#Its not like she wasn't sick of this place already. He had to pull another string and ruin another thing for her

[othercrossee]

Yippe

[mc-lukanette]

One might think that having the most incredible, most creative, most skilled, and most beautiful girlfriend in the world would be hard, but it wasn't for Luka. What would destroy the confidence of hyper-sensitive boys only bolstered Luka's, knowing that such a wonderful girl picked him.

He had no idea what he'd done to deserve Marinette, Paris's sole hero and the guardian of the miraculouses, but he wasn't going to argue.

"Which one are you showing me today?" he asked, leaning forward on her chaise lounge.

She grinned, raising a finger to gesture for him to wait. "You'll see! I don't want to spoil the surprise."

There was a bounce in her step as she walked over to the Miracle Box, her hands gliding along its edges before opening it up. Luka kept himself rooted in place, fighting the contagious excitement but unable to help tilting to the side to try and see better.

It was common for her to show him the various miraculouses in the box and explain their powers, ever since her master had handed it over to her and left the country with his own lover. It wasn't just for fun either - even if they did have fun doing it - as Luka was Marinette's hero of choice when she needed someone to wield a miraculous for her.

She insisted every time that it was a completely unbiased decision, that it wasn't her fault that he could fit so many of them, and who was he to question a guardian?

Marinette turned to face him, holding up a shiny black ring and waving it about. Gesturing at it with her free hand, she explained, "This one's special. It's not safe to use since it's one of the ones Hawk Moth wants, but who knows? You might need to someday."

There was a playfulness to her voice that made him raise a brow, but he suspected that it might have to do with the thought of actually seeing him transformed. He wasn't oblivious to the once-over she'd give him any time he transformed with a miraculous he hadn't used before, and he'd do the same back to her.

That was because, rather than simply explaining the miraculous to him, she would ditch her earrings and don it herself like some superhero version of dressing up for one's significant other. While Luka knew nothing of fashion nor design, he could still appreciate seeing her in something new.

Marinette slipped the miraculous onto her finger, raising it up to watch it shrink just enough to fit her. It transformed, disguising itself to be a simple, rose gold ring, and out came another kwami for Luka to meet.

Said kwami, easily fitting the black and cat theme the ring had previously given off, yawned and stretched now that he was properly outside of the box. His green eyes popped open, tail swishing curiously as his cat-like pupils took in the scene before him.

"Oh, we're finally doing this, huh?" he asked, flying over to Luka. He looked him up and down, then went closer to bat at his bangs. "Hair's soft at least. Would make a nice bed."

"Plagg," Marinette called sternly, putting her hands on her hips.

Luka moved his head to look past Plagg and smile at her. "It's alright. He's not bothering me."

Also, though he didn't say it out loud, meeting each kwami felt vaguely like trying to impress future in-laws, so he gave all of them an extra dose of his patience.

"Good kid," Plagg said, hovering around Luka in a circle before laying himself atop his head. "Just keep the mushy stuff to a minimum whenever I'm here and we'll be fine. I got sick enough hearing her talk to me about it."

Luka looked up despite his inability to actually see Plagg. "You were talking about it?"

"Well—"

"Plagg!" Marinette burst out, panicked. "Transform me!"

Luka heard a mischievous snicker just before Plagg was pulled off of his head and into the miraculous. The rose gold ring returned to its original shape and color, light flowing out of it and transforming Marinette.

As if the fake cat ears that popped out of her head weren't already cute enough, her hair grew in length and fashioned itself into a long braid to represent a cat tail. Lining her black bodysuit were streaks of blue, accentuating her body properly as one would expect of a future fashion designer, and her sclera turned to a lighter blue while her pupils turned into vertical slits to mirror Plagg's.

Luka didn't realize his mouth had opened at all until she strutted up to him and closed it with a clawed hand. He smiled warmly, not subtle about looking her over.

"I love the black and blue," he said, doing his best to compliment her as an artist might. "The blue stripes harmonize with your eyes."

The pink blush didn't do anything for the look she was going for, but he cherished it all the same.

"Thanks~" Her voice came out a little higher-pitched, shyness blending with her earlier confidence. She reached out for him, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders, then began to let herself up onto his lap.

It wasn't usual for them to cuddle during her mini lessons - not right away, at least - but muscle memory kicked in nonetheless and his hands found her sides. Her hair brushed his skin as she buried her face into the crook of his neck and slipped her arms around his back.

"I didn't know you could give lessons from there," he said jokingly, though his own voice was a smidge higher as well.

She didn't joke back, which he found a little odd. Beyond the sound of her shuffling to get even closer to him, she wasn't making a noise of any sort.

He rubbed her sides in tiny circles with his thumb, calling out curiously, "Marinette?"

Now, Luka had a mental log of all of the various sounds that Marinette made over the course of them knowing each other. She had sounds for when she was jumping in excitement, for when she slept, for when she was distressed, and for when she was being cuddled.

But the sound she was making at that moment was entirely foreign to him. It was low, rumbling, and consistent, repeating in almost a rhythmic pattern. He tried to place it without getting distracted by the way she almost seemed to be vibrating against him, but then it clicked.

She was wearing the cat miraculous. He didn't have a cat himself, but they did go to a few pet shelters one day to see the animals and talk about if they'd want one when they were old enough to move out together. He still remembered getting to pet one of the cats, rubbing its side not unlike what he was doing with Marinette.

She was purring.

"Mmm," she hummed, sensing that he'd gotten it, "I...I know I'm not always good with words. We're dating, but nothing I really want to say comes out the way it is in my head. Even when you don't say anything, you can still play music, so..." She sighed, nuzzling him. "I wanted to find a way to speak your language?"

Luka froze, blushing as he looked down at her. Plagg's earlier words came back to mind - that she had been talking to him about their contact - and he realized that it must've been this: that she wanted to know if cat heroes could purr so she could tell Luka what she felt without words: that she was comfortable with him, that she loved him, and that she felt happy whenever he touched her.

Luka wasn't self-conscious about his role in the world, but at the end of the day he was just some guy. He wasn't conventionally attractive like a celebrity on a magazine, he had what many would consider a lower class part-time job, and he didn't have any presence in the public eye. He didn't have any problem with that - less eyes on him meant more time he could eye Marinette - but it left him awestruck yet again thinking of how many boys must've been after her (or how many stupid ones weren't) when her gaze focused solely on him.

"...Luka?" Marinette called when he didn't say anything. The purring stopped as she raised up enough to look at him, the fake cat ears drooping in concern.

He snapped himself out of his reverie. Smiling at her, he took one hand off her side to cup the back on her head, bringing her in to press their foreheads together. He took a deep breath, finding calm in her scent, and assured, "You're already speaking my language, Marinette. Music doesn't mean playing an instrument or purring like a cat does. You're the song in my head, all the time, even if you're not singing."

"Really?" She sounded skeptical.

With a chuckle, he asked, "Do you want to know what my favorite part of your look is?"

She perked up, pulling back so he could better gesture at said part. "What? What is it?"

His smile tilted up to the side in a smirk. He brought a hand to her face, pressing a finger to her lips. "Right here."

Her brows soared, eyes going wide. She pushed his hand away and turned her face to the side so she could laugh, even as her face flushed. "That didn't change at all!"

He pulled her back in, eyes glinting in amusement but no less genuine. "So? You don't need words to tell me how you feel. I know with everything you do for me, and the sounds you make are already music to my ears, especially when we're..." His eyes flicked to her lips instead of saying anything further.

Her blush deepened, her claws raking shyly through her bangs. "S-so... all that practice of hugging my pillow and trying to imagine it was you to see if I could purr? That was all for nothing?"

She asked it lightly, but Luka had never been jealous of a pillow before that day, knowing that it got the experience before him.

"No," he replied with a shrug. "I love hearing whatever you want to give me, but you're already so much. You're more than enough."

He could see her visibly swallow, the stiff embarrassment melting away as she relaxed against him. She bit her bottom lip - carefully due to her fangs - and slowly slid the back of her claws up his stomach, his chest, then over his shoulder.

"Then—do you want to hear a little more?"

It was a request, not a question, and a request he was happy to indulge in.

He kissed her, immediately rewarded with a squeak that transitioned smoothly into a moan. Whenever one of them were in superhero form, it was inevitable that the other would be underneath them eventually due to the strength imbalance, thus leaving him laying flat on the chaise lounge as she kissed him back.

He could hear the purr starting up again, but he much preferred the tune they were creating with their mouths.

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 2)

Ledger!joker x fem!reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job pt 2✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, threat of murder/injury mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Part 2:

Gothamites were already in a near-constant state of hypervigilance, a kind of ptsd that came with living in the city. After the most recent bout of escalating crimes, from both the mob and this 'joker', everyone was in a state of near paranoia. No one trusted their fellow man.

The joker's men offloaded what seemed like almost an entire clip as soon as we hit the sidewalk. The street erupted into chaos around us. People screamed and ducked out of sight. A cyclist crashed into the back of a car at the stoplight as he looked around for the source of the noise. A woman ran down the sidewalk with her child strapped into its buggy, practically ramming it into other panicked pedestrians as she fled. People pushed and shoved one another to fight their way indoors to take cover. Workmen on the corner ditched their tools and booked it in the opposite direction.

"We can keep her company in the back, boss," he offered, and my stomach knotted istelf at the thought of exactly what kind of company he had in mind.

Of course, the psychopath leading me by my hands through all of this drank it in. He revelled in the destruction which seemed to orbit him. Traffic swerved around us as I was half dragged across the street to their van. My bare feet were grazed and dirtied by the time his men threw open the back doors. They tossed the duffle bags inside and clambered in after them, one of them grabbing for my arms.

The joker's voice dipped down low, into a kind of growl.

For a moment I thought about trying to make a break for it. You should never go to the second location, that's what they say about kidnapping. As though he had read my mind, he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and his dark eyes fell on me.

"No, she's riding shotgun, not in the back with the dogs," he slammed the doors on them before anyone could respond to his insult.

"Don't even think about trying to run," he leaned in close enough to whisper the rest of what he had to say directly into my ear, "you wouldn't make it, and it would be such a disappointment to have to shoot you."

Defeatedly, I climbed into the passenger seat and he darted round to the drivers side. This had to be a new record, even for the GCPD, for world's slowest police response. The sound of oncoming sirens was only just now beginning to get near enough to be noticeable.

He pulled back again, his twisted features taking on an exagerratedly pained look. Everytime I saw his face I felt physically sick. It wasn't his scars, of course, but the nightmarish paint, streaked and smeared across his face, and the way it moved and contorted into all kinds of uncanny shapes as he spoke.

"That's our cue to go!" He exclaimed, erupting into one of his fits of laughter as we accelerated down the now eerily empty street.

"You should put your seatbelt on, doll," he grinned. reaching a hand out toward me.

He was silent for a moment, shooting me a glance or two to the side. He seemed to be a little taken back by my behaviour, and it was as though I could see him recalculating.

Without thinking, I instinctively slapped it away. Immediately, I froze for a second, terrified what his reaction would be. I expected to be struck.

Shaking, and with considerable difficulty, given that my hands were still taped together at the wrist, I fastened my own belt. We rolled down the entrance ramp and into the subterranean road network. The joker seemed to be completely unfased as a line of cop cars tore past us going in the opposite direction, sirens blaring and blue lights strobing by.

"Okay, but it's your funeral," he shrugged as we blew another stop light and veered sharply left onto main avenue, headed for the road tunnels.

He tapped the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel and was humming some unintelligible tune under his breath as we pulled into a particularly rough looking, even by my standards, district of downtown. I felt like I was having an out of body experience, or some kind of fever dream. The van swerved round several corners as the city lights passed by in a blur and my heart lurched around in my chest - I felt like it was strung up with bungee cord. Finally as we rolled through an abandoned looking neighbourhood, he was very heavy on the brakes and we jolted to a stop in a grimy looking alleyway.

I had only just stashed it when I was unceremoniously dragged out of the passenger seat, with both my feet immediately landing in a murky puddle. The rain drizzled down, illuminated by the single flickering streetlight above us. Two of the men quickly got into the front of the van and drove their haul away, likely to somewhere like the docks for safe keeping until the buzz and police interest died down.

As he got out, he took a moment to knock his first against the side of the van, signalling that it was clear for his men to offload. In this briefest of moments, he didn't have eyes on me and I frantically looked around me for anything of use to me. I grabbed a ballpoint pen from the dashboard and hurriedly stuffed it into my dress. Glancing down I caught sight of a screwdriver in the footwell. Well it certainly wouldn't be a bad idea to have that hidden on me, so I managed to grab it and stuff it down into the half loosened corset.

Again, I weighed up my chances of running from them. The odds weren't in my favour - we were in a dead part of town, in the dark, and I had no idea where I'd go for help. Plus, my hands were still taped and I was in a ridiculous dress. The joker practically barked his orders at the remaining men and they scattered to the four winds, dispatched to do god only knows what.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked, in a kind of stage whisper.

Part of me was relieved that they were gone: I was, by definition, no longer outnumbered, but the realisation that I was now alone with the man who had so recently threatened to bring an entire city to a standstill was a horrifying prospect. A man with a total disregard for human life on the whole, a man who had shot dead one of his own men on a whim not even an hour ago. I shuddered a little.

My face betrayed my panic.

"What are you going to do to me?"

He seemed to find this very funny, erupting into laughter so intense that he bent double for a moment. I felt a lump rise in my throat.

As suddenly as it started, his laughter abruptly stopped and he straightened up with a much flatter expression.

Again, I felt like this was some kind of sick joke that was lost on me.

"I'm not going to do anything to you".

"Then why the fuck am I here?" I gestured wildly around me at the alleyway, "why am I here in this ridiculous dress and no shoes, in some shady back-alley!"

He cocked his head to the side.

"You tell me, doll, 'cause my men didn't take your shoes."

His gestures seemed to be wordlessly saying "you know i'm right!".

The familiar clack of the switchblade suddenly commanded my full attention. The joker shifted forward and placed the blade up to my throat. He didn't say anything but I understood well enough what he was saying. Don't get comfortable: I can kill you at any point. On a whim, like his man who was left face down in a pool of his own blood on the marble tiles.

I shook my head, almost hoping the action would clear it and none of this would be real. I was shivering from the cold and rain. The dress was off-the-shoulder, and my feet were still submerged in icy water. I started to worry that hypothermia or treading on a rusty nail and getting tetanus might kill me before the man in front of me got around to it.

My eyes met his own, and I couldn't help but wonder how few people had seen him this close up and lived to tell the tale. He clamped his free hand onto my forearm and began to pull me to a fire escape ladder mid-way down the alley. It didn't quite reach all the way to the floor, the last rung being a couple feet above the ground. His grip on my arm was so foreceful that it hurt.

When we reached the ladder he put the knife between his teeth, clambered up and offered a hand to pull me up. This day was so totally fucked up.

I thought again about running, but I didn't think i'd make it out of the alley before he caught me, so reluctantly I took his outstretched hand. He was stronger than you might have expected, and managed to lift me up far enough that I could get my feet on the start of the ladder. The bars were slippery from the rain and I tried not to look down as we climbed, struggling against the dress as I did so. We came up to a sort of balcony window two floors up, and he swung up the old sash and gestured for me to climb through. I did it as quickly as possible, not being at all comfortable with the idea of my back being to him while he still had the knife. I landed on my knees on the wood floor and cursed as I scrambled to my feet again.

I turned around to see him inside and sliding the window back down. Suddenly I felt so stupid for not trying to run; now I was trapped here instead.

"You'll, uh, have to excuse the state of the place. You see, I don't usually have guests," he said, gesturing to the apartment as he flicked on the lightswitch.

Again we were back to talking as though he hadn't just held a knife to my throat just moments ago. I shook my head in silent disbelief.

"Something amusing to you?" Asked my captor as he paced by the window.

I looked around me at the half-abandoned apartment. Suddenly, my own place didn't seem so bad, though it wasn't such a massive step down that they were totally incomparible - no, if anything it made me question why I was paying rent if this was what was on offer for free. The main difference was upkeep, and maybe some personal items. I started to think this place could be quite nice if it was cleaned up and decorated and laughed a little to myself.

I abruptly stopped.

"Oh, er, I was just thinking I miss my shitty apartment," I stammered out.

"So, you've brought me here. What do you - what is your plan?" I said shakily, shivering from the cold and still wired with anxiety.

He said nothing, but placed the open knife on the table and dropped down onto the beaten up couch.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Plan? Do I really look like a guy with a plan?" He asked, spreading both arms out against the back of the couch.

"Well, you say that... but I've seen the news. All of that takes planning. A lot of planning actually..." I began.

I shifted anxiously, as part of me wondered if I should make a grab for the knife on the table... but then it occurred to me that he had probably left it there deliberately. Was he testing me? Didn't he just love to see what desperate people would do? That was his M.O. if the recent events were anything to go by. What would I even do if I did grab it, was I really going to stab him? He'd see it coming from a mile off even if I had the guts to follow through.

"Yes, you do some things on a whim, like shooting that guy earlier, or bringing me here... but that heist took planning and preparation."

He cocked his head to the side, a glint in his dark eyes again. Unsettled by his silence, I continued.

"You're quite perceptive, aren't you?" He hummed.

A sly kind of smile spread itself across his face, which told me I was right.

"I think, people underestimate me. When so many ignore you or... don't want to look at you, you can see things from the outside. You see the things that they miss," I thought aloud.

"Tell me, do you find it hard to look at me?" He probed, approaching me.

He made another kind of affirmative hum, and stood up again.

"Yes," I murmured, struggling to look him in the eyes as he stopped about an arms length from me.

I swallowed, my throat feeling dry. What was the use in lying? He and I had just revealed that we would both know it if I did.

"And, why is that?"

He reached out a hand to touch my rain soaked hair, tucking it behind my shoulder.

"Because, you -" I was struggling for the words, feeling as though this was an interrogation and the light was blinding, burning hot on me - only he was the light.

He leaned in close, close enough that I could have touched his face. I tried to force myself to look directly at him, not wanting to give in.

"Because I look like this?" He gestured to his face, but I realised, consciously or not his hand hovered over his scars specifically.

"Isn't that a little hypocritical?" He growled sounding almost disappointed.

He seemed taken aback by this.

"I think you've misjudged me again," I said hurriedly in protest.

"Oh?" He mused, placing a heavy hand on the crook of my neck.

"I find it hard to look at your face because of the makeup. Which is part of why you wear it, so you shouldn't be surprised by that. I think... i think part of you would prefer it if it really was the scars I found ugly. But you're wrong..." I couldn't stop myself from shaking so hard that it was difficult to speak.

I watched his face as he seemed to be turning over my words in his own mind, weighing up whether to believe me. Again spurred on by his silence I continued.

"Of course, everyone has the initial shock and the gut reaction of repulsion when they see my scars. That is just human nature and the way society has conditioned us, even the most polite, the kindest people. It's a sub-conscious reflex. So, what i'm saying is, that first split second, maybe, I was afraid because of them, I'll grant you that much... but you then also have to admit you had tge same reaction to mine. I saw it."

A strange glimmer of something akin to... affection found its way into his features. I didn't know what to make of it.

He shook his head.

"Am I wrong?" I pressed, anxiously.

"No".

I sighed a little in relief.

He pulled me forwards and planted a rough kiss on my forehead, much to my horror, but thankfully that was all it was. He drew back looking down at me as I continued to shiver, dripping wet, bare footed and brusied. My eye was stinging from both my injury and my mascara running down my face. It was as though he seemed to actually be more tuned in to my presence now, and he astonished me still further by taking off his long coat and placing it around my icy shoulders.

"You," he wagged a finger at me, "I knew there was something special about you. That's why I brought you here... you're..." his eyes combed over my face as he searched for the words," you are magnificent."

Next part below:

[wooahaes]

sweet like caramel

pairing: non-idol!hoshi x gn!reader [reader has a uterus]

genre: comfort fic. fluffy.

word count: 0.8k~

warnings: READER HAS A UTERUS BUT IS NOT REFERRED TO W GENDERED TERMS. menstruation tw because this is period comfort. references to bad cramps and pain medicine not helping much, etc. food mentions (sweets + vague Chinese takeout reference). bonus mention cheol being a dependable friend for soonyoung.

daisy’s notes: i die

Soonyoung prided himself on being a good boyfriend. He was there for you when you needed emotional comfort, he had a running list on his phone of all your favorite things (just to back him up when his memory failed him), and he knew the quickest way to get a smile from you when you needed cheering up. Except that last one was... a little harder when you were, as you put it, fucking dying again. He'd stood in the pharmacy for you, waiting for the lady behind the counter to put your birth control in its bag, and he'd silently placed one of your favorite chocolate bars on the counter.

Followed by another. And a bag of sour candy. And a bag of those caramels you love. And... And he was going to get carried away, wasn't he?

"Your partner is lucky, hm?" The lady behind the counter hid a smile as she stapled the bag shut with the receipt and prescription information stuck to it as well.

He always said that he was the lucky one. If all he needed to do during your period was comfort you and take care of you, then he'd do it in a heartbeat. He loved you, after all. That was why he'd already mapped out his path home. He'd tuck the haul (yes, haul, because Soonyoung ended up with several things of your favorite candy... and maybe one for himself, too, since he was there) into his bag, and made his way to the grocery store--just to pick up a few necessities. Then it was a quick trip by the Chinese takeout place that you'd cutely requested, and then home...

To where he found you sobbing on the bathroom floor. He was quick to set things down in the kitchen before returning to you, already kneeling down next to you. "What's wrong? Did you fall? Did something happen? Are you feeling sick again? Are--"

You shook your head, leaning into him as you continued to sob. The sound was muffled by your face being buried into his chest, and all he could do was hold you, rubbing your back gently.

"Did the medicine not work?" He asked softly. You shook your head, and he just held you closer.

Okay. This was something he could fix, right? He'd pulled his phone out of his back pocket, still rubbing your back with one hand as he started searching. When medicine wasn't working, then maybe heat? The heating pad was in a drawer in the bedroom because he'd used it last after overexerting himself during a workout. You'd babied him a bit then, pressing extra kisses onto his face as you massaged the tense muscle. He paused for a moment, trying to remember if you had ginger tea in the cabinets.

He gently pushed you back. "I'll go plug in the heating pad," he promised, "and then we can cuddle in bed. Okay?"

You said nothing but curled back in on yourself, wiping at your face. Fuck, leaving you like this was the last thing he wanted to do--but he had to, didn't he? The sooner he helped you deal with the pain, the sooner you'd be a bit happier. He checked the cabinets on the way to the bedroom (no ginger tea, but that was what Seungcheol was for--all it took was a single call for him to agree to swing by a store for him and drop it off), finding the pad with ease and plugging it in. All that was left was bringing you to bed, his hand tightly around your own as he guided you there.

You'd pulled him close to you once the heating pad was in the right spot, and he didn't mind feeling the warmth from it as the two of you ended up with it sandwiched between you. All he could do was press tiny kisses against your face, one hand rubbing your back still.

"I'm sorry." Your voice was strained from sobbing, and you hid your face in his neck to muffle it even further. "I'm a mess."

"You're hurting," he said, gentle as ever. Your periods always seemed to bring out the emotional side of you, especially when they were this bad. "Just tell me what you need."

Although you said nothing, Soonyoung pulled away from you just long enough to reach for his bag--thrown haphazardly onto the end of the bed so he could snack with you here. He'd get your takeout soon enough once the pain eased off (you told him once before that it could make you nauseous and he'd never forgotten it), but... He could open the bag of caramels, pressing an unwrapped one against your lips. Your eyes flitted up to meet his, and he saw the tiny smile you had before accepting the sweet.

It was sweeter when he tasted it on your lips later, short and gentle, as you murmured your thanks and a tender "I love you."

[thicctails]

Replacement | I Grow Maddened (with grief) AU

Itssss Dipper's turn!!

____________________

The ground smelled like ash.

That was the only thing Dipper could think about as he lay on his stomach, face pressed into the cracked earth, still scorched from where Gideon's robot had slammed into it only a month prior. He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there for, his aching body crumpled on the ruined ground. The sky above was swirling and pulsing like an optical illusion, long gashes of flickering light tearing it open in multiple places.

Bill reigned supreme here, and Dipper was sure that it would only be a matter of time before either his Henchmaniacs or dapper demon himself found him. Logically, he knew that he should push himself up, that he needed to find his way back to the Shack, where it was safe, but...

...what was the point when he would be going back alone?

Mabel had chosen her fantasy over him. She'd replaced him with a "more supportive" version of himself in a heartbeat, uncaring about what had happened to her real brother. She didn't want the "lame" Dipper anymore.

She didn't want him anymore.

His next intake of breath was shaking and wobbly, and when he breathed out again, it manifested as a sound that someone only makes when they're about to start crying.

Sure enough, a ragged sob tore itself from Dipper's chest, and he turned his head to press his bruised, bleeding arm against his eyes. Tears flooded down his scratched cheeks, washing away some of the filth that coated his skin from days of surviving all alone.

And that's what he was now, wasn't it? Alone. Mabel had abandoned him, Wendy had run off with her "friends" the first chance she got, and even Soos, the man who had called them his real family, had left him to play a game of catch with the barebones idea of his father.

Great Uncle Ford was captured, and he didn't know where Grunkle Stan was, or if he was safe, or if he was even still-

Dipper's whole body shuddered as he began to sob harder, the ash-tainted soil coating his tongue and causing him to gag as his gasps stirred it up into the air. He could barely breathe as mucus and dirt pooled in his throat, his empty stomach heaving as he gagged. Bitter stomach acid scorched his already raw throat, and Dipper barely had time to shove himself up off the ground as he vomited, the liquid just barely missing his trembling form.

Spitting out what remained of the vile liquid, Dipper pulled his knees up to his chest and tucked his face into them, pulling his tattered hat down as far as he could. He continued to cry, unable to do anything else.

What could he do?

Where could he go?

He thought that he'd gotten braver this summer, had finally toughened up enough to be able to stand up for himself and fight back, but here he was, wailing and shaking like a leaf, wanting nothing more than to hold his sister's hand, to hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

"Dipper?"

Oh great, now he was having auditory hallucinations. Had his time in Mabeland done something to his head? Was this one of Bill's sick jokes?

"Dipper!"

The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching barely registered, but when he finally noticed them, he slowly started to raise his head. He only managed to catch a glimpse of something pink barreling towards him before he was tackled to the ground, arms flying around his neck.

Dipper screamed, kicking out wildly as he tried to shake of whatever it was that had him in its grasp. There was something soft brushing against the underside of his chin, and he could feel warm breath against his neck. He took in another breath, this time to scream for help, when the smell of bubblegum reached his nose. Dipper froze, the familiarity of it paralyzing him.

It couldn't be...

The thing holding him shifted, one arm reaching around to snatch the back of his ripped up vest, tugging him in closer, the other coming to rest on the back of his head. The touch was desperate but kind, and now that his own blood wasn't rushing in his ears, Dipper could hear that his attacker was sobbing, tears dripping onto his collarbone. He looked down, and saw brown hair that perfectly matched the colour of his own.

"Mabel?" he croaked, unable to believe what he was seeing. She... she'd come back for him?

The sobs got louder, and he could feel her nod against his neck. Dipper instinctively wrapped his own arms around her, hugging her back with as much strength as his broken body would allow. He began to shake again, and he gripped Mabel's sweater with all his might, trying to keep himself grounded.

"Mabel my dear, where did you- oh!"

Dipper's head whipped up at the new voice, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. His great uncle stepped out of the scorched woods, sporting a long black cloak overtop of the red turtleneck Dipper was used to seeing him in and with his glasses partially broken, but otherwise looking just fine. The elder man gave Dipper a warm smile and quickly made his way over to the twins, kneeling down next to them and opening up his arms.

Dipper's lip wobbled as he unlatched one of his fists from Mabel's sweater to grab onto Grunkle Ford's jacket, all but collapsing into him as fresh tears spilled down his face.

"H- h- how- I saw you get taken! How did you get away from- from Bill?!" Dipper hiccuped, sniffling as his Grunkle pulled both him and Mabel into a warm, secure hug.

"Umm, Dipper?" Mabel mumbled, still hiding in his neck, "He's, um..."

"What your sister is trying to say, my dear boy," Grunkle Ford said, "is that I'm not your Stanford Pines."

Dipper jerked back, still clinging to his sister. He looked up, and that was when he noticed it; the man before him had blue eyes, not brown, like his Grunkle had. One of them was also a milky white and covered in fresh scars, two jagged wounds that marred his face and stood out against his pale skin.

The small differences on an otherwise perfect copy of his Grunkle sent chills racing up Dipper’s spine, and he tensed up, hackles raising. He leaned back as far as he could, but this… False Ford was still holding him and Mabel, and his twin didn’t seem at all disturbed or surprised at this confession. Actually, now that he was looking for them, he could see differences in Mabel as well. She looked exhausted in a way he had never seen, not even when she’d stay up with Candy and Grenda all night, and her sweater was different to the one he’d seen her in earlier. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of light and optimism, had dulled slightly, holding the distant gaze of someone who’d seen something that would keep them up at night for years to come. 

Dipper recognized it because it was what he saw every time he looked in the mirror.

“Who… who are you?” Dipper asked quietly, not sure how to feel, but disliking the way his gut churned with nervousness.

“We're still your family, Dipper, but me and Mabel have come from other realities. I lost my niece and nephew, but I cannot live without you two, and neither can Stanley, so I decided to come searching for a version of you and your sister who needed a new family too.” The False Ford explained. The man's gaze softened into something sad as he gently brushed some of the dirt off Dipper's cheek with his thumb, “You've been through a lot, haven't you? If you come with us, I promise that I'll always keep you safe. You'll never have to worry about being alone ever again.”

Dipper unconsciously leaned into Ford's hand, starved for comfort and teetering on the edge of sleep. The feeling of being held and having his sister clinging onto him, grounding him, was enough to pull at his already heavy eyelids. What this other version of his Grunkle was offering sounded so nice, and it wasn't as if staying would do him any good.

However, the thought of leaving everything, everyone, behind didn't settle well with him. He wasn't sure what he could do for them, but it seemed so wrong to just abandon them to their fates. What about Grunkle Stan, and his Grunkle Ford? What about Soos, Wendy, and… and Mabel? What would happen to them?

“Please, Dipper,” the small, pleading voice of his sister made him turn his head, and he saw Mabel looking back at him, her eyes wet and shiny with tears, “please come with us. I can't lose you again.” 

Dipper sucked in a shaking breath and, after a moment, nodded. What choice did he have, when this version of his twin was begging him to stay with her? He'd never been able to say no to Mabel.

“Okay.” he whispered, guilt smoldering in the pit of his stomach like the embers of a dying fire, “I'll, I'll come with you. But what about everyone here? Bill has control over the town, and who knows how long we have before he decides to go after the whole world!”

“Oh, don't worry about that.” His new Grunkle said, pushing off the ground and bringing the twins in closer to his chest. Dipper lay his head on the man's jacket, breathing in the familiar scent of pine needles, coffee, and smoke. A six fingered hand began to gently rub his back, soothing his nerves and finally stopping his tears, “Bill won't ever be able to leave Gravity Falls. There's an ancient barrier that will keep him trapped. I'll return here and kill him myself, once you two are settled. For now, there's a handyman, a cashier, and a pig who would like to see you two very much.”

“Whuh ‘bout Grunkle Stan?” Dipper murmured, shifting himself so he was closer to Mabel, who quickly wrapped her arms around him.

“He's… very sick right now. He got injured during a monster attack, and got a nasty illness from it. I need to keep him under isolated quarantine, but I promise that, once he's better, you two will be the first to see him.” Ford promised.

“Okay… love you Grunkle Ford. Love you, Mabel.” the boy whispered, finally giving in to the exhaustion brought on by days of little to no food and even less sleep.

“I love you too, Dipping Sauce.” Mabel giggled softly, the sound coming out strangely from her raw throat. 

Ford hummed in agreement and kissed the top of both of their heads before starting back towards Soos and the open rift. The man had volunteered to stay behind and guard the tear in reality when they saw the state of the world, not wanting to risk any dangerous creatures crossing over into their reality. Just as they reached the treeline, however, there was a loud *POP* from behind them.

Ford turned, and his eyes widened when he saw that the large, pink prison bubble, which had previously floated ominously above them, was now disintegrating into nothing, flaking away like burnt paper. Four figures tumbled out and onto the ground a small ways away from where Dipper had been, each one familiar to both the man and the preteen.

“Is that…” Mabel started, eyes widening when she saw herself sit up and look around, face pinched with distress.

“Mnh, I suppose they finally came to their senses.” Ford grumbled, before looking down at Mabel, who was still staring at her doppelganger, “I think it would be best if we took our leave. I haven't stabilized you yet, so it's in our best interest to avoid confrontation.”

Mabel glanced up at her Grunkle, then back at the other Mabel, who had picked something up off the ground. It was Dipper's hat, and the other Mabel was clearly distressed to see her (their?) brother's most treasured accessory so carelessly discarded on the ground, if the look on her face was anything to go off of.

“Okay, Grunkle Ford.” she replied, snuggling in closer to her twin. 

If that other version of her really loved Dipper, then she wouldn't have found him having a panic attack in the dirt, half starved and looking as though a gentle breeze would knock him over.

It would be alright now, though. Mabel would make sure that Dipper was comfortable and fed when they got home, and then they would both get double Waddles’ cuddles and plenty of Mabel Juice. She would even knit him a new hat if they couldn't find a replacement in the gift shop.

It was all going to be okay.

[winterspiderpurrs]

I want a decently long story of Bucky just stalking Peter from a far and befriending him, just do keep stalking him from close up and convincing Peter that his current girlfriend is toxic just to have Peter. It’s toxic and Steve can see it, upset with Bucky. Gets to the point Bucky is sick of Steve’s nagging and nearly beats him to death. He panics and threatens Steve to keep his mouth shut.

Ends with Peter asleep in Bucky’s arms upset because he thinks MJ is awful. Just where Bucky wants him

I’m sorry for spamming prompts, you’re the only one who delivers such beautiful stories that I need more. Your work is so good

" It doesn't have to be like this Buck"

Steve dodges another punch thrown at him, landing a hit on Bucky's shoulder.

" I know. You just need to keep your mouth shut. It's none of your business."

Steve rolls his eyes, and shoves Bucky after Bucky pushed him back against a wall.

" I'm just worried about you. And Peter and MJ"

Bucky now stands a few feet away from Steve, he wipes at his nose, its bleeding a little.

" There is nothing to worry about. I'm just being a friend to Peter. Helping him out with his girl problem is all."

Sighing, Steve runs his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it back into place.

" Sure, and implying stuff she is doing? Making Peter doubt her?.... Buck... I've seen your office"

" It's my office in my apartment. Its private you had NO business going in there and snooping at stuff that you don't even understand."

Steve waves his hands around and then point to the door leading to the office.

" No snooping needed. That room is covered in hundreds of photos of Peter. And don't think I didn't notice the surveillance camera of his room. This has got to stop before it gets worse. It's already out of hand."

"What's out of hand is you being in my business. Sure I like Peter. I'll admit it. But I am his friend 1st and that isn't going to stop be being friends with him. You know how often he comes home injuried? Almost everytime he goes on patrol. Stark isn't watching him. Gave him that fancy suit but can't even teach the kid basic aid?"

Bucky starts pacing around.

" Someone needs to look out for him. Sure, it's a bit overboard. But in the past 6 months, I've pulled out 3 bullets that didn't go through on him. "

Bucky sighs and then goes to sit down on the couch. He never planned on anyone finding out about his small[big] obsession with Peter. He was just too good for this world. Peter was comfortable with him, and not even Steve fully lets his guard down arouns him like Peter does.

Peter is affectionate and tactical, god does he love the hugs he gets from him. But MJ wasn't worried about Peter, she can't relate to him, to Peter's need to help everyone. She just wanted attention on her, and what she felt was important. He didn't like how she looked at him. Like she was scared and pissed at him. Constantly complaining, never satisfied. She doesn't see the effort Peter tries to put in. Some things are just more important than date night, like saving the city. She just doesn't understand.

But Bucky does. He knows what self sacrifice is, putting others first. After all these years, he finally wants to be selfish. He wants Peter all to himself. He isn't going to snatch Peter up and hide him away. Peter just needs to come to him willingly. He has already opened the door to the possibility to him. Looking down so Steve can't see his face, he smiles faintly. He got so close a few weeks ago.

Peter and Bucky were at the compound. They just finished a routine training session. They were going to stay the night, so they decided on movies. Started a drinking game to Lord Of The Rings. Sure, they can't truly get drunk, but with enough alcohol they could feel buzzed for a few. It was a good bonding moment. And that's when the topic of slash fiction gets brought up by Peter.

" The what?"

Peter flushes. " Well, like... a lot of people online write up these stories? Like fan responses. Like... a lot of fans think Legolas should get with Aragon in a romantic way"

Bucky stares at Peter for a moment, he looks back at the screen and tilts his head before nodding.

" With seeing the actors... that would be a pretty sight to see."

" Right? Cause like they are... wait what... your okay with that? I thought that well..."

" That I would be uncomfortable? I know the stories have me as good with the ladies. But I've never shied away from a good time with a guy. Course, it was illegal then, but I think it's called being Bi now."

Bucky just shrugs and takes another sip of his beer. He watched Peter's reaction. He knows, based on his research, into Peter that he as well was not straight. But he had never said anything to anyone openly.

Peter's eyes widen as he stares at Bucky, and Bucky can't help but feel the warm that spread throughout his chest when Peter gaze goes to his lips and gives him a once over. Before blushing and giving him a shy smile. " I'm Bi too. "

Bucky shakes his head, shoving the memory back before looking over at Steve.

" I'm not going to start anything with him. If he wants to be more then just friends, Peter will have to make yhe move. I promise you Stevie. I'm not approaching him that way. He will have to come to me"

Steve sighs " Thats all well and good Bucky. But if this happens, I can't protect you from Tony again. Its a line you are crossing, and... I do want you happy. You know that. "

" I know..."

And it was a few days after that, and one room overhaul to hide his... extra surveillance of Peter in another location, when Peter called him. He almost got his gun when he heard the teary voice on the line. Peter asked to come over cause he didn't want to be alone right now.

When Bucky opened the door, his shoulders dropped a little. The look on Peter's face was just so heartbreaking.

" Oh Doll... come here"

Peter stumbles into Bucky's arm and wraps him into a hug. Closing the door, Bucky wraps one of his arms around Peter, before shifting their bodies sonhe could pick Peter up and carry him over to the couch.

" I got ya Pete... don't worry I'll take care of you"

Bucky wasn't assassin for nothing. He always gets his target.

[mercurygray]

March prompts: Daisy chain 😊

Poets couldn't make more perfect days than this.

The day was clear and warm, the last of the summer slowly dribbling away as autumn poked its head around the corner. Far away across the field the leaves were just starting to turn, and here in the grass everything around them was tall and brown with summer, full of daisies and the very last of the cornflowers.

This was one of the only places on the base they could go to be alone. Bucky was stretched out with his hands folded behind his head, uniform jacket tossed over the bag she'd brought the picnic in. The blanket he was lying on was her standard army issue one, pulled from the end of her bed, and Cord had a sudden thought that when they were done here there was a faint chance it was going to smell like him.

She turned her face up to the sun, closing her eyes and breathing deep. She could remember lots of afternoons like this, sitting out at the air races with her dad, ten or eleven years old and bored to death that they had to sit and watch another round of planes go by. He'd pulled up dandelions, in between the heats, and taught her how to make them into crowns, grabbing the longest and leggiest plants. I used to make these for your mother, he'd told her, hands moving gracefully in and out.

It wasn't until she was older that she realized that it wasn't ever her mother sending her away but her father taking her with - to share something that mattered to him, sure, but to get her out of the house for the afternoon, give her mother time to rest. That was early, when they didn't know how sick she was - or how much time she had left.

Two years later, when the grass was starting to grow over her grave, when the air races were back she asked to go. They sat in the outfield with their orange Nehis and wax-papered sandwiches, and Cord remembered aloud how her mom had always made them ham and cheese. Her father explained that was because it was easy, and he'd never told her how much he hated ham, and Cord realized then just how much her father missed her mother.

Her fingers still remembered the movements, after a few false starts - she snuck some cornflowers in, here and there, just to see how the blue looked.

"Here, sit up."

Bucky opened his eyes and sniffed, forcing himself upright, and she placed the circlet of flowers on his head and sat back on her knees to admire him, the sun touching the flowers with extra snap, their white faces brilliant in the sunshine.

He gingerly touched the crown, his fingers almost comically large next to the little daisies. "How do I look?" he asked. "Does this make me king of something?"

"Do you want to be king?"

"I do, yeah." His smile was all warmth and summer, eyes creasing with joy, and she thought for a moment of Puck, ready to make mischief.

"King of the pilots?"

"Nah, I'm already one of those," he said with a grin, leaning forward so his face was closer to her own, raising one hand to her face, his thumb tracing the line of her chin. "I want to be the king of kissing you."

He said things and meant them, John Egan, and she both knew that it was silly to argue and pointless to try. "Guess you'd better get started then," she said, and his lips were sudden and warm, his body urging her backwards until she was giggling in the grass, and he was opening her shirt, and the daisies were tickling her skin, and she was at home in his arms and queen of everything.

[mlqueen89]

never find another like me | 02. football (the lasso way)

pairing: jamie tartt x OFC (ted lasso) 

rating: T 

word count: 6,875

summary: in which Nat realizes there's no going back and that if one says soccer when talking about football, they might be thrown out of England entirely. 

A/N: The bitch is back. Sorry guys! Thanks for sticking with me. More random life updates available if you’re interested, if not that’s cool too! 

On another note, I'm trying to follow the Ted Lasso storyline in the background. There are some minor inaccuracies re: timeline, so if you're like "hmm" - just ignore it because it’s throwing my vibe. The Ted Lasso timeline is an enigma in and of itself.

This one is supposed to take place around 03x02 (I don’t want to go to Chelsea). Big "thank you" for this one goes to TTPD (aka female rage, the musical), and the myth, the woman, the legend, Taylor Swift. 

Feedback is always appreciated and let me know if anyone wants to be tagged.    

never find another like me masterlist | previous chapter

The ride back to Richmond from the city was filled with a varying range of feelings which Nat navigated quietly, deflecting the questions of the cab driver with friendly, half-attentive chit-chat as she watched the blur of unfamiliar scenery pass outside the window.

Two weeks. Nat had exactly two weeks to learn an entire sport, complete with its own set of rules, teams, history, rivalries and fan bases.

Two weeks to pull together something that sounded half-decent on paper and passed the scrutiny of Tomas Sharon and his panel. Even then, if her article was published, it would go out to the public, and she’d have to pass the test of their narrowed eyes as they read her words.

Honestly, she’d been so busy thinking about how to get away from New York that she never stopped for a moment to consider if it would actually, truly work.

The fact of the matter was returning to New York now wasn't a possibility—Nat had already decided as much by the time the cab pulled up (accidentally) a block away from Zoreaux’s place and she’d walked the rest of the way, trudging. 

As she walked through the quiet neighborhood, women running by in groups, young families pushing strollers in the midday sun, the familiar sense of dread settled over her. The thought of going back to New York felt like stepping into a trap she had set herself. Going back to New York, tail tucked firmly between her legs, meant returning to the sphere where Adam and Inez existed, together, haunting the same places Nat had loved, living the life Nat had once thought was hers. Though New York was a big city, there were reminders of Adam everywhere, echoes of him and what was once a them, lurking around every corner where she and Inez once shared secrets and hopes and trust.

She imagined what that return would be like: Adam would find some twisted way to spin her leaving as a footnote in his personal narrative. She could practically hear the false humility in his voice when he’d say something along the lines of, “It just wasn't meant to be, you know? Funny how things work out. First you and I and now this whole jaunt across the ocean. I mean, how long did you think it would last, Nattie?” And Inez would smile along, her betrayal concealed behind a veil of politeness.

Realistically, Perry would welcome her back, give her the small desk at the end of the long 41st floor of the New York Times Building in midtown, right by the water cooler that bubbled every two minutes. Eventually, she’d learn to tune out the gurgling and the weird laugh of the guy from print who always talked about his Corgi “Princess,” as he leaned against it doing anything but work, but Nat wasn’t sure she would get out from under the memory that she’d left and returned, like a lost soul, drifting between escapes, foolish and love-sick.

The worst part was it would undeniably plant a seed of doubt in Perry. A black mark on her record that she couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t live up to his expectations of her, of someone he invested time and hope and effort in. Ultimately, this would be just another thing that Adam took from her on a list of things already including an entire city, a few spectacular bands and a best friend. She could see it now, going to work every day, sitting in copy edit meetings with Adam as he chatted to their colleagues about his weekend plans with Inez. He would look at Nat and smile and use words like “serendipitous” and “fated” and thank her for leading him down the road that led him straight into the arms of someone else. It would be her very own, personal slice of hell.

The thought alone churned her stomach. Self-imposed exile, even if temporary, was the only choice. 

After battling a stiff lock and falling through the front door of Zoreaux’s place, Nat blew out a noisy breath. Shoes kicked aside, she marched upstairs, determination growing marginally. Two weeks, she had two weeks to avoid the failure of returning to the Empire State, and the clock had already started ticking. 

Slipping into more comfortable clothes, she folded herself, cross-legged onto the small bed, tripping over a box of what looked like signed programs with Zoreaux’s face on them in the process. She made a quick mental note to question him about those later (read: tease him incessantly) before she leaned over to grab her laptop and cracked it open, navigating her way to an empty document.

Straightening her back, Nat shook out her hands and stared at the blank screen, willing the words to come. Under a “note” header, Nat quickly typed: Soccer is called Football here. Don’t call it ‘soccer’. 

Great. Groundbreaking progress.

Fidgeting, Nat could feel the nervous energy simmering below the surface, chewing the inside of her cheek as she stared at the blinking cursor on the otherwise blank screen.

Opening a new browser window on her phone, Nat typed in “Ted Lasso Richmond”. Quickly, the page refreshed with the returned results: 

Lasso Leads Lads to Ladder-up in League 

Coach Kent: Transformation from Retirement to Lasso Right Hand Man 

Lasso: Richmond’s Saviour? 

Jamie Tartt Talks Promotion: “Ain’t No “I” in Team”. 

Nat tapped on the first story, the page populating with a large image of Ted Lasso, moustache prominent and perfectly managed, push broom straight, at the top middle of the page. 

Coach Lasso has been through it–from the wanker of last season to the Wanker of this past turn in the Championship, fans now praise the Yank for lifting Richmond out of exile, both, ironically, with the helping boot of football superstar, Jamie Tartt. 

“Well, as my good friend Coach Beard here says, the only thing worse than being a wanker is being the wanker who’s out of ideas!” Lasso’s signature optimism shines through as he reflects on the team’s journey. “But the thing is, you keep showing up, you keep pushing forward, and sometimes the world surprises you. These fellas are special all on their own, ain’t got nothin’ ta do with me.” 

Nat locked her phone, pressing the cool glass of the screen to her forehead in a moment of silent reflection.

This wasn’t going to be a fluff travel piece to fill space on a back page or a review of a new Italian hipster place in Astoria she’d polished a bit too much because the waiter was kind and brought her extra “parma-cheesy” breadsticks.

This had to be different–this had to mean something. Frustrated, Nat blew out noisily before setting her laptop down and throwing her legs over the side of the bed, abandoning her nest. 

After wandering around Zoreaux’s place aimlessly, poking her head into rooms she hadn’t remembered seeing on the very brief first tour, Nat caved. There was no use staying in because she would be alone for the rest of the day and night anyway. Zoreaux had mentioned the away game in passing (again) when they met in the foyer and went their separate ways in the morning. Maybe showing herself around Richmond was a better idea. 

After finding her way out of the maze that was Zoreaux’s neighbourhood, it didn’t take her long to find a small pub, the Crown & Anchor, half-full of what Nat recognized as the red and blue of AFC Richmond jerseys. It felt like a sign, a big pointing arrow in her thus far, directionless walk.

“What can I get you, love?” The woman behind the bar nodded at Nat, sliding a coaster across the bar top in anticipation as Nat stepped into the pub and settled onto a stool.

“Beer. Please. Surprise me.”

“Smart choice,” she nodded once before she turned away to pull a pint.

Nat glanced around the dimly lit pub while she waited, taking in the lively energy that buzzed in the air. The Crown & Anchor was cozy, with walls adorned with what looked to be AFC Richmond memorabilia, corner booths and seats at the bar already filling with chattering groups, most sporting Richmond colours. It felt like the kind of place where the locals gathered for match days, sharing both triumphs and frustrations over a pint.

As she settled on her stool, she caught snippets of conversation from a group nearby, their animated discussion clearly focused on the upcoming game, the season opener against Chelsea. Despite not being versed in the details of Richmond’s season, she recognized the passion—something that, in a way, reminded her of the bars back in New York, where everyone had an opinion (usually loud) about something.

The bartender returned, placing a pint of golden beer in front of Nat with a knowing smile. “One of my personal favorites,” she said with a wink. “Reckon you’ll like it.”

Nat raised the glass in thanks, taking a tentative sip. The cool bitterness of the beer was a welcome comfort, grounding her after a day that had felt strangely disjointed. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of Richmond, the newness of everything, or the fact that for once, she was on her own, untethered from someone else’s schedule. 

“Not bad,” she nodded approvingly before taking a longer sip.

The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the low murmur of the pre-game talking heads’ chatter about the upcoming match playing on the screen behind the bar all blended into a background that felt easy. It felt like something vaguely familiar, a small spark of familiarity she could hold onto, even though she was miles away from where she’d started just two days earlier.

“First time here?” the bartender asked casually, wiping down the bar and glancing over at Nat.

“Yeah,” Nat replied with a smile. “Just escaping for a bit. Thought I’d see if Richmond had anything worth escaping to.”

“Good choice startin’ here,” the bartender gave her a knowing look. “Stick around long enough, and you’ll be one of the regulars.” 

Nat laughed softly, unsure of how long she’d actually be sticking around, but the thought of becoming part of the rhythm of this place was oddly comforting. Felt like it was something she could look forward to. For now, this felt like a fresh start. Definitely far and away from anything she was used to.

Truthfully, she’d never purposely sought out sports bars; never imagined that she’d be the type of girl who painted her face and wore a jersey, screaming at a television or whooping and hollering when her team won. She didn’t even have a team to call hers. Of course she’d supported Zoreaux when he’d played for the Montreal Impact and followed his transfer to Richmond enough to be able to congratulate him and keep up with small talk when the need for it came up, but that was the extent of it. Nat never understood why Adam had been so invested in his fantasy (American) football league, or why he’d had to see every Yankees game at the bar in Brooklyn if he couldn’t see the games in person. Then again, Adam never understood why she binge watched Grey’s Anatomy and New Girl or lit up when fall and Halloween rolled around. When Nat tried to sit and watch a game with him, Adam always waved at her dismissively when she asked a question about rules or teams or players, about what this term meant and why each team had so many jerseys. Eventually, Nat stopped asking. It was almost comical how red the flags were in hindsight.

Nat’s eyes must have glazed over, because the next question shook her out of her thoughts, her eyes sliding up to meet the barkeep’s gaze. “Everything all right, dear?”��

“Am I that obvious?” She was. The thought of lying and saying she was fine never crossed her mind. If she couldn’t be truthful with a stranger, who could she be truthful with? 

“Not to worry, love. I’m just an excellent barkeep.” The woman busied herself behind the bar, filling drink orders as the bar filled with more jersey clad patrons, but her attention always came back to Nat. “From the looks of ya, I’d say… bad breakup.”

Nat blinked, taken aback by the bartender’s uncanny read of her situation. She laughed, short and albeit a bit uneasily, taking a sip of her beer. This bartender was good at her job for sure – she had Nat’s number on that one. 

Bad breakup was a brief, yet appropriate summation of the situation. Bad breakups usually involved drastic haircuts and clubbing, drinking and leaning on friends for support while blasting Taylor Swift until the wee hours of the morning, alternating between anger and fits of sobbing. Bad breakup (Nat’s Version) didn’t come with screaming matches or dramatic exits. It wasn’t even about escaping Adam, really, though that aspect of it helped. It was more about escaping the crushing weight of staying. Staying in the apartment they’d shared, the city where they’d built routines together, and ghosting the people who knew them as a unit, hand in hand, hip to hip. 

Throwing herself into something she knew nothing about—football and sports journalism in this case—was “classic Nat”. At least that’s what Hannah, her yoga studio friend, had said when she’d gotten wind of the breakup and texted asking Nat if she was coming to “drink her face off” and scream into the wind near the Brooklyn Bridge on the walk home. 

When faced with hard, Nat leapt and then looked. Keep the body moving, keep the mind occupied, and maybe the rest wouldn’t catch up, at least not until she was ready to face it head on. The alternative, she knew, was far more dangerous. She’d seen what happened when she let herself stop. That’s when the numbness hit, followed by nights watching Ever After on loop, Sleepless in Seattle right after, with Notting Hill cued up next. Ice cream tubs piled high in her apartment, tissues scattered like snowflakes, leaving her too tired to cry, too spent to think, stuck in a place where the only thing that felt real was the ache of her own loneliness.

“Yeah, something like that,” she admitted, swirling the glass slowly in her hands. It wasn’t like she was drowning in heartbreak, but the reminder of Adam still stung in the quiet moments. The waves of their relationship’s failures often hit when she wasn’t expecting it—like here, in this quaint little pub, surrounded by strangers and the echo of excited chants from fans who were so deeply invested, eager for a new season, a new start.

“Thought so,” the bartender said with a knowing smile, leaning on the bar for a moment. “This place has seen its fair share of heartbreaks. Football seems to mend some of them, though. Well, at least it keeps you distracted for a while.”

Nat smiled, grateful for the small kindness. “Maybe that’s what I need—something to get my mind off things.” She glanced around at the growing crowd, their banter and excitement infectious. “Doesn't hurt to try something new.”

The bartender nodded sagely. “That’s the spirit. Football’s a wild ride, though—full of ups and downs. Kind of like relationships, actually. One minute, you’re on top of the world, and the next, you’re cursing the ref for ruining everything.”

Nat leaned back on the barstool, “do you have any more classic bartender advice you’d be willing to share?”

She paused for a moment as if to think on it, before flipping the towel she had been drying pint glasses with over her shoulder. “My mum used to say, ‘Mae, what’s meant to be yours, no one can take away,’” Mae slid a bowl of bar nuts toward Nat with purpose. “No one has the power to make you feel something you don’t want to feel. You own it.”

Nat nodded slowly, rolling the idea around, “ownership of your own destiny. Very poetic. I like it.”

“Not sure about destiny, love. All I’m trying to say is don’t forget to have a little fun along the way. You’re young—not all change has to be bad.”

Before Nat could reply, the door tinkled and a man in a full suit, complete with top hat breezed past, heading to the far end of the bar. Mae winked and leaned a little closer as if she were about to share a secret. “You wanna know the best piece of advice I got after I divorced my second husband? The sure-fire way to get over one shithead is to get under someone else.”

Nat let out a soft laugh, absorbing the comment. She couldn’t deny it was blunt, but it wasn’t the worst advice she’d ever heard. 

By the time the game ended in a 1-1 tie— “draw,” Mae had firmly corrected when Nat quietly joined in the contagious cheering—the idea of writing an article on the team had started to take root. 

After chatting with a few enthusiastic fans about Richmond’s recent signing of someone named Zava and catching glimpses of a viral clip called “The Veggie Dog Vigilante,” Nat decided it was time to head back.  

The rest of the day, she’d sat in front of her laptop and furiously typed: ideas, notes on what she’d need to research further, the image of the Crown & Anchor filled with fans, excitement and anticipation. The words spilled like a torrent into a word document. When the sound of Zoreaux coming home brought her back to the real world—a world in which she remembered she hadn’t eaten anything since the game ended—she was both starving and bouncing off the walls. 

“You killed it today,” Nat announced, swinging into the kitchen where she could hear a significant amount of Zoreaux-like rustling and the occasional bar of a muffled Eminem song. There was a spring in her step as she hopped off the last stair. 

“You watched the match?” Zoreaux’s surprise was evident, the look on his face incredulous as his head popped out from behind the open fridge door, the Beats hanging around his neck still thumping with music. 

“Maybe,” Nat shrugged playfully, approaching the fridge and reaching past Zoreaux to grab one of the many stacked brown takeaway boxes inside, her stomach grumbling. 

“And? Any first impressions?” 

“Exciting - I think?” Nat shrugged, peeling back the lid of the takeout box before she sharply closed it again, her nose turned up at whatever had once been in the container, holding it at arm’s length. Through a squinted gaze and past a grease stain, Nat could vaguely read the Taste of Athens logo. “Definitely more exciting than whatever this was.” 

“Ah—sorry, don’t have many house guests,” Zoreaux footed the pedal on the garbage can, and Nat dropped the offending takeout box in on cue. “You hungry?” he asked. 

“Starving,” Nat replied without hesitation, hopping onto a barstool at the kitchen island, her fist wedged under her chin. “Midnight poutine?” 

Zoreaux’s eyes lit up, his phone already halfway out of his hoodie pocket before his excitement waned and his shoulders sagged. “I don’t think they have that around here.” 

“Midnight—uh,” Nat shrugged, rifling through a drawer and pulling out the first takeaway flyer she found. “Kebabs, then?” 

Zoreaux smirked, nodding as he began scrolling through his phone.  

Somewhere between ordering kebabs and laughing about Nat watching the game in a pub, Zoreaux convinced her that the best pairing for midnight kebabs was a horror movie. 

“This brings back memories, eh?” Zoreaux said, hopping over the back of the couch with his long legs, causing popcorn to spill slightly from the bowl he held. He grabbed the remote and started searching for the latest horror flick, a tradition he and Nat had shared for years. 

“Oh, you mean those memories? Like good ones or nightmare-inducing Insidious ones?” Nat teased as she followed him into the living room, her arms full of mismatched drinks gathered from the fridge and the kebab bag dangling from her fingers. 

Zoreaux laughed. “C’mon, you were definitely just a super scared 16-year-old.” 

“Excuse me,” Nat scoffed loudly, setting the drinks on the coffee table. “I was 13 and slept with the lights on for a month.” 

Zoreaux grinned, the memory clearly still sharp. “The tooth fairy one was way worse,” he said, mimicking teeth pulling with pliers. Nat cringed, waving her hand to make him stop before sinking into the couch. 

“Thanks for that,” she muttered sarcastically, pulling out the takeaway boxes and setting one in front of him. “I’d actually forgotten about that one.” 

If there was one thing Nat remembered vividly, it was the Insidious incident.

It had been her first week staying with the Zoreauxs. Thierry had rented the movie in secret while his mom was at synagogue, despite Hettie Zoreaux’s firm rule of no scary movies and no friends over late on school nights. Against her better judgment and newly minted teenage instincts, Nat sat behind Thierry and his friends, unable to look away even as she peeked through her fingers. 

Now, settling into the too-large couch, Nat let her head rest on Zoreaux’s shoulder, her eyes drifting toward the TV as the opening credits rolled. “Sorry I’ve been distant lately, well, I guess more like over the last three years or so, it’s just—" 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Zoreaux interrupted gently, nudging the popcorn bowl into her lap before resting his head against hers. “We don’t have to talk all the time to still be family. I’m really glad you’re here. And Maman always talks about how you never forget to send her flowers. Between you and Marcus, I’m not sure who makes me look worse.” 

Nat chuckled at the mention of Zoreaux’s older brother as she felt herself relax, wondering why she’d been so hesitant to visit Thierry in the first place. Probably because she’d been so wrapped up in Adam, so malleable when he always managed to talk her out it, convinced her that her time was better spent with him or that he hated the idea of her going alone. Now that she was on the outside of that pull, of his influence and orbit, it was painfully obvious that she had been to blame for listening, for not pushing back, for being blind to it all. 

“Are you kidding? I could never forget Maman’s birthday,” Nat scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “I have a flower guy in Saint Laurent. Pierre never lets me down—tiger lilies for her birthday, begonias for Mother’s Day.” 

“Hey Siri, set a reminder for tomorrow: find a better flower guy in Saint Laurent than Pierre,” Zoreaux half-yelled at his hoodie’s pocket, and Siri, muffled, dutifully repeated his command. 

“Good luck with that.” 

After a moment, Zoreaux dropped the kebab bag on the table and turned to her. “Did you know we have a trick play named after midnight poutine?” 

“Really?” Nat asked, intrigued as she tucked her legs under herself, setting the kebab box on her lap. “You’ll have to tell me about it while I pretend to watch this movie.” She glanced at the screen without much interest, already digging into her food. Whatever movie Zoreaux had settled on would be sure to have her squirming and watching through the sleeves of her sweater. 

Zoreaux started recounting a story about Jamie and Man City and trick plays (of which she made a mental note to ask more about after) when Nat’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Without thinking, she pulled it out and glanced at the message. 

The text made her stomach sink:

Just talked to Adam. Call me ASAP. xx Mom. 

“Hey, no phones,” Zoreaux scolded playfully, swatting at her hand until she stuffed the phone deep into the couch cushions, her heart heavy and stomach flip-flopping with the weight of her mother’s message. 

Nat sat hunched over her laptop in the corner of a small Richmond coffee shop, her eyes flitting back and forth between the blinking cursor on her screen and the pile of empty coffee cups scattered across the table. 

Between the unexpected text and the vivid images of the ghostly bride from Zoreaux’s movie pick flashing in her mind’s eye, Nat hadn’t slept more than a handful of minutes here and there. By the time her alarm went off, just as the light was just creeping in through the split in the blinds she couldn’t keep closed, she quickly silenced it, dressed and headed out the door into the crisp morning air, intent on hunting down a coffee shop where she could hole up and hammer out at least the bare bones of the article.  

The deadline loomed like an ever-darkening cloud, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the article to come together. The more she looked at the collection of words on the screen (her post-game brain dump) and her notes, scribbled in the beat-up notebook she carted around everywhere, the less clear they became. At this point, Nat wasn’t sure the words made sense or were even in the right language. Football (she repeated the word in her head like a mantra to avoid calling it “soccer” out loud) was proving to be her undoing. 

Sighing deeply, she pinched the bridge of her nose as the barista shot her another disapproving glare from behind the counter across the shop.

Glancing at the clock at the bottom of her screen, Nat grabbed the closest takeaway cup, draining the small dribble of now ice-cold coffee at the bottom with a grimace. She’d been there at least since just before the sun had come up, ordering another coffee every time she felt the 20-something hipster barista throw a look her way in between serving customers and scrolling through her phone. Now, hours later, she was still ordering the coffee she didn’t need, just to avoid getting kicked out by Coffee Himmler watching her like a hawk.

Any moment now, Nat predicted her stomach would start to protest the introduction of yet more coffee, the single croissant she’d devoured floating in the sea of caffeine, of little help. 

“Alright, alright,” Nat muttered under her breath, more to herself than to anyone, her fingers hovering over her laptop keys, wiggling momentarily as though she could cast a spell, will the article to write itself. “I’ll get another coffee in a minute, just... give me a second.” 

Nat heard someone approach her table. The barista, ready to give her another pointed reminder about paying customers and time and loitering, she assumed as she mustered the sheepish apology. But her words didn’t come. Instead, a cup of coffee materialized, carefully set down on the small table in front of her. Nat paused, confused. 

“Sorry, I was just—” she started, her words taking a different trajectory before she looked up. Her words died on her lips when she saw who it was, recognition coming quickly after. 

Jamie Tartt, in all his casual confidence, stood above her, his bubblegum pink tracksuit sweater and matching shorts standing out starkly against the browns and muted colours of the shop. Hair pushed away from his face by a thin hairband, a slight sheen of sweat across his forehead, he grinned at her in a way that made her head spin for a split second. His presence at her tiny, coffee cup cluttered table seemed to suck all the air out of the room. In the silence, he raised an eyebrow, his eyes only briefly scanning the scene before him, clearly amused. 

“Got you another coffee,” he said, his voice casual in that accent that made Nat’s stomach flip as he pulled out the chair and sat down across from her without waiting for an invitation. “Looked like you might need it.” 

Nat blinked, thrown off kilter for a moment by his sudden presence. “Uh... thanks. I wasn’t—uh—expecting — anyone, really.”  

Looking in from the outside, Nat could imagine what she looked like: a bleary-eyed mess, sitting in a hoarder’s trove of empty coffee cups. To be honest, she’d lost count at coffee number six. The sudden need to speed clean the space bubbled up within her, but she pushed it down firmly. Speed cleaning only worked when the person who wasn’t supposed to see the mess wasn’t sitting directly in front of her to witness it. 

Jamie glanced at the sea of empty cups strewn across the table and Nat could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “You writin’ a book or somethin’? Or just addicted to caffeine?” 

She huffed out a laugh, pushing her laptop back a bit. “More like trying to write a soccer article for The Independent. Spoiler alert: it’s not going well.” 

The man at the next table over lowered his newspaper, clearly having heard her soccer slip-up. She shot him an apologetic look before correcting herself. “I mean, football. Obviously.” Football. Nat repeated in her head, her mantra faltering. It felt like saying Beetlejuice, except in this country, if you said soccer three times, border patrol found you and removed you forcibly, tearing up your passport in the process. 

Jamie’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying her awkwardness. Nat was sure he wasn’t trying to hide his amusement (at her expense) at all. “Football, hey? You got stuck with that assignment?” 

“Yeah, right? I’m very seriously considering faking my own death to get out of it at this point,” Nat sighed, propping her elbows up on the table and leaning forward to mash the heels of her palms into her eyes for a moment before she looked up again. “I don’t really know much about it, if I’m being honest. And this whole deadline is hanging over me like a guillotine.” Nat mimicked a swift chopping motion. Let them watch soccer, she’d say before Sharon pulled the rug out from under the shaky foundation of her attempt to escape New York and heartbreak. She was so wrapped up in pushing the thoughts down and into a carefully compartmentalized part of her mind, she almost didn’t hear what Jamie said next. 

“Need some help?” Jamie asked, his eyes glinting with something Nat couldn’t quite place. 

This time, Nat almost snorted when she laughed, “and who would get stuck with that assignment?” 

“Me.” Jamie’s response came quickly and without hesitation and Nat could hear the unmistakable air of confidence behind it. The confidence of a man who had likely never been unsure of where he fit in this life. Me, he had said, like it was as easy as breathing. 

Nat blinked, surprised. “Help? From you?” In her head, it hadn’t sounded as harsh as it did when it came out, but if Jamie heard it in her tone, he didn’t give it a second thought. 

“Yeah, why not?” Jamie shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I play, don’t I? For Richmond and a bit for City. Might be easier if you get some tips from someone who, you know, actually knows about it on pitch level.” 

She stared at him for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed in consideration, part of her almost expected him to tell her he was just joking. She wasn’t even going to tell him she wasn’t sure what he meant by City.   

When Jamie didn’t retract the offer in her silence, Nat shrugged, as casually as she could manage; it wasn’t like she had anything to lose at this point. She had less than two weeks now and was stuck. Jamie Tartt—star footballer, not someone she ever expected to casually chat with in a random coffee shop, or even approach her with all her crazy coffee lady energy for that matter—was offering to help. For what reason? She wasn’t quite sure. 

“Alright,” she said slowly, a little hesitant but more curious. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” After all, if Jamie Tartt couldn’t help her, she wasn’t sure anyone could. If Jamie Tartt couldn’t teach her about football, she might as well get on a plane and start thinking about changing her identity and living out her life in some remote village in the foothills of the French Alps. The old Nat can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, because she’s become a goatherd. 

Jamie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his leg bouncing. “Alright then, what’s it about, the article?” 

Nat took a deep breath, feeling both relieved and nervous. She didn’t know what to expect, but maybe, just maybe, Jamie could help her untangle the mess of words swirling in her head.

Pulling herself together, she slid the laptop over to him, letting go a bit of control. 

“It’s supposed to be about Richmond’s season,” she explained, shifting forward and pointing at the angled screen. “And... Well, how it’s changed with all the new stuff going on. Ted, the promotion. But I can’t figure out how to make it, you know, sound good. It’s kind of just a bunch of words right now.” Nat didn’t add that she wasn’t sure they even made any sense and that sharing this with Jamie, someone who lived and breathed the sport, felt like she was baring a raw nerve to him and hoping he didn’t stomp all over it. Or laugh, maybe laughing would feel worse than stomping. 

Quietly, Jamie skimmed the few paragraphs she’d written, nodding as his eyes flicked back and forth.

Nat sat nervously for a moment, trying to determine where he might be in the bare bones article, almost opening her mouth to ask, when Jamie looked up, the same easy smirk still on his lips.

“Okay. I can work with this.” When he looked at her, he made full eye contact that made Nat squirm a bit, then he looked back at the screen, pointing out a line in the second paragraph. “First, stop trying to sound clever. Just write what you see.” 

Nat bit her lip, unable to hold back a small smile, angling the laptop fully toward him now, an open invitation. “Alright, football genius, go on. Show me how it’s done.” This time, she let herself smirk a bit, her nerves eased. 

Nat’s eyes stayed fixed on Jamie as he continued to scroll through her half-written article, her curiosity sharpening with each second. At first, she tried to gauge his reaction, searching for any flicker of approval or disapproval as he read on. But soon, her attention drifted away from reading his expressions and toward studying his face, each small feature there, the writer in her cataloging every detail to memory. She found herself mentally composing descriptors, painting an image she knew would linger long after Jamie left. 

The creases around his eyes caught her first. They deepened when he smiled, she’d noticed already in the first few moments they’d chatted just now—a sign that smirking was likely his resting state. Resting Smirk Face. The thought amused her. There was something about the way his face hinted at mischief even in moments of calm that had her biting back a smirk of her own. 

Then there was the interruption in his right eyebrow, that distinct sliver of space that broke the line—something she could almost hear Hannah comment on. Nat’s friend had a thing for the details, always reading too much into them. It paired well with her obsessive need to know zodiac signs, sun and moon to study any potential match in her life, love or social. 

Anyone who does that wants the attention, Hannah’s voice echoed in her mind, pulling Nat back to one of their post-yoga lunches. In her memory, Hannah motioned to her own eyebrow before biting into a meatball sub. It’s like the new bad boy hallmark. Forget a motorcycle, girl. Eyebrow thing? I’m telling you, that guy’s gonna show you a good time. I’m definitely into it. My last four matches on Hinge had it. Ask me if I had a good time with eyebrow thing Steve – go on, I’ll wait. 

Nat smirked at the thought. Hannah would be all over Jamie, she mused, half-entertained and half-distracted by the paradox that was Jamie Tartt—a football star she’d watched on TV in a crowded pub just yesterday, the same Jamie Tartt she’d awkwardly met in the hallway at Nelson Road for all of a few seconds, no more than a handful of words exchanged between them—now sitting across from her like this. The image of him was etched in her mind, both larger-than-life and entirely real, as casual and approachable as if they’d been in this routine for years. 

Jamie’s eyes, a shade of grey mixed with something between concentration and curiosity, were still moving over the screen, seemingly oblivious to Nat’s study of him. She never imagined she’d be getting football advice from Jamie Tartt. To be fair though, she wasn’t aware that even Jamie Tartt existed last week. 

“Right, so,” Jamie said, picking up and setting the laptop back in front of her, cutting Nat’s study of him short. “You’ve got the basics down, but you’re overcomplicatin’ it. Like I said, just write what’s happening—like, what you see, not what you think it should sound like. Make sense?" 

Nat nodded, feeling a bit foolish but also oddly reassured by his words. “Yeah, that does make sense.” 

“And don’t worry about it soundin’ fancy. People who read about football—they just wanna know what’s goin’ on, not get lost in big words,” Jamie added with a shrug, leaning back in his chair like he’d just solved all her problems and world hunger simultaneously. 

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind, thanks.” 

Jamie nodded and stood up, checking the time on his phone, and for a moment, Nat felt a pang of disappointment. He was going to leave, and she hadn’t even really figured out how to tackle the rest of the article. Maybe she’d have to slog through it alone after all. 

“I’ve gotta get back to trainin’,” Jamie said, confirming her suspicion. “But listen—if you want, you can come by. Watch us train, get a feel for how we play, might help with the article. I’ll keep helpin’ ya with it if you want.” 

Nat blinked. “Come to practice?” 

Jamie nodded, his thumb rubbing under his bottom lip casually. “Ted don’t mind people watchin’. Could give you more stuff to write about, yeah?” Nat appreciated that he didn’t correct her use of the word practice in place of training. 

She wasn’t sure what to say. The idea of going to Richmond’s practice was both intriguing and nerve-wracking. Would it help with the article? Absolutely. But also, watching footballers train in person felt... intimidating. 

Jamie must’ve seen her hesitation because he added, “It’ll be easy. Just sit there, watch, take notes. You’ll see how everythin’ fits together.” 

Nat smiled, despite herself. “Okay. Yeah, maybe I will.” 

He grinned back at her, looking genuinely pleased. “Good,” he said, standing up, a playful grin spreading across his face as he almost turned to leave, but then paused, as if an idea came over him. “Here, give me your phone.” 

Pushing aside an empty coffee cup or two, Nat unlocked it and handed it over, her brow furrowed as she watched him fiddle with it for a moment. “If ya have any more questions,” he said, handing it back with a smirk. She glanced at the screen, and there, in the contacts list, was Football God Extraordinaire. 

“In the meantime, check out some of the lads online. Dani, Sam, and... maybe me,” he added with a smirk, knowing full well he’d be in any highlight reel she’d find. “Look ‘em up, might help you see what’s good about our playin’. Gives you somethin’ to compare when you come.” 

Nat scribbled down the names in her notebook, her mind buzzing with possibilities. “Thanks, Jamie. This... actually helps.” 

He gave her a small nod, his cocky smile replaced by something a little softer. “Yeah, no problem. See you at the pitch.” 

With that, he turned to leave, tossing her a quick wave before heading out the door. As soon as he was gone, the coffee shop felt a little quieter, a little less vibrant. 

Nat sat back in her chair, staring at the empty cups littering her table. For a second, she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Jamie Tartt, offering to help her write a football article. And he’d bought her coffee. It all felt like a mark in the win column, a small turn of the tide in her favour. 

She took a deep breath, glancing back down at her laptop. Somehow, it didn’t feel as intimidating anymore. 

Maybe watching Jamie and the others at practice would give her what she needed to finish this piece. With a small smile playing on her lips, she opened a new tab and started searching YouTube for clips of Richmond’s players, taking a sip of her hot coffee. 

A/N: Guys, I’ve been in my feels a lot about Jamie lately and how he’s actually got the capacity to be the kindest, most thoughtful guy, because all the best parts of him come from Georgie. All the love she poured and still pours into Jamie. All the love he never lost but hid in some dark corner of himself to protect it, and the parts of him that were his mother, from James. Ugh. He protected that small little Jamie, the one that loved and was “soft” so hard that when it was okay for him to let it out, he forgot how. *deep sigh*. 

Anyhow, shoutout definitely goes to my real-life football guide, who occasionally brings me coffee while I’m in hyperfocus, without whom this story would be me making up a lot of things about football all of which would likely be incorrect and falling into deep dark internet searches about vague turns of phrase - because Nat and I have that in common.  

As always, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the chapter updates!  

Taglist: @rexorangecouny 

[theerrorofmylife]

Witch Queen Ch. 4

Thorin x Witch!Reader

It took me hours to find the sword types for this stupid chapter, and even longer when I spent a literal week reading about Ecthelion and the fall of Gondolin when I didn’t even need or use any of the information.

I GOT A DOG!! That’s kinda why I haven’t been as active, training and caring for her takes a lot of time, especially when she’s so young. I’ve also been sick for the past several weeks. I’m sick with the flu one week then I catch a shitty chest cold the next, it’s hellish.

I drank a ghost energy drink so I could stay awake and focus at work. Instead, I made this 2-3,000 words LONGER THAN WHEN I STARTED. Hehe whoops, I cut it off so that it wasn't longer than 5,000.... it would have been like... 7,000 if I hadn't.

Warnings: General LOTR/Hobbit danger, chase scene, non-important character death, reader can't run (just like me), Thorin and reader are so soft and in love its disgusting, kissing, smooches, these two get just a tad handsy, cursing, Thorin being rude to Elrond because he can be, elvish translated in italics directly after its said (unless translated by character). If there's any I missed, let me know.

“For you.” Turning to my right, I saw Thorin holding a sword out to me, the hilt glittering silver in the firelight of the ark troll cave. I recognized the thin scrolling designs and the soft, thin wrap of leather around the handle. It was of Elvish make, forged before my time, during the first age. I noticed another, very similar to it, in his other hand.

“It is beautiful, seronil, thank you.” I carefully took the blade from him, examining the sharp edge for nicks as he bound his own to his belt. Along the fine edge were several small places that looked worn, put to good use in battle I’d hope. It was not mine to examine for long before it was taken out of my hands. Looking up, Thorin had taken it and began strapping it to my side. My ears went hot as his hands ghosted my sides and my eyes scattered across the cave, only to find that the others had all left, most likely for shovels to make that ‘long-term deposit’.

“Âzyungâl,” He tightened the belt around my hips, and I lifted my face. I hadn’t even realized I was looking anywhere else besides him.

“These were forged in Gondolin… by the High Elves, of the First Age,” Gandalf spoke up from behind us, and Thorin’s face dropped into a scowl. Something about Thorin wishing we would have just a few minutes more to ourselves only to have Gandalf of all people interrupt him made me laugh silently. “You could not wish for a finer blade.” He was holding his own broad sword, straight and narrow opposed to our matching curved single edge falcatas. Leaning forwards, I pressed my lips to his cheek quickly before brushing past him and making my way out of the cave, paying extra attention to the ground as the reality of what I had done sets in. I hadn’t done that yet… neither had he, not really, I didn’t think kissing my hands counted quite the same.

 I snapped out of my thoughts as I nearly tripped, stopped short and looked up to take account of the others. They were scattered here and there, some talking about the gold in the troll cave, others talking about the journey ahead. It seemed like the calm after the storm had settled around us, as if we were finally going to get back to the monotonous journey once again. I could never be so lucky.

“Something’s coming!” Ori ran down from the rock top he was looking over. My hand reached over to pull my sword from my side as Thorin ran over and placed himself in front of me, his own sword already raised. A tethered pack of rabbits raced over the hill, pulling a sleigh behind it.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!” A mad man raved as he came to a screeching halt in front of us. He was of man, not as tall as Gandalf, but younger, with a large nose and lichen growing down the side of his face, as if he were part tree. His hat had strange flaps at the sides, and his brown-greying hair and beard was matted and wild. A crazed look sat in his wide eyes, and he was rumbling nonsense. Gandalf was the first to move, placing his sword back at his side with a sigh of relief.

“Radagast! Radagast the Brown!” Radagast? He was one of the other Wizards Gandalf mentioned weeks ago. Relief quickly shifted to suspicion as Gandalf approached this new stranger, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.” Radagast was out of breath, whispering bad omens and glancing about like he was scared of being watched.

“Yes?”

“Just give me a minute. Um…Oh! I had a thought and now I’ve lost it. It was…it was- was right there, on the tip of my tongue! Oh! It’s not a thought at all! It’s a silly old… stick insect.” A long green bug crawls out of his open mouth and I have to look away not to be sick at the thought. The two walk off, Gandalf separating Radagast from the prying eyes of the company. An unease settled over us as we lowered our weapons but not our guard. The two talked for some time, and some of the company had sat down, others conversing in small groups, while sat with Bilbo, talking about home.

He missed his home so much and he spoke of it so fondly of his house and his books and his peaceful days. He had many neighbors whose company he enjoyed, family who he dedicated his time to, and even the luxury of six meals a day. I’d like to think that, over the course of these past several weeks, I had found a friend in Bilbo. Much like a confidant, he seemed to be one of the few I could openly talk to about things without the topic of Thorin always coming up. For 13 dwarves who spent much of their lives with him, they sure do ask me about him a lot.

Howling in the distance set the party on edge. No one moved, some didn’t even breathe, all hoping the howling would pass.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo asked quietly beside me. I shook my head, knowing wolves would be better than what it actually probably was.

“Wolves? No… that was no wolf.” I whispered. Thorin came running down from the cliff’s edge, rocks sliding as he made a fast descend to the rest of the group.

“Warg Scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind.” Everyone began moving so fast, packing things and readying themselves. I stuffed my things into my pack, my mother’s book getting shoved in carelessly. Gandalf was yelling, something about telling someone something, I wasn’t really listening. I was brought out of my frenzied rush by Dwalin brushing past me.

“We have to get out of here.”

“We can’t! We have no ponies. They bolted.” Panic was setting in. In the near distance, the howling and barking got louder. Glancing around the group, I met Thorin’s eyes. He met mine as he looked around the group. He didn’t know what to do, how could he, this was the first time any of us heard about Wargs and Orcs being on our tail.

“I’ll draw them off.” Radagast spoke up, and Gandalf quickly tried to shut him down.

“These are Gundabad Wargs. They will outrun you!”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try.” I didn’t know what Rhosgobel rabbits were, but if it gave us a chance then I’ll take it.

As soon as Radagast’s sleigh cleared the tree line we made a run for it. All of us running low to the ground I don’t remember the last time I ran like this. My chest burned, the air cold on my throat, cheeks flushing. We moved from rock cluster to bolder, dodging the Wargs’ line of sight and praying the Radagast kept them busy enough for us to make it to the next rock cluster. Running up and down hill was killing me. My mind raced with unhelpful thoughts; ‘what if we didn’t all make it?’ ‘What if I didn’t make it?’ ‘Can Wargs be quiet enough to surprise us and kill us off one by one?’ Like I said, very unhelpful. Gandalf was leading us northeast, and something about it seemed familiar. I didn’t have time to ponder it though, because the farther we got from our starting point, the closer Radagast and the Warg pack got.

We were all waiting behind a single large rock cluster when claws scraping against stone and hungry growling slowly crept over the hill to our backs. We pressed ourselves to the stone, clinging to the hope that maybe the Warg and its rider would not see us. Little chips of stone fell on my shoulders as loud snorts made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on point. I think I was shaking, just a little, and my eyes focused on the expanse of yellowing grass, staggered pines, and tall, sharp stones. A hand unfocused my eyes as it came to hover above my collar bone. I followed the wrist, then the forearm, then the bicep, then the strong jawline, to the grey-blue eyes more focused on telling Kili to shoot the damn thing. The second his arrow flew we were made. He didn’t kill the scout, instead it took a second arrow to trip the Warg, and it tumbled off the hill in front of us. The scout got to its feet and ran at us, but Dwalin drove his axe into its side while Nori stabbed it repeatedly. It made so much noise, the sounds of the chase beyond had gone quiet. I shouldered Thorin out from in front of me, stretching my arm out to see the Warg hound clearly as I imagined holding the Warg’s skull in my hand, just above its spine. I pulled at the imaginary feeling until I just nearly felt it tangible and twisted my wrist harshly. The Warg’s neck snapped abruptly, and we all froze as the hills around us fell deathly silent. A horn, yelling in Orcish, and the howling started again, coming for us.

It wasn’t long before we were cornered, surrounded. We were all separated, in little groups of two or three, staggering and breathless. Looking over Nori’s shoulder, I caught sight of the boys and Thorin, a ways out to our left. Kili was shooting them one by one, but it did little to damage them. If he happened to land a successful shot, another Warg replaced it fast. My vision was blurring as I tried to keep track of everything. I couldn’t tell whether we were missing someone or if that was just the dizzying turn of my eyes.

“Where’s Gandalf?” Wait, what, where was Gandalf? He’s taller than everyone, he shouldn’t be hard to miss, so where-

“This way, you fools!” He appeared from behind a rock and the confusion mixed with the fear and the relief and made me sick. All this running was making me dizzy. I wasn’t built for running, I’m 5” with the physique of a relaxed walker… not a runner. One by one dwarves fell into the hidden tunnel, falling on top of one another, elbows, knees, and backpacks clashing down the steep fall. I pulled my arms up to shield my head as I rolled down the slope. My back hit the sharp ground, then my arms, then my back again.

Standing from the gravel littered ground, I began brushing myself off while narrowly avoiding elbows as the Dwarves did the same in the close proximity of the tunnel entrance.

“Kili! Run!” Thorin’s voice echoed down into the cave. The boys, Fili and Kili, were still out there. Fili came sliding first, and I grabbed his arms, pulling him out of the way as Kili followed shortly after. Watching the cave entrance, the longer it took for Thorin to join us, the longer panic took me over. Rocks and pebbles rained down on us as he came skidding to a halt. I breathed, filling my lungs fully for the first time since meeting Radagast. A horn sounded from somewhere nearby, and large hands pushed me back behind the party as a body fell after Thorin. An orc, unmoving, with an arrow sticking out of its back. Thorin pulled the arrow, examining it before throwing it in disgust. “Elves.”

The fear and sudden relief mixing in my chest were starting to make me sick. Looking over, I saw Thorin already looking at me, head tilted slightly as if to ask a question. I smiled and let my chest sink into a sigh as I nodded. I was ok. We were all ok.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or not?” Dwalin interrupted our silent conversation.

“We follow it, of course!” There was shoving, and the party was slowly forming a line to walk down the path.

“I think that would be wise.” I heard Gandalf mutter and realized that this was part of his plan. He led us here, knowing we would find this place, and he knows where it leads. Thorin realized the same thing.

“Where are you leading us...?” He didn’t get a response, only a strange look before Gandalf walked off to keep the others on track. The others passed me, each nodding towards me, like a gesture of acknowledgement or respect. It was weird but I moved past it. I went to follow, but a hand pressed against my back and on instinct I relaxed back into the warmth. Thorin wrapped his hand from my back around to my side and pulled my back against his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to my left shoulder. “Are you alright, My Lady?”

I smiled again, turning to meet his eyes. “Yes, My King, simply not built for running like that.” He chuckled low nodding.

“You and me both.” He kissed my shoulder again, slowly this time, moving from my shoulder up my neck until he was pressing slow kisses on my pulse point, under my jaw. We really should catch up with the others. His hands held me tighter, holding me fast against his chest. No matter how warm he was against me, he gave me chill bumps along my arms and down my back, my neck slowly leaning to the side as if to open up for him. He littered my neck with his kiss as his hand slowly lowered from my side to my hip bone, grabbing, as if desperate to go lower.

“Thorin?” Dwalin calls from far along the pathway. My whole-body tenses and Thorin lets out a silent laugh. I’m glad he finds getting caught so amusing.

“I’m following, Dwalin. Let me go at my own pace.” His hands moved to my waist to rub circles into my back with his thumbs.

“Aye. And is the Witch moving at your pace as well?” My face flushed red and Thorin kept laughing. This bastard-

“She is.” He called after Dwalin and sighed into my shoulder. “Let’s go, My Lady. I fear I’ve kept you for too long.” We walked along the stone pathway, the rocks towering above us to create a ravine that let the sunlight dance down on top of us. I walked behind Thorin, fingers locked with his, and we trailed behind the others at a distance so that we could talk.

“What are we going to when we get to the end of this? Gandalf knows where we’re going, and I feel like I do to- I just can’t place it.” Thorin nodded.

“Wherever we end up, we stay close together, and we do not let our guard down. I don’t care if it’s a friendly place we’re headed to. If anyone catches wind of our true intentions, to enter the mountain and reclaim it, they will try to stop us.” I hummed in agreement. Since leaving Bag End, I had found it hard to disagree with his rough, secretive outlook on this quest. Clearly things were not as they seemed when it came to the mountain.

“What if it’s the elves? Gandalf had been asking about seeing them before the trolls, is it unreasonable to think he would lure us to them?” Thorin visibly sulked at the thought but shook his head.

“No, that’s most likely exactly what he’s doing. Whatever they want, they will not have.”

“And if they want to help us?” He shook his head again.

“They won’t, and you know it. We must be careful Amrâlimê.” I nodded but suddenly had a thought that had never occurred to me before.

“What does that mean?” He stopped, turning confused.

“What does what mean?”

“Amrâlimê. What is that word? You’ve said other singular words like it too, but I don’t recognize them. And the other A- one and the I- one! I do not know these and yet-”

“What are you talking about?!” He interrupted me and my eyes widened in annoyance. He wasn’t answering me, and I felt like he was doing that on purpose.

"There was one that Kili called me, Irak-something! Thorin, please!” He smiled and shook his head, that rare smile like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Irak’Amad, My Lady, is Aunt.” It took me a second to process but when I realized I smiled so wide my eyes crinkled. Fili and Kili have been calling me Aunt and I didn’t even know.

“And the others?” He looked down at my lips before meeting my eyes, his hands coming to sit on my hips again.

“Sanâzyung means perfect love,” he leaned in, pulling my chest against his. The way he spoke his native tongue, deep and rumbling in his chest, it made my head hazy. “and Âzyungâl means lover,” His head tilted down, lips a breath away from mine, so close I could feel him speaking against mine. “and Amrâlimê… means my love.” He gently pressed his lips to mine and suddenly the very thought of not kissing Thorin felt detrimental to my health. We had never kissed like this before; it had always been on the hands or shoulders. We were always with people, or in danger, never alone with no one to interrupt. It was slow, and I gently wrapped my hands around the back of his neck, threading my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. He sighed through his nose, and we would have stayed there like that for hours had we not heard the others. Gasps of surprise and Dwalin calling Thorin’s name, sounding mildly panicked, broke us apart once again and this time it was I who sighed in agitation.

“We will never be alone, will we.” He gave a wry smile, pressing his lips to mine again, quickly this time. I didn’t want this to end, who knows when we’d get another chance to be so close. But the mission pressed on, and the road was long before the end of our journey.

 We caught up with the others and I was stunned at what I saw. Tall, spiraling, elegant towers, graceful waterfalls under delicate bridges stretching across the great expanse of the mountain’s edge. Great halls with high arches and curving stone glittered in the afternoon light. The great Elven estate was built in the mouth of the valley, looking out over the river as it extends east.

“The Valley of Imladris. In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.” Gandalf spoke over our awe, rounding the ledge as we all looked on.

“Rivendell.” A whisper came from my left and I looked over to see Bilbo, eyes wide.

“Here lies the last homely house, east of the sea.” I remember coming here, once, a long time ago with Thranduil. I was incredibly young, and I don’t remember the details, but I remember the feeling. This is home, without it every having been home. Thorin moved past me, anger masked by narrowed eyes and squared shoulders.

“This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy.” ‘Enemy’ was such a harsh word and yet I couldn’t really find fault with his point of view. I disagree, I believe Lord Elrond will help us more than hinder us, but in Thorin’s mind it wasn’t just Thranduil that abandoned his people that day. To Thorin, it was every Elf, every person who aligns themselves with the Elves or calls the Elves friend was liable to Thorin’s distaste.

Gandalf sneered at him, scrunching his nose as he snapped at Thorin, “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.” The king tilts his head, wryly calling the ancient wizard’s choices into question. Gandalf had none of it, acutely aware of what Lord Elrond would have to say.

“Of course, they will. But we have questions that need to be answered,” He walked through the party, making his way to the stone step path that led down to the first bridge. “If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the talking to me.” I rolled my eyes. Thorin went first and I followed second, taking his hand to step down as the steps became steeper and more detailed. We walked shoulder to shoulder in pairs along the narrow bridges until we came to two tall Elven statues standing guard in front of a large circular courtyard. We filed into the courtyard, slowly regrouping and breaking off to talk separately in smaller groups. I stayed near Thorin, my hand resting against his shoulder as he and Dwalin discuss escape routes. From the steps above, a young Elf passes by two guards and almost don’t recognize him.

“Mithrandir.” Lindir was the right hand of Lord Elrond and had been for some time now. I had known him when he was younger, and to think that he had risen so far was surprising. He was always so… carefree as a young Elf. The two stepped closer, speaking Quenya in hushed tones. Thorin turned his head to Dwalin and I.

“Stay sharp, and you stay behind me.” I snapped my head towards him.

“I know the people here. Lord Elrond is a kind man, he will help us I know it, please trust me.” He met my eyes with skepticism, but I stared him down, knowing I was right. Suddenly a horn sounded behind us, and the clattering of dozens of horse hoofs spooked the company.

“Close ranks!” I was pulled back into a crowd of dwarven elbows as they close in around each other. The hunting party circles us until they have is hidden by rings of Elven warriors. A man I had met only a few times in my life dismounts from the head of the hunting party and approaches Gandalf happily.

“Gandalf!” He smiled wide and it felt like I was in the presence of peace and tranquility. Like he polluted the air with a calm demeanor and made everyone feel safe. Everyone except the dwarves. Gandalf bowed and began speaking with him in Quenya, too fast for me to easily translate. I slipped my hand into Thorin’s, pressed so close to each other that no one noticed. Until I was addressed.

“(Name), Niethir iin Eryn Galen, Thranduilwen!” (name), Niethir of the Greenwood, daughter of Thranduil! Looking up, I met his smile and reciprocated a relived one of my own.

“Hér Elrond!” I bowed my head and slowly eased my way out of the group. Thorin squeezed my hand, and I stopped short of leaving from directly in front of him. He held onto me, and I held onto him. Elrond saw this but made no note of it.

“Quenyalda aryaië?” Your Quenya is improving? My cheeks flushed as I remembered the promise I made to him when I was much younger. I told him I would learn every language I could, and that I’d be able to speak to him in perfect Quenya one day. At the time, I wanted to impress both him and Thranduil.

“Paranya, au lenca.” I am learning, if only slowly.

“Naylë arya malda nyanya,” You are better than most. I smiled widely and nodded in thanks. “Si casar, carltë lenda asillo?” These dwarves, do they travel with you? I looked to Thorin quickly before looking back to Elrond.

“Lá, málonya.” Yes, my friends. He nodded and grinned. Looking past me, he focused on someone else behind me and I felt Thorin’s hand tighten in mine.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.” Thorin came to stand beside me as he was addressed.

“I do not believe we have met.” I almost sensed haughty arrogance from Thorin, like he was waiting to make some snide comment.

“You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.” Ah. There it is. I rolled my eyes and met Elrond’s once again. The right corner of his lip quirked upwards so fast and so little that I almost missed it. Almost.

“Si gonnhirrim arldë alatulyaië imi Rivendell. Silómë merenlmë, málonlda arldë fúmë hí.” I sighed and smiled brightly, nodding happily in thanks. He turned and began walking back up the stairs but was stopped when Gloin spoke up in rage.

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?” He pushed his way to the front. I jostled as the others moved to make room for him. Gandalf turned to us, obviously tired of the Dwarves’ antics.

“No, Master Gloin, he's offering you food.” The Dwarves froze and suddenly turned in to whisper tightly between each other. Thorin and I leaned in, and my lips just barely brushed his cheek.

“His exact words were that you are welcomed in Rivendell, and that we may feast and sleep here tonight, but Gandalf was never good at translating.” I spoke low and soft, so that he was the only one to hear me. He grinned and turned slightly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. His lips were so close to mine, but the others had already started moving towards the stairs and there wasn’t time. He pressed our foreheads together, the side of his nose against mine, eyes closed. It lasted only a second or two, but it became my favorite thing. We were led up the stairs farther into the estate, past large columns and gorgeous waterfalls, other Elves passing us. They nodded towards me when they recognized me, and the Dwarves started to take notice. Thorin leaned into my side, the little braid that hung by his ear knocking into my shoulder.

“They know you here?” I nodded, still scanning the area as we crossed another bridge with no railings.

“I came here once a really long time ago, but it’s more likely they know me because I’m a witch, one of the last, remember?” There was a pause before he nodded, lips closed tight as if something suddenly bothered him. I saw this, but I couldn’t figure out what it could have been. Thorin was always stoic these days, always looking ahead for the danger, always thinking of what-ifs. Moments like this I remembered just how different he is now compared to when we first met. The carefree, smiling young man who led me down backstreets and alleyways got smothered by time and grief and hurt. “Thorin,” I bumped his shoulder with mine lightly, “What are you thinking?”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes, looking off in the distance, before looking down at the stone walkway. “You are the last of your kind… that never truly struck me until now. To be the last of your kind, alone in the world, without anyone who truly understands… I’m sorry.” I was shocked. I guess that made sense, though I never really thought of it like that. Yes, I was most likely, almost definitely, the last Witch in Middle Earth, but it didn’t make me as sad as it probably should have.

“Don’t be. As much as it sounds horrible, I don’t feel bad being the last.” His head snapped towards me, eyes wide and worried.

“Why-”

“Come, you are to feast with Lord Elrond. Then, you will be escorted to the bath houses. Lady Niethir, you are welcomed to the separate house for privacy.” I nodded in thanks before lowering my head to speak to Thorin quietly again.

“I’ll tell you later, Ara Nín. Let’s at least have tonight before we step back into the world.” He nodded reluctantly and took my hand in his, kissing the back before pulling me with him into the dining room with the rest of the company. 

@mrsdurin ,@capricorn-anon, @emmapotato88 , @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy , @eilin-brillewin​ @hpthalia126 , @undecided-about-everything-ever , @dark-chxos, @artemis-the-ace, @floatingintheshire

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[bellysoupset]

Can you write a fic where Vince gets a really high fever after overworking himself? I'm not sure who the caretaker should be but I've been OBSESSED with this idea.

Maybe Vince gets one of those fever dreams that makes him hallucinate and he eventually needs to be taken to the ER.

Bonus if the fever dream is a haunting nightmare.

taking a little break from the LukeBell telenovela to torture the big guy.

This is directly after the previous fic, so I'd recommend reading it.

----

Wendy was already asleep by the time Vince made it inside her apartment. He had considered not coming, given it was around 2 AM by the time he left Lucas' place, but Wendy's place was closer than the dorms and he was too tired to consider driving all the way back.

Besides, he liked cuddling.

Vince stripped as he entered the room, resting his helmet on her little work station and ditching his clothes on his path. He knew she'd be pissed about it in the morning, but right now he had no energy to pick anything up. The last thing he remembered was falling face first on her bed, throwing an arm around his girlfriend and fiercely pulling her to him.

Wendy woke up sweating. She groaned, trying to push the blankets away, only to realize she had long been stolen them, but instead all of the heat was coming off her boyfriend.

A quick glance at her bedroom's window showed that it wasn't quite day yet, but close. Wendy sat up on the bed slowly, struggling to remove Vince's arm from around her waist and then she planted a hand on his forehead.

Vin was always always warm. He was a huge teddy bear, made for cuddling. Still, the heat rolling off of him didn't feel natural. Wendy sighed, moving her knuckles down his cheek and then touching his shoulder.

"Vin?" she attempted to shake him, "Vince."

He let out a groan, but didn't move or wake up and Wendy sighed. She patted his cheek.

"Vin, wake up," Wendy's voice went up, "you're sick, honey, I need to check your temperature."

Another huff, but nothing else. Great.

Giving up, Wendy slipped out of the bed and moved back to her suite's bathroom. She had her normal thermometer, yes, but she knew he could just hold it in his armpit. It wouldn't be as accurate, but would give her a pretty good estimate. Then she'd have to throw it away, but still.

Getting Vince to move his arm was an entire battle on its own and by the time she finally managed to get the little plastic device sandwiched in his armpit, Vince was groaning in his sleep.

He winced, opening his eyes slowly, "Wen?"

"Hi," she sighed in relief, "how are you feeling, Vin?"

"Like merda," he grunted and she snorted, pushing the hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"You're burning up, I'm taking your temperature..." Wendy rested her cool hand against his overheated cheek and Vince's eyes immediately started to slip shut once more, "honey, try and stay awake, I want you to take some meds."

"Head hurtsss..." he grumbled, all but scratching at his eyes, instead of rubbing them. Wendy sighed, lowering his hand and sorting through her bedside table's drawer in search for meds. It was ironic that those were the same meds Vince had bought when he had been the one taking care of her three weeks prior.

"I know, you're overheating," she stroked his cheek while not looking at him, much more focused on searching the pills. Wherever Vince had hidden them, "Vin, where did you put the medicine?"

"Uhm?" Vince groaned, squinting at her as if there was too much light, even though Wendy hadn't turned any light on and the only luminosity was coming from her window and the sunrise, "I don't want meds, my stomach feels weird."

She winced, "I know, honey, but your fever is really high..." he clearly hadn't put it in the drawer. She pushed it closed, frustrated and then forced a reassuring smile at her boyfriend, "I'll be right back, okay?"

"No, please..." Vince made a pitiful face, "don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, I just need to find you the meds, Vin..." and probably grab him a bowl, she thought as she noticed his complexion start to get paler. Vince was one of those people who actually turned green when nauseous, something Wendy hadn't thought was possible until she met him.

She didn't allow herself to linger. Feelings could be a hassle when taking care of someone you loved. Instead she got moving immediately, rushing inside the bathroom to dip the handtowel into cold water, then digging through her drawers.

For some bloody she reason that she couldn't pin point, she found the fever medicine hidden inside her necessaire. Popping out two pills she filled up a glass with water, then tied the bag of her waste basket and removed it, throwing it under the sink in order to have the free bucket.

Inside the room, she heard a whine and Wendy hurried even more, heart squeezing, "just a second!"

When she did return to the room, Vince's face had progressed from greenish pale to burning red and he had curled up on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Hey..." she dropped almost all the itens, except for the pills, climbing on the bed, "hey, what's wrong?"

"Hurts," Vince groaned, rocking back and forth, "It hurts so much."

"What?" Wendy frowned, pushing him lightly back against the pillow, "what's hurting?"

"Everything," Vince shivered, "everything - I..." he interrupted himself with a small, almost delicate burp and Wendy cringed, planting the meds on the bedside table and grabbing the ditched bin and towel.

"Vince, breathe, honey," she said, running her nails up and down his naked bicep, "take a deep breath, you're upsetting your stomach."

She knew it was a lost battle, if he had the same bug as the rest of them had contracted, then there was no way he wouldn't be puking for hours, at least, still she had to try.

He groaned, turning on his side, knees to his chest and buried his face in the pillow, "I wanna go home."

Wendy swallowed against the sudden knot in her throat as she smoothed his back, trying to soothe him, "shhh, you're okay. I'm here with you..." she said, not making any sense, but hoping it'd be some comfort. With her free hand she planted the cold handtowel over his forehead and he let out another whimper.

"No, stop, it hurts..."

"It'll help with the fever, honey, i'm sorry..." Wendy kept rubbing his back, "talk with me? What took you so long to get here?" she really didn't care, but Wendy hoped he wouldn't fall right back asleep, not with how high his fever seemed to be and without taking any meds.

"Lucas," Vince hissed, squeezing the pillow, "Wendy, my stomach-"

"What is it?" she immediatelly moved her hands from his back and hair, down to his stomach, "what's wrong?"

"Hurts so much- It's on fire..."

"I have something to help," she said, almost dropping the lampshade she had on the bedside table in her hurry to get to the pepto. It wouldn't actually do anything against a stomach bug, but maybe neutralize the acid, "here, Vin. Take these too..."

She handed him the two pills of fever medication, hoping they'd at least have a chance of start acting before being ejected. Vince swallowed them with one gulp of pepto and then immediately ducked his chin to his chest, burping wetly towards his lap.

"Fuck," he groaned, "no, bad idea..."

"Please try to keep them down, your fever is really high," Wendy felt horrible asking him this, but Vince nodded, swallowing convulsively.

"trying..." he gagged unproductively, "why is it so sweet?"

Honestly, she agreed silently. She never understood why they made stomach medicine flavored.

"Do you think water would help?"

"No-oouuurp-" he retched, leaning forward and she immediately grabbed the bucket, bringing it to his face. Still, despite Vince promptly white knuckling the bin, he only burped once more and didn't bring up anything. He was panting after, resting his forehead on the plastic rim of the bin, "god..."

"Can I take this?" she asked tentatively, reaching for the bin. Vince nodded, looking just as nauseous as before.

"I'm not gonna puke," he said strongly, voice all rough, "my head is killing me."

"It's the fever," Wendy ran her fingers through his hair, nails against his scalp, "try to go back to sleep now, honey..."

Vince scoffed, leaning on her touch, "can't anymore..." he closed his eyes, "cuddle me?"

She knew it was a bad idea, seeing as it would limit her movements, but Wendy didn't have a heart to say no. She nodded, planting the bucket at her feet and climbed on the bed to curl up next to him. Instinctively her hand moved down to his belly and Vince let out a huff.

"Be gentle," he groaned, eyes still closed, a little painful frown on, "it's really sore."

His belly was gurgling and it didn't seem taunt and stretched like the other times she had seen him with a bellyache, but pillowy and sloshy. It made her cringe in sympathy and she didn't dare put any pressure, only ran her fingers lazily over his stomach, caressing more than rubbing.

"Stop tickling me," Vince groaned, turning his head to muffle a burp on the pillow, "I really don't feel well... Can't let Liv catch this..."

She raised an eyebrow, confused, "Liv?" Wendy paused the rubbing, "Who's Liv, Vince?"

He let out another little whimper, curling up more, "keep her out of my room, Soph..."

She felt a wash of dread, "Vince, hey-" Wendy grabbed his arm, "we need to go to the bathroom, Vin."

"What?" he opened his eyes and she noticed they seemed even more bloodshot than before, "no, I don't wanna move..."

"I know, but it's important," she said urgently, "I need you to help me, Vin."

Always the fixer-upper, Vince moved to help her, even without knowing what to do or wanting to move. He sat up on the bed and she held both his arms, pulling him up. Vince swayed dangerously, threatening to send them both down and then braced against the headboard of her bed.

"I don't understand..."

"We need to cool you off," she explained, wrapping an arm around his waist, "c'mon, sweetheart-"

"Okay..."

He was sweet and completely out of it, so despite the fact that at any second Vince could collapse and crush her, Wendy didn't have all that much trouble getting him inside her bathtub.

He looked a handful of years younger, curls all messy and cheeks flushed red by the fever, eyes overly sparkly, "I don't get it... It's cold here..."

"I'm sorry," Wendy whispered, kissing the top of his head and planting a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place as she started to fill up the bathtub. He let out a yelp at the lukewarm water, that probably felt freezing cold against his skin.

"Stop, stop, please stop-"

"I'm so sorry, I swear it'll be over in a bit," her voice was all strangled, "you're doing great," she crouched down next to him, wetting her hands in the water and stroking his cheeks. They were blazing hot.

"Hurts, please stop..."

"Vince," Wendy's voice broke and she cleared her throat, trying again, "if we don't cool you down you'll have to go to the hospital..."

"Just stop," he shook his head, shivering violently, "Wendy, please."

She sighed, pressing her forehead to his, "just a minute more, okay?" she lied calmly, planting a kiss over his brow. He was sweating bullets, "just a minute."

He groaned, then lowered his forehead to her shoulder, shuddering, "I'm dizzy..."

"I'm holding you," she reassured him, and truly she was almost entirely inside the tub now, "take a deep breath, honey."

He obeyed, then muffled a disgusting burp against her collarbone, that had Wendy freezing as she realized she had abandoned the bin back in the room. Her hand cupped his overheated nape, "Vin? Are you gonna be sick?"

She felt him nod, instead of hearing a positive noise, so Wendy quickly detached them, "let me grab you the bin-"

He retched, sounding dangerously close to being productive. Wendy cursed, rushing to get up and leaving a trail of cold water behind her as she ran to the bedroom to grab the abandoned bin.

Vince had his eyes screwed shut when she skipped back to him, nearly falling and holding the bin right under his chin, "okay, here- Here, let it up."

He groaned, but didn't open his mouth, lips pressed tightly together.

"No, Vin, don't do that, it's just gonna make your stomach hurt more..." Wendy wiggled herself behind him, sitting on the rim of the tub, legs framing him. She held his forehead, using her leg to urge him forward over the bin, "let it out, honey."

Vince's hands were shaking like hell as he held on the bin and gagged again, spitting inside of it. Nothing came up, despite the gag sounding horribly wet, "Wen, it hurtsss..." he slurred, "won't come up."

Of course, he couldn't ever take the easy way out. Wendy sighed, getting up again to fill up a glass of water, "chug this for me?"

"Nooo..." Vince shook his head, mouth hanging open over the bin, "you're gonna make me sick."

"That's the plan," she rolled her eyes, stroking his cheek, "it'll help your stomach," it wasn't technically a lie, Wendy told herself, trying not to feel bad as he went for the water, all trusting.

He didn't even manage the entire cup, throat bobbing up and down and then she heard a horrible noise and he dropped the glass straight into the bin, back arching violently as a stream of vomit rushed up.

Wendy grimaced, holding his forehead with a hand, the other one resting on his back, "I got you, just-"

"Shushssh," he groaned, voice echoing and then gagged again, "'urts..."

"It'll be over in a second," she whispered emptily, already starting to think on how to best get him to a hospital if his fever didn't start going down quicker.

It went on for a while more, every time she dared to think he was done, his breathing all laborious, he'd gag and vomit again. Finally, finally, Vince let out a groan and pushed away from the bin, leaning back with such a force that Wendy had to scramble to hold him before his head hit the wall.

"Vin?"

"I don't think Lucas likes me," he rasped out and it was such a random statement that Wendy couldn't help but snort. She grabbed the bin, turning around to empty it on the toilet.

"Whatever do you mean, honey? Luke loves you", she washed the basket, filling it up with water and then emptying it again.

"No, he doesn't," Vince's voice was nearly all gone, a little rasp that was very different from how deep it normally was, "he didn't tell me."

"Tell you what?" Wendy planted the bin next to the tub again, before cupping his face. He was still feverish, but at least she no longer felt like she had to drive him to the ER right away.

"He proposed," Vince leaned on her touch, "and then broke up. And..." he hiccuped, "and he didn't tell me anything."

Wendy scowled, immediately annoyed, "well, that's a dick move, you're his best friend," she scoffed, unable to stop it, then smoothed his eyebrows, wiping away the frown there, "forget about Luke, I wanna know about yo-"

"I don't get it," Vince sounded even more strangled. He sniffled, "I don't understand, I thought we were friends..."

"You are," she said strongly, planting her lips to his brow again, "Lucas is just being a major asshole."

He sniffled again, hiding his face on her shoulder, "I wanna go to bed, I feel seasick in this boat."

Wendy let out a groan as she realized he was still pretty out of it, "we're going to bed in a second, Vin," she lied, petting his hair, "in a second."

[drpeppertummy]

[stuffing, tummyache, tummy rubs]

"Sunny, don't try to eat that whole thing."

"What? What the hell do you think I bought it for?"

"That's like eating three pounds of straight sugar!"

"Course it is, how do you think I stay so sweet?" Sunny flashed his friend a toothy smile, batting his long eyelashes. Laurie rolled her eyes.

"Don't come crying to me when you give yourself a bellyache," she said, returning her attention to her book.

"I wouldn't come crying to you if my life depended on it," Sunny retorted. He pried the packaging open with his teeth and tossed it aside, holding up his opponent: a three pound gummy worm. Laurie supposed she should just be glad he hadn't gone for the bear, which apparently was even heavier. Sunny chomped down on the worm--not on the tip, but right in the middle, as though it were an ear of corn. It was so sweet it almost made his teeth ache. With a grunt, he yanked off a rubbery bite.

Laurie was doing her best to ignore Sunny, but he was making a lot of noise. Each bite was punctuated with grunting and slurping and a small cacaphony of other unpleasant eating noises. After sitting uncomfortably through a few bites, she looked up from her book, wrinkling her nose at him in disgust.

"Can't you do this any quieter?"

"Huh?" Sunny looked up at her, mouth full of worm.

"You sound like you're trying to suck the siding off a house! If you have to eat that stupid thing right next to me, do it quietly," she said. Sunny nodded, swallowing his mouthful with a thick gulp, and returned to his worm. He took another bite, this time making an effort to be quiet, and to his credit, he did manage to cut down on the amount of noise. Laurie was a little bit impressed by this; quiet wasn't generally Sunny's strong suit. She could still hear soft sounds of struggle as he worked to pry chunks off of the worm, but she supposed she could deal with that. In fact, she would never say so, but his little vocalizations as he wrestled with his rubbery snack were almost cute.

Sunny had only gotten through a small portion of the worm, but his tummy was already beginning to ache. With the worm being as large as it was, it didn't take much of it to fill up his stomach with dense, gummy sugar. Still, he knew it would take forever to get through it if he didn't push himself a little, and by this point, it was too chewed up and sticky to share with anybody else. He took a breath and pushed on.

Laurie glanced over at Sunny again. He definitely wasn't eating with the same gusto he'd started with. Still, he looked determined. He also looked a little ill. It was hard to judge given the strange way he'd decided to go at it, but she estimated that he must've been about a third of the way through the worm. The thought of a solid pound of gummy candy sitting in his belly made her own stomach ache. She almost opened her mouth to say something when Sunny finally lowered the worm, looking tired. He sat like that for a moment, and then, to Laurie's surprise, he set the worm back down atop its packaging. He leaned back against the couch with a sickly sigh. His tummy bulged out slightly.

"You're in for it now, Sunshine," she said, reaching out and giving his belly a gentle pat. "I don't think even ginger ale can fix that." His stomach let out a sad little gurgle. Feeling sorry for him, Laurie carefully pulled Sunny into her arms, resting her hands on his achy, bloated belly. He tensed up for a moment, then allowed himself to relax.

"I thought you said not to come crying to you," he mumbled, laying his head against her shoulder.

"Well, you're not, are you?" She rubbed his belly softly.

"I guess not." He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how sick he felt. In addition to the massive onslaught of sugar, the sheer quantity of gummy worm he'd eaten was far too much for his tummy. He should've stopped when he first felt full. In fact, he never should have bought the stupid thing in the first place. Not only did Sunny feel sick, he felt foolish and guilty as well.

"You've gotta start being nicer to your poor little tummy," said Laurie, still rubbing his belly in gentle circles. It wasn't the first time she'd said it, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Sunny knew she was right. Sometimes, however, he just couldn't help himself. He wasn't known for his good impulse control, and he had a bad habit of taking things as a challenge. He was aware of this flaw, but he couldn't seem to shake it, and he was nervously waiting for the day when his friends' sympathy would run out.

"It's hard," he said quietly. It was all he could think to say, but Laurie had a feeling she knew what he meant. Taking care not to squeeze his tummy, she hugged him. Sunny opened his eyes, surprised, and, after a moment of hesitation, returned the hug.

[kyokimidori]

Regulus x Hermione?

I hope you didn't have a plot in mind! I went with this one, hoope you enjoy!

BEWARE: Sadness ahead.

~Kyoki

"Regulus, stop"

The boy in question did as his best friend asked, turning towards her "what's wrong 'mione" he asked her, watching as she panted softly from running to catch up to him.

"Tell me its not true" she said "Tell me you aren't going to become a part of his army"

. He didn't want everyone to know, especially not Dumbledore. He took her hand and guided her into an abandoned classroom, closing the door behind them. ""How did you find out?" he asked, watching her carefully. He wasn't sure how his best friend would react to this, which is why he hadn't told her.

He imagined from her expression that she was against it.

"Your brother was taking to James, and I overheard" she responded " Please tell me you aren't going to do this." she looked at him, locking eyes with him.

"Yes, I'm aware" he said pulling her into his arms, giving her a hug to calm her down "I won't be in any danger" he assured her, misunderstanding the quaking of her shoulders.

"Please don't do this" she whispered into his chest "He's a dark lord. He hates muggles and muggleborns"

"He is more than just a dark lord; his teachings are sound Hermione. Think of it, when was the last time a muggleborn witch or wizard was better than a pureblooded wizard or witch?" he asked "They put us in danger, having more people know about the wizarding world. Not to mention, aren't you sick of having to hide your magic?"

"Regulus, there is something I have to tell you." she started pulling away slightly, though he tightened his grasp on her so she couldn't move completely away.

"No you don't" he responded " Don't worry, i already know." he released her, leaving one hand on her waist as the other reached up and cupped her cheek.

"If you know, then why do this?" she asked leaning into his touch.

"I'm doing this for us, Hermione, for our future together, for the family we will have together. You are a brilliant witch Hermione, you don't deserve to have to hide your magic." he stroked her cheek.

"I don't think--" she was cut off by regulus, who had decided to soothe her worries with a kiss.

The kiss was soft and gentle, it was new to him, to them both, for neither of them had kissed another person.

Slowly Regulus pulled away a faint smile on his lips. "See? I feel the same as you, there is no need to worry"

"I'm Muggleborn" the words were a whisper "I have feelings for you too, but that wasn't what I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you I am muggleborn."

Regulus dropped his hands from her, taking a step back "Don't josh with me 'mione, your related to the Dagworth-Grangers"

"No Reg, I'm not. I never said I was half blood, you just assumed." she had tears in her eyes now as regulus took another step back, his mind reeling.

"You tricked me" he whispered the word, pressing a hand to his lips "You tricked me" he repeated, clearly shocked.

"Reg, I didn't trick you; I should have told you sooner, but I didn't think it was important"

"Not important? are you kidding me Granger" he snapped her last name, venom in his voice "I would never so much have spoken to you in the first place had I known" he glared at her, ignoring the tears that were falling silently down her face, his anger and sense of betrayal too consuming. "You've lied to me all these years"

"Reg, I didn't, I swear" she whispered stopping when Regulus held up his hand, making her swallow her words

H pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. The girl he loved, the one he envisioned a future with was muggleborn, had tricked him into loving her.

"I don't want to see you again"

His words were met by a soft sob, making him look up, seeing how she was fighting back the sobs. His heart hurt seeing her like that, but he couldn't do this. He was going to change the world for the better. He was going to make his parents proud, reveal magic to the muggles and stop living in fear of getting caught. As much as it broke his heart, the truth was the new world didn't have room for witches like Hermione Granger.

"I wish I never met you in the first place" he said, locking eyes with her, wanting her to see how much he was hurt by her lies, her betrayal.

With those final words he walked away, headed towards the door, past the woman he loved, not looking at her. He opened the door and stepped out, letting it slam behind him.

He heard her sobbing then, and his heart broke, his own emotions fragile. He wanted nothing more than to soothe her, but there was no reason to. He could never bring her home to his family, the dark lord would not approve of a muggle born witch, even if she was the brightest of his age.

No, it was better to forget her, to lock his memories and feelings for her away where no one could reach.

Taking a deep breath he moved away from the classroom and her sobs, not looking back. He would still join Voldemort, would still change the world for the better.

Hermione Granger just wouldn't have a place in his world.

[montywithchildhoodtrauma]

I saw a Goddess...

Monty liked to consider themself a reasonable person, sure deciding to go on a two month long trip out to sea with the two most autistic people Montys ADHD ass had ever met, and a rambunctious ten year old that sounded like Puss in boots got violently sick, might not have been the best idea... but Foxy said that Monty just needed to know the basics of fishing, boat care and star navigation to be okay. That and Monty was promised money at the end of it.

Another reasonable thing, the chance of getting away from their father sounded much too sweet of a deal to pass up. Not that they didn't love Pops but... the man was a bit... pushy.

Monty grunted as they lugged a sack of potatoes onto their shoulder and worked their way onto the ship, it was a small thing, as again, there would only be four people on it.

Monty sighed and looked across the dock where they could see Sun and Moon scrambling to grab a few things off their own boat, having just gotten back from their own trip. They had been gone for about a week doing god knows what, they hadn't even gone far. Monty recalled one night where Puppet was drunk out of his mind and pointed out the dinky little boat out a few miles before promptly throwing up on Monty's shirt.

Whatever, it was just two months, then Monty could grill Moon about whatever the fuck the twins and Lunar were doing in that time.

Two months. Thats all, they would be fine.

"OUTTA MY WAY!" Monty yelped as FC ran past with a bag almost twice his size, "FATHER ENTRUSTED ME WITH THIS!" Monty rolled their eyes and pushed their dreads out of their eyes as they followed FC down the stairs.

"Even with that stupid bad he refuses to put down the wooden hook" Monty jumped and swung the bag, and would have hit Puppet in the head had he not ducked.

"Calm down big guy-

"Not a guy"

"Big person who I very much care about and am very sorry for misgendering, its just me" Puppet grinned and ducked under Monty's arm with his own sack, "Can't kill me before we've even left the dock"

"Might make yer face look nicer" Monty gruffed as he dropped the bag to the floor, deeming it the proper storage place.

"Hah hah, funny" Puppet deadpanned as he disappeared into another room, but not before FC came sprinting out, wooden hook in his Mouth with Foxy right behind.

"WHAT THE HELL DID I SAY ABOUT TAKING MY FUCKIN' DRINKS?!"

It was going to be a very long two months.

One week. One FUCKING WEEK. Monty was going to murder them all. She yelped as a wave struck the side of the boat throwing her into the wall. She could vaguely hear Foxy yelling at FC to get downstairs and FC responding back in an upset tone. God, she was gonna be sick- Rain and sea water abused her skin as she gripped the side of the boat and forced herself into a standing position. The boat lurched again and the front dipped into the water.

Monty took a deep breath in and glanced around, and for a moment everything was still. Monty glanced up and swallowed thickly at the wall of water barreling towards her. Oh fuck- Monty didn't even have time to scream before she suddenly felt weightless- and then plunged into the water.

...

She was vaguely aware that she was sinking like a rock, the world around her stung her eyes and threw her every which way. Her lungs hurt and it felt like someone was slugging her in the stomach. Monty closed her eyes, what was the point in struggling at this point? She didn't know which way was up or down...

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! Something grabbed her elbow and dragged her forward through the icy water. Monty squeezed her eyes tighter, letting the things... hands? Run over her arms, face and chest. The other hand traveled up her neck and if Monty wasn't already struggling to breathe her breath would have caught on the back of her throat.

The hands trailed up her face and pulled at her cheeks and then opened her mouth, releasing the last bit of air she was desperately trying to hold on to. The nimble fingers pushed her eyes open and forced Monty to look at them.

Oh stars above...

They were beautiful, Monty stared into the prettiest blue eyes she had ever seen, the creature's face was a split of grass green and an ocean blue. Their round face was framed by a mass of puffy white hair, floating wildly around their head and conch ears. If Monty wasn't drowning at the moment she probably would have said something really stupid...

The creature's hand rested on her cheek as Monty's vision went dark around the edges, she glanced the creature up and down, wanting to drink in their image before they died. Monty paused and stared at their bottom half in wonder, a long green and white glittering tail swayed lazily back and fourth. Apparently they found this ogling rude and smacked the side of her head lightly, forcing Monty to look into their eyes again. Suddenly a flash of Gold and orange was pushing at the first creature. Screeching in a language Monty didn't understand.

They had what looked to be a net in one hand and began quickly wrapping it around Monty, working too fast for her to get a good look at them.

There was something so familiar about the new one...

Monty rolled over and gagged, "ere- w- go" floods of water escaped her mouth. Someone wrapped their arms around her chest and squeezed, forcing her to gag up more water. Monty shivered, her cold wet clothes doing little to block the wind.

Another set of hands... or a hand, hoisted her up onto uneasy feet.

"Hey, earth to Monty!" Monty blinked and glanced to the side where Foxy was, the older man looked worried, "Ya alright?" Monty shrugged, her throat felt raw and broken.

"Words Gator, use your words" Puppet said, arms still wrapped around her waist as they started dragging her around.

"I saw a goddess" Monty rasped dreamily, staring at the water.

"I think someone swallowed too much sea water" Puppet said as Foxy pushed open the door to the sleeping quarters and shuffled over to Monty's part of the room, flopping the second youngest down unceremoniously.

"She had a tail..."

"And maybe a fish"

Part two?

@lookwhatyoudidithasanxiety

I did a thing!

[alparlaboratories]

To Another Abyss - Chapter 4: Pray on me

(Chapters -which are usually between 500-1000 words- will be posted daily here first on Tumblr, and will later be posted in 7-8 chapter batches on AO3.)

-

Kanto has changed a lot in the past ten years. The League is no more, and trainers are now only tools for the rich and powerful, either mercenaries or dogs of the government.

Sabrina is the latter. She is to play the role of Gym leader in a sick, twisted mockery of the art she once admired, bearing the name of her childhood idol, a woman who is now wanted across the region. All for the entertainment of Kanto’s shadowy new rulers.

It’s a role she doesn’t mind playing. At least until an unusual challenger comes into her Gym, into the life she’s worked so hard to build, and begins to unravel it all.

-

Chapter 4: Pray on me:

Over two years had passed since Sabrina's arrival at the Gym, and as expected, she'd taken over the place in its entirety. Her word was law. Although deep down, she knew that Azure could take that power away with the snap of his fingers.

Inside the little run down shack she called home, an Abra -suspiciously similar to the one from her first fight- slept soundly next to a moldy mattress. And, above a pile of discarded books, a Mr. Mime meditated in silence.

"Cut that out," grumbled Sabrina, looking for Mew-knows what amidst the disaster that was the room. "You're a special attacker; in a real fight you'll be shoving that meditation right up your ass."

The door opened just then with an ominous screech. A familiar man with salt and pepper hair peaked through.

"This one's dangerous," he said, more hopeful than worried. "He blasted through the other five trainers with practically no effort. You better not underestimate him."

Sabrina stood up, stretching, and let out a big yawn.

"We'll see about that."

The man shoved a bunch of Pokeballs at random into a small box, and both he and the Gym leader headed out. The Gym was filled to the brim that day. Half the audience loudly cheered her opponent, while the other half clamored for his blood.

Just another day…

Sabrina entered the enormous cage, hands in her pockets, a lit cigarette in her lips. Cheers and insults rang throughout the arena. Lazily, she let her gaze fall on her opponent. A pretty unremarkable man, tall and with wild, messy black hair, a smile full of enthusiasm on his lips. She couldn't make out his age, but he must've been a couple years older than her.

She narrowed her eyes. There, hanging from his neck, resting against his chest, an iron cross gleamed against the powerful lights hanging from the ceiling.

A priest, eh? Let's see what he's capable of.

She stuck a hand inside the box and pulled out a Pokeball. Her foe did the same, never dropping that irritating smile.

"Let's have a nice, clean battle," he exclaimed, bowing respectfully.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. Around the audience, comments and bets were already being made.

"Heh, that guy's not gonna last a minute against Sabrina."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Didn't you see how his Pokemon fought before? It wasn't… normal," someone else replied.

"He has the advantage in typing, that's for sure," a third commented.

"Type advantage ain't gonna be enough against Sabrina. Just watch."

Opinions and predictions -all scandalous and arrogant- flowed freely from person to person like the bills being passed around before the battle. The bets were high this time, although it wasn't terribly unusual for this gym. For a good portion of the audience, the two trainers inside the large steel cage were little more than investments.

Pokeballs in hand, they both stared deep into each other’s eyes, gauging the level of danger.

Then, something strange happened. The young man noticed the cigarette hanging from Sabrina's lips, and frowned.

"Aren't you a little young to be smoking?" he asked disapprovingly.

"Aren't you a little old to be believing in god?" she spat back.

"Ah… Still in that rebellious phase I see. My little brother is just like you."

"Less talk, more action, priest."

The young man chuckled. "And to think you're the famous Sabrina. The original being so striking and beautiful, I didn't expect her imitator to be a short, emaciated brat."

At that, Sabrina lifted an eyebrow, the smile going cold in her lips.

I'm going to kill him.

"Are you going to fucking start or do you want me to attack you first?"

"Geez, young people sure are impatient nowadays…"

The man with the silver cross threw his Pokeball toward the center of the arena, and from the burst of light emerged a tall, imposing insect-like beast, its body green and segmented, two long, sharp blades protruding out of his forearms in the form of scythes.

A Scyther.

[natural-harmonia-posting]

[ In-person scene. ]

[N knew what she needed to do. Zekrom was likely already waiting on them, anxious to take to the sky with its trainer and put an end to Team Plasma once and for all, yet.. Even faced with this sense of urgency, N couldn't seem to make himself take that first step at all. In fact, she found herself curled in a ball on the floor, thoughts closing in around her. He tried desperately to make himself as small as possible in order to contain his sudden shivering, his breaths coming out in frenzied puffs while his head grew more and more crowded. You have to get up. You can't be weak like this.. You can't. If you don't act now, Team Plasma will only grow stronger. He screwed his eyes shut, tangling his hands in his hair to tug. Father is going to be enraged when he sees you.

And although she tried to chase it from her mind, she could still clearly see his face; knowing just how he would look down at her with nothing but contempt, even while wearing a smile. They never could tell his good moods from his bad ones that way. He would go as far as to smile at her while she lay bloody on the floor sometimes, and in his presence, there wasn't any feeling except a feeling of being small.

She felt small right then, too.

"... Natural?" A gentle voice called out to her. N visibly tensed as soon as he spoke, trying to quiet down. Digging their sharp nails into their arms seemed to be the only way they could keep themself from whimpering in response like a useless child.

"I.. heard a noise in here. What's wrong?" Alder's brow was knotted up with worry. He shuffled over and took a slow seat next to them. "You don't have to tell me, of course, but with everything going on lately.." His words trailed off, left hanging in the air with a subtle desperation.

When N opened their mouth to speak, not even knowing what they wanted to say yet, their voice strangled in their throat. Alder's chest tightened at the sound. He almost didn't know how to react, his hand hovering in the air while he tried to decide if physical touch would be a comfort or another source of anxiety. He wound up setting his hand on their shoulder, granted a small feeling of relief when they didn't yank away or start shaking harder.

"I-I don't know if I can f.. face him again.." N finally warbled out in a tiny voice. As soon as her voice broke, she could feel tears wetting her sleeve.

Knowing how much it took them to say just that much, it made Alder feel rather guilty over how he didn't know what they meant. He shifted in place, quiet for a moment. There was a possibility of someone in particular, but surely that wasn't the case, he thought. ".. Who?" He finally prompted, leaning in a bit closer. It was nearly impossible to hide how tense he was.

His question made their stomach drop, small as it was. The idea that Alder hadn't heard the news yet didn't even occur to her. N choked again, shakily lifting her head so she could glance up at him. She prayed a look would be enough, but it wasn't, and she knew it wasn't. Despair made her look almost pallid and fearful, like she was sick at just the thought of trying to explain what had happened.

It felt like N's fault, in a way. Like he had wished so much that Ghetsis not be executed, the universe had granted his wish in the form of letting the man escape. Looking at Alder, his kind expression worn down to exhaustion, the lines in his face seemingly deeper than they usually were (all her fault, all stress she caused him), she couldn't help but want to applogize. The words alluded them, however. All they could do was choke back a sob as tears overflowed again.

Alder quickly pulled her into his arms, cradling her as close as he could. She initially fumbled, but soon fell into his hold, cries only growing louder despite being muffled into his shoulder. "Nat.." He murmured, sounding utterly broken-hearted and confused. He gently combed through their messy hair with one hand, the other rubbing over their back.

Her head was pounding. Each sob rattled their chest and made their stomach lurch, but the more they tried to fight their tears, the more tears seemed to fall. All he found himself capable of doing was clinging onto Alder, made to feel all the anguish, the anger, the miniscule relief he didn't even want to acknowledge this entire time.

Though the man didn't know what was going on, he would do his best to comfort them, holding them like they just might slip away. He thought, after all N had been through and continued to go through, it was the least he could give them. He could never undo the damage Ghetsis had done, but he hoped to be an anchor for her, and a figure in her life willing and able to show her love unconditionally.. It's not a thought he wanted to entertain, but if Ghetsis was the cause of N's fear at the moment, he would have worse than hell to pay.]

[knivebug]

LET ME SWAY, WITH YOU BETWEEN OVERGROWN TREES

pairing: scaramouche | kunikuzushi/f! reader an evening filled with only the accidental feelings spilt into the rainy sky.

ㅤ

ㅤEverything, was out of plan.

ㅤRaindrops crashed down at a pace - running down and bartering with the breaths of wind altogether; the evening sky was inevitably transparent, covered by the dark clouds. One could mistake it had already been night. The smell of moisture on the ground comes out musky and pleasant, it could be either a fresh or troublesome feeling to those who'd seldom see it.

ㅤ It plucks grating sounds; much like a crackling firepit. The pitter-patter fills both who hear the sound, as moist from the clothes that had stained wet stick onto their skin.

ㅤ "This, is annoying." She started. "Why." She hugged your shaking body. They were currently in the area of Apam Woods; a forest inside the nation of sumeru - filled with enormous trees across the region, home to a few of the people there.

ㅤ It was not a surprise when the rain had interferred - it was known for its rainy climate changes anyway. Yet, it was the two of them's first time ever setting foot to Apam Woods, not knowing it was going to be this bad.

ㅤ They were here on what was supposedly a small quest to find Rukkhashava mushrooms, sent as a sweet favor from Aether. They accepted as Kuni needed those anyway. She was sent also to keep an eye on him. (The blonde had bribed you with money.)

ㅤ "Why do I need to do this with you." He grumbled under his breath, making sure she heard anyway. The increasing rain had already dirtied most of his clothing, it was a relief his hat was to cover from the godforsaken weather.

ㅤ "Ask your mom." She glared back, not really feeling the moment.

ㅤ She, on the other hand, did not have no hat. "You're bad luck to be with."

ㅤ He was about to make another retort when it was interrupted by a loud thunder, signing that it was getting worser. Surprised by the sudden sound, she shakily yelped.

ㅤ He realized he was a bit-really a dickhead for leaving her to damp under the heavy rain. Begrudgingly, he got close and approached her - pushing his heightened pride away.

ㅤ Kuni pulled the brim of his hat towards the girl and closed the small distance around them. She looks up to him in surprise; still shaking - her hands clutches between their chests.

ㅤ "...Traveler might kill me if you get sick." He stared down, looking amused.

ㅤ A scoff was heard. "I'll blame you for it, that's for sure." She awkwardly lets her hands fall to the side. This close to the former fatui - (She still didn't believe this prick was once a member of the fatui, but, okay) was not an often experience, especially next to his soft porcelain face. Wait, what?

ㅤ "Let's find a place to stay in and wait until this ends." He mumbles, noticing how the thunder was getting more frequent. He looks around, looking for any spot to stay in for the moment.

ㅤ There was no way they were going to stay inside the houses up the big trees. Too slippery. How do these people even get there..? Whatever.

ㅤ He spotted his eye on an overgrown root of one of the big trees, spiraled towards the outside, not too far from them, too. He guided you towards the area.

ㅤ Rain, once again, passed another sheet that wasn't too heavy as before. They were practically really, cold.

ㅤ After getting some shade and walking, the rain hitting the sides of their body stopped. She sat, he followed by. He took off his hat, which was a bit too heavy when there was water pooling inside it.

ㅤ "It's freezing like shit." She huffed.

ㅤ "All you do is complain." He rolls his eyes and took his sandals off, throwing them beside his hat.

ㅤ "You and your hypocrisy, Kuni." She shakes her head. "We've already collected like, a few mushrooms. Don't we have enough?"

ㅤ "We only have SIX out of so many collected, fuckin' dummy. The closest we have to get these mushrooms is here." He leaned against the trunk of the tree.

ㅤ "No need to talk like that, you mullet-headed man. Go ask your poor mother where'd your manners go."

ㅤ "What's even with you and my fucking mom?!" He replied. "Nevermind. Go ask the same to your father."

ㅤ "You fucking ASS."

ㅤ "Yours stink bad."

ㅤ "What- This is why no one likes you."

ㅤ "Yeah, sure, okay." He looks at you in a weird way.

ㅤ "What?!"

ㅤ "Nothing."

ㅤ "Because that'd be stupid - of someone to ever like, ew, or even LOVE the fact that a creature like you could live and act so fully of yourself."

ㅤ All he could do was chuckle. "I saw the way your face looked earlier."

ㅤ She looks at him and gags. "I'd rather die by three swords dismembering all parts of my head."

ㅤ The man of many names shrugs. "Whatever you say." The rain seemingly decreased.

ㅤ "Oh, I seriously cannot wait to go home and escape this sad, pitiful moment with a sad, pathetic creature." That irked him.

ㅤ "You'll have to thank the gods I've been gifted this anemo vision, or I'll have you electrified-"

ㅤ "What an average friendless person would say,"

ㅤ "You think you have more than three?"

ㅤ "Shut up already." She puts her fingers to his lips, pushing it a bit too harshly.

ㅤ "Don't fucking touch me," He looks at her in disgust, with her snickering in return.

ㅤThunder strikes. "What are you even laughing about-?"

ㅤ "Nothing." It was a bit obvious, her eyes were onto his hair.

ㅤ He reached into the direction she was eyeing, finding a lost caterpillar in his hands. "Oh." He threw it at her face.

ㅤ "What the fuck?!" She got rid of it immediately. "Why?!"

ㅤ He shrugs.

ㅤ Silence overcame them, but it was only a comfortable one that had no use to be confronted. She glared at him and set the worm-thing free, kneeling down to put it onto the grass.

ㅤ The rain had not try to stop yet, except now the thunder had died down.

ㅤ She sneakily took a glance at the indigo-eyed boy. And, it was unfortunate he was so beautiful but his personality's shit. His eyes looked so... Homeful? She'd be afraid to be stuck inside them, if she weren't so careful. She always thought he had the prettiest features, and it seemed refreshing to see that up close. Uh, what was she thinking?

ㅤ "You stare a lot," He crossed his arms smugly.

ㅤ "Uh... You have nice eyes?" She attempted to cover it up with a comment, yet it came out, really sweet..? Fuck. She panicked, okay?

ㅤ He looks at her in bewilderment, surprised. That had taken him aback, as they were just insulting each other a few minutes ago. Now complimenting? Wow. (No one had ever complimented him before, he thinks.) Her straightforward nature curioused him more.

ㅤ She sighs, trying to move on to another topic. This was embarrassing. Okay. Leaning her feet towards the rain in front of them, trying to force away the sheer sheepiness. (This damaged her pride and mental) She realized it was really cold out here.

ㅤ "Um, let's do something."

ㅤ "...What?"

ㅤ "Let's just, go out and play in the rain until it stops."

ㅤ "Like kids? What are you, some child-?"

ㅤ "C'mon," She made a tug on his arm, quickly standing up and leading him toward the rain. He tried to stay yet her grip was surprisingly strong, successfully making him follow her, his body feeling the cold and stiff raindrops over his skin.

ㅤ "You'll get sick."

ㅤ "I'm really, strong. You know I can handle it!" She chuckled. Hearing him worry made her... Um, unbearably giddy? For some reason?

ㅤ They were now fully uncovered from the rain - Kuni's outfit was really weighing him down, as he takes his jacket (?) and all his other complex accesories, leaving his black outfit underneath. She sweats, unconciously staring at his now very visible muscles. (Damn.)

ㅤ "Okay, um.. Since we're already drenched in the rain," She coughs to retain her composure. "Let's go take a stroll!" She clasps her hands, and starts to walk. He follows behind.

ㅤ "What exactly do you get in this?" He crosses his arms.

ㅤ "...Just wanted to do something." She played with the clumped dirt under her. "I think rain is very nice. It smells so... I don't know. Like, you know."

ㅤ "Okay, weirdo." He snorts.

ㅤ "Okay bowl-cut."

ㅤ "I- whatever."

ㅤ "So... Hm.. What do you think of me?" She voiced.

ㅤ "Huh?" He stares back, not really expecting the sudden question. The thing with her was there had to be some surprise waiting for him everytime it goes quiet. And that question made him think.

ㅤ "What I think of you?"

ㅤ "You heard me."

ㅤ "Why would you even ask that?"

ㅤ "I'm curious. I just wanted to know."

ㅤ They continue to walk beside each other. "Well." He starts. "You're annoying. You're naive. You're annoying, and," He had the biggest urge, and his mouth did its own decision. "Not so bad, I guess."

ㅤ "W...whuh was that?"

ㅤ "And dumb, I said."

ㅤ Her faint blush told everything. She'd forgotten the other stuff he told her.

ㅤ "Look, I said you're dumb, that's it."

ㅤ "...Mm." The grass looks very fresh today.

ㅤ Another silence ensued between them, this time the awkward kind. Why did he even need to say that? Stupid mouth. Truthfully, there was always some kind of weird air between them, whenever it was like this.

ㅤ He snuck a glance, seeing her flustered pink face.

ㅤ Kuni noticed their hands were just wavering centimeters apart.

ㅤ Um, what's that gotta do with anything-

ㅤ "(Y/N)?! Scara?! Where are you two?" A voice shouted in the distance over the light rain, with both of them breaking their trance, following with a familiar squeaky voice that's too muffled to even hear.

ㅤ "We're right here!" She shouts, waving a hand. A silhouette perked up and finally came into view, as it runs quickly towards them.

ㅤ Aether panted a few breaths. "You guys had been gone for so long... Is everything alright?"

ㅤ "...Yeah." The indigo-haired boy replied, staring towards the shorter girl.

ㅤ Paimon squints her eyes in curiosity - and suspiciously. "Hey... Are you two taking some romantic stroll under the rain or something? Paimon and Aether thought it was another lovestruck couple!" Aether nodded.

ㅤ "Um! No, I'd rather kill myself." She exaggerates the action of barfing.

ㅤ "We were actually about to kiss."

ㅤ "What?! Is that true?!?!"

ㅤ "What are you even saying?! Shut up!!!"

ㅤ a/n: hey so um hi ;P plz folow me and like diz