside him.

He did not look at her, instead lifting his hand and extending it towards her, a signet ring of pure gold on his heart finger.

She looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then swallowed hard and walked towards him, grasping his warm hand in hers.

She leaned in, placing a quick, brief kiss on his ring and let him go immediately; he took his hand without even giving her a glance and went back to reading the newspaper.

She pressed her lips together feeling his intense, pleasant-smelling male perfume again.

"What do you think of what they write about me?" He asked, carelessly tossing the newspaper he had just read onto a pile of others, the discouragement on his face bordering on disgust, as if what he had read made him sick. "They are already reaching my family. Day and night they chat outside my mother's house."

She felt a tightness in her throat at his words and some kind of sympathy, because although he must have known what his decision entailed and what the consequences would be, some journalists crossed all possible boundaries, recognising no sanctity.

She shifted from foot to foot, looking at the French croissants that lay on one of the porcelain plates and a jar of strawberry jam, and reminded herself that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She grunted quietly, looking away, staring at the field flowers that grew around them – she spotted a gardener in the distance who was cutting the shrubs with his big steel shears.

"They won't stop until you give them something, Holy Father." She replied truthfully, hearing him snort under his breath.

"They will always want more." He replied dryly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – he was staring at her sitting with his legs crossed.

She shuddered and looked at him in disbelief as he pushed the other chair in front of her with his foot clad in white elegant shoes, moving it away.

"Sit down, child. You are pale. Did you eat breakfast today?" He asked disapprovingly, like a parent expressing their discontent. She shook her head and he sighed heavily, indicating with his hand gesture to the seat next to him.

She thought that this certainly had nothing to do with behaving according to protocol, but decided that it probably didn't matter much to him. She sat down next to him, smelling the intense scent of his perfume again, adjusting her dress, remembering not to sit with her legs crossed.

"Eat." He said dispassionately; she wasn't going to argue, figuring that since she was being forced to be at his every beck and call now, she could get something in return.

Therefore, she reached for the croissant and jam, which immediately drew the attention of her stomach – she casted him a wordless surprised glance as she heard the sound of the lighter being lit and the hiss of the cigarette he held in his mouth.

He took a deep drag and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully, letting the smoke out through his nose. He smirked, as if something in her gaze amused him.

"My chancellery contacted your University. They were happy to hear that you will be doing a sort of…internship here. You don't have to worry about your exams or classes." He hummed as if he was talking about something trivial and uninteresting, an irrelevant piece of information he had to convey to her, and took another drag, the tip of his cigarette igniting red.

"− what − but −" She started, but decided it made no sense; whoever he was, this man had clearly already planned everything for himself and had no intention of changing anything, much less asking her opinion.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Your uncle arranges for you accommodation and studies, the Pope makes sure you pass your exams without your personal involvement. Isn't that beautiful?" He asked with a sneer, and she felt a tightening in her throat, a cold sweat on her back; she stared wide-eyed at the half-cut croissant on which she had just spread jam, but lost the urge to eat.

He knew everything about her and thought she and her uncle were the same.

She pressed her lips together and leaned back against the backrest, placing her hands on the armrests even though she shouldn't be doing so and crossed her legs. She saw his gaze drop involuntarily to her bare knees, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"My uncle wants you to take me to your bed, Holy Father." She said quietly, recognising that she didn't have the strength for this, for their games, their hookups, the secrets they obviously adored, of which the entire Vatican was made.

She blinked when he chuckled, his pointing finger hitting his cigarette so that the ash from it fell to the stone floor beneath him.

"Tell me something I don't know. Eat. We have a lot of work ahead of us." He muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose, extinguishing the remnants of it on his plate.

She stared at him with her heart pounding fast, thinking in disbelief that he really was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

He was perfectly informed, and although his words and actions seemed chaotic, there was purpose in them.

"What do you want, Holy Father?" She asked lightly, taking a piece of croissant into her mouth. He threw her an amused look and raised an eyebrow.

She had the impression that he took satisfaction in teasing her, his gaze fixed on her lips, which she involuntarily licked.

"Many things. Above all, holy peace and quiet, but I am not afforded it. Get up, let's take a walk." He said matter-of-factly and rose abruptly, putting his hands behind him, moving ahead without looking at her towards the corridors made of tall, evenly trimmed bushes.

She quickly swallowed the piece she just had in her mouth and stood up, following him, levelling her step with his, sunshine and birdsong all around them.

"We're being watched. It's harder for them to eavesdrop on me as I walk." He said coolly; she turned behind her and saw the gardener she noticed before, who was apparently just pretending to water the flowers around the arbour.

She looked at him in horror, realising that he must have been spied on all the time.

That they all wanted to know what he was going to do, surely he must have kept them in an iron grip since no picture of him had leaked to the press yet.

"What's going to make the atmosphere calm down and the journalists back off?" He asked discouraged, and she sighed quietly, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"Your private invitation."

She was surprised that her idea that he would hold a press conference where he would be invisible and only his voice could be heard appealed to him. He felt that, in fact, his faithful should hear his words and what he has to share with them, and this did not require his image to be revealed at all.

He decided to receive the TV and newspaper envoys in the Sistine Chapel, recognising that this was some kind of milestone moment that required a special place, a black veil was placed in front of his papal throne.

Although on the one hand it looked comical, on the other it added a sort of solemnity and impression of holiness, something tangible and yet inaccessible.

The cardinals and his office workers had prepared a script for him, which he tore in front of her eyes before the speech itself, handing her the shreds that remained of the pages, staring blankly at the black fabric in front of him. She took it from him, not knowing what else she could do; he demanded she be by his side in case someone asked an uncomfortable question.

Her heart was pounding like mad, she could feel the cold sweat on her back and wondered if he felt a similar anxiety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and although his face was stony, he seemed even paler to her than usual, his large hands on which she could clearly see the outline of his veins clenched on his armrests – he sat comfortably on his throne with his legs crossed.

"Holy Father, why don't you want to show your face to your faithful? Is this some new kind of Vatican policy, a way of getting the whole world's attention?" They heard the question echoed by the first journalist on the other side of the curtain; she saw him press his lips together and swallow loudly before his cold, matter-of-fact, dispassionate voice began to spread around them.

"My face is not useful to my faithful for anything. They need my action. My causality. They need my intervention in matters of urgency, in the problems of paedophilia in the church, in the embezzlement and misuse of church assets, in the restoration of law and order, in the opening up of the church to young people who feel forgotten and unwanted. My face, my history, my personal views will distract them from all these things."

He said without stammering. She looked at him in disbelief, realising that he couldn't have prepared this answer beforehand.

He was saying straight from his heart what he was thinking and there was something touching about it.

Somehow she understood what he meant.

"What about the pilgrimages, what about the Sunday masses celebrated by the Pope?" Asked another journalist. She heard him sigh heavily, noticed that his hand trembled as he raised it to his face, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose.

"The Pope is not alone, he has his cardinals who can assist him in his missions around the world. As for the masses, I will attend them as a guest, but I will not be visible. The Pope is not unique. The Pope is chosen as first among equals. As Pope, I still remain a cardinal, one of the apostles. I am not Christ. I am not God."

She looked at him in pain, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips, remembering what she had told him a few days earlier.

They need a guide, not another invisible God.

She couldn't believe that after what she had heard she had begun to feel sympathy for him – his answers seemed thoughtful and sensible, and she wondered if she had just seen his true nature, or if he was as perfect a manipulator as any of the cardinals.

She wondered how he had convinced them.

How he became Pope.

When it was all over he left without a word; the journalists were led away, and she prayed that it would help, that public opinion would calm down a little.

She watched all the news editions that evening with bated breath – the whole world quoted his statements and his decision, to her relief, most of the experts spoke warmly of him. The newspaper headlines also left her under no illusions.

The Pope has spoken. He doesn't want to show his face, only his actions.

The Pope who chooses the fight against paedophilia over the glamour of glory.

The Pope without a face − a new beginning.

The end of splendour − the Pope retreats to work like any of us.

The end of the church as we know it. The Pope at last again the voice of the weakest.

The next day she arrived in the Vatican with a stack of newspapers, eager to show him the result of their work, hoping it would satisfy him and allow her to return to normality.

"The Pope is exercising, but he said he would receive you." Said the priest, who was called Father Lenz, and who was apparently his private secretary, always waiting for her to lead her wherever he just happened to be.

"He's exercising?" She asked with amusement, and he just raised his eyebrows, himself clearly not knowing what he thought about it.

He opened the door for her and she stepped into a large room, with a beautiful baroque vaulted ceiling and hundreds of paintings on one side, rows of tall windows on the other, illuminating an exercise machine consisting of a small bench with a mattress on which he placed his back as he pulled on the railing at the end of which the weights hung, his legs braced on either side of the machine for balance.

He was dressed in white tracksuits.

She stared at the sight in disbelief, waiting for him to notice her; it only happened after a while when he took a break and sat down, reaching for a bottle of water standing on the old wooden floor. She lifted up a bundle of newspapers and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing after his exertion.

She walked over to him and handed him the magazines she held in her hand; she felt a pleasant throbbing between her thighs feeling the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of his perfume, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the blood that pulsed faster through his body.

He flipped through the front pages of the papers one by one and sighed quietly; she thought with surprise that there was a sort of expression of relief painted on his face, as if what was happening frightened him somewhere deep inside and filled him with anxiety.

He put them down at last, looking ahead, grabbing the white towel that hung over the railing at the other end of the machine.

"I prayed to God after I was elected. I prayed that he would show me the way, and although he usually answered me in some way, that evening he was silent. It was a silence full of rejection, as if the heavens did not agree with the decision of the conclave. How was I to go out to the crowds in such a situation, to convince them that Our Father in the heavens was sending me to them?"

He asked, rising with a quiet creak from the metal bench, surprising her completely with his words; because of his clothes and the way he spoke she had cognitive dissonance and had to remind herself that he was the Pope and not just a young man close to her age.

His confession touched her in some way – she was able to imagine his despair on the evening he was elected as people chanted his name, but it was the voice of God that he wanted to hear.

He stood a few steps away from her, drinking the contents of his small water bottle to the end, and stared ahead, as if he had returned with his mind to that time, as if he needed to get it out of himself.

"That's why I asked my faithful to pray from me. And what did they do? They despaired. They despaired that they could not see my face, that they could not touch me, tear me apart, dissect my private life and my past. I have never felt so lonely." He said with a regret from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say, reminding herself with shame that she had thought the same thing about him as all those people.

"Perhaps it was also the will of the heavens. In the end, when the time comes everyone will face God alone. Maybe it was his words: don't follow the crowd, don't conform, that's not why I sent you." She said softly, but immediately regretted her words, recognising that she had no right to interpret anyone's spiritual experiences, much less those of the Head of the Church.

She heard him snort with amusement; he pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket and for a moment she thought he would want to smoke in this beautiful baroque chamber, however, he moved ahead towards a small door other than the one she had entered through.

"Come." He hummed, so she moved after him, knowing that it was pointless to resist.

For the rest, the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

They passed through a narrow corridor and began to climb up a stone staircase that spiraled around a large pillar – it seemed to her that they were in some older part of this great complex. They reached a small wooden door, and when he opened it they emerged onto the roof of one of the buildings located to the right of St Peter's Square.

The view in front of her struck her –the sun was rising over the Vatican, lazily leaning out from above the church standing in the centre of the square like a nimbus, the air around them pleasantly cool and crisp.

She watched as he moved ahead and walked closer to the stone wall, firing up his lighter and leaning forward with a cigarette in his mouth – there was something so obscene about the sight that she smiled involuntarily.

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, taking a drag, then slid his cigarette out of his mouth with a motion of his hand and let the smoke out silently through his nose, shaking the ash to the ground with a flick of his finger.

"It has been reported to me that journalists are slowly making their way into my past. Don't worry, I don't think it's your fault. I knew it would happen, but I thought I had more time." He murmured lowly seeing her surprised, horrified face, suddenly as if tired and discouraged, taking another drag with a quiet hiss of fire.

She thought looking at his silhouette illuminated by the first rays of the sun, that he looked like a saint.

"I want you to hear it from me. Will you listen to what I have to say?" He asked calmly and she nodded, feeling her heart pounding fast, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, terrified of what he wanted to tell her.

"My mother I told you about is a nun. She adopted me a few years after I was placed in a convent orphanage." He said calmly, looking away, staring at the crowds of people walking around St Peter's Square.

"They took me from the woman who gave birth to me because she liked to inject various stimulants into her veins. She was asleep when one of her men decided he didn't like the way I looked at him, that I was complaining about being hungry. He decided that he would gouge my eyes out, but he only succeeded with one, my screaming would wake even the dead."

He muttered, not looking at her but somewhere in the distance, letting out a puff of smoke with a deep breath; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain feeling the squeeze in her throat, her cheeks red with emotion.

She wanted to say something but was afraid to interrupt him, she knew that what he was telling her was of the utmost importance and she wondered if anyone else knew about all this, if he had confided in anyone.

"Sister Alicent after I was brought in wouldn't let me call her my mother. So I called every woman I saw that, cooks, cleaners, teachers. She adopted me in the end, unable to look at it anymore. She got a dispensation from the Pope." He said lowly, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it with his completely white Adidas.

"Some trashy, cheap magazines are already writing about the fact that I am the son of a nun and the Pope, others with mockery recognise that I am certainly her immaculate conception. That they mock me doesn't bother me, but it fills me with sadness that journalists stand outside her house all day. She can't even go out shopping or gardening. I guess you think the only way out of this situation would be an interview where I would tell my story?"

He asked disapprovingly, looking at her finally; she was shocked and horrified that he was asking her opinion on such an important matter. She shook her head helplessly, shrugging her shoulders.

"You cannot allow them to make your mother a hostage, Holy Father. You must show strength. Call press conferences where you talk about what decisions you make, but don't answer questions about your family. In the Vatican, you are Pius XIII, not Aemond Targaryen. When they see that they cannot blackmail you, they will let go. In my opinion, you both have to bear it." She said what she thought, thinking in the back of her mind that journalists would always want more and the matter would only get worse.

He looked at her silently as if analysing her words and sighed finally, kicking a stone that lay under his feet with his shoe.

"Have you ever kissed?" He asked lightly and she looked at him with shock written all over her face, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning with heat.

She couldn't believe such a question had come out of his mouth.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious. I've never kissed anyone." He replied after a moment, seeing her embarrassed reaction, as if he wanted to clarify and elaborate that his interest was purely scientific and theoretical.

She swallowed loudly, pressing her lips together, thinking that he had told her about himself, about the most private aspects of his life, and decided that nothing bad would happen if she answered him.

"Once, in high school." She muttered, stroking her arm in a gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, looking away. She heard him hum under his breath, intrigued.

"Did it feel good?" He asked softly, standing a few steps away from her with his hands tucked into his snow-white tracksuit bottoms, cocking his head.

She looked up at him in disbelief, breathing erratically, clasping her hands tighter, involuntarily her gaze escaped to his full, glistening lips.

"It was a very moist, soft and warm sensation." She muttered feeling a tightness in her throat, her gaze fleeing from his eyes to his lips, unable to stop herself from imagining how wonderful it would be to feel how they tasted.

"Hm." He murmured, looking away thoughtfully.

They stood like that for a moment in silence – she could feel the wordless tension around them, as if electricity flowed through the air with their every word and movement.

"Did you confess this deed?"

She blinked and felt her heart stop. She shook her head, looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Pardon?" She asked in disbelief, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and a cold sweat on her back, not believing that he was suggesting such a thing.

"Failure to maintain chastity before marriage is a sin." He replied indifferently; she pressed her lips together, feeling tears of shame and humiliation under her eyelids, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"So I am a sinner, Holy Father." She said coldly, and turned away, leaving without any pleasantries or even a simple goodbye.

She burst out sobbing as she ran down the narrow stairs.

It was only a kiss.

She just wanted to see what it was like.

In fact, she felt bad afterwards, but not because she thought it was a sin, but because she was not in love with this boy.

She asked Father Lenz for any of the drivers to take her home; seeing her face red from tears he asked what had happened, but she did not answer him.

She opened up to him, spoke about an intimate part of her life, and he could only judge her, make her another Eve, a fallen woman.

It was only a kiss.

She returned to her flat filled with regret and disappointment – she angrily pulled off her long dress she had bought and chosen specially to be able to present herself as expected, to keep herself humble, but for what?

She decided that she would never appear there again.

There was no kind of real contract between the two of them, she had only signed documents regarding her collaboration with the Pope's secretaries and a confidentiality clause.

She changed into her pyjamas, undid her hair, took the box of leftover cakes from the cupboard and lay in bed, browsing social media platforms on her phone, trying not to think about what had happened.

She tilted her head back and groaned in frustration when she saw that her uncle had started to call her. She muted her phone and flipped the screen down, sighing.

She lay back on her bedding, staring blankly at the window, and thought with pain that the man who should be giving her the strength to be a better person had made her doubt herself, made her feel sinful and dirty.

She started to think that maybe she should go to confession after all, that maybe he was right, that she was only making excuses for herself without wanting to admit that she was wrong, but she felt even worse at that thought and just burst out crying.

Exhausted by sobbing and remorse, she finally fell asleep, seeing only through her closed eyelids that the phone display lying next to her glowed again and again.

She shuddered, rising quickly to sit up in complete darkness when she heard someone's loud knock on her door; she looked around with a pounding heart, not knowing where she was, whether it was evening or morning.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had slept for several long hours and the sun had set, on her screen 20 missed calls from her uncle and a plethora of text messages that she didn't have the energy to read.

She sighed heavily and got up, walking reluctantly to the door, knowing her uncle would now make a litany for her; she turned on the night light on the way so she wouldn't trip over anything and she turned the lock, opening it.

"Oh God."

She muttered, seeing the figure of the young Pope in front of her, still in the same white tracksuit and sneakers.

He had his hood up over his head.

He pulled the white earphones out of his ears with a soft flick of his hand – she could hear the heavy metal music playing from them.

"Will you let me in?" He asked indifferently; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was risking a lot by going outside just to see her.

She sighed quietly and stepped back, allowing him to go inside. She leaned out wanting to check if anyone had seen him and closed the door quickly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had turned off the music on his player and put it back in his pocket.

They stood for a moment in silence, his gaze focused on her naked thighs; she swallowed loudly with shame at the thought that she was standing before the Head of the Catholic Church in nothing but pyjamas consisting of cream shorts and a shirt buttoned up the front, under which she didn't even have a bra.

She turned her head, running her trembling hand over her face, her heart pounding like mad.

"I made a mistake." She heard his voice full of regret. "I wanted your uncle to pass it on to you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't and don't feel like talking to anyone, Holy Father." She muttered, feeling a tightening in her chest, fiddling restlessly with the cross hanging on her neck.

She heard him swallow loudly and look to the side, pulling the hood off his head.

"I made you doubt in yourself. In your purity and your value in the eyes of God." He said lowly, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She closed her eyelids and tilted her head back, trying to control herself, not letting them flow out.

She did not reply.

"My words arise from my depravity, which I fight unsuccessfully. From my vanity and jealousy. I would rather have you locked up in a convent. You could then be by my side and no one would ever touch you again. You could be mine." He said softly, thoughtfully, looking at some point on the floor, as if he had drifted off completely in his musings – she felt her lips part in disbelief, her brow arching in pain.

I would rather have you locked up in a convent.

You could be mine.

What was she to reply to such a shocking confession?

She shuddered when he finally turned his attention to her, the gaze of his healthy eye sharp and piercing, while his artificial one was empty, white, lifeless.

"Though never before have my members reacted to the sight and thought of a woman, when I see you, I long to touch you, to taste you, to smell you. I have become addicted to your scent and try to recall it after evening prayer before I fall asleep." He spoke calmly, as if it was not an emotionally driven statement but something thought out, something that had been going on in his head for a very long time.

She felt with fear how her body reacted to his words with a greedy throbbing between her thighs and a moisture from which the material of her underwear was getting wet, her nipples hardened, more clearly visible from under her shirt.

She froze when she saw his gaze flee to her breasts, seeing exactly what she feared, his full lips parted slightly; she could hear his breathing clearly, fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in an anxious, nervous gesture.

"What do you feel now?" He whispered and she drew in the air loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat. She licked her lips dry from stress, taking a step backwards, hitting her back against the wall, feeling that she had nowhere to run. She helplessly clenched her thighs together, wanting to stop what was happening, seeing that his pupil widened at the sight.

"I'm wet." She confessed in shame, recognising that there was no point in pretending that there was something innocent in what was happening – her body was twitching with desire, begging for his touch and relief, her heart pounding like mad.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at her words while looking straight into her eyes, she saw fire in them, heavenly or hellish.

"Does it feel good?" He asked softly, gazing shamelessly at the spot between her thighs – she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen and a tickling inside her, her walls were clenching around nothing at his question.

She thought helplessly that she had never felt anything like this before in her life.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her whole body quiver and pulsate, feeling desire in her fingertips, in her lips and down there, deep, deep inside her.

She shuddered as he approached her with a slow step and lifted her terrified gaze to him. His lips were parted in an anxious, hitched breath, in his eyes heat and darkness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and between her thighs.

He stood over her, for a moment just looking at her – his trembling hands finally raised, reaching for the buttons of her shirt. They looked at each other with some kind of pain and suffering from which she felt a sting in her heart as a coldness enveloped her naked skin.

It seemed to her that it lasted an eternity – he took his time, his gaze fixed on the line of her bare body as he unbuttoned her shirt fully; he didn't expose her breasts, he just looked at her.

She gasped when he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips slowly over her sternum down to her stomach – she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, feeling her lips pulsate with desire, swollen and thirsty.

"− so soft − so warm −" He whispered; her quivering palm rose and touched his fingers, his hand larger and more massive than hers, she could feel the outline of his veins clearly under her skin.

She pressed his hand to her heart, heard him draw in the air hard as he felt it beat beneath his fingertips.

He looked at her, remaining still, as if frozen, knowing that one word from him, one expression of hesitation and they would be left with only shame, only regret, only disappointment.

She felt the tears under her eyelids, which involuntarily one by one ran down her face; he noticed it and shook his head, his breathing shaky, uneven, despairing.

"− you're so pure −" He whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her cheek as if seeking refuge. She clenched her eyelids in shock at how intimate and desired this closeness was, his scent filled her entire lungs, his warm breath enveloped her cheek.

"− looking at you I feel terror because I regret − I regret that I will never feel you − that I will never give you what I want −" He muttered in a trembling voice; she felt his warm tears running down her skin.

They both gasped when his shaking hand tentatively began to slide lower and sobbed in pleasure as his fingers slipped hesitantly under the material of her shorts, deep between her thighs.

They were panting and quivering with desire, her trembling hands clenched on his arms as his fingertips pushed the material of her underwear aside with a shy gesture full of shame, she heard his low, helpless groan as he felt how wet she was.

"− God, help me −" He mumbled in a broken voice full of guilt – she tried but was unable to stop the moans of pleasure that left her mouth with each tentative movement of his fingers that brushed her swollen, throbbing womanhood, her body was so tense she felt she was on the edge.

"− please −" She whimpered pleadingly, placing her hand on his with a gesture full of desperation, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

She tilted her head back as she finally felt him the way she wanted to, his fingertips digging into her fleshy, hot, moist folds with intense, circular strokes – she could feel his hot, ragged breath on her skin, his face pressed against her cheek, her hands clenched in a helpless gesture on the material of his sweatshirt.

Tears of despair and delight streamed down their faces, tired of pretending and fleeing, shivers ran down her spine every time the tips of his fingers teased again that tender bud from which her sobriety of mind was taken away; it seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, something hard and throbbing under his trousers rubbing against her thigh with desperate strokes.

"− forgive me − say you forgive me −" He mumbled pleadingly in a breaking voice.

She felt him trembling all over just like her, unable to stop now, knowing there was no way back, her face wet with her and his tears.

She reached her palm into his hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting out her breath with a loud sob, moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand as it pressed harder and harder against her fleshy skin with the lewd click of her moisture.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for forgiveness −" She gasped as she felt something approaching, moaning louder and louder.

She thought that despite the fact that he was touching her in this forbidden, sinful place, some incomprehensible kind of intimacy and innocence was added to what was happening by the fact that he hadn't exposed her naked body, that he hadn't wanted to possess her, only to experience something with her and in her presence.

"− good God, you're leaking − so sticky − I'll lick it off my fingers −" He whispered with a kind of awe, as if he were talking about something sacred and mysterious.

She felt that his words had done something to her – she cried out loudly, parting her lips in disbelief when suddenly a wave of warm pleasure surged through her body like a lightning bolt.

She felt wonderful tickling in her lips, in the tips of her fingers, in her breasts, in her chest, her inside's clenching greedily around nothing, her moisture trickled down onto his hand, she heard his low, surprised groan.

Her body suddenly became numb; she would have fallen if he hadn't put his arm around her in time, his hand ran over her cheek heated from the exertion.

"− you look like Bernini's Saint Teresa − so beautiful −" He mumbled in a trembling voice, panting hard along with her, looking at her dreamily. She sighed sweetly, laying her head on his chest, letting him embrace her tightly.

She could feel his manhood throbbing under the damp material of his sweatpants.

He came.

She stayed in his embrace not daring to look at him, not daring to think about what they had done, wanting to push back the moment when they would feel remorse, pain and regret, sinking only into this wonderful relief.

You look like Bernini's Saint Teresa.

A sculpture in which a holy woman curves in ecstasy after an angel pierces her with an arrow of Divine Love.

God's Delight.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[thestarsarewinning]

so many thoughts after my second viewing of conclave. i cannot even hope to organise them and i fear when i walked out of the cinema with my friend i was even more incoherent

- yes, he is an insufferable and hypocritical fascist but. tedesco and his vape serve so much cunt. critical levels of cunt.

- sister agnes also serves cunt. this is an oversimplification of how her character is used to put a spotlight on the presence of women in the catholic church but. the photocopier scene. her willingness to stand between a scared woman and the most senior cardinal at conclave. the curtsy after she ends a man’s life political aspirations. frankly everything

- forgive me for this comparison but. i feel like cardinal lawrence has the same perception issues as tony stark in the mcu. as the audience, we see the tony stark that is a mess of self loathing, anxiety and other issues that he masks by using ego as a crutch - spider man homecoming shows us the first outside perspective of tony stark as actually cool and suave and together, with no behind the curtain look at the man himself. we know that thomas is on the brink, anxious, screaming in the shower to hold it together. but in one of the first scenes of him among others, as close to an outside pov that we see, he’s joking and confident: the ‘don’t be blasphemous, ray. hell is when the cardinals arrive’ and the comments before tedesco arrives - day one of conclave - and his meetings with vincent - he is successfully coming across as poised, sincere, a firm guiding hand, right up until their third meeting together alone, in vincent’s rooms - this is where an outsider finally sees his facade crack. it’s no wonder his homily is seen by some as a campaign speech because whilst it might be known that he purports to want to resign, thomas likely comes across as far less of a scotch-taped mess of doubts and anxiety

- the scene of bellini being told he doesn’t have the guts to be pope. devastating. if my oldest friend and believer issued me a blow that deep, i would never ever show my face again.

- so much of the behind the scenes knowledge adds to this film. the costume department having to faithfully create vestments but also. improve them - which they fucking do. iconic. thomas’ health issues really shed a different light on the subtle worries about vincent - he tried to resign on health grounds but he’s fine. it was a clinic. a clinic?

- god steering the conclave when the pope’s machinations can’t. the first explosion after adeyemi takes the lead in the voting. the chapel being hit and nearly crushing lawrence when thomas overcorrects. the bird song and breeze; fresh air blowing into the church as the cardinals are called to vote for benitez. god’s presence is felt, and it validates thomas’ actions in steering this conclave and the late pope’s machinations. this is god’s will

- i could easily make a dozen separate posts about thomas and vincent and they’d read like a lot of the other posts already made about these two. vincent can’t get dressed, can’t take the final step until he can be sure that thomas believes in him after knowing the full picture. ‘nevertheless you have it’ - this is a declaration of love. thomas, doubting thomas, and the man who voted for him in every ballot. i will be inconsolable about these two.

- many more thoughts.

[mollymarymarie]

Reading Dear Your Holiness in the papal audience

wait WHAT REALLY

[moonshynecybin]

Hey! Just wanted to say I’m in awe of how your writing it’s just so GOOD and FUN and TORUROUS. It’s rly hard to nail the voices and dialogue of characters (especially when writing them speaking in english!) but you always make it so believable. Ur Vale especially is sooo charismatic which like hats off bc a more mercurial man has not been made. 

Re ur charged-airport-conversation fic, I’m intrigued to find out how Marc will handle his sexuality crisis. Will he be in denial? does he very seriously study gay culture like telemetry data? is he getting Grindr? is he seeing it as something to incorporate into his PT routine & somehow translate this to a competitive edge? how did he feel about the pope saying frociaggine????

Also I loved the goofy brother shenanigans, Alex strongest most patient and silliest man alive truly. Extremely funny to think of Alex “please get a girlfriend you’re 30 and annoying me” Marquez having to cope with Marc coming back like “I found one! :3” holding hands with Cervera’s enemy #1 undisputed champ 2015-2024

Anyways, would love to hear any thoughts u had but no pressure! I just wanted to thank u for ur brilliant mind & forget about whatever fresh hell that sprint was 

this one. is one that i plan to maybe actually and fr write out so i shant answer in full because i hope that you'll find out eventually. um. i CAN give you chapter two! of THIS fic where Marc and Vale get stuck in an airport and have a somewhat fraught little bonding session. i have not proofread this OR reread the original so if there's inconsistencies just chill out. theres also a lot of liberties taken with the amount of privacy these guys have on a given race weekend again just chill out. please. they live in different countries and are bitter rivals its hard to get them alone into fictional scenarios. its about 1.4k.

(Part ONE !)

The next time he sees Vale is in the paddock.

It's not unusual to see him— the paddock is small and Vale is always a presence, felt even when he’s gone, indelible—but it’s on the television more often than not these days. Maybe a glimpse of him zooming around on his scooter, ignoring the swing of the camera phones tracking him in his wake. But it’s not like this, never this close up. Vale maintains distance, and Marc has adapted to take his cues from that same distance. He’s not going to be the first to engage, not anymore. 

All that being said, Marc is trying to grab some alone time in between sessions, communing with his lunch and contemplating ways to improve his breaking into Turn 11. He’s tucked into a shady place out of the way, generally out of the range of any stray cameras, when Vale catches him, sliding next to him on the table and leaning forwards on his elbows.

He starts picking at Marc’s food.

Marc reacts reflexively, not even processing that it's Vale who’s at his elbow who is reaching over to snag a bit of his chicken. He lifts his bowl out of reach like he would with Alex. “Hey— that's mine,”

Vale’s game, apparently, shooting him one of those dangerous grins, eyes crinkling at the sides towards Marc like he hasn’t seen in years. He’s brimming with the confidence of someone used to getting away with breaking rules. Marc puts down his food. Lifts a hand, adjusts the cap at the top of his head, and tucks his hair behind his ear. 

This means something. He doesn’t know what.

“Allora, you were not eating it.”

And Marc has always been easy for it—the simple skill he has in spinning a situation into the brightest version of itself, mood turning on a dime. Even when he was destroying Marc, he would do it with a smile. 

It’s that same silverbright thread that makes Marc laugh, disbelieving, a shock of delight. He shoves at the edge of Vale’s arm, jockeying with his elbow. He bites his lip, shakes his head. Would you look at that?

“Presumptuous,” Marc scolds, and tucks back into his lunch, forking another bite into his mouth. Vale grins and leans closer, conspiratorial. That same hot, embarrassed feeling from the airport rears its head, giddy. Marc glances around. There’s no one here. He feels like there is. LIke there’s eyes on them, even though he’d chosen a place where there shouldn't be.

It feels like crossing a line, teetering on the edge of some cliff, one toe over the edge. Hot and anticipatory in the pit of his stomach. There’s a breeze going, and he shivers. Vale leans closer.

He likes it. 

He also knows that he shouldn't like it. He’s gone through this song and dance before. This feeling, this hero worship that he has with Vale never leads him down any good road. He thought– six premier class titles and nearly ten years of vitriol had been an effective cure. Not so, he’s finding out.

Vale corrects, “I see what I see. This I cannot help.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve been watching me?

Vale shrugs, steals another bite. “You do manage to put on a good, ah, show.” He finds the words in Spanish. Marc can’t remember the last time they spoke in Spanish.

Marc takes a breath in. Settles himself. He doesn’t know what the end goal is here. Curiosity wins out— it’s better than wondering why Vale’s here in the first place. What game he’s trying to play. What he thinks he’ll get out of being nice to Marc, aside from that shivery feeling clawing its way up the base of his spine. He should really at least find out if he’s doing this because he plans on not being nice to Marc. 

“How did you find me?” Is what he goes with. Neutral enough. 

“You are not hard to find.” The answer is vague, but frank. Vale loves to speak around things.

Marc raises an eyebrow, decides to just keep looking at him. They both know he’s bullshitting. Vale breaks, and makes a face, shrugging.

“I have been racing here longer than you. I know the hiding spots.”

Marc gives him a minute roll of the eyes. It's still not an answer. “You know, they remodeled not too long ago. The entire layout changed.” Vale would’ve had to work to find him. 

“Not too much!” Vale spreads his palms cheerfully, seizing on a diversion. “The bones are still the same. The stands are over there,” he juts a thumb, “The pits are here. The bathrooms change, but bah. It’s a facelift.”

Marc wrangles down a smile. Vale’s not being serious— he’s being fun. Maybe he’s trying to get him comfortable for some reason. “A lot changes, I think.” He says frankly, and he means it. 

Vale’s eyes flash. He sees Marc’s conviction, catches the double meaning. Another one of their conversations centering around two different issues on the surface, but coming back to their history all the same. The elephant in the room butting into other topics. History, division, and rivalry, all sneaking its way into the cracks in their words. 

Vale keeps going, the lead in their little play.

“Maybe. But it’s not— like, aerodynamics, new regulations, new tires— all that changes. Small stuff.  Opinions, riders. But it is still a paddock. I’ve been in paddocks my entire life. You can’t change much.”

Things change a lot, in Marc’s experience. People. Teams. Bodies. 

Friendships.

And Marc is brave usually, has made a career out of it, so he feels like he has to ask. No use avoiding it and feeling half out of his skin for the rest of the day. Vale’s knee bumps into his own and he closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them Vale is already looking at him

“Why are you here?” He levels.

Vale throws him a soft smile. It comforts exactly no part of Marc.

“Maybe I was looking for a hiding place.”

Marc hesitates, choosing his words carefully. It’s always a spar with Valentino; even when they were friendly, they were still competing.

“Am I the hiding place?”

“Well, I am still more famous than you, is true. Less photographers on you than me. It’s peaceful.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Now there’s a good question.” Vale says, stealing something else off of Marc’s plate. “Today? I was hungry. I thought I’d stop by and eat with an old friend.” The words jolt through Marc like a highside. He’s in the air— lost, flying, falling. 

Vale stands, towering. He claps Marc on the shoulder. It burns white hot. Marc keeps his eyes on him, trying to catch a hint, a clue as to how this all happened. 

An old friend.

“Is that what we are?” He asks, more earnest than he should be. Vale can be such a bastard.

“Well, what would you call it?” He responds, turning the question on Marc, voice quiet. Serious, like he knows whatever hangs between them is as thin as a spiderweb. Marc swallows.

“I don’t know,” Marc answers. still too honest, even now. Something flickers on Vale’s face, too quick and complex for him to read. 

“Think about it.” Vale prompts, and walks away.

Marc finds out that they weren’t alone, in that section of the paddock the next day. The pictures hit the news after the race, headlines rolling in thankfully after Marc has left for home. Valentino Rossi and Marc Marquez sharing lunch, alone on a race weekend ten years after their falling out. What could it mean? 

But Marc’s eyes look at the photo and just catch on Vale’s shoulders, leaning towards Marc, the palm of his hand, arcing through the air as he gestures, frozen on the screen of his phone, and himself, eyes crinkled at the corners. He was wrong. He didn’t manage to reign in that smile after all. 

FRIENDS AGAIN?, the headline asks, and Marc wonders.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Lmao hi i saw you wanted hsr requests-

(man, its so weird to request off anon im sorry 💀)

I still dunno which characters to choose so its up to you but how about yandere character and an Aeon of Love whos quick to fall in love and adore, but just as quick to throw away things that no longer interest them?

YOU CARVED OPEN MY HEART, CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME TO BLEED !

YANDERE AEONS / VARIOUS! HSR x READER

note: this fic is more of proof of concept rather than an actual fic, if you want a more specific scenario feel free to request one through my asks!

warnings: yandere themes, canon divergence.

status: unedited

“

I met with the Snowbird once.

That was all it took for me to be captured within their spell.

To wish for the ability to fly with their holy being once spring came.

An impossible dream that was.

Yet still its honeyed promises of seeing the snowbird once again lured me into this path.

This path of love and despair.

“

— Pope of the Philian Church.

DATA BANK

DATA LOG 01 - I

[Y/N]. The God of Philandering. Snowbird. The Great Majesty of Romance. Their Wintry Excellency. Avem In Perpetua Fuga.

Aeon of Philia.

Some might call them the Aeon of Love but does love really come with a massive fear of commitment and the ease of which they left their significant others? Many scholars that studied the Aeon think not.

Their fickle, almost apathetic nature however did little to dissuade people and other gods alike from falling in love.

You see, [Y/N] was an expert, quite literally the best, when it comes to persuasion and seduction. In contrast to IX whose presence creates madness, theirs made the normal human being almost fall to their knees in religious fervor. Only those blessed by other Aeons could ever hope to escape or endure such an overwhelming aura.

The other gods themselves weren’t completely immune to their charms. One cannot help but be curious as to how a singular being was able to attain the infatuation of such powerful existences . . .

. . . and who exactly that singular being is.

In any case, as one would expect from an Aeon of Romance, the [Y/N] faith is never short of passionate poetry.

Here’s one I found in the General of Xianzhou’s office of all places. Perhaps he might be a follower of theirs? It is quite laughable to think of the great Jing Yuan dabbling in literature when avoiding duties.

“Your love scorched my mind.

Tortured my soul.

Hollowed my body.

But in this pain,

Thoughts of your presence and light,

Dull the blade you sheathed within me.

I await your return,

and your claim over the heart you’ve carved out of me.”

DATA LOG 2 - ADORETH

Perhaps those scholars were being a bit too harsh. A god of love must have extremely high standards for their partner. Perhaps those partners were simply foolish, delusional to believe they’d be enough for them.

It is a popular theory that all Aeons used to live peacefully amongst one another until the Great Majesty of Romance threw the world into chaos. The youth nowadays have written several essays alluding to their idea that it was what jumpstarted paths such as the Destruction and Elation. No evidence of such happenings have come out so far.

In my opinion? If anything the Aeon of Elation, Aha would be the bringer of chaos not the other way around. I suspect that the bias and warnings taught to the masses against worshipping or even studying [Y/N], has led to this kind of popular belief.

DATA LOG ? ¿ ? - THEE

Why ?

Why is it that they won’t come back ?

I have devoted my entire life to clearing their name. I have spent countless nights agonising on the proper words to use when describing their Wintry Excellency.

Why then would they not praise me ? Why then would they not grace me with their presence once more ? Was it all a mirage ? A tantalising dream made to inflict pain on my soul?

. . . Perhaps it is because I have chosen the wrong path.

. . .

Yes.

Yes it’s all my fault.

I should have devoted my entire life to worship not just studies.

How moronic of me !

A god of love would never be so cruel. No.

They are simply waiting. Waiting for the day, I come to them.

That was where everyone else was wrong. And I . . . will be right.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[quin-ns]

Hi! Hope this is the right place to request,sorry if it isn’t. I was wondering if you could write a Routledge!hippie!fem! Reader x overprotective!JJ? Some suggestive fluff with a happy ending if that’s okay☹️ I absolutely LOVE ur work btw!!🩷

Reader is referred to as John B’s sister but she’s not described and is only a half sibling so anyone can read! I want to fulfill requests but it’s also important to me that I do what I can to make my fics inclusive 🫶

Peace & Love (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Every time JJ caught himself looking at you a little too long, he immediately felt John B’s eyes land on him. He had never mentioned it out loud, but JJ figured his friend knew he had a crush on you.

It wouldn’t have been a big deal if you weren’t John B’s little sister.

You weren’t actually that much younger than him, only a few months. Apparently Big John got around more than people realized, and after he pissed both John B’s and your mom off, he was left with the both of you.

It never seemed to cause any problems with you and John B, surprisingly. JJ sometimes wondered how that was possible, but John B took pride in being an older brother and you weren’t exactly the resentful type.

In fact, JJ was fairly certain you didn’t have a negative bone in your body. It was one of the many things he liked about you.

Your whole existence screamed peace and love, and all your friends (JJ included) joked that you were a hippie stereotype. It never bothered you, probably because you knew how badly the group needed someone who could remain calm and make everyone smile.

“I got something on my face or do you just think I’m pretty?” you asked suddenly.

It took JJ a moment to realize you were looking right at him, brows raised. Not long after that he realized he’d been staring again while lost in his thoughts.

You all were at a beach party, sitting around a bonfire. Other people were milling around all of him and his friends, but JJ wouldn’t have been any the wiser to their presence. He’d pretty much forgotten all about them, actually.

He flirted with you all the time, but this caught him off guard. If it had been just the two of you JJ would’ve been sincere and told you yes, he did think you were pretty. He’d been wanting to say something along those lines for a while, to test the waters.

But he felt the pressure of the others eyeing him—especially John B—and made some lame comment about not recognizing your headband and asked if it was new.

“Nah, man, I’ve had this one for a while,” you replied, subconsciously adjusting it.

John B looked at him as if to say, “really, dude?”, but you were too carefree to be suspicious.

Kiara laughed. “You probably haven’t seen it in a while ‘cause she has about a thousand.”

“So what? I like them,” you defended lightly. JJ watched a little too closely as you lifted your cup to your lips, but it was empty. “I need a refill,” you realized, standing.

JJ almost jumped to follow you, but he was still getting stared at. You disappeared out of his view through random bodies and he felt himself deflate.

“Seriously?” John B said, raising a brow at him. “You expect me to think you were looking at her headband?”

JJ felt like a spotlight was on him. Usually he didn’t mind, but this was a little more different. John B didn’t sound mad, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if his friend had told him to back off.

“If you like her, just say something,” John B continued, much to JJ’s surprise. His eyebrows even shot up while his best friend laughed. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“Yeah, dude, you’re super obvious,” Pope chimed in from off to the side.

JJ glanced at him and saw amusement before focusing back on John B.

“You’re so not pissed?”

John B laughed again. “Why would I be? I know you, man. And I trust you. So if she likes you back then… I mean, I’ll still have to have a talk with you, but you have my blessing.”

JJ let himself laugh at the phrasing. He stood, confidence building. “Since I have your blessing,” he started sarcastically. “I’m gonna go find her.”

That’s exactly what he did, maneuvering through the crowd, eyes searching for you excitedly.

When JJ spotted you, jealousy descended upon him. You were near the keg, filling up your cup, talking to some guy.

As he headed for you, that feeling morphed into protectiveness when he saw you try to walk away from the guy and he grabbed your arm.

“Hey! Let go of her, man,” JJ intervened, shoving himself between you and the guy.

“Who the hell are you?” the guy slurred out, face scrunching up in annoyance.

“The guy who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t walk away,” JJ warned, squaring his shoulders. The guy hesitated for a moment, looking him up and down. Then, he turned and walked away exactly as he’d been told. “That’s what I thought.”

“Damn, JJ,” you said, sounding almost impressed.

He turned to face you and calmed down immediately when he saw you. “You alright?”

“Yeah, dude just couldn’t handle hearing “no”,” you relayed with a shake of your head. A small smirk tugged at your lips. “I guess I should say thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“You don’t gotta thank me.” JJ shrugged, attempting to be modest. “I’m always gonna look out for you.”

He was being sincere, and the smile you wore was appreciative.

“Noted,” you said before a more teasing smile crept onto your face. “So… you coming to ask about my headband again?”

JJ laughed in spite of himself. He scratched the back of his head. “Yeah… that was kinda lame, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But you’re cute, so it’s okay.”

Was he blushing? JJ wasn’t sure. He flirted with you all the time, but this was new territory because of what he was about to say.

“That’s good to know, ‘cause I actually came to ask you out… so, do you have plans tomorrow?”

“Well, I guess I do now,” you replied, your smile that JJ absolutely loved growing wider. “Although, I hope you ran it by my brother first.”

[septemberpale]

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Rafe Cameron. A Series, Part One.

An ambitious advice columnist tries pushing the boundaries of her craft with a career defining experiment, leading her to cross paths with an equally cunning advertising executive. The lines between professional challenge and personal desire blur in a high stakes game of cat and mouse, where their unexpected chemistry threatens to derail everything they've meticulously planned . . .

STATUS, ONGOING !

NAV. Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

One, The Pitch.

Heels click-clacking against the pavement, you weave through the congested streets filled with other people making their morning commutes. Your favorite handbag slung over your left shoulder and a rough draft of an article on the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict tucked beneath your right arm.

You were absolutely exhausted from working all night on the article, hoping it will be good enough for the upcoming issue of Composure, the weekly magazine you write for.

As you step into the bustling office, you can’t help but relax just a tad at the familiarity of it all. The scent of fresh coffee, the sound of ringing phones and clattering keyboards creating a familiar yet welcome chaos.

JJ’s shadow falls across your desk, that insufferable grin of his spreading before he even speaks.

“Rough night?” He hands you a steaming cup of coffee⎯ one cream, one sugar⎯ just how you like it, a peace offering disguised as mockery.

You don’t look up, fingers frantically typing as you refine the ramblings of yesterday’s writing session. “Define ‘rough’.”

“Bloodshot eyes, takeout coffee cups scattered about, and an article that looks like it’s been through a war zone?” He leans against your cubicle, deliberately invading your personal space.

You let out a sharp exhale that borders on laughter. “Cute. Are you here to critique my work or waste my time?”

“Oh, I’m definitely here to waste your time,” JJ drawls, reaching for the draft you made last night.

You snatch the paper back reflexively. “Touch my work again, and I’ll use your sports column as a coaster.”

A smirk plays across his lips. “Let me guess⎯another heavy-hitting piece on international conflict?”

You roll your eyes. “Not everyone writes about grown men in short shorts chasing balls around a field.”

“Touché,” He drums his fingers against your desk in a rhythm designed to irritate you.

“Mind if I take a look?” JJ asks, his tone a blend of challenge and genuine interest.

You come to a halt, fingers frozen mid-keystroke. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” he whines, that familiar challenge threading through his voice, “I might actually have some useful feedback.”

You hesitate, weighing his offer. JJ, despite his annoying qualities, was undeniably good at his job. And you are bone-tired.

“Fine,” you concede, sliding your laptop over to him. “But any funny business, and you’re dead, Maybank.”

JJ lifts his hands in mock surrender.

After a moment of concentrated reading, he looks up. “It's brilliant stuff. Really moving.” His tone is unexpectedly serious. “But it’ll never make it into Composure.”

Reality comes crashing down. You sigh, the sound laced with frustration. “God, I busted my ass in grad school just to be reduced to churning out vapid clickbait. I want to write about things that matter⎯like the environment and foreign affairs; I want to make a difference.”

JJ’s expression softens. “Keep busting your ass, angel. You're gonna get there.”

“I know,” you reply. “It’s just. . . frustrating.”

“Has Pope come in yet?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“Don’t mention other men in my presence,” JJ chides, retreating to his cubicle across from yours. “And no, he hasn’t. Probably moping around his apartment waiting for his date to call him back.”

You grab your bag and make a beeline for the door. “Where are you going?” JJ calls.

“To drag Pope’s sorry ass back to work.” You throw your bag over your shoulder. “Can’t have him losing his job before our staff meeting in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll cover for you guys as long as I can.” JJ offers.

“You're the best, J!” You flash him a grateful smile as you push open the doors.

“I knew you loved me,” he yells out.

You flip him the bird as you disappear into the bustling street.

At Pope’s apartment, you knock on the door. “Morning, sunshine. Time to get up.”

You make your way inside, taking in the mess of clothes and empty ice cream tubs strewn about. Tears threaten to spill from Pope’s eyes.

“I think I’m just gonna go back to bed,” he replies.

“No! Get up! I’m not gonna let you lose your job on top of everything else. Our meeting is in less than half an hour.”

He sniffles, wiping his salty tears with the back of his hand.

“Pope, seriously? You guys dated for a week.” Your tone entangled with compassion and frustration.

“It was the best week of my life,” he responds, eyes distant as they glaze over.

You grab a pillow from his bed and smack him upside the head with it. “Snap out of it.” you say firmly. “She’s not worth it man. I love you, but this has gone on way too long. You can’t live like this.” You toss a pair of slacks and a polo at him. “We’ve got a meeting in twenty.”

You catch a cab back to work, hoping not to miss the meeting. JJ greets you two with coffees⎯one for each of you.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it” Pope mutters, his resolve crumbling.

You and JJ give each other a knowing look; the dam is about to break.

“Why does this always happen to me?”

Bingo.

“Maybe because you fall harder than a skydiver without a parachute?” JJ chastises, trying to lighten the mood as the three of you hurry down the hallway.

Pope shoots him a glare. “Not helping, man.”

“Look,” you interject, “relationships are complicated. It's not your fault things didn’t work out.”

Pope sighs, running his fingers through his coarse curls. “Easy for you to say. You could set fire to someone’s car and they’d thank you for the warmth.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You arch an eyebrow.

“It means you’ve got this… I don't know. . . charm. People can't help but gravitate towards you. Me? I’m like human repellent.”

JJ snorts. “More like a walking romantic disaster. Remember that one girl who stalked you because her psychic told her you were soulmates?”

“Oh, god. Pope groans; a reluctant smile toys at his lips, cracking through his misery. “Don't remind me.”

As you approach the conference room, the office buzz grows louder. Pope takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

“Ready to face the firing squad?” JJ quips as he reaches for the door handle.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Pope retorts; his earlier melancholy gives way to determination. “After you.”

“Coward,” JJ banters, grinning.

“Strategic retreater,” Pope corrects lightly.

You shake your head. “Are you two done?”

You slip past your colleagues into the room; the sharp sound of your boss clearing his throat, slices through the ambience like a hot knife through butter⎯signaling the start of the meeting.

“Alright! Who’s going to go first?" he asks.

John B immediately launches into a rehearsed speech about his contribution for this week. “I’ve started writing about the Royal Merchant.” Everyone turns to look at him. “It’s a legendary shipwreck that sank in the 17th century; there’s been a lot of buzz about it online recently so it might make for a good story.”

He hands your boss his draft: “Excellent! Get to it then.”

“Yes, sir.” John B quickly grabs his belongings and rushes out of the room.

Piercing eyes scan the room as your boss settles on you despite all the willing you’ve done in the back of your head.

“What’s next for the advice column?” He leans forward.

You lick your lips in hesitation, staring at the draft sitting on your lap. “Well. . . I’ve been working on something that’s . . . kinda different.”

Displeasure paints his face at your words but he allows you to continue.

“It’s a political piece⎯”

“No!” He immediately cuts you off. “You were hired to write an advice column; I’ve got plenty of guys who can write politics! Leave the real work to the big boys!”

“But if you’d just listen⎯”

“Look!” He cuts you off again. “I’m the editor of this paper! Whatever I say goes! Stick to what you’re good at: makeup, social trends, and fashion. We’ve got the rest! Understood?”

“Yeah.” You deflate and look back down at your draft.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” He snaps; eyes locking onto Pope’s face. “Heyward! What have you got for me?”

“Sorry. . . I wasn’t feeling very well this week⎯”

“He got dumped.” JJ corrects; your boss’s face quickly switches from displeasure to feigned concern.

“Oh man! Pope!” He leans forward taking hold of Pope’s hand, sympathy dripping with every word he speaks. “What a hellish ordeal for you.”

Pope begins to sniffle for added effect. “Yeah. . . so I haven’t really had much time to write.”

Your boss perks up:  “So write about the split.”

“What? I can’t use my personal life for a story!” Pope gasps in indignation.

Your boss smiles apologetically. “I understand completely.” He turns to face the rest of the room. “Who will use Pope’s personal life for a story?”

Multiple hands shoot up much to Pope’s dismay. . . “Sir! With all do respect none of them have any business mucking around in my private life! I refuse ⎯”

“I’ll do it,” You suddenly exclaim; all eyes turn toward you.

“What?” Pope looks at you mortified.

“I.. I’ll sort of do it.” You correct yourself quickly. “You will be my inspiration.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Your boss’s eyes narrow in on you once again for what feels like the thousandth time today.

“Yeah,” You swallow hard, hands waving in Pope’s vicinity. “Look at Pope! He’s a great guy right? An amazing guy even! But. . . he has a problem hanging onto relationships and doesn’t really know what he’s doing wrong⎯like many of our readers for the advice column.”

An idea comes rushing to you as you try to prevent Pope's personal life from becoming front cover news in the next edition. “So. . . I was thinking that I could start dating a guy and drive him away. But, only using the classic  mistakes that most people like Pope make all the time. I’ll keep a journal of it; it’ll be sort of like a ‘How To’ but in reverse!”

Your boss blinks at you for another moment before flashing you a toothy smile. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days! Yes! Go!” He exclaims, shooing you out of the room excitedly.

“Thank you,” Pope mouths silently as you leave.

When the meeting concludes, you’re waiting outside for JJ and Pope, trying to process the mess you’ve just gotten yourself into. You three hurriedly walk away from the conference room, footsteps echoing against the sterile office floor, a feeble attempt to escape your boss who manages to make conversation with your colleagues as you head to the break room for more coffee. Midstride, you’re halted by a women⎯ blonde hair and olive green dress cutting a sharp silhouette at the entrance of Composure.

“Oh here comes my 10 o’clock!” Your boss smiles brightly.

“It’s good to see you!” The woman greets, pressing a kiss to your boss's cheek.

“Gentlemen and lady meet Sarah Cameron from Kook Advertising⎯we’re gonna cook up some tie-ins for the fall!” He adds in greeting, introducing each of you.

When he stops beside you Sarah’s face lights up with recognition. “I’ve seen your column! What are you working on now?

You clear your throat ready to answer her question but are cut off by your boss. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days! She’s going to start dating a guy and then drive him away. Isn’t it brilliant?” He stiffles laughter.

Sarah’s eyes glint mischievously in your direction. “Sounds needlessly vicious! Who’s the lucky guy?”

“I haven't found him yet,” You answer, hands sweeping through your hair, an attempt at calming your nerves.

“Well off ya go!” Your boss shoes impatiently. “That column isn't going to write itself!”

“Nice meeting you.” You wave goodbye to Sarah before continuing toward the break room, with JJ and Pope in tow.

“So all we need to do is find the guy. . .” Pope adds trying to still your nerves.

“Easier said than done.”

NOTES. on a scale from 1-10 how obvious is it that i've never seen obx before? i just love drew and all his other work and wanted to write a fic for one of his characters, we'll see where this goes . . .