#LIKE THE GENERAL PUBLIC KNOWS HER!!!! a fever dream this time last year

[hercarisntyours]

Thank you transformers one for making Elita more than just Optimus's dead wife!!!!

[hum-suffer]

Didi Didi chp 6 kab ???

Arre shit, likh ke post karna hi bhul gayi 😭😭🖐🏻 I'm sorry

Of course, you'll hurt me 6 (Rajneeti)

Meeting Prithvi and Samar for the shopping is the first thing on her agenda and it's overwhelming.

Samar is wearing a white button up with a blazer and jeans, and Amrita remembers a time where he exclusively used to wear white t-shirts and white shoes on every Friday.

(On an impulse, she glances down. He's wearing white shoes. It's Friday.)

Prithvi is buzzing with energy, despite the hellish PR yesterday. To be seen with his kid brother, buying something for him, is a double edged sword. Some will claim how emotional must Prithvi be, so caring for his baby brother, with whom he's had to bear a separation for years. Samar's soft demeanor only helps in that narrative. Others, they will subject them to scorn for buying a luxury end product with the government salary.

Amrita sits in the front seat with Harsh while the brothers sit at the back, reading through the online opinions on Prithvi. It seems to be the general consensus that he's a bit arrogant but most people seem to think the arrogance suits him. Thankfully, Amrita has been able to mitigate the damage from yesterday to a minimum by spreading some "leaked" talks about Prithvi refusing any more grants than necessary and earning by his investments in several business and how he uses his government salary for charity every month.

Prithvi talks about some dream he saw last night, something about having an arranged marriage and he feverently shakes his head. "It was honestly a nightmare, Chhote. Why would I ever marry someone I don't like?"

"It's not that bad," Samar says, shrugging,"Mom and dad had an arranged marriage."

Prithvi rolls his eyes. "And look how that turned out. I want happiness and love in my marriage, not silent support and political gain."

Amrita clears her throat and gets out of the car as soon as Harsh parks the car, feeling strangely suffocated. Amrita doesn't care what happens to her, really, she can even live the rest of her life between books, following Prithvi and his heir and making sure that the party prospers. But she'd rather die alone and lonely then marry someone only to have an marriage like her parents.

Dev will never be forced to marry anyone he doesn't like, she vows to herself. Hell, she won't even insist him to marry if he wishes to remain a bachelor.

No fate is worse than being unloved so wholly.

She sees Samar stare at her with a look that she can't decipher but she ignores it, walking into the store with Abhinav, another security guard of Prithvi's. It's only after talking to the manager to provide Prithvi and Samar with privacy as well as the best possible suggestions that she leaves, wandering to where Prithvi and Samar are already browsing.

"Whatever you buy, leave a 10% tip for the manager," she advices Prithvi, not looking at Samar. "It's for your reputation."

Prithvi pulls her closer and winds an arm around her shoulders,"Chhodo yaar ye sab reputation. You're always making me do things for the public opinion."

"Because you keep ruining the public's opinion of you," she says back breezily. "I've got to make some calls to the creative team, you two continue with this."

She's about to turn and leave when she feels a brush of fingers against her arm. She looks back at Samar in question.

He freezes, like he didn't expect her to react to his touch. "Maybe you could buy a watch, too? If only you want one, Amu."

She shakes her head and holds up her phone. "I don't need a watch to know the time. Thanks."

Amrita walks away quickly before she can be held again, calling Archie. "Hi, my favourite reporter."

"Hello, my least favourite person."

"Harsh."

"You deserve it for threatening me."

"Technically," Amrita says,"I just threatened your career. And I gave you better news, didn't I? I did hear something about an incentive."

Archie laughs,"You're such a bitch. Go on. What do you want?"

"I'm going to need to meet you to give you some more information about Vijaynath's party. Very interesting information." She's already cleared it with Mamaji. They've both talked about it and they both know that sacrificing some people from the other party is the only way they'll change the topic for now. Offense is the best defence and all that.

Archie is silent for a while. Finally, he says,"Meet me at Surya palace today. 1 pm. Let's have lunch together."

"It's on me." She says, knowing that this small investment will go a long way. And really, it's not her money she'll be using. She's going to take Prithvi's card.

Archie huffs."I'll make sure to order the most expensive wine, then."

"I'm not your sugar mommy, no matter how badly you need one. And dress fucking well, if you wear garish clothes, I'll pour coffee on you." Amrita says, turning around to check on the brothers while jotting down the time and place on the palm of her hand.

Both of the brothers seem to have overheard her and Samar seems awkward like he always is, and Prithvi has raised his eyebrows.

Archie says something and cuts the call.

"Not a word, Prithvi bhaiya. Not a word." She threatens him, grabbing a bottle of water.

Prithvi shrugs. "I'm just saying, you're always talking about how I shouldn't spend time with Sharma."

"I'm not going to fuck him." She deadpans at him, ignoring the way a dark look passes over Samar's rigid eyes.

Prithvi turns back to the watches on display. "Yes, yes, that's why you were dictating what he should wear."

Amrita walks over towards them and stands beside Samar, completely ignoring him and looking over his back at Prithvi. "When I'm fucking someone, the world will know it. I don't do secret affection."

"Who says you need affection for that?"

"Who says I won't punch you for saying all this? Ever heard of the HR department?"

Prithvi smirks. "You're my little sister, you wouldn't complain."

Amrita rolls her eyes and looks back at the watches that Samar has selected, almost all of them have a round dial. But the one he has in his hand currently has a square dial. It's completely black with subtle golden accents. Amrita can't help but think that it matches the watch she's currently wearing.

She shakes the thoughts off and steps away. "I'm going to get tea for myself. You two want anything?"

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Most days, Samar struggles to maintain the shimmer of darkness that dances under the surface of his skin. It's always threatening to become into a forest fire.

The moment he overhears Amrita talk to some guy with such authority, his blood is swirling with need to talk to her and ruin the man if need be. He wants to be the one she has such rights over. She should dictate what he should do, not some random reporter.

Amrita claims she's not interested in the guy, and Samar swallowing subtly, swallowing the poisonous words back into his throat. She tells them she won't do silence affection and meaningless relations, and he feels something pierce and soothe his heart at the same time.

Amrita has always been loyal to a fault. Samar has known since they were teens that she will not be one casual relationships, not ever.

And yet, the words soothe his heart. He still knows her. She is still the same woman he knew, but she is also so much more.

She excuses herself to get tea and he sees Prithvi bhaiya shake his head and chuckle.

"She'll really hit you someday," Samar tells his brother in a half joke.

Prithvi bhaiya laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, she won't. And anyways, I could deduct from her salary if she hits me."

Samar raises his eyebrows. "Maa would buy her a gold medal if she can corral you into behaving, even if she has to use violence for it."

Prithvi bhaiya pouts at him mockingly. "You people have no respect for me. It's blasphemy."

"I don't think you're using that word correctly."

"Now you'll contradict your brother too?!"

Samar laughs at his dramatic brother and chooses the watch that matches Amrita's watch.

(He'd gifted her that watch, ten years ago. He's surprised to still find it on her wrist. He wonders what happened to the other gifts he bought her over the years on her birthdays. He stops himself from wondering what happened to that jean jacket she was wearing on the day he—)

Samar clears his throat and fiddles with his phone while Prithvi bhaiya pays for the watch. The background wallpaper on his phone is of Amrita, wearing his sunglasses. Prithvi bhaiya sent it to him yesterday, and he hasn't been able to take his eyes off.

When they walk out of the store with a new watch on his wrist, Samar sees Amrita's eyes dart down to his wrist and her grip tightens just so on the tea glass.

They wordlessly get back in the car.

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Samar gets to tag along to the meeting with Mr. Bajaj, because Prithvi and him had incessantly fought over what to eat. Prithvi wanted something spicy and Samar was craving something sweet.

Amrita was firmly in Prithvi's camp— she hated sweets and especially sweets so early in the morning just sounded horrible. Still, to maintain even a facade of professionalism, Amrita had refrained from taking any sides and had texted Dev instead.

That little shit was texting back in the middle of class, claiming that he hated the class because the subject was so boring. Amrita wanted to whack him over the head for being so overconfident.

However, now, sitting in Mr. Bajaj's office, Amrita wishes she was back in college and she could bunk this particular class. The day is beautiful, and she doesn't want to start it off by talking about politics and the implications of several PR moves.

Prithvi is the perfect son-figure to Mr. Bajaj. Extremely polite, unfailingly indulging and funny, and listening to his every word. Mr. Bajaj already seems besotted. If nothing else, Amrita knows that Prithvi is a good showman. He knows how to control his audience.

Amrita sits at the corner sofa, with Ritik, noting down the minutes of the meeting. Its tiring to keep with them, but the hour is well spent when they get up and Mr. Bajaj has a promise of a cheque ready on Prithvi's name for the near future.

"Thank you, Mr. Bajaj," she says, smiling widely at him. "I still apologise for the sudden rescheduling and I hope you're satisfied with the bargain between our collective powers."

Mr. Bajaj, a man who looks like every average Indian father, smiles genially at her and tells her,"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Arya. Prithvi Babu is the icon of our future. He is fit to govern. I and Shiv Incorporation will always be here to assist in any way we can."

Prithvi and Samar talk pleasantly with Mr. Bajaj and Amrita turns to Ritik with a tired smile. Ritik frowns at her slightly. "Please, don't mind me saying this, but you don't look like you're particularly enjoying yourself."

Amrita raises her eyebrows and shrugs,"You have some courage, I'll give you that. And really, who actually ever enjoys meetings?"

"That's why I usually arrange meetings for Mr. Bajaj at meals!" He says,"At least I can fuck off to eat while he talks."

Amrita hums at him, absent-mindedly and gathers her purse with her as she stands up. "Next time, I'll keep that in mind."

As they're walking out of the building, Amrita spots Indu standing at the gates, leaning against her car with her arms crossed over her chest.

She risks a look at Samar and realises it's time. She'll become a choice for him again.

[benefits1986]

Of Deja Vu and Horror Stories

It's the 31st of October and KJMS x Diplomat Hotel x Ed Caluag is trending. I also happen to love Baguio and have been thinking of visiting yet again, just because, why not?

Let this be a rundown of curated horror stories from someone who has overactive imagination. Horror stories even the most ugh ones actually make me scream to the top of my lungs. Umaatras talaga ako e. However, I like ghost hunts in old streets and spaces like Manila and Baguio. LOL. Iba 'yung live experience and for me, there's actually a world in between the living and the dead for such a long time.

I guess this roots back to my first encounter where I saw my Inang Sinta's last breaths. It was a sweltering summer just in time for the our sleepy town's pista ng bayan. I think I was around 8 or 9 years old. I was playing nonchalantly and I was called by my older cousin. I didn't know ina is passing. Days before, she even had her signature red mani and pedi from her suking tagakutkot ng kuko. She had to get a bedrest because she seemed to have a slight fever. Nothing too serious, though I knew she's nursing a stomach trouble for quite some time. So, there I was. I didn't know how to process it but as I saw her breathe her last breath. It was not so much of a struggle and looking back, she looked peaceful.

Not sure if this where some weird things started, but I started to have far and few lucid dreams. I do not generally believe in paranormal stuff then even when mom and my brother would always have their versions of amulets along with their rosaries. LOL. Badtrip nga ako sa mga laway kahit sinasabing nababati ako ng mga lola, tita at strangers. UGH.

At first, it was just random deja vu like field trips, specific moments in class and the like. However, when I was a frosh in nursing, I started to have more lucid dreams like being in an all girls' school. Of course, I laughed it off as I shared to my soul sister. Since she is a fan of the paranormal, she told me that it might be a premonition. I brushed it off because nowhere in my literal and figurative dream that I want to be in an old classroom with all girls in the hood. The blackboard was old and there was a quiz that made me wrinkle my nose. A year after stopping from school, I found myself in an old classroom with all girls downing an accounting exam. I wrinkled my nose and stopped. DAMN. Siguro kaya C+ lang ako sa accounting dahil dito. Hanap sisi lang but, hey. GAAP naman is pretty practical: economic entity, monetary unit, and time period. 'Wag ako. Saka puwede na AI 'yan these days. LELS. I remember kulang ng less than 1 PHP 'yung balance sheet ko. So graphic. It's traumatic. I had two Baguio trips where I had tongue in cheek shit shows. One was a ghost hunt and another is an exclusive solo tour in Diplomat Hotel.

The ghost hunt was actually just something I chanced upon and dahil gusto ko may something new every punta sa Baguio, sige. Naubusan na ako ng ideas PLUS my friends are really up for it. So ayun na nga, wala lang talaga siya sa umpisa pero, as we progressed, ang stress. 'Yung highlight niya is 'yung public cemetery ng Baguio. LERKZZZ. 'Yung mga fetus and babies na graves. Plus 'yung center spot doon is so weird. As in. Doon daw na-corner 'yung mga American soldiers back in the time of war.

Before I talk about the Diplomat Hotel "exclusive" tour, let me share my experience in La Casa Bianca. I chanced upon it from Paula Peralejo's recos. I love its location because it's accessible but not in the bustling side of Baguio. I booked it online and got a good deal. When we arrived, I was welcomed by no less than the Laperal House right across it. Syempre, soul sister ko was so giddy, since she devours horror stories. As in high na high siya. In fairness, I love La Casa Bianca and might spend a night there yet again. LOL.

So ayun na nga. Ginamit ko ang aking angking-galing para makapasok sa Diplomat Hotel kasi by special arrangements lang siya. LOL. My soul sister wanted to check it out and see me chicken out before she flies to SG. So, ayun na nga. Nadali ako ng bata sa may fountain. And of course, my most graphic lucid dream is when I saw how mom died, two weeks before siya madeads. HAYYYYY. Sabi sa church noong may Life in the Spirit Seminar ako na nahatak ako, 'yung gift ko daw is prophecy. HAY. Pinag-take kasi kami ng quiz tapos ayun. Sabi ko nga, okay naman na ako ng ibang gifts, 'wag lang 'yang prophecy na 'yan. LOL. Maging prophet na lang ba ako kesa maging alipin ng AI? Hahahahahahahaha. At least, may choice ako saka in demand naman mga prophets kahit hindi legit. LELS.

Siguro, 'yung pivotal moment ko sa belief ko is when I experienced astral projections. Yes, plural. I would talk about this when I am ready. HUHUHUHUHUHU. Akala ko nga simpleng sleep paralysis lang e. OOOOWEEEEMM. I just cut-pasted the paragraph above kasi ni-move ko and guess what? Ang nag-appear is 'yung last night copy-pasted ko. LOL. First time in history, baby. Baka nanay ko na naman 'tong nanga-agit. Hahahahahaha. Tigilan mo ako, ma. Ang aga-aga. Labyoooo. Sunduin mo na ba ako? Hahahahaha. I think ready naman na ako, hindi ko lang sure kung ready ka ba. 'Wag mo akong subukan. 'Wag mo akong i-trigger with thanks. Paki note. Duly note, please. Syempre, there's the suking PGH and Manila Doctors na ang stress talaga minsan lalo 'pag ako lang mag-isa sa corridors. Pati elevators, mhie. 'Yung Baler na balete tree na I swear may sumusunod sa akin pero hindi creepy. Parang mala-Avatar feels. 'Yung Siquijor and Danjugan encounters na sobrang in my face and up my thicc ass. LOLOLLOL. Plus, Diliman at night. As in, ilang beses na ayoko ng bumalik doon kasi ang lakas nila. I cannot. Kaya pala Diliman name niya. Pakshet. To clarify, 'pag may nararamdaman ako, talagang prayers lang and overthinking ang baon ko. Lagi ko sinasabi sa entities, 'wag magpakita kasi hindi ko talaga kaya. Isa pa lang nakita ko irl. 'Yung babaeng walang face sa jump train ng MRT. HUHUHUHUHUHU. Sabi ko naman nung na Anong dream kong next level ng horror shitshow ko? This is sooo crazy kasi nga libre naman mangarap. Pyramids of Giza. A non-mainstream castle somewhere in EU. Japan's Forbidden Forest. HUY. Hahahahahahah. Shet. Baka cardiac arrest na abutin ko neto, but as I said previously, I get scared easily, but I go for it anyway. Sana 'pag natupad, madocument ko ng photos and vids kasi hindi ko talaga kayang pagsabayin. Can I just say also na mas takot pa rin ako sa commitment, sa unknown, sa mga buhay na buhay at g na g na walang moral compass, at lalo sa mga waking and walking dead. Good morning, WL Tuesday! I love youuuuu pero baka may isundot ako. Hahahahahahaha. Babu for now! Laters!

[youareinlovees]

Hi do you mind doing like a breakdown analysis or just a general summary of what cruel summer’s about? I’ve been able to price together bits and pieces from your blog but could really use some help understanding the overall storyline

Sure! It started off as a general summary but I realised it would be easier if I went through line-by-line instead. 

-

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

You know that I caught it

She’s setting the scene here – it’s the middle of the night and she’s experiencing some kind of intense feeling that makes everything seem like a fever dream. Is it an emotional high because she’s so happy or maybe a drug trip or some kind of ~other high? There’s no clear cut answer but she says the other person ~knows she’s feeling this way, so make that of what you will.

Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price

By referring to him as a toy, she’s establishing that this is a no-strings attached, almost transactional situationship. It’s similar to “toying with them older guys / just playthings for me to use” – a line that’s heavily influenced by the public’s perception of her, so she’s saying that a) it’s set around the same timeframe, ergo 2016, and b) once she gets him out of her system, she’ll ditch and move on just like all those times before.

You know that I bought it

He’s well aware that they’re ~friends and this isn’t a defined relationship. Maybe it was something they agreed on, or maybe it’s an unspoken understanding, we don’t know.

Killing me slow, out the window

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

This actually reminds me of Tangled, like the idea of some sheltered princess falling for a normie who shows her a whole new world, and ultimately deciding to leave her life in the tower behind and run away with him? I could be reading into things too much but it’s a fun parallel for sure.

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

This is about her thought process: one part of her is deciding to take a gamble on the relationship – she might get hurt later, or the world might find out she’s seeing yet another guy and burn her alive for it, but she figures the risks are worth it. But at the same time, she’s like “here we go again 🙄” and doesn’t like that she’s so invested all of a sudden.

What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

The “what” in this line could be referring to a number of things. Maybe she’s talking about all the mess that’s happened this year and how shitty it’s been, and she’s using him as stress relief now. Maybe it’s about the lack of labels on their relationship and how that’s killing her, but makes her even more determined to get him to commit somehow. Or maybe it’s the general feeling of being so attracted to someone you think you might die.

And it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

This is fairly straightforward, like they’ve only just started seeing each other so his body’s new and she feels blue because… 2016.

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

This is more of a general commentary on how she goes about a fwb situation, like it doesn’t have to be exclusive and pretty much anything goes. She also talks about the fragility of their relationship – they might be in heaven but it’s very much breakable and could end anytime.

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine

I'm not dying

I think this was meant in a literal sense, like they’re meeting up somewhere and he’s leaning against a vending machine and scrolling through his phone. She walks over and absolutely loses her mind over how hot he looks and realises that she’s down baaad. For a moment, in the midst of the ~cruel summer~, she’s not dying because she’s distracted by other priorities basically.

Alternatively, the snacks in a vending machine aren’t the healthiest way to deal with being hungry, and fucking your Words With Friends bestie isn’t exactly the healthiest coping strategy, but she really couldn’t care less.

We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times

We're not trying

Both of them decided they didn’t want to get into a proper relationship, like she was fresh off two breakups and Going Through It, and his first movie was about to drop and he was going to head off to Asia for a promo tour soon. It doesn’t feel like the right time to define things, so why bother?

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife

I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

The headlights being off represents them sneaking around and seeing each other in secret. She then says that although this summer’s already been so painful and shitty, he has the potential to hurt her the most by breaking things off or not reciprocating her feelings. And because she’s so cynical about love now, she’s expecting to get burned sooner or later.

And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know

If things do end badly, she’ll make sure she seems completely unaffected, because the last thing she wants is for him to think he broke her heart or whatever.

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

This sounds super literal, and some people have connected it to the first verse in Cornelia Street, but I think this situation happens later on.

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

#TAYLOR: vulnerability 🤢 honesty 🤢 being upfront about how I feel 🤮

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

It’s killing her that she can’t tell him about how she actually feels, because what if he’s not on the same page and she scares him off? So in order to keep their relationship going, she has to keep it in.

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate

Basically, it was always inevitable that she would fall for him, but their constant meet-ups intensified those feelings even more.

The garden gate mention seems to be a continuation of the fairytale imagery in “I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below” except now she’s the one reaching out to him. It’s also reminiscent of “I sneak out to the garden to see you” in Love Story, which is all about fairytale endings. But now on Cruel Summer, she’s subverting that imagery because real life relationships are complicated and raw and nuanced, and not at all like the idealised perfect love she used to write about.

Also, because this lyric is between them being in the back of the car and her screaming I love you, it separates the two situations so they’re not necessarily about the same thing.

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

He looks up, grinning like a devil

And finally, it all becomes too much and she’s no longer able to hide her feelings, because she suddenly screams that she loves him. He looks up from whatever he’s doing, and is like 😁😁😁 because it turns out he’s equally as whipped, and the rest is history!

[creativeashproductions]

Shattered Hearts // Luke Patterson

Summary: The teenage years are supposed to the best time of life but not when fate has other plans for Sunset Curve. Not feeling well reader stays home while Luke prepares for the performance of his life at The Orpheum. Shit hits the fan hard and the fallout ensues.

Warnings: Swearing, death, hospital, cancer (type is not detailed) angst, and fluff.

Words: 2.3k

Requested: @lolychu​

A/N: I didn’t go into detail about the kind of cancer because I didn’t want to, I want it to be as general as it could. I’ve never gone through it or had someone close go through it so it could be wrong and I apologize for that. Broken heart syndrome is REAL by the way.

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1995

There are articles of some medical mysteries that can’t fully be scientifically explained, such as when someone dies in excellent health following the death of a loved one. The scientific term is takotsubo cardiomyopathy, but the world knows it merely by Broken Heart Syndrome. It was a day that was supposed to be the greatest of your teenage years, but the day couldn’t have gone any worse.

First, you woke up with an incredibly high fever and newfound bruises. Pain in a wrist out of nowhere but you wrote it off. You had plans, and illness wasn’t scheduled for the day. Your boyfriend and his band had gotten their big break, well their almost big break. Today was the day Sunset Curve would perform at The Orpheum, and you were gonna be backstage cheering them on.

Luke made his appearance at your house in the morning before early rehearsal, and you managed to convince him you were feeling okay. He went on to their studio, and your mother drove you to the hospital in fear.

Life was an asshole. While you waited for test results pale against the hospital sheets, an ambulance rolled in. Carrying three bodies that would go to the morgue for positive confirmation of death. You wouldn’t know for a full day, Luke’s parents too grief-stricken to call you and that’s okay. 

“Mom?” You asked as her form caved in on the floor near your hospital bed, “Mom!”

Her eyes filled with so much pain brought you fear and concern. With a struggle, she came closer to hold your hand tightly and spoke brokenly the fate that would snatch you.

“Baby, you don’t have the flu.”

“That’s good? So just meds and we can go home?” You asked heart clenching as her eyes closed tight and you knew whatever the doctor had told her after pulling her out of the room wasn’t good.

Couldn’t be good with the slump in her shoulders, the pain in her eyes and the guilt coating her every word. Mom wasn’t a housewife; she wasn’t a flower in need of protection, but she never kept something from you. Always said it straight and as it is.

“Sweetheart, they’re gonna move you to another ward.” You knew deep in your heart the news had to be the worst because Mom wasn’t telling you the whole story. Finally, she broke down, “The doctors got the results back as soon as they could. The fever, the bruises, and the broken wrist have a reason. You have cancer.”

Cancer. A word that sealed your fate. It left you reeling in shock. It shattered your dream with just one single name. Couldn’t be seen but made its presence known. The coming hour was spent with the specialist detailing the type and a tentative treatment plan he wanted to initiate immediately.

A nurse escorted your mother out as the orderlies and nurses prepped you to be moved to a new room. Knowing you were in good hands, your mom walked to the main doors for fresh air only to be astounded at the sight of Mitch and Emily Patterson. Equally shocked, they came together.

“Emily?” Your mom spoke, looking carefully at the parents of your boyfriend. She wondered how the Patterson’s had found out, “Did someone call you?”

“No.” Emily spoke with a numb voice. Your mom took a step back, understanding that one could only react that way for one thing. Something had happened to the Patterson teenager.

 “Luke isn’t here, is he?” Your mom asked, turning to look up at the tall building of the hospital, “Y/N, hasn’t had a phone. She only found out, but Luke hasn’t been with you-“

“The cops came,” Mitch spoke tucking his upset wife into his arms. He was equally as grief-stricken and bitter, but he had to be calm for his wife. They wouldn’t get anywhere if one of them couldn’t get answers.

Your mom gasped, “No.”

“I always knew that band-“Emily’s own sob cut her words off as her knees threatened to buckle. Your mom helped lead Emily into the emergency room before she jogged off to join you but not before turning to the Patterson parents.

“We’ll meet up. Discuss why we’re all here.” 

Being told you had cancer and then informed your boyfriend died all in one night was the most painful thing you had to live through. It was weeks of screaming, invasive procedures and therapy sessions. Your father came from his business trip to Dubai as soon as he could and didn’t leave your side.

A painful six months rolled with cancer stealing your hopes and a fucking bad hotdog taking your dreams away. Nothing made you curious. Nothing felt worth living for.

Not the realistic watercolour tattoo your parents let you get of Luke’s blue guitar you loved so much. It seemed to have a terminally sick child made it practically impossible to say no to, so you got a tattoo of your favourite lyrics of Sunset Curve.

In pretty font, it said ‘When all the days felt black and white. Those were the best shades of my life’ just like it said in Now or Never. One of your favourite songs, you got the privilege of watching Luke create.

“Mom, can I have a popsicle?” You asked from your bed. Eyes barely open as she nodded off her chair, “My mouth is dry.”

“Of course.” She nodded, leaving the room with a kiss on your forehead. Both of you mumbling I love you just in case. You felt like your clock was close to the end, so every word had meaning.

It was a good day so far; you hadn’t had to press for more pain medication like the last couple of weeks. You had managed to turn to stare out the window at the pretty sky. Your eyes fluttered shut completely content that this was it.

Your mom returned to a room with doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate you with your father screaming. No one could figure out if it was the cancer or the broken heart syndrome that killed you first. Your death was a double blow to Luke’s parents the most, along with Reggie and Alex’s own parents. 

Los Angeles, 2020

So much had changed since you died in 1995. Phones had changed, and buildings were torn down. You changed as well too. In relief physically, you had changed from the gaunt, skinny, pale patient to the girl you had been before the diagnosis.

Your hair now looked as healthy as it had been before you had cancer and you weren’t gaunt looking. You were looked just like you did a few months before you got diagnosed and you hoped so since you were dead. It would have sucked to be dead and beyond ugly.

“Do you think she went on to have a family?”

You kept your attention on the waves crashing the beach content to watch the waves doing the same movement they had since the beginning. You paid no attention to the group walking by. Not until one tripped over you landing in an awkward heap.

“Ouch!” The voice hissed. Your eyes flicked down to Reginald fucking Hastings’s blue eyes in pure shock. You scrambled away from the teenager with a sharp scream that pierced the ghoul group.

“Jesus.” You grumbled pushing the little sand that had stuck somehow to your body made of air.

“Oh my god. I think I just summoned Luke’s girlfriend.” Reggie hissed towards the equally astounded members of former Sunset Curve and current Julie and the Phantoms bandmates.

“No, you idiot we’re dead.” You spoke, taking a deep breath in, “After not seeing you for five years I thought you passed on. I’ve been travelling around America and Canada. Something felt like I needed to come home.”

“When did you die?” Alex questioned sadly when you were quiet. His sad blue eyes unable to leave your expressive face, he hoped somehow you had lived to your 90s and died to come back youthful.

“It’s wasn’t harm-“

“No, Luke. I don’t think I’ll ever positively know what happened, but the night you guys died my life ended as well.” You revealed sitting back, letting the three boys join you for an intriguing story to them. Luke wasn’t hesitant in grasping your hand in his, “Funny enough your bodies were being unloaded in the morgue while I was being told by my Mom, I had cancer. The battle was hard but short.”

“Cancer?”

“Our love story was destined to be tragic, whether it be cancer or a hotdog.” You told the teenage guitarist to experience in the afterlife to be gentle about it. The three boys flinched from the indifference, “Have you visited your parents yet? My parents are home for a few weeks.”

“My neighbourhood was torn down. Alex doesn’t know about his and-“ 

“-I’ve seen my folks once so far.” Luke finished playing with your fingers, “You say our love story was tragic, I say it would be tragic if we hadn’t had the chance in life that we did.”

You nodded your head, “Where have you guys been?”

All three boys took their chaotic turn in describing their last meal to Reggie tripping over you with the belief of walking through you. They were in a band with a lifer who made them visible to the public when playing music together. You told them that your parents would choose a destination from your dream travel journal; you would follow them on the adventures.

Slowly you met Julie who put up a distance as she acclimated to having the girlfriend of her crush around always. Julie couldn’t help the feeling of jealously when Luke focused on the teen ghost girl. She couldn’t even hate you! You were so lovely and welcoming to the girl with respect for boundaries, in fact, you were exactly the girl she would have been friends with. Julie loved Flynn, but she could be over the top and dramatic sometimes.

“Good rehearsal. I’ll meet you outside.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You nodded before walking through the white, painted barn doors.

Everything put away properly; Luke was quick to meet up with his girlfriend for their date. Alex noticed the stare by Julie. He had seen it for the past few weeks since you were introduced to the passionate musician with a beautiful voice.

“I’m really sorry, Julie.” Alex softly told the sad Puerto Rican girl yearning to hug the teenager but alas his ghostly body couldn’t allow it.

“Did I have an honest chance before she came back?” Julie asked. Her doe brown eyes bringing Reggie’s attention to the conversation at hand. 

“No.” Reggie answered this time solemn with his blue eyes holding no mirth or childlike glee, “Luke’s been in love with her for years. She’s his all or nothing.”

“I didn’t have a chance between them, and I don’t want you between them either. It’s not a nice place to be even if I was mutually breaking up with his as well.” Alex soothed the live girl yearning to physically comfort her but alas that damn hotdog ruined everything.

“Luke also said when the first big payment came, he would marry her. He wanted to give her the wedding of her dreams.” Reggie unintentionally rubbed the salt in Julie’s wound on the topic of her tragic love story.

Julie learnt to deal with the pain of seeing Luke, so in love and happier than before you had reconnected. In her fashion, she had hidden a new box for her thoughts that was so well hidden the boys would never find it. It was filled with papers that progressively got less romance angst.

“I’m just saying,” Alex spoke, raising his hands in the air after another one of Luke’s emotional rants on the loss of things in death. Such as marrying you.

“Dude, we’re dead, and our ghost connections happen to either be our band, Willie or a very questionable sketchy vintage magician.” Luke snapped slouching on his couch sulking as you were spending time with your family no matter how oblivious they were to your presence.

“I’m ordained.” Willie supplied sitting next to the blonde drummer who had easily swayed from Caleb to the good side again. At the group’s looks of disbelief, he continued, “I was bored! Took some art classes too. It won’t be the average wedding, but you could still call each other spouse.”

“I can check local clubs for wedding dresses. Flynn can easily put together music and Alex can find a venue.” Julie piped up, avoiding the sympathetic look from Reggie, who still thought the teenager had feelings for his bandmate. She no longer did. 

“You can use one of your rings on a chain as well. Maybe hold off on getting a ring until we get money from the band.” Reggie gave his input, earning himself a proud expression from Alex; an expression the drummer rarely was able to give his friend.

“I guess I’m proposing.” Luke beamed already thinking of ways to make his proposal special, not like being ghosts wasn’t already impressive enough. 

It wasn’t the ideal wedding, but it honestly didn’t matter as long as the two of you were able to vow yourself to each other. It no longer mattered on the details other than you two.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

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[asthmark]

❝ comfortable ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

word count → 3k

a/n → instead of admitting to the fact that this has been in my drafts since october what if i just said i was watching superm interviews and got inspired.. would anyone believe that??? anyway superm on the ellen show was a fever dream lol

your leg bounces nervously as your makeup artist touches up your look and you stare at the tv screen in anticipation. you were finally making your television debut. you knew you were blessed for the wonderful opportunity, especially for how new you were to the music industry.

you had started like nearly every other artist; posting covers on youtube. these were well received and gained a good amount of views and likes but your career really took off when you began creating original content. every time you would release a single, it would make it on the trending page thanks to your growing fanbase and exposure to the general public, who seemed to like you. soon enough, requests to interview you whether it be on radio, tv, or magazines were high and, thanks to your managers, you found yourself in los angeles, backstage in a studio, waiting for the ellen degeneres to introduce you to her live audience and thousands of viewers at home.

“don’t move so much, miss l/n,” the woman trying to apply your highlighter comments. “you’re smudging your makeup.”

you force yourself to sit still as you apologize. “sorry. pre-show jitters.”

the woman smiles, emphatically. “i understand, sweetheart. i would be nervous too.”

you’re quiet for a moment, debating if you should continue conversing with her. “can i be honest?”

she hums as she dabs a beauty blender into your cheek. “go ahead.”

“i am so nervous that i’ll mess up or say something stupid. the only thing close to an interview i’ve ever done was a q&a on my youtube channel. and at least i could edit stuff out then.” you huff. “if i make some kind of mistake on my tv debut, my career will be over before it even started.”

“well, think of it this way,” she says. “you went from a moderately popular youtube channel to the ellen show. that doesn’t happen for no reason. there are people out there who really admire you.”

you chuckle in disbelief. “it’s crazy to think about people actually wanting to see me. i still can't believe it.”

she giggles, softly. “they know there's something worth seeing.” at seeing your small smile, almost as if you were barely realizing your own star status, she laughs. “you seriously gotta wake up, girl. you’re famous!”

you smile at her, finding humor in her words. “thanks for the wake up call.”

you both direct your attention to the tv placed backstage that broadcasted what was happening on stage. you listen in to ellen’s monologue as she tells jokes and addresses current topics. before long, there’s a knock on the doorframe. you half expect a staff member to let you know that you’ll be on soon but instead you hear a quiet, “hello?”

you and your makeup artist both turn to the boy standing in the doorway. he's wearing a black jacket paired with dark, ripped jeans held up by a belt. he goes to bow, then remembers that korean etiquette does not apply and decides to wave as a greeting instead. you reciprocate the gesture. he stands with only one foot inside the room, almost as if he’s too polite to enter without being given the okay.

“did they send you to get your makeup done?” the woman who had done yours says.

he nods. “they said something about concealer and bb cream, i think?”

she smiles. “yeah, it’s basic stuff. come on in. what’s your name, dear?”

“oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

“well, mark lee, i’m lily. i’ll be doing your makeup, making sure you look pretty for the cameras.” she motions to you. “i'm just about done here so i’ll be right with you.”

“okay, thank you.” he shuffles in, his eyes glued to you and you hold his stare. he nods, a wordless greeting as he settles in next to you. in return, you throw up a peace sign and he smiles at your casual behavior.

“you know what? somebody used all the setting spray. i’ll be right back, i’m just going to steal some from my co-workers.” with that, lily darts out of the room.

it’s pure silence between the two of you until you spark conversation. “i didn't get to introduce myself but i'm y/n.”

“i know,” he responds, quickly. “i'm kind of a fan, actually. i mean, it’s practically impossible to not be. you’re all over the place. especially with the new single you dropped... which is a bop, by the way.”

you smile at his simply-worded praise. it was a nice switch up from the professional reviews you received from critics. “that’s so cute. i’m honored.” you miss the way mark’s ears turn slightly pink at your words. “but enough about me, what do you do, mark?”

“oh, me? i’m in the k-pop scene.”

you hum. “that’s a good genre to be in. which group?”

“right now i’m promoting with superm, it’s kind of like a side project. but originally, i’m in a band called nct.”

you lean forward at hearing the familiar name. “nct? as in, nct 127?”

mark’s eyes light up. “yeah! you know us?”

you nod, enthusiastically. “oh my god, yes! you collabed with ava, right?”

“we sure did. are you guys close?”

“i help her write lyrics sometimes.” you lower your voice down to a whisper for dramatic effect. “i wrote the chorus to ‘sweet but psycho’.”

the way mark’s jaw drops is almost comedic. “no way! that song got her famous, dude!” his lips curve into a playful smirk. “just because of that i’m gonna have to get you in the studio.”

you return the mischievous look. “is that a promise?”

“i’m back!” lily announces, giving mark no time to respond. she gives no warning as she spritzs you with the bottle she had gone to retrieve.

you cough, choking on the mist. “no heads up?”

“sorry, dear. you’re on in two minutes, no time to waste.”

you feel a chill go up your spine. it was finally time.

mark nudges your arm. “you okay?”

“a little nervous.” that proves to be the biggest understatement of all time because in reality your heart is doing somersaults.

“hey.” you stare at him, his brown eyes boring into you. “you’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about. you got this!”

you smile at his words of encouragement. he cared about you and you find that your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“i'll be here to cheer you on while you’re out there and i’ll be back when you’re done to tell you how amazing you did, okay?”

you nod.

“now get out there!”

“well, we have a great show for y’all today,” ellen says, clasping her hands together, having just finished her monologue. “i mean, it’s always great but the exciting thing is we have two musical guests today.”

the audience that cheered wildly is shown on screen. you almost forget about the knot in your stomach when you see some people in the crowd wearing shirts with the cover art and quoted lyrics of your last single.

“i see you guys are ready so, without further ado... let’s get started. our first guest is a soloist who has made quite a big name for herself in such a short period of time. she currently has three singles on the billboard charts, her most recent music video is number one trending on youtube, and she has a new ep coming out soon. here for her television debut, please welcome y/n l/n.”

you walk out from behind the stage, a huge smile on your face. the crowd screams and you wave to them until your hands become too occupied hugging the hostess who greets you with open arms and a proud smile. once the hype dies down and your entrance music fades out, you take a seat, opposite of ellen.

“how have you been y/n?”

“amazing,” you respond, letting your hands fall neatly in your lap.

“and why is that?”

you sigh, wistfully. “everything has been going so well for me lately. i mean, i feel like all these doors are opening up for me all of a sudden. i think i finally made it.”

“you’re just barely realizing that?” ellen exclaims.

you laugh, along with the audience. “kind of, yeah. it just all happened so fast.”

“is there an experience that comes to mind where you finally realized how famous you are?”

you try to think for a few moments before your eyes light up. “okay so, i was at a mcdonald’s like, last month and i went through the drive thru and ordered some nuggets and fries. so, i pull up to the window to pay and it’s around 2 a.m. so the cashier guy is super out of it, like he’s not even paying attention to me. finally, he goes to grab my card and he gets a good look at me and just freezes. like, full on shuts down. so i ask him if he’s okay and he nods so i try to hand him my card again but he goes, ‘no, you’re famous, you don’t have to pay’. and in that moment i just knew.”

“hold on, pause,” ellen announces, dramatically. “you’re telling me that you have been nominated as artist of the year, gained over ten million followers on social media and made your national television debut but the thing that really made you say ‘wow, i’m famous’ was a couple of chicken nuggets?”

“ellen, c’mon,” you begin, seriously. “it was a twenty piece.”

“oh, well, that changes everything,” she says, playing along with you, as the audience erupts into laughter.

the rest of the interview goes smoothly, running on jokes and sarcastic energy. you discuss your young age (thus resulting in some of your baby pictures finally being revealed to the world), millennial culture (the crowd went wild when you explained terms such as netflix and chill to ellen who claimed she didn’t understand yet her sly smirk said otherwise) and your upcoming ep (that you would be giving a sneak peek of later on in the show).

you continue chatting once the commercial break is announced and ellen showers you with praises, commenting how young talent never failed to amaze her, although it did make her feel old. you get to thank the hostess and tell her how much you appreciated her sweet words and the opportunity she had given you before the crew is dragging you backstage so you can prep for your upcoming performance.

you’re greeted by a “that was awesome!” and a high five one you get backstage.

you flash mark a full smile. “couldn’t have done it without my hype man.”

just then lily walks in to touch up your makeup.

“and my hype woman!”

she just rolls her eyes and chuckles as she reapplies gloss to your lips. 

“seriously though, y/n. why did you have to be so perfect? the bar is all the way up here now.” to emphasize his point, mark raises his arm as high as it will go.

“hey, i only tried hard because you’re up next. you’re a hard act to beat, mark lee. i mean, you’re charismatic, charming, witty; basically every talk show host’s dream.”

he scoffs yet you see how he avoids your gaze, your compliments obviously flattering him to the extreme.

a staff member walks by, cutting your conversation short. “y/n, you’re back on in one. superm is on right after.”

you and mark turn back to each other, speaking the same two words at the same time.

“good luck.”

ellen introduces you again, only this time you hold a guitar and stand in front of a microphone once you’re back on the stage. you perform a never before heard song but judging by the roaring applause and standing ovation you receive by the end of it, it’s another successful hit.

you bask in the amazing response and then you’re ushered backstage for the last time. you catch sight of the staff placing more seats on the stage as you exit and you smile eagerly, knowing exactly what’s to come. you search the hallways for your new friend, hoping you can catch him before the show goes back on air. you’re almost about to give up when you hear your name being called.

you lock eyes with mark who stands a couple feet away, barely hidden from the audience’s view. even from where you stand you can tell he has a nervous smile on his face. you jog towards him and to your surprise, he envelops your figure without a second thought. in return, you tentatively wrap your arms around him.

“great job,” he murmurs, breath fanning your ear. “i really did cheer you on.”

“i’ll make sure to do the same.” you hesitantly pull away from his embrace, holding him at an arm’s length away. “go get ‘em.”

he gives you a determined nod and you watch him rush on stage, the audience’s wild cheering increasing. their energy didn’t fade once throughout the interview and just as you had suspected, mark was doing wonderfully. he clearly thrived in interviews; his awkward, boyish nature enchanting everyone in the studio, yourself included.

ellen crosses her legs and clears her throat. “so, i have to ask you something, you know, for the fans.”

the group leaned forward in anticipation, awaiting her next words.

“are any of you dating?”

the crowd released noises of amusement at hearing the very personal question. you can’t help but feel intrigued although you knew ellen has always been quite the invasive person. you watched as the seven boys looked around at each other, unsure what to say but before their silence can become suspiciously long, mark ends up taking the question.

“why are you always so curious about this, though?” he blurts.

the audience absolutely eats up his response, cheering at his bluntness. even you find it humorous, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. that’s definitely gonna become a meme, you think.

“it’s my job!” counters ellen. “why are you so defensive?”

the crowd is very responsive to ellen’s rebuttal, ‘ooh’ing in amusement.

mark’s silence only pushes the hostess to continue teasing him.

“does it maybe have anything to do with y/n?”

your smile drops. had she seen you two? you’re not sure why you feel so exposed; after all, you had just been talking.

ellen’s lips adorn a sly smile at mark’s stunned reaction. “you seemed to be getting very comfortable with each other backstage.”

the black haired male stumbles over his words before he gets a semi-coherent sentence out. “we just, um—we just met.”

“oh really? you two looked like you had known each other forever.”

mark chuckles breathlessly, eyes glued to his lap, obviously at a loss for words. ellen stares at him expectantly so he mutters, “i like making friends.”

ellen, the audience, and even some of the band members laugh at his response.

“well, i’m sure there’s a lot of fans out there that wish they were your ‘friend’.” her tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy his excuse but she prods him no further, instead turning to stare into the main camera. “when we get back superm will be performing their title track ‘jopping’. during the commercial break, please feel free to place your bets as to how long mark and y/n will remain ‘friends’.”

the camera pans to mark for a couple seconds; his ears are bright red and his cheeks are dusted light pink, his makeup doing nothing to help hide the blush. his eyes dart around, anxiously and then they cut to commercials.

you shake your head, smiling at the entire situation and just how big of a dork mark was.

you attentively watch superm’s two performances, eyes mostly glued to a certain rapper. you sit patiently in the makeup room, waiting for mark to return backstage so you can congratulate him but he never appears. you try to conceal your disappointment, even when lily enters the room, smiling brightly.

“well, the show’s over, doll.” she removes her makeup stained apron and glances at you as she places it on a nearby rack. “hey, why the long face?”

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, no longer bothering to hide your pout now that your frustration had been made known.

“you did great, if that’s what you’re worried about. just ask mark.”

“he left,” you mumble. “i thought i’d be able to catch him before he left and we could… i don’t know, talk a bit more? i just really—” you trail off.

“like him?” lily suggests, too loudly for your liking.

your head snaps towards her, eyes wide, only confirming your feelings.

“don’t worry, dear, you can say it. i won’t tell ellen,” she jokes.

you sigh and slump down in your seat. “yeah. i like him.”

“well, then, i have good news for you.”

you half-heartedly hum, allowing her to continue.

she waves a piece of crumpled paper in front of your face. you grab it from her, staring at it curiously.

“what’s this?”

she nods her head at it, encouraging you to find out for yourself. “open it and see.”  

you obey, unfolding the tiny item. your eyes struggle to read the words inside but if you squint, they become clearer.

please call, me i would love to become closer ‘friends’.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

it’s mark btw :)

you can’t contain your smile at the cute little note.

“he’s adorable,” you say, mostly to yourself but lily audibly agrees.

“he ran into me as he was leaving and begged me to deliver that message to you. which reminds me, i’m supposed to let you know that he wishes he could have stuck around but his schedule is ‘crazy tight’ so he had to ‘dip’. his words not mine.”

you nod, grin widening. “thanks, lily.”

“my pleasure. nothing like young love.”

you give her a glare although it’s all but threatening.

she folds her arms, teasingly. “so, are you going to give him a call or what?”

you’re sure she sees the phone in your hand and the way your fingers press the numbers on the keypad, excitedly but nevertheless, you decide to answer.

“i’d be crazy not to.”

[lady-writes]

Absolutely no one tagged me in anything but my brain is “spinning beachball cursor.gif” so Imma do the thing and hopefully organize some thoughts.

WIP Sentence Thing (in alphabetical order from my words-n-shit gdrive folder)

1. These Impossible Years, Nile Centric Gen -> BoN

Andy and Quỳnh remember some hot springs that are miraculously still there and  one of the rules that Nile instituted for a Proper Girls Night is 20th century minimum standards of pampering, right?

2. Apparently March is For Strippers Not!Fic Anthology

Booker understands what a fan dance is and how it works etc.  But when he walks round on Nile backstage just before she goes on while she’s throwing back a fast shot to wish her a good set he’s Dumbstruck by the sight of  Nile back-lit, sparkling, and looking like all of his dreams come true.

3. BoN 5 Things+ 1 Trilogy

-A second chance at a family, one with no secrets and open arms, one where you fit in so seamlessly it felt like maybe Nicolo was right about destiny. 

-One of Nile's first moves is to look into what happened  and make sure that her FET will be safe and the perps that she KNOWS exist will be brought to justice. And what she finds makes her fucking blood boil.

4. Regency Marriage of Conveniences/Pride and Predjudice AU

Unfortunately there was the simple matter of the circumstance of [Nile’s] birth that caused her distress, the firstborn daughter of a merchant enterprise, several generations since freed, but not yet considered unremarkable for her coloring or class.

5.  BoN Alternate History AU where Booker and Nile are a Nicky and Joe type Pair

The last time Nile sees her husband alive he was bundling their children into a carriage bound for his sister's home swearing that nothing would go wrong and he would return before nightfall and that she should finish packing for their holiday. She gave a last kiss to JP and tucked him into his fathers arms

6. Urban Fantasy Fury/Harpy Nile Fic

The kids insist when interviewed that the nice lady had been very strong, throw a man across the room strong and somehow bigger.  But she’d asked them all to cover their eyes and hide behind a big desk together Neither variable size, not enhanced strength are listed in Nile's Public Personnel profile.

7. Hum For the Bolt pt. 2

The words floated on the air between them for a moment before Booker mused, almost to himself, “This could be a Naked room.” 

There was a beat and then the both  of them were punch drunk and giggly again. Nile was no stranger to the particular high of a scene or a job well done but the combination of both of them, the combination of those plus the beaming beautiful man in her lap was intoxicating in ways that she’d never truly considered before

8. Regency Marriage of Convenience Kink Meme fill That grew legs

This was the environment into which le Duc de Bouches-du Rhône entered. Sebastien had of course also been informed of the new arrivals, though the urgency he felt to introduce himself was understandably far less. Upon hearing his announcement, the atmosphere almost audibly rose to a tight fevered pitch. Indus extricated himself from Jay and Nile and stood.  Jay and Nile and Indus disappeared and left only La Baronnesse de Guadalupe, Le Comtesse de San Domingue, and le Marquis de Antilles et Leyogàn. 

9. That story about Andy getting pregnant shortly after losing her immortality

Booker and Nile never expected for a second that the team would trade them for Andy’s Kid and as such had been assuming that when reinforcements came it would be Joe and Nicky. So just the sight of Andy terrifies them in a way that they haven't felt in the past month and a half.

10. High Fantasy Questing Fic where I finally write some of the Lykon Content I want to see in the world

When Nile leaves she bribes Booker and Lykon into joining her, she’s determined to keep her brother safe and she knows he might do something drastic otherwise. She’s given protection to as many of her kin as she can from the whims of the fey. Since Shifters can only access the magic innate to them while shifted, Booker and Lykon are uniquely placed to be able to help Nile learn how to use magic in bird shape without her hands or her voice. And the whole reason that Booker and Lykon ran off to the woods at the edge of the world was  search of a witch like Nile who can help them settle the feud between their countries: a spell binder

11. 1960′s Suburbia AU, where BoN have a mildy dysfuntional marriage and J/N+A/Q move in to the duplex across the street as a pair of bearded couples and Nile has to Confront Things About Herself

Her folks had been worried about them, when Sebastien asked their permission to see her. Nile was going to leave her family and her people and who would be able to look out for them if one of the neighbors decided that a Jewish man and his Black wife were dragging down the neighborhood. People still talked about Trumbull Park and Ma Lewis’s old place on the North side, shot to pieces and how when they finished fixing up the house, the entire damn neighborhood was abandoned around them. Miss Lettie had been lucky, her Momma said. So Nile s glad to see new faces (especially ones that aren't white) but after 2 months, the more she saw of the the new neighbors, the more sure she was that something was off about them.

12. TOG+The Addams Family crossover ft Swamp Witch Nile and Wednesday Addams as college roommates 

“WEDNESDAY WHERE WAS THIS ONE WHEN I WAS CRYING OVER DIZZY AND  YOU AND JAY WERE PLOTTING TO MURDER 6 PPL"

Wednesday, deadpan: "France"

Wednesday is VERY unimpressed that Nile has a thing for Cousin Booker.

13. Gen retrospective about the places the various members of the team call home and how Nile gets to know them by visiting these places 

“Why here then? Why would you come back?” “Because it's all that’s left of what made me. Me and this mountain are the only two living things who saw it first hand that are still alive, so I figure we gotta stick together.”

14. Factorial Fic (as in n!) 

And for a decade, Quynh gladly breathed water because glimpses of Andromache’s joy after so long made drowning worthwhile. When she finally broke free the first debt she wished to repay was his.

[swaps55]

Cafune

Shepard’s cabin is a hell of an upgrade over crew quarters. Considerably less foot traffic, for one, private bathroom for another. The dim lighting alone is heaven. It’s always too bright on the crew deck. Hell, Kaidan even kinda likes the fish.

But it’s the company he really enjoys.

He shifts in his spot on the couch, nestling a little deeper against Shepard, who tightens the arm looped around his waist in response. Kaidan is still at least attempting to read through the reports that have been piling up. But Shepard has spent the last several minutes ignoring his datapad in favor of gazing at Kaidan.

It’s…nice. Really nice. Especially when the datapad gets tossed aside entirely and Shepard’s fingers start carding through his hair.

A smile curves Kaidan’s lips. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” Shepard says softly. “I missed this, you know.”

“Touching my hair?”

“Mmm. Also the rest of you.” He presses a kiss to Kaidan’s temple.  

A contented sigh slips out of Kaidan’s throat. “Believe me, I missed it, too.”

Shepard’s fingers continue working, making the datapad in Kaidan’s hand less and less interesting. But then they still, followed by a deliberate intake of breath. After a few seconds, Shepard exhales and starts moving his fingers again.

“What is it?” Kaidan asks.

Another pause. “Nothing.”

Kaidan hides a smile and keeps skimming his datapad, even though at this point he isn’t reading a word. Shepard doesn’t hesitate to say what’s on his mind. Only Sam does. “Uh huh. Well, whenever you change your mind, let me know.”

Shepard grunts. But a minute later he drops his hand and shifts his position a little. “Can I ask you something?”

There it is.

“Of course.”

More shifting. “While, uh, while I was dead, did you…?”

Kaidan tightens up without meaning to. Those two years are never going to be an easy subject, especially when Shepard throws the word dead around so easily.

As if sensing his discomfort, Shepard draws Kaidan a little closer to him. “Never mind.”

Kaidan sets the datapad down and settles against him. Shepard’s death certainly isn’t a pleasant topic, but bridging it while tucked in his arms…helps. “No, go on. Did I what?”

“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Sam. There are things about…that I’d rather not talk about. But doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it at all. What do you want to know?”

He clears his throat, expression a little sheepish. “Just…wondering if you, ah…met anyone.”

Kaidan blinks. Well. That’s…not what he expected. “Are you…asking if I dated anyone after Alchera?”

“I mean, it’s fine if you did,” he says quickly. “Two years is a long time. People move on.”

A hoarse laugh escapes Kaidan’s throat. Move on. He’d spent the first year in a fugue, and the second convincing himself that functioning wasn’t enough; he had to live, too. He hadn’t quite mastered it by the time Hackett dropped the Freedom’s Progress file in his lap.

Move on. Everyone told him he would, eventually. Some days he’d even believed them.  

“Sam…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shepard says, voice gentle. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Why do you ask?” Kaidan asks, curious. If there’s one thing they’ve generally done right, it’s believe in the way they feel about each other. Well. Once they’d mustered the courage to say how they felt about each other, anyway.

Besides, dating is all but a foreign language to Sam. Not that Kaidan has a much better track record of it.

Shepard’s fingers return to Kaidan’s scalp. Kaidan’s not sure if it’s meant to reassure him, or reassure Sam. “I guess…your thing with Joker reminded me…I’ll never know what kind of hell you really went through.”

Ah, right. The thing. While Shepard was with Cerberus, Joker apparently hadn’t mentioned just how contentious things had gotten after Alchera.

“If you found something, er, someone, who made it a little less hellish,” he continues, “Well.”

Kaidan closes his eyes and revels in the gentle churn of Shepard’s fingers. “I don’t really…date, Sam.”

Shepard makes a noncommittal sound.

Kaidan opens his eyes, sensing a challenge. “Come on. In the five years we served together, did I ever date anyone?”

A hesitant look crosses Shepard’s face. It takes Kaidan a moment to understand it, but when he gets there he chuckles in disbelief.

“You’re actually going to say the researcher we ran into on Arcturus, aren’t you.”

Shepard withdraws his fingers from Kaidan’s hair and gestures. “Come on, you can’t argue that wasn’t a date.”

“We had drinks,” Kaidan reminds him. “Once. At your insistence. You literally wingmaned me.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I was doing you a favor,” Shepard grumbles. “The one that got away, and all that.”

“She was not the one that got away,” he says with amusement.

Shepard sniffs. “That’s good, because she was not right for you.”

“Then why…” Kaidan’s eyes widen as realization dawns. “You were jealous.”

“What, of her?”

“Yes. You were jealous.” He chuckles again as the pieces fall into place. “You were in a horrible mood when I came to find you after. Since you wingmaned me I thought you’d want to hear how it went, but you nearly took my head off. I thought you were pissed at Pendergrass for being impossible to take out in public. But you were pissed at me, weren’t you?”

Guilt flashes across his eyes. “No.”

“Sam.”

His brow furrows. “Ok…in retrospect…I was probably jealous.”

“You insisted I buy her a drink!”

“Yeah, because you kept talking about how much you enjoyed her company when she was…researching you.”

Kaidan sighs in exasperation. “She was researching my implant. We were friends. Saw each other a few times and went our separate ways. Well before you and I met, I might add.”

“You were still into her,” Shepard insists. “Come on, I know you.”  

“You ass, I was into you,” Kaidan says with a laugh. “I didn’t want to have drinks with her. You’re the one I wanted to spend that evening with.”

A smirk curves his lips. “Yeah, well, I know that now.”

Kaidan shakes his head. “So if I’d come into your quarters that night and kissed you instead of telling you about my so-called date, would that have put you in a better mood?”

Shepard grins. “Why? Did you think about kissing me?”

“When didn’t I,” Kaidan mutters.

“Boy you had it bad for me, didn’t you?” Shepard says, tracing Kaidan’s jaw with a finger.  

Kaidan raises an eyebrow, not about to give in to the gesture of affection. “I’m sorry, who shot out the window of a quarantine lab and exposed themselves to a bio engineered virus for no reason?”

Shepard squawks in protest. “What do you mean no reason? You were in that room!”

“And I’d already been exposed,” Kaidan points out.

“So I was just supposed to leave you in there was some deadly virus? I kinda like to think I’d have done that you whether I loved you or not. You think I would have left Garrus in there?”

Kaidan holds up a finger. “No. No, no. If it had been Garrus you would have used that tactical head of yours for at least a nanosecond, realized the damage was already done and taken the extra five minutes to go through the decontamination process. Or at the very least, put your helmet on to avoid exposure. But no, you shot out the glass and came after me because you were in love with me and didn’t stop to think. Or grab a helmet.”

Shepard sputters, then glares. “Ok. You might, might, have a point.”

A slow grin spreads over Kaidan’s face. “And because of it you had to spend all that time with me in quarantine. You literally took care of me when I felt like I was going to die.”

Shepard draws Kaidan back to his chest. “Kinda thought you were going to die. Scared me to death.”

“Yeah,” Kaidan says. “I won’t lie…I was glad you were there. Even if it was a little humiliating to be that incapacitated around my commanding officer.”

“I’ll take you at your worst over most people at their best,” Shepard says. His fingers return to Kaidan’s hair, and Kaidan leans into the touch with a hum. “Like hell I was going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” Kaidan says, and it’s true. As reckless and unnecessary as that stunt had been, the sound of that glass shattering followed by Shepard’s voice in his ear had made him feel…safe.  

Shepard clears his throat again, shifting uncomfortably. “Is it, uh, is it weird if I admit that I might have…done this a little, when your fever spiked?”

“Touched my hair?”

“Yeah.”

Kaidan chuckles softly. “Thought I dreamed that.”

“No,” he says after a pause. “I just…I don’t know. This is probably really incriminating, but I always had this urge to run my fingers through your hair.”

Kaidan smirks. “You can admit you just wanted to mess it up.”

Shepard huffs.

“You loved me,” Kaidan says with a shrug. “You may not have known it, but you did.”

Shepard nods. “In retrospect, it was really fucking obvious, wasn’t it?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“In my defense, I have literally never been attracted to anyone before. How was I supposed to know that’s what it felt like?”

Kaidan snorts. “So it never occurred to you that being jealous when I went on a date, or unnecessarily exposing yourself to a deadly virus because I was in trouble, and wanting to touch my hair all the time, might mean you were in love with me.”

“Yeah, the porch swing also should have been a clue,” he muses.

Kaidan rearranges himself to meet Shepard’s gaze head on. “You mean back at the orchard? When I feel asleep and drooled on your shoulder?”

Shepard nearly shoves him off the couch. “So you admit it. You’ve been denying that happened for years.”

Kaidan narrows his eyes as something else clicks into place. “Did you touch my hair then, too?”

Shepard blinks. “This is about you, not me.”

“You did.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ok, maybe…very briefly…I might have.”

Kaidan laughs and settles back against him. “I knew it.”

Shepard grumbles, but snakes an arm around him once more. “Well if it was so goddamn obvious why didn’t you just kiss me and get on with it?”

“Because how could I be sure?”

Shepard stares at him. “Boy, kinda hard to believe we saved the galaxy, isn’t it?”

Kaidan grins. “You said it yourself. How good can first timers really be?”

“Not first timers anymore, are we?” Shepard asks, in a soft voice that puts a flutter in Kaidan’s chest.

Kaidan shakes his head.

Shepard’s fingers flirt with his hair once more. “So…you didn’t actually answer my question.”

The flutter dissipates. “I didn’t date anyone, Sam.”

He runs a thumb along Kaidan’s hairline, expression growing solemn. “You know that would have been okay, right? You know…I’d want you to be happy.”

Kaidan catches his hand, heart jumping into his throat and I’ll be fine echoing in his ears. “Sam.”

So that’s what this whole thing’s about. The next Alchera. The next Mars. The next time they inevitably gamble their lives and lose. Kaidan swallows and tries to pull away from him. “This…this is one of the things I don’t want to talk about.”

“Yeah,” Shepard says, keeping him close and cupping his cheek. “But you need to hear it. I want you to be happy. Always. Whatever that means.”

“I am happy,” Kaidan argues. “With you.”

“And believe me,” Shepard assures him, “I hope that never changes. But I just…need you to know.”

Kaidan’s hands shake as he slides back into his waiting arms. “Please don’t talk about this.”

“Ok,” Shepard murmurs, wrapping him up tight. Kaidan closes his eyes and breathes him in. Solid. Real. Alive. And his. “How about, instead, we talk about all those midnight meals you fixed over the years?”

“What about them?” Kaidan asks, palm slipping under his shirt in search of a heartbeat.

Shepard’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Started as just ‘hey, there’s a stash of peanut butter and crackers in a drawer if you need a pick me up.’ Next thing you were fixing full entrees in the middle of the night.”

“I was hungry,” Kaidan replies, hiding a small smile.

“Uh huh. You’re telling me the extra plate and fork you always had waiting had nothing to do with hoping I’d show up.”

“Mom always said that if I wanted to impress someone I should learn how to cook.”

Shepard nuzzles his neck before burying his fingers back in Kaidan’s hair. “Mmhmm. So you wanted to impress me, huh? Keep talking.”

Kaidan scoffs. “What, you want to try and tell me that you appearing like clockwork was pure coincidence?”

“You caught me,” Shepard concedes. “I fell in love with the Alenko family risotto recipe.”

Kaidan huffs. Shepard plants kisses up and down his throat, letting his corona flare just long enough to send a current through Kaidan’s nerves.

“Mmmm,” Kaidan murmurs, tilting his head back to give Shepard better access. “Must have been some risotto.”

“Yeah,” Shepard mumbles between kisses. “Except it turns out it definitely wasn’t the risotto I looked forward to all those nights.”

No. It wasn’t. For either of them. Eight years ago when Kaidan had walked into a bar on Arcturus and found Shepard sitting there, it was like something had just snapped into place. For both of them.

“Quarks,” Kaidan says softly.

Shepard pauses. “What?”

“Something Tali told me a long time ago,” Kaidan explains. “That certain types of quarks are tuned to one another on a quantum level, bonded across space and time. The more you pull them apart, the harder they try to snap back together.”

Shepard lifts his head and searches Kaidan’s face. Under Kaidan’s palm, Shepard heart beats strong and steady.

“I didn’t see anyone after Alchera,” Kaidan says. “It never occurred to me. Maybe…deep down I still felt that pull.” He runs a finger along Shepard’s cheek. “Because it turns out you were still out there.”

Shepard swallows, voice catching. “You are such a romantic. You know that?”

Kaidan’s gaze drifts to Shepard’s mouth. “Say it. Please?”

“I love you,” Shepard whispers. 

Kaidan brushes a finger across Shepard’s lips. So many times he’d wanted to kiss them and hadn’t. So many times he’d wondered what it would be like and never had the courage to find out. So many chances they’d lost in the debris now buried under the snow on Alchera.

Not tonight. Tonight Kaidan kisses him slow and deep, drinking in every sigh, every soft sound that slips from his throat, reveling in the feel of Shepard’s fingers tangled in his hair. It won’t make up for all the times they’ve missed.

But it’s a start.  

[spideyfic]

As You Walk on By (Will You Call My Name?)

Peter Parker made a deal with the Devil and now he's paying his dues.

(A purely speculative fic based on the set pictures from today)

He walks down Manhattan Avenue, snowflakes settling in his hair as he alternates between checking the building numbers and the address written on the piece of paper he holds. He’s not really familiar with Brooklyn, but the Brooklyn Daily Eagle ran an article about the holiday window art in a donut shop called Peter Pan, crediting the artist as Michelle Jones, and his heart had jumped right up into his throat.

He’s wearing Ben’s old jacket with the broken zip that has to be twenty years old, the padding bunched awkwardly in the back where May had tried to save money on dry cleaning by throwing it in the washing machine, and he should be cold, but he’s flushed with nervy excitement.

He knows this probably isn’t a good idea.

But he’s doing it anyway.

It feels strange to be walking down the street as Peter Parker without anyone batting an eyelid, after six months of being public enemy number one. Spider-Man might still be wanted, but Peter Parker is just a dorky loner wanted by nobody other than his Aunt May.

He finally sees the bakery, recognizes MJ’s artwork in the windows. There’s a penguin holding a menorah, and it makes him pause for a moment, remembering the hand-drawn Chanukah card she’d given him the first holiday after the Blip, featuring very same penguin. But then he sees her through the window, placing fresh donnuts on a tray, and he’s overcome with the need to see her again. He takes five big strides and yanks the door open, practically bursting into the store.

MJ looks up as he walks in, raising an eyebrow. She’s wearing a look of disinterest and a long, white sleeved tee under a truly hideous mint green tunic with a pink collar and cuffs. “What can I do for you?”

She’s there right in front of him, alive and well, and it’s almost overwhelming. He suddenly regrets coming to find her, her lack of recognition cutting him to the core, but he’s here now, staring at her with his mouth gaping open like he’s some kind of dumbass fish, so he squints at the menu behind her. “Uh – a small Ho Ho Ho hot chocolate to go, please.”

She fills a cup with chocolate powder and milk, holding it under the steamer. “Hey, you go to Midtown, right?” she says, looking back over her shoulder. “You’re in B stream.”

That’s news to him, but he rolls with it. “Yeah. Peter. I mean, I’m Peter Parker.”

“Alliterative,” she says approvingly. “I’m Michelle.” She finishes steaming the hot chocolate and holds up a can of whipped cream. “Cream?” she asks, shaking the can when he nods and squirting a generous amount on top of the chocolate before sprinkling it with crushed peppermints. “Do you want any donuts? Maybe a bagel?” She clicks the lid down on his drink and places it on top of the display cabinet.

The hot chocolate has already blown his budget, but he looks at the five-dollar donuts anyway. A red one catches his eye, decorated with a spider web. “Hey, is that a Spider-Man donut?” he says. “Do you guys support him?”

“We’re pro-Spidey,” she confirms. “The proceeds from that donut go to the Citizens to Defend Spidey fund.”

There goes the rest of his budget. “I’ll take two – Spidey-Nuts?” He squints at the label, thinking – hoping – he’s read it wrong, but nope, Spidey-Nut is there in the neat, flowing handwriting he recognizes as MJ’s. “You remembered the hyphen,” he says weakly, trying not to die of mortification.

“The hyphen is important,” she says seriously, wrapping two donuts in waxed paper and dropping them into a bag that he crams into one of his jacket pockets. “That’s $15.” As she holds out the payment terminal for him to tap his card, he spots a necklace – the necklace – in the vee of her tunic. He has no idea why it exists in this reality, but he’s glad it does. It reassures him that the last three years of his life weren’t some kind of fever dream.

“I like your necklace,” he says, and she reflexively looks down, hooking the chain with her thumb to let the broken pendant dangle. “A black dahlia, right? Like the murder?”

She smiles then, the shy grin she’d given him on Tower bridge, six months and an unaltered reality ago. “How did you know?”

“I used to know someone was into true crime,” he says, making himself look up from her softly curving lips to meet her gaze. “How come it’s broken?”

She shrugs, tucking it back under her tunic. “I don’t actually know? I just found it on my desk. I kind of like it better broken, though. I don’t know its story, but it feels – special, somehow.”

It’s suddenly all too much and he knows he has to get out of there. “I gotta go,” he mumbles, taking his cup. “Thanks.”

MJ looks startled. “OK. Maybe I’ll see you at school?”

“Maybe.” He summons a half-hearted smile and leaves the store as quickly as he entered, the cup clutched in his hand. He drops it in the trash without even taking a sip.

He feels sick, can’t stand that MJ looked at him like he was basically a stranger. But the alternative – MJ bleeding out in his arms, her last breath used to murmur his name – is far, far worse, and he would rather have her alive and not part of his life, than dead, all her passion and intelligence and compassion snuffed out in a moment.

He rewrote reality for her.

He erased any memory anyone in the world had of Peter Parker being Spider-Man to make sure she lived.

He made a deal with the Devil to save her life, and now he was paying his dues.

***

MJ locks the door and flips over the back in five! sign before she heads out to the back of the store. She doesn’t know why, but she feels out of step, discombobulated, like something in the universe had shifted that she wasn’t quite aware of. “Hey, Ned?” she says, stepping into the prep room.

Ned looks up, his hands sunk deep into a ball of dough. “You OK?” he says, his eyebrows knit in concern. “You look weird.”

She sits on a battered stool, tucking her feet behind the bar at the base. “That quiet kid from school just came in,” she says, holding her necklace between thumb and forefinger and twisting it mindlessly back and forth. “The one who wears all the geeky science tees.”

“Peter?” Ned rubs his palms together over the sink, sloughing off little balls of dough before washing his hands thoroughly. “We used to be friends when we were kids, but then his parents died and he moved schools in second grade. I tried talking to him when he started Midtown but he’s like super shy.”

“I feel like I know him,” she says. “There was this – I don’t know, it was like a connection.” She doesn’t tell Ned that she thinks Peter is cute, or that his dark eyes and sweet smile had made her pulse quicken.

He smirks anyway; he’s not her best friend for nothing. “We should talk to him at school,” he tells her, drying his hands on a paper towel. “I saw him wearing a Star Wars shirt before Christmas break. I need someone in my life that appreciates the greatest cinematic franchise of all time.”

Ned’s her absolute favorite nerd. He’s the easiest person in the world to be friends with – he’s all sweet, open affection, the perfect counterpoint to her more closed-off nature, and his kindness is infectious. She’d usually rib him about the Star Wars comment, but she gives him a pass this time, because he’s being all earnest and shit, and making friends with Peter Parker seems somehow inevitable.

“Yeah,” she says, contemplative. “Yeah, we should do that.”

Ned gives her one of his beaming, toothy smiles and pats her shoulder. “First day back, we’ll sit with him at lunch,” he says, returning to his kneading. “He always looks like he needs a friend.”

MJ watches him work, her mind still on the boy who’d burst through the door and looked at her like he’d found a long-lost treasure.

Peter Parker was a mystery.

She wanted to solve him.

[miqojak]

Layers Upon Layers

one: outside layer

[Name:] "Jak." [Hair Style & colour:] "Black and orange. I wear it pulled back and braided." [Eye Color:] "Gold and jade green." [Height:]  "Fuck if I know exactly. Under five fulms." (4'9") [Style:] "Depends on the day. Maybe the hour. Leather and mini-skirts are always a good bet, though. Sometimes a nice suit, sometimes my bike gear, sometimes a little something more form-fitting, elegant and gilded - 'desert chic', I suppose." [Best Physical Feature:] "Definitely my ass...though my legs cut it close, on that one. What do you think?"

two: inner layer

[Fears:] "You ask that and actually expect people to tell you?" (Small/enclosed spaces with no readily available exit, levin, Garleans, people getting too close to her/seeing who she really is) [Guilty Pleasure:] "People feel guilty for what they like? Who's going to judge me, the sheep who can't come up with a single original thought of their own, and feel guilty if they do?" [Biggest Pet Peeve:]  "Biggest...that's tough, actually. Probably blithe optimism, or naivete. People too ignorant, or unwilling to ask questions and look deeper - or those simply unwilling to face hard truths. There can never be any growth if you aren't honest with yourself, after all. Unmotivated slackers. If you have no goals, why are you wasting this star's air?" [Ambition for the Future:] "To be feared and respected in equal measure. I've been pushed around for a long time, and now it's my turn."

three: thoughts

[First Thought When Waking Up:] "Probably...my to-do list for the day? That or wondering what the weather is like, and whether or not I'll be going on my usual morning run or be stuck working out indoors. That or 'Huh, they haven't killed us all yet.'" [What You Think About the Most:] "What my next step is in life - how I want to pursue that power I'm after without compromising who I am...and how the fuck I ended up with someone who actually cares about me in my life while distinctly trying to avoid that type of thing...and why he stuck around. I wonder about the 'why' a lot." [What You Think About Before Bed:] "Depends on the day, and what's happened, and if I'm headed there alone. If I'm not alone, it's probably something to the effect of 'I still can't believe he wants to be here/wants me to be here'. And whether or not I'm alone...there's always the nagging, ugly reminder that Garlemald's towers sit hunched in the sky, ready to end everything for everyone - predator and prey alike. It could be the last night for any of us." [Your Best Quality Is:] "My ass. But other than that...well, I'm honest, and my loyalty can't be bought. I'm not a good person, but I have my own...'code', in a sense, I guess."

four: what’s better

[Single or Group Dates?] "Group dates sound like a punishment. I can barely stand the slack-jawed idiots around me as it is. Though undoubtedly the punishment would be upon the others, considering who my date would be, and the fact that we'd probably spend the time verbally destroying the other couple." [To be Loved or to be Respected?] "Respected. Love without respect is horrifying. I've been there, I've suffered it, and I'm still recovering. But I still...don't know that I believe in love. At least not how most people do, I guess. Love makes people do stupid shit when they believe in it. Respect doesn't. Respect can stand alone, without needing love. Respect has to be earned. There's no claims of 'respect at first sight.' But like I said...love without respect is...ugly. Scary, even." [Beauty or Brains?] "Both, or no deal. Brains are essential, but I can't have a walking pile of dogshit on my arm, now can I?" [Cats or Dogs?] "Neither, I don't do pets - animals are food. But...I suppose I'd say dogs, though you'd probably incorrectly assume cats, based on the fact that I resemble one. But...there's been more 'canines' in my life in the last year or two than I care to recall."

four: do you…

[Lie?] "No. Not unless the situation is dire - my morals don't matter if my life is on the line. Survival comes first always." [Believe in Yourself?] "Much more than I used to. I've accomplished, and survived, more than most could even begin to imagine." [Believe in Love?]  "Not...really? Maybe? Though I'll admit that for all my vehement denial in the past, someone has made me re-examine my emotions in the last half a year or so. I don't think I believe in the sort of 'love' that the general public believes in. I had someone force his fairy tale romance down my throat and do me a lot of harm both physical and mental with those ideals, as he forced me to be someone I wasn't. If adhering to what society expects of love is all that someone cares about - hitting the expected gestures as told in fairy tales? That's about as real as a fever dream. I don't like the word 'love'. Not what it's come to be associated with, and what's expected of you along with it." [Want Someone?] "For the first time in my life...yes. Not that I don't 'have' him as much as I can claim such, but when he's not around, I find that I want him to be. So...yes?"

six: have you ever…

[Been on Stage?] "No? I mean, my organization does run a jazz club, and it's been various theaters before that, and I've...sat on the stage, basked in the spotlight of an empty theater? I prefer to be...less in the actual spotlight, however." [Done Drugs?] "I've only been clean and sober for...maybe a year now? So yeah. I've...done a lot of drugs." [Changed Yourself to Fit In Somewhere?] "I've been a con-artist to put food on the table, but I don't believe in changing who you are to 'fit in.' If you don't fit in...you don't fit in. You are who you are. Being anything else is a lie, and does you a disservice. It's also a pathetic cry for attention - for the other bleating sheep to accept you into their herd. I won't debase myself to 'fit in' with my lessers."

seven: favorite

[Favorite Color:] "Black, white, gold, and red. I don't have just one." [Favorite Food:] "Once more, I don't have just one. I like red meat, I like seafood, and I enjoy rolanberries quite a bit. Of late, I think my current favorite snack is takoyaki though - this fried dough ball with octopus inside...just thinking about it makes my mouth water." [Favorite Game:] "Breaking and entering."

eight: age

[When Your Next Birthday Will Be:] "No idea." [How Old Will You Be?] "No clue. I'm...twenty and four summers, roughly...give or take a couple." [Age You Lost Your Virginity:] "Care to lose yours to one of my knives, here?" [Does Age Matter?]  "Should it? I suppose I'd be a bit baffled to see an old geezer with a hot young thing, but even so...who cares? I haven't exactly had a lot of lovers, but I don't think I ever asked any of them their age. So long as people stay the fuck away from kids, it's a non-issue in my opinion."

nine: in a partner

[Best Personality:] "An unflinching realist who not only faces the truth, but deals it out themselves. Ambition, and the ability to be honest with themselves about who they are." [Best Eye Colour:]  "Who gives a shit? If I find them worthwhile, I'll like their eyes, I assure you." [Best Hair Colour:] "Who's out here checking people off a list because their hair is the wrong color? I mean, after some shit I went through, I might not want to ever see another red-head again, but realistically...who gives a single fuck? I think you're asking the wrong questions here. People often do - too busy dwelling on lust at first sight." [Best Thing to do With a Partner:] "Murder? Crime in general? ...Or a hot bath."

ten: finish the sentence

[I Love…] ...I just told you I don't do love. But...I do love the sun." [I Feel…] everything at once, or nothing at all, it seems." [I Hide…] who I am." [I Miss…] my family." [I Wish…] ...wishes are for simpletons. Actions achieve what you want." Thanks for the tag: @eligos-venator @placesyoucallhome @bek-sc @sundered-souls (I think I found you all who tagged me!)

I am late to this party! Tag yourselves if you want to do it, so I can read your stuff! I feel like most folks have done it, and I'm too brain-dead atm to root around in the bowels of Tumblr to see who hasn't, since I'm many days late! XD

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: A Magician, Not a Healer (1)

ATTD Masterlist

dream road trip companions: jasper “all my friends are dead” run, will “maybe if i’m polite enough they won’t notice my debilitating ptsd” price, and, you know... Chorus

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

TW for: gore/body horror, impalement; emeto; coughing up blood; near death experience (all in flashback); sick/feverish whumpee; infected wounds; brief manhandling of a touch-averse whumpee.

----

Once, in the latter half of his time with Mulciber’s Company, when they could all feel their time running out, the Company had been sheltering in a temple when it was brought tumbling down around their ears, and a beam from the ceiling, three inches thick, had skewered Jasper through the right side of his midsection.

It hadn’t severed his spine, which had been pure luck on his part; if it had he would have been dead and out of reach of any magic but the gods’. But it had pinned him to the floor, and left him juddering on the ground like a gutted fish, vomiting stomachfuls of blood onto the painted tile of the temple floor, and he had had about thirty seconds to watch his life flash before his eyes at double speed.

Then he had raised his head—with more effort than anything he’d done before or since—and seen Silex leaping toward him through the rubble, the Healer’s sweet open face blazing with single-minded focus.

All these years later—and Silex three years in the ground—Jasper did not remember the pain of the wound itself with any clarity. He remembered the terrible wet feeling of his throat being filled entirely with blood, and he remembered thinking—though he should have known better by then—that there would be little enough Silex could do, and hoping only that Silex would hold his hand and speak kindly to him while he shuddered and puked himself to death. And then he remembered the sensation, unlike anything he’d ever felt, of Silex reaching into his guts and pulling them back into the right shape; pulling the blood off the tile and shoving it back inside him, and bullying his viscera back together, in the shape God meant them to be in the first place.

He remembered that first breath, clear of blood, and Silex’s answering cry, weak with relief, and the Healer crushing him forward into a bear-hug, before the rest of the Company converged on them, to pull them both from the wreckage.

There had been classes in Healing at the Academy at Wizard’s City, even in Jasper’s general undergraduate program, and at the time he’d not taken much interest in them. He had thought, along with most of his classmates, that Healers were necessary, but not very glamorous; certainly he had had no interest in pursuing the specialization. They had taught him, then, how to speed the natural healing of a wound, and he could still do it competently enough, which was fine for the normal cuts and scrapes he received in his life as a wandering Magician, without his Company.

However, sometimes the natural course for a wounded man was to die, and in those cases, there was not much an ordinary Magician, like Jasper, could do.

Silex would have taken one look at the boy called Will, tutted in sympathy, and gathered him in like a brooding hen; Silex could, doubtless, have set the boy right in the time it took Jasper to boil a pot of tea.

But Silex had been dead three years, now, a betrayal for which Jasper had still not forgiven him. And Jasper was not a Healer.

Jasper prodded at Will’s wound once more, before they started the day-long trek back to the port city, despite the boy’s obvious discomfort with the physical contact involved. Jasper knew exactly enough to know the wound was bad—that it was at least slightly septic, and probably seeping poison into the boy’s blood—but not nearly enough to effectively treat it.

Which meant the best he could do was get the boy moving, preferably at some speed. That, thankfully, he did have the skill for.

As the dust-storm died down around them, Jasper got to his feet, and pulled his staff free from where it was slung through the straps of his pack. He used the end of it—which was capped in metal, to keep the wood from wearing, and to use as a blunt instrument, occasionally—to sketch a long rectangle in the dust. Then he rubbed his finger in a circle around the blank side of his Runes, and concentrated hard on pulling a largish oblong lump of earth up out of the ground, thinning the packed dust underneath, to avoid leaving too large a hole behind.

With a little more concentration, he carved the earth into a sort of—makeshift saw horse, out of dust and clay. Jasper nudged it forward with his staff, and it obligingly shuffled forward, sliding along the ground, picking up and leaving behind new dust as it moved.

He’d given the dust-horse four blobby legs and a little lump at the front, to make a head. It didn’t strictly need any of those, but Jasper found it comforted people, when magical things came in recognizable shapes.

Will watched this process very closely, blue eyes fever-bright. The monster, Chorus, had several minutes since curled up beside him like a large white cat, and gone to sleep.

“There,” Jasper said, satisfied with his work, and turned back to give Will a grin. “Think you can get on yourself?”

Will nodded--though Jasper frankly didn’t believe him--and began to climb unsteadily to his feet, using the walls of Jasper’s makeshift lean-to for support.

“Why don’t you travel that way all the time?” Will said, eyeing the dust-horse with wonder, and perhaps a degree of distrust.

“Two reasons,” Jasper said, and then without warning picked the boy up around the waste and deposited him easily on the dust-horse’s back, where he sat stiffly, looking comically surprised, like a cat dropped in a bath; with a little effort Jasper did not laugh at him.

“One,” he said, and then had to stop to cough the laughter from his voice. “Ahem. One, I can cast only one spell at a time, so as long as our friend here is active—” Here he smacked the dust-horse on its lumpy flank; the dust-horse didn’t react, though the boy on its back winced slightly— “I’ve got no defensive magic. So if those wolves decide against leaving us alone, get ready to land on your arse.” Will blinked at him, looking alarmed, though he made no move to dismount; Jasper hoped that meant he was accepting the ride. “Two,” Jasper went on, “I may as well hang a sign around my neck that says, ‘I Am A Great Magician, Please Bother Me With All Your Problems.’ I will carry you into Limani myself before I let the general public see this spell.”

“Oh,” Will said, blinking wide eyes at Jasper. “So… laziness, then.”

Jasper laughed, startled. “He says, atop my spellwork,” he replied, pleased the boy still had the faculties left for mild insults.

Jasper turned to squint back into the semi-darkness of the mostly-empty storm shelter. The monster, Chorus, had raised up on one elbow, and was eyeing him lazily, red eyes glowing very slightly in the dark.

“You coming?” Jasper said, and was relieved when his voice came out relatively steady.

“Ugh,” Chorus said, and yawned widely, showing her many teeth.

“It doesn’t matter,” Will said, shifting to keep his balance on the dust-horse’s back. “She can’t go more than a league away from the sword; if she tried she’d just get dragged along behind. She’ll have to come.”

“Ugh,” Chorus said again, with more feeling, and then dematerialized in a puff of white smoke, and was suddenly seated pillion behind Will, on the horse.

Jasper took an involuntary step back, trying to hide the sudden spike in his heart rate.

“You could walk,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her.

Chorus sniffed, raising her chin proudly. One of her white arms was wrapped loosely around Will’s waist. Again, her touch seemed not to bother him at all, which seemed entirely backwards, at least to Jasper.

“Walking is for peasants,” Chorus said haughtily, and Will gave a little huff, half laughter and half annoyance, and shook his head, leaning forward a little to support himself against the dust-horse’s head-lump.

The dust-horse was no harder to move with the addition of Chorus’s weight. In fact, between the boy’s gaunt frame and the lady’s semi-corporeal one, it moved more or less as easily as if it was carrying no weight at all.

“Well—fine,” Jasper said, swinging his pack back over his shoulder, and prodded the dust-horse in the rear with his staff, to get it moving. “Let’s get a move on, then, before the sun’s too hot to walk under.”

It would be the first time he’d traveled with another living creature, since the last of the Company left him. Jasper determined then and there that he would try not to enjoy it. It felt like bad form, to be so grateful for the distraction.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

O’ Captain, My Captain

Thanks to the Old Me music video, I unearthed this old fic. Here is Football!Calum. With a hint of Artist!Calum. 

Calum took his chance. To be selfish. To have both things. Football and Art. 

if you like what I write and post, consider supporting me on ko-fi. It helps me save up for graduate fees! 

_________________________________________

The grass feels different beneath his sneakers. He’s already walked with the team to put the equipment up. The coaches have already clapped him on the back, smiled at him, told him that he made his team proud. Though most importantly, they had hoped he had done himself proud. His mom and dad have already wrapped him in hugs, grins plastered to their faces. They’ve already taken him out to dinner, stuffed him with the fanciest thing on the menu. He’s already cheered in the locker room. His voice is still a little hoarse.  Three championship games in a row under his belt. This game, that took place less than three hours ago, was his last hurrah. His freshman and sophomore year weren’t total defeats. They made it to the finals, but didn’t quite make it all the way. And now with junior, senior, and this first year as a postdoc have felt like fever dreams. 

 It’s amazing to go out on such a high note. He can’t help but smile at the thought, the adrenaline that fueled him as he drove the ball downfield with just seconds left. They were up by one goal. It’s not like they needed another one. Calum was greedy for it. No, he was starving for it. It was the fire in his bones that kept him running down that field. The goalie, normally pretty good at reading fakes, took the bait as Calum juked left a little. He dove a second too early, clearing the right side of the goal and Calum watched the ball sail before hitting the back of the net. Time did not exist. He wasn’t breathing. Just watching the ball, praying it didn’t hit the beam. 

Folding his arms behind his head, he stretches out onto the grass. It’s cool even beneath the hoodie. He’s had some good memories on this field. The summer before he started his undergraduate career, he conditioned with them. He was picked up by his team at his secondary school. He could’ve gone pro. School was never supposed to be his thing. It never was his thing if he was honest. He was bored one day in school and decided to crash one of the art classes, skipping the ever so important free block built into his schedule so he could study and work on homework that was coming up or forgotten until the last minute. The teacher knew him fairly well and he wouldn’t rat him out. They broke out another sketchbook and some pencils. “If you’re going to avoid the other schoolwork, just doodle. I’ll give ya extra credit.”

So Calum figured what the harm, besides a potentially insurmountable stack of after school detentions. He could skip class, fuck about in a sketchbook and get some extra credit. He was all for it. But he found himself skipping his other classes more often. He wasn’t terrible at drawing. He definitely wasn’t great. It was just something he wanted to get better at. He came by the art hall after class and sat, sketching the lockers lining the walls. He sketched classrooms. He was getting good and he was enjoying it. The next year he made sure he was taking art classes. Calum never thought he’d give a shit about school, but he gave a shit about art. While he cared for art, he never saw it as viable. Football was his only option. 

“You thought about uni?” His teacher asked right at the end of Year 11. 

“Not much. School’s not my thing.”

“But art is.”

“So is football,” Calum countered. 

“Aren’t some schools looking to give you a scholarship?”

Calum looked up from the sketchbook, back out the window to the benches for lunch when the weather permitted. “Yeah, some in the States. A couple in the UK, a few local schools. But I can’t. You know, football’s my thing.”

His teacher sat down next to him, gently sliding the book out from Calum’s hand. He already knows what’s on the inside but flips through the pages gingerly. The football field, his friends, his parents and sister, scenes of everyday life. The way Calum captured light was amazing, and normally took years to get just right. It was so easy to see the sort of knack Calum had for it. “What if both could be your thing?”

It wasn’t as easy as just having both things. He needed to keep his grades up in order to play at a university. He had to give a shit and it was quickly showing in his first years that he wasn’t. He was nearly dropped from the team for his grades. The general education requirements were ridiculous and all he wanted to do was run on the field and draw not the other bullshit between. But a chat with his mother changed all that. She was never unfair but always firm. He went to the tutoring center. He got off academic probation. He kept his head above water and pushed through the general education stuff. 

Now here he is, going into his second year of graduate studies for studio art. Here he is, at the end of his football eligibility. Here he is laying in the middle of the field. 

He can still hear the roar of the crowd. The sidelines are still packed with people. His body is sore no doubt. Even the cool down stretch can’t take all the pain away. When he goes to sit up, he’s definitely going to feel it in his quads. Right now in his memory, he is still dribbling downfield. He is still sweating, panting, praying he can get that final goal. Right now he is the little boy in his parent’s backyard, grinning ear to ear as his mother takes a picture before his first game. He is twelve again, running drills after practice until his legs felt like they would collapse beneath him. The only thing that matters right now is the echo of his heart thundering in his chest. He will always miss this feeling, everything on the line. Blood, sweat, and pain all pushing him to keep his eyes open, pushing him to be two steps ahead. 

“Hey!” Calum hears the shouting but thinks nothing of it. “Hey!” the voice calls again. It’s closer to him now. The sounds of running over grass hitting his ears. He’s all too familiar with the sound. “You’re Calum, right? Calum Hood?”

He opens his eyes, squinting up to the voice. He sits up with a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” The girl’s dressed in a leotard and leggings, duffle bag hiked up onto her shoulder. 

“Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say congrats on the win. My brother’s on the team.” Now as the sun clears and he can see her face a bit more properly, she does resemble Hawkins. Sophomore. Good guy, pretty kick-ass center fullback. 

“He never mentioned having a sister.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly cool to go to the same uni as your sibling. But I got picked for academics and he got in on football.”

“Looks like you play something? Maybe the dance team?” he questions, gesturing to the bag. 

She nods. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Sort of? Either you dance or you don’t,” he laughs. 

“I do, dance I mean. I also do baton twirling. But didn’t mean to interrupt your moment too much. Just wanted to say congrats. I’ll miss you on the field.”

Calum nods, hugging his knees to his chest. He glances over the opened field. “I’m going to miss it too.”

“It’ll always be here though. In a way, you know?” He hums in agreement with her statement. It will be. Just won’t be quite the same. “We’ll be practicing at the other end of the field. But if it’s too loud or anything, don’t be afraid to shout at us or anything.”

He smiles. “We are outdoors. Only so much I can really complain about it.”

She grins, a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “Touche.” She takes another step. “Well, congrats again, if I don’t see you at the party later.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

Calum watches her cross the field for a few seconds longer and continues to sit, knees to his chest. His legs are still sore. They will be for a couple more days. He’s alright with that. Calum reaches into his bag, pulling out his sketchbook and pencils. He tries to capture the scene from memory, the packed crowd, the anticipation, the desire. His chest squeezes and his grip on his pencil slacks. 

The sting behind his eyes confirms the tightness of his chest. He brings his gaze back up to the slightly clouded sky, blurry due to the tears. He’s won. He actually won and he’s leaving. The end is sweeter than he imagined. It’s bitter too, to know that he won’t ever step back into his jersey. But it’s somehow sweeter. To know that his legacy will leave on, for at least one more year as he finishes out his degree in studio art. It’s sweeter to end like this. To end on top, to end knowing that he followed a path that allowed him to chase both loves. 

_________________________________

The house is loud, even from the end of the block. It’s a good thing that the football house is situated pretty close to the rest of the frat houses, or else issues would ensue. Calum’s sure something is up as he closes in on the house.  The ruckus isn’t from the football house, it’s from the house next to it. He’s unsure if he should try the door. The lights are on, maybe he’s early. The text he got told him nine. He’s only a few minutes late. Public transit was a little late getting him from the stop near his apartment, which isn’t terrible. 

The door’s locked. So he knocks, stuffing his hands back into the pocket of his jacket. When it opens, he’s greeted with cheers, slaps to the shoulder. “The man of the hour!” 

“Nah, nah,” Calum smiles, slipping out of his coat. He drapes it over the pile forming in the corner, over the back of one of the chairs. He turns to the kitchen. There’s a fixing for just a beer hitting him. He freezes though, staring at his coaches. “Coach Ball, Coach Hobbs, what’re--what’s happening here?”

They grin at him. Coach Hobbs steps forward. “We know. It’s not cool of us to crash a party like this. But, we figured you might want to know this before ya get sloshed.”

Coach Ball steps in. “We can’t extend your contract. Shite we know. But what we can do, is make sure you always keep a part of us with ya.” He extends a white box with a red bow wrapped around it. 

The air’s not even pressing itself into his lungs it feels. Calum’s hands shake a little as he takes the box, pulling on the mesh bow. Pulling the top off, there sits a white jersey, decorated in his number, 11, staring back at him in green. The school’s name and logo also printed onto it. He pulls it out of the box, tears still slightly blurring his vision.  As he turns it over, he notices his name also written across the back. He’s normally got a crier. Not that he’s crying right now, it’s just a few tears. It’s not like they can retire his number. But the ability to still hold onto it, the memories make him happy. The fact that he can still hold onto this. 

“Thank you,�� he whispers, putting the jersey back. He pulls both of them into hugs. His lungs can now fully expand as his coaches pat him on the shoulder, whispered praises falling gently between the three of them. Both coaches leave after that, but not before taking a beer each with them. The room chants for Calum to don the new jersey. He sheds the black tee, draping the white material over his body. A can is passed to each of them. 

“This round’s for Captain Hood,” Trundle shouts. He’s taking over as captain now. “He always sailed this ship to success.”

The words catch in his throat. “It-it wasn’t me. It was the team. You guys sailed yourselves.” There are another round of cheers, cans clinking together and the first seem is bitter as always but Calum gets choked as his throat seizes attempting to not let any more tears fall down his cheeks. 

The party continues, the music thumping throughout the house. Less dancing but more mingling is the call for socialization. The same girl from early comes up to him, leggings traded in for distressed jeans and a lacey cropped top. “Drink looks a little low,” she grins at him, before holding out another can. 

He has no clue if she’s younger than Hawkins or not, so he politely declines the drink. “Thanks though. Gonna drink up on some water right now.” She nods and then shimmies through the crowd. 

When the party dies down, around one in the morning, Calum lingers around to help clean up some before his ride pulls up. The driver is nice, keeps conversation pretty short during the five-minute drive.  As he walks back into his apartment, the first of his roommates to arrive from their nights of mischief, he settles onto the couch. He unzips himself out of his boots, pulling the jacket off his shoulders. He inspects the jersey, thankfully no spills, no stains. He pulls it off, walks to his room and drapes it over the back of his chair at his desk. He’s unsure of whether or not to frame it. Though, his brain is completely sober right now to even consider that. He shimmies out of the jeans and lies across his bed, sleep finding him fast.

 His alarm blares, the next morning. He groans, partially cursing himself for leaving it set. But he knows he needs it. Even though his shift is later in the evening, he’s still got a paper to finish up and his portfolio to clean up. It sucks to have to worry now about tuition, his scholarship covered him for all his years as a player, but now, with one last year and no more sports eligibility, him and his parents are figuring out the best way to cover the costs. 

Calum sits up, the jersey staring back at him. It’s real. He didn’t really dream up the coaches handing him that jersey. He didn’t conjure it up in his subconscious as his own selfish desire to never part from it. That jersey is real and his, his number with him forever. It continues to hit him that his time is up during the week. More and more people stop him in the hallways, on the paths that lead to buildings, in the library, in the cafeteria to congratulate him. The older ladies serving him, heap his plates with extras, smile at him in the way that only older ladies can that make you feel fuzzy on the inside. 

He settles down at the benches in front of the library and works on sketching the fountain. He’s been working on it for his final portfolio for a long time. He watches some kids, kicking a football around. His chest warms as they laugh amongst themselves. He decides to put them into the drawing too. He wishes he could capture their laughter, the way they grin at each other and shout at what should be a foul. He wishes he could capture the smiles on their parents' faces as they watch their children. Glancing down to his watch, he notes that his whole break is just about up, so he packs up his things and starts towards the art building. 

In his brief walk, he realizes he could’ve chosen pro. That would’ve worked out for him. But he wouldn’t have these opportunities to still feel human, to chase for that rush of getting the lighting just right in a drawing, in the huge release when his brush hits that canvas. Art is the same need to emote like on the field. It’s just on canvas this time. He could have both things and he’s glad he got them. 

[beca-mitchell]

we are the wild youth (1/5)

summary:  Beca needs some money to get out of Barden as quickly as possible. It just so happens that an opportunity all but drops in her lap: one Chloe Beale, desperately in need of a tutor to pass her last two classes to graduate.

Warnings for smut and angst and drama. Mainly smut. Rated M/E.

chapter one:  fever dream high

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

word count: 3,178

Rated M/E for depictions of coitus. This fic is an AU imagining of PP somewhat: Beca never joins the Bellas and is somewhat of a nerd, Chloe still stays back an extra three years, and there's backstory that was never part of the PP universe. But otherwise, it is set at Barden, Beca still loves music.

Fic title from “Youth” by Daughter. Chapter title from “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift. This fic is based on this gifset.

Read below or on AO3.

Beca just wants to graduate.

The deal she cut with her father is not the best deal in the world, but to him, a degree means something. Something meaningful. Meaningful enough that he’s willing to help her get the fuck out of Atlanta and move to New York. That kind of meaningful.

So in that sense, her degree is meaningful to her too. No time for fucking around.

But, senior year kind of means that she can start to take it easy. She’s almost there. She just needs to continue keeping her guard up long enough to ensure that Jesse still gets the hint she’s not interested in him and she just needs to pass.

Hence why this beginning-of-year party is an anomaly, but she’ll take it if there’s free alcohol and maybe the chance to unwind. Bedmate optional.

Beca isn’t one for parties. Definitely not one for house parties at a frat house.

She supposes these are the people who will end up playing her music in the future, however. Peering around, she grimaces at the very-near-public sex happening right on a couch that looks a little too used. A little too comfortable.

Start-of-term parties are always memorable in their own way. They’re almost formulaic in a sense. Guy gets girl, something valuable will be broken—maybe a television, maybe a heart—and something will go wrong.

Beca likes observing all of this from the outskirts while Jesse, who is the only person daring enough to drag her out of her apartment, floats away like the social butterfly he is.

It’s not that she hates parties, nor is she a recluse, Beca is just kind of tired of college at this point. She had promised her parents at least two years in college before she could head out to Los Angeles and really fulfill her dreams, but it turns out that she kind of needs money for that. Money which she doesn’t really have even if she’s been saving up pennies and quarters since middle school.

School is a safety net. She’s been told that all her life, with no small measure of patronization.

It also kind of sucks that Beca inherited at least a portion of her father’s intelligence. The daughter of a professor? There was no way he was letting her leave Barden without at least degree. Realistically, she inherited his knack for school because she’s kind of good at it. Physics, at least, hasn’t been a problem. Or Calculus.

It’s just fucking boring and she doesn’t even intend on using her degree. And she only chose something deeply rooted in science and math because she thought it would piss him off.

Many errors have been made. Miscalculated, even. Or perhaps more on point, horribly erroneous like a series of wrong notes in the middle of a symphony.

Beca could go on.

She can hear her father’s voice, somehow cutting through the raucous party and lodging deep in her head: “But your little music gigs, Beca? It’s a hobby. Science and math? That’ll get you jobs.” Then in the same breath, without fail: “It’s what your mother would want.”

The forced reminder makes Beca take another swig of cheap beer before she makes her way over to the keg for more. As she turns the corner, she stumbles, bumping into a shockingly solid body. As she drops her thankfully-empty cup, she reaches up to grab on to the arms that have come around her back to steady her.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, lifting her gaze to make some kind of eye contact when she realizes the body she’s pressed against doesn’t belong to yet another generic frat boy. Instead, she feels soft, feminine curves and the slightest hint of firm muscle beneath the fabric of a thin leather jacket.

Shockingly blue eyes stare back at her. “Hi,” she greets.

“Hi,” Beca replies, still stunned. “Um,” she steps back from the stranger’s space. Or...somewhat of a stranger would be a more apt descriptor. She would be remiss if she didn’t acknowledge that she just nearly bowled over Chloe Beale whose last name just happens to be on at least two buildings around school. Chloe Beale who is devastatingly pretty with blue eyes to die for and red hair and a burning smile.

Chloe Beale who is staring at her like she’s seeing her for the first time.

(She probably is.)

“Beca, right?”

Beca swallows. “I—yeah. How…?” Beca shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m not usually this horribly awkward.”

Chloe smiles. “How are you, usually, then? Other than being the most talented radio host Barden has ever had.”

It’s the oddest interaction to be having with a stranger in the middle of a house party. Beca can barely hear her own thoughts.

Chloe seems to read her mind. “Want to go somewhere quieter?”

Beca has never agreed to a cliche more quickly in her life.

- - x - - 

It doesn’t take long—in fact, Beca barely gets out the question “How do you know my name?” before Chloe is in her space and pulling her in for a bruising kiss. Beca’s body immediately thrums with excitement and repressed energy and she quickly pushes back at Chloe, determined to at least put up some small measure of a fight against Chloe’s immediate dominance over her.

But she quickly realizes that it feels so much better, letting Chloe take control like this—Chloe whom Beca had no idea even knew she existed, let alone wanted to hook up with her.

Chloe’s breath is hot against her neck while she holds Beca against the dresser. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, Mitchell,” she breathes, voice dripping with promise and pure want.

Beca’s brain short-circuits then, a symphony of jangled notes and endless crescendos. She can only nod weakly, hands scrabbling up Chloe’s back and pulling at the thing fabric of her shirt uselessly before she grabs onto Chloe’s hair and pulls her in for another kiss.

Chloe groans and pushes back against Beca, tilting her further over the dresser and displacing bottles of cologne and accessories. Strong hands grab at her thighs and force her legs apart so Chloe’s hips can settle more firmly between Beca’s legs. The action alone sends shockwaves up Beca’s brain. Beca, who is no stranger to sex, realizes that she has never felt such strong arousal from just kissing before.

“Are we going to have sex?” Beca asks before she can help herself. She immediately regrets the question when it leaves her mouth. “Because I want to,” she says quickly before she loses it or before Chloe thinks that she’s having doubts. She isn’t. It’s just overwhelming, being so taken and consumed by a girl she barely knows.

Not for lack of trying, Beca supposes.

Of course, Beca has a stupid crush on Chloe Beale. It seemed like most people did, somehow. Chloe, popular by virtue of her wealth but also mysterious and aloof disposition, never seemed to be short on suitors.

A small measure of pride wells up in Beca before it is immediately replaced by a swooping tightening in her belly as Chloe’s teeth nip harshly at her neck. With the amount of suitors Chloe frequently wards off (and the smaller number that she seems to allow close to her), Beca assesses that it would also appear that Chloe didn’t need any encouraging at all. Much less direction.

Before Beca manages even a measly gasp or even a weak tug to Chloe’s hair, Chloe’s hands are already greedily grabbing at her hips, pushing and pulling at the fabric impatiently for a moment or so, getting a good grope in, before her fingers deftly find the button of Beca’s jeans.

Beca sucks in a breath.

It takes a moment, but Chloe pauses, lifting her head from her assault on Beca’s neck. Her eyes, dark and blown with desire, flicker with something nearly unrecognizable.

Beca’s eyes drift back down to Chloe’s lips in the ensuing silence.

“You’ve never had sex with a girl before, have you?” Chloe asks.

Beca blushes immediately, averting her eyes for a brief second before Chloe tilts her chin back up to catch her lips in a sweeping, full, wet kiss. It’s more romantic than it has any business being. Beca moans against her own will, lifting her hips up almost impatiently against Chloe’s still hand. She is so conscious of the ache between her legs. So conscious of how her previous encounters with men left her wanting and dissatisfied. Not all the time, but more often than not.

How she had always imagined what it would be like with a woman.

Chloe, maybe. Chloe, specifically. Chloe, who had occasionally seeped into her thoughts based on the occasional classes they shared together. Chloe, who ran around the track almost every morning, visible from Beca’s dorm window. Chloe, who had smiled at her just briefly from across the quad at the activities fair all those years ago and Beca hd simply just turned away—

Chloe, who is pressed against her, lips swollen from the force of their shared kisses.

Lips swollen from Beca.

“Beca?” Chloe asks, referring to Beca by her first name for the first time all evening.

“Yeah,” Beca rasps, hot against her newfound lover’s mouth.

It takes a few seconds for Beca to process sudden emptiness she feels—a lack of warmth, really—but she realizes belatedly that it is because Chloe is on her knees, pulling Beca’s jeans down her trembling legs. When Chloe looks up at her, fluttering long eyelashes, Beca feels an answering gush between her legs.

Fuck, Beca thinks with every last primal instinct coursing through her. Fuck me. She reaches out instinctively to thread her fingers through Chloe’s hair, swallowing at how natural it feels to tangle her hands in another girl’s hair. To enjoy it so much.

Chloe says nothing while she helps Beca step out of her jeans. The movements, though gentle and slow, do nothing to ease the growing tension gnawing at her stomach. She clenches again involuntarily and moans in response to her own actions causing Chloe to look up from where she still kneels in front of Beca.

For a moment, Beca feels powerful.

Then, Chloe’s fingertips gently hook into the elastic waistband of Beca’s underwear.

“Tell me how hard you want me to fuck you, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe murmurs, her voice permeating the thick fog of Beca’s brain. It almost stuns Beca into silence, but she realizes that what she wants even more than LA at that moment is Chloe’s fingers between her legs. Her tongue maybe. Lips. Beca’s hands through her hair, tangled all night.

The possibilities are seemingly endless.

“Hard,” she chokes out. “Just fuck me hard.”

Blue eyes flash with delight and the promise of everything to come.

- - x - -

She does come. Multiple times that night against the dresser. Then again when she invites Chloe back to her apartment. Against her own front door. In her bed, testing the strength of her boxspring mattress.

But none of that matters—what matters is how breathtaking Chloe looks when Beca unravels her. Breathless in her own way. Possessing Beca’s bed like she has nowhere else she’d rather be. The unmistakable tremble as Beca’s fingers sink into tight, wet heat. Choked off moans against Beca’s mouth.

And as Beca falls asleep, tired and spent, she thinks vaguely of the flash of red hair that fateful day at the activities fair. How she had pointedly avoided the pretty girl with blue eyes and red hair.

It feels like regret, chasing her into her dreams.

- - x - -

Beca isn’t one to dwell on things, however. She has no time for that kind of distraction, even if that distraction is the pleasant, fleeting sensation of Chloe’s lips pressing against the curve of her shoulder as she slips into a waking state.

There is something incredibly tender about the way Chloe’s fingers comb through her hair as she whispers a murmured goodbye into Beca’s ear. Her lips graze the sensitive skin on the shell of her ear, seeping into the peripheries of Beca’s dreaming state.

It feels like a dream, at least. All of it. Unattainable, super-senior Chloe Beale.

When Beca wakes up again, her bed is cold and empty and she’s pretty sure the aches coursing through her body have nothing to do with alcohol.

She peers blearily at her phone, unfortunately uncharged and nearly dead, and startles upon seeing that it is half past ten and she’s meant to meet a new student at eleven. She jolts out of bed and right into the shower, regrettably washing off all the remaining memories from the previous night. As she reaches between her own legs, she puffs out a heavy breath and tries not to think about how sure Chloe’s hands felt on her body the night before.

This new student is a special request from the Dean of Students himself, sent her way by her father. She had protested, barely, but the pretty monetary figure that had slid across her gaze had been enough to hold her attention.

“Just twice a week for the year. Both semesters. This student needs to pass,” her father emphasizes.

“Who is this student,” Beca demands, tucking the form into her jacket pocket. “Another entitled rich kid?”

Her father pinches his nose. “Look, I recommended you directly to Dean Sanders the moment I heard about this request. It’s from a special benefactor to the school and I know how much you need the money to go to L.A..”

“I wanted to go to L.A. three years ago.”

“Do you not want to go anymore?”

Beca bites her tongue to stop from saying anything else and looks away.

“I know you’re an adult, Becs, but I have your best interests in mind. I just want to see you try. If you do this, I’ll double what the benefactor pays you. I’ll match it and double it.”

Beca can hardly believe her ears. It’s a lot of money. Enough to be considered “safe”, even. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Beca nearly trips multiple times on the way to the diner—an odd background for a tutoring session—but she somehow makes it there with a minute to spare. She realizes she has no idea who she’s even meeting with and slowly slides into the closest booth, keeping an eye out for anybody who looks especially lost.

She sits uncertainly for at least fifteen minutes, downs an entire cup of coffee, and fends off awkward inquiries from the server before she pulls out her phone intent on calling her father and giving him a piece of her mind. On cue, she gets a text.

Unknown Hey, my dad gave me this number. You’re my tutor, right? Rebecca? lol

Beca groans.

Beca hey, yep i’m your tutor. I’m at Carl’s, just got a booth at the back

The door jingles somewhere in the background and Beca glances up to meet Chloe Beale’s gaze dead-on.

“You’re fucking joking,” Beca mutters.

Chloe, for her part, does not look pleased at all as she tosses her bag into the booth before sliding in across from Beca.

“Small world,” Chloe comments.

“You’re telling me.”

Chloe looks like she might say something else and Beca braces herself for the potential innuendo or lust-laden comment, but nothing comes. Instead, Chloe simply folds her hands and watches Beca intently, looking every bit like an innocent college student with a desire to pass her class.

Beca’s gaze flickers down to the neatly folded fingers.

When she looks back up, Chloe’s expression morphs into one that makes Beca swallow nervously.

“Are you nervous?” Chloe asks. “It’s just me,” she says in a tone that implies that she knows exactly what inappropriate thoughts are floating through Beca’s mind.

Beca ignores that, both the words and the tone Chloe uses, and pulls out her notebook and binder. “You’re in calculus two...then statistics next semester?” Chloe nods. “Those are usually first-year requirements, how are you getting away with this? Is this a pre-med degree?”

Chloe smiles—a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “When your father’s name is on the school’s med school building, you kind of get things handed to you no matter how much you want to fight it. I can only control so much.”

Beca scoffs before she can help herself. “Well, I don’t know if that’s entirely true. I think that there are things out of our control sometimes, but there are definitely things within our control.” Like leaving calculus and statistics until the end. Like sleeping together and wanting to do it again, but resisting.

Chloe gazes at her with renewed interest. “You’re a tutor, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

“And my dad hired you.”

Beca shrugs. “Kind of...so I guess your dad will kill me in front of the entire student body if we don’t do this.” She clicks her pen. “Come on, show me your assignments.”

“I really don’t want to do what he wants,” Chloe says, fluttering her eyes at Beca. “Want to do something else instead?”

Beca scowls. “I’m your tutor, whether you like it or not.”

“Fuck that.”

Beca tries not to smile at that. Chloe has such a pleasant speaking voice and a generally pleasant expression on her face at all times that it isn’t hard to see why she’s probably one of the most well-liked people on campus. So well-liked that it is often overlooked that she’s going for a third round of her senior year.

Still, professionalism. Beca can do that, kind of. She tutored worse people in high school. “Let’s get this over with, okay?”

It is entirely the wrong thing to say. Chloe’s smile widens and she leans forward, her shoulders hunched like a predator just about to pounce. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“I...oh my God.” Beca purses her lips and looks around hurriedly before settling on the glass of water to her side. Grabbing it, she sips it delicately for a few long moments while avoiding Chloe’s gaze and quenching the sudden dryness in her throat.

The cool water sliding down her throat is a nice thing to focus on.

She’s not focusing on anything else. Not the phantom sensation of Chloe’s hands ghosting up her sides. Not the phantom sensation of Chloe making her hold on to her own headboard. Not the phantom sensation of Chloe’s lips against her thighs, leaving marks and hot, wet kisses.

Not the very real sensation from Chloe’s eyes boring a hole into her forehead, like she can see right into the recesses of Beca’s minds. Every last dark, lustful thought.

But the moment ends before Beca can really process everything, like how part of her wants to shove everything off the table so she can climb over and straddle Chloe’s lap.

Chloe sighs, opens her textbook, and points out the series of problems she has to complete for the week. “There,” she mutters.

Math—math, Beca can do. Calculus. Statistics.

Chloe, not so much.

(Even though she already did.)

/end chap. 1

read the rest: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Yule Man (1/7)

As told by ME

This was meant to be a short story, but it became too big, so I separated it in seven parts. I want to turn my blog in a space where I can share my writting every once and a while.

This is the first time I post one of my stories on a public space. This is the first time anyone besides my sister will be able to read, so I'm pretty exciting and anxious. I want honest criticism. I hope you all enjoy it.

"It's he who brings the Yule ice and snow to Arnsberg." The little girl said.

Everything seemed somehow brighter and warmer on that peaceful afternoon.

The lines of holly hanged above the walls and windows gave an otherworld feel to the street. The jingle of the bells of the market down the avenue helped to remind how happiness sounded like. Silver bells adorned the rooftops. The traditional statues of silver stood on the churches’ terrains.

They promised that the Silver God would once again bless his holy season. The store windows promised an affable and cozy night. That was not what that beggar boy received.

The confectionery attendant shoved him away with all scorn and disdain possible in a man. Why did he should show him kindness? The boy couldn't pay, and he was so filthy dressed he would drive customers away. And as he said beneath his breath while coming back to the store:

"Magic only brings trouble."

Mia Hayek and her baby sister were stepping in their carriage when they saw the scene. The poor young man looked at the sweets in the windows of the confectionery with so much craving. He looked as if he hadn't eaten anything in a long time.

She took out her long wide hat and her cotton scarf and asked her sister if she knew that boy. The little girl, with all sincerity that a child is capable off, responded.

He had a slender and thin body, but the enormous, hooded fur coat worn swallowed it completely. He carried a huge bag of shabby cloth against his back. The fur hood and the cloth around his lower face made it hard to give him an age. Mia was sure he couldn't be older than twenty.

Everyone in Arnsberg knew the boy. Always seen wandering without destination in the Solstice Eve carrying that stained bag. He arrives in town no sooner than the first snow. He stays for the twelve days of the Yule Festival, then he disappears. And no one can find him before the next one.

Mia saw him in the last year. He lived near the park in front of the bakery. The baker shoved him away as if he was a stray dog. He has not changed a thing from then.

"He never changes." Sophia mindlessly added. "Even mother remembers him from her time. He never changes."

Mia stared at the boy. Ragged and disheveled. Time had devoured those clothes, tattered and grimy as they looked.

"Is he magical?" Mia asked.

"Yeah!" Her little sister nodded. "But he can only bring the snow, he can't control it. He's harmless."

"Stay here!" She told her.

Mia stepped out of the carriage and walked in the direction of the boy as fast as her boots allowed. Noticing being followed, he turned. She stopped in the spot.

The hood obscured his face. He maintained his back bended, and he avoided looking into her eyes. By the way he stayed quiet, she knew he was nervous. People dressed like her usually didn't had nice things to say to people dressed like him.

"You're beautiful!" He whispered to himself, hoping only he listened.

She smiled back.

"Thank you!"

She heard and he could only blush in response.

"Sorry, but I always see you around here during this time." She began saying while messing with her curly hair. "The town can get pretty cold. Do you have where to pass the night."

The boy chuckled, and she could see a vague spark in his eyes.

"The cold never bothered me anyway, madam."

"What do you carry with you?" She came forward and touched his long bag. It felt so freezing that she immediately withdrew as by sheer impulse.

He lowered the cloth that covered his face and looked up to her, allowing Mia to take a deep look.

"I... I should already release this thing, but... I got distracted. I wanted to find something to eat first, so..." He sounded so nervous, trying so hard to justify himself, as if fearing punishment.

His face was pale and soft, still with signs of boyhood. His eyes were big and innocent, in bright green. His beard was as red as a fox, and it was shaggy and full of pieces of ice.

"...and now I don't know where to release this stuff."

"Do you have where to spend the holidays?" She interrupted him.

"No." He answered embarrassed.

The question really pierced through him. She saw how it affected him in the wrong way. A second question slipped through her mouth before she could have time to re-evaluate it.

"Do you found somewhere to eat?"

He didn't respond.

She drew his hands, letting his bag land on the ground. It surprised her how soft and warm they were.

"Stay the Yule with us."

Mia could just have brought him food and then forget anything about him in the next day. Any normal person would do that. Maybe she felt a genuine urge to help him. Maybe her pity for him spoke louder. Perhaps she found him too adorable to let go. Whatever the real reason may be, something drew her to him.

"My father is wealthy, but generous. I'm sure he'll allowed it."

He smiled to her by a second, as if he loved the idea, but then he frowned, as if he remembered something.

"I'm sorry. You have been very kind, but I can't."

"Please!" She insisted, her voice cracking a little. "You can't spend the Yule in the streets and in the cold."

""I already used to it."

He forced a sly grin, as if trying to tranquilize her. He continued. "I'm sure you mean well, but it's better that I stay here."

"Our mansion is always open to those who need it, and you'll be well treated there."

"A mansion?" He frowned.

"My father is Mr. Hayek. My name is Mia Angela Hayek. Ravi de vous rencontrer." She greeted him with the dress.

"Never heard of him." He joked.

"Please, stay with us. We...

"Is it comfy..."

"What?" She asked surprised.

He spoke in a tone that made her think of a timid small boy.

"Your mansion. Is it comfy and cozy? That's how I always picture these places to be." He didn't want her to see he smiled.

"Of course." She nodded.

"Does it have a fireplace?"

"Yes. You can drink hot cocoa by it and eat some gingerbread cookies if you want."

"I never eat a gingerbread cookie."

"You can eat all sweets you wish. The kitchen has smelled wonderful since morning. My father is giving a big ball tonight. It will be so full of cakes and sweets. It will make even the most illustrious confectioneries envious."

Mia saw how much the idea pleased him, how much it tempted him to say yes. Yet, something held him back.

Against his better judgment, he said:

"Okay."

The air grew colder on that moment. The winter breeze brought chills down her spine. Whatever it was, the boy felt it too.

"But just for one night." He soon added.

"What's your name?"

"I don't have one." He said while pulling back his bag.

She tilted her head.

"How come you have no name?"

"Never needed one."

James Hayek had all the reasons to be jolly during the holidays. This son of immigrants became the most important merchant in all the North Kingdom. The Hayeks were the wealthiest mixed family in Arnsberg. This filled him with pride, but also a deep sentiment of duty. As a child of Arnsberg by heart he felt as his duty to retribute all his good luck back to the community.

The Hayek Mansion was a charming building located near the road down to Arnsberg, far close to the forest. Mr. Hayek certified himself that its doors would be forever open to the town that welcomed him.

It was the Solstice Eve. Tomorrow the Yule Festival would begin, twelve days of tradition and merriment. A gigantic fir-tree of nine meters was brought to the mansion's courtyard. The servants of the Hayek family surrounded its needles with all sorts of ornaments. They garnished the Yule Tree with silver, gold, and all kinds of jewelry. On its top, the Solstice Sun ornament promised to shine brighter than the real one. Not even Queen Ava's tree in the Royal Palace was as beautiful as the one who stood now in the Hayek Mansion.

Dozens of statues of goats surrounded the tree, all carefully made of pure straw. A somewhat forgotten tradition that Mr. Hayek couldn't let go in any capacity.

Two full tables had been already set. Roast turkeys and ducks, steamed hams and caramelized cods covered the first table.

The second table looked like a small child's fever dream. Colorful palaces of gelatin and chocolate sprinkled with sugar. Snowy towns and castles of gingerbread covered with white marzipan. Fountains and rivers flowing with chocolate. Towers of cakes and pies. Mountain chains of pudding with nuts and chestnuts boulders. It had enough to maddening the youth.

When Mia and Sophia arrived at the Hayek residence, the Yule Log had been already tossed into the fire. Both her and her sister helped the fur-cladded boy stepped out of the carriage. No sooner they crossed the golden gates, the servants already whispered between themselves. They couldn't help but gaze at the peculiar young man with awe and curiosity.

As soon as the girls walked upon the carpet in the living room, their parents rushed to speak to them. When Mr. Hayek first heard the news, he had to come to see it by himself.

"You brought the Yule Man?" He gave a strong laughter that came straight from the bottom of his belly.

The boy didn't know how to react, so he stepped behind the sisters and gave him an awkward smile.

Mr. Hayek was a cheerful and youthful old man. Mrs. Hayek could be the proudest woman the world has ever seen. She fitted the role of the women who dressed to show the world her social status. Her blue eyes had troubles showing affection. Her corn-like hair was stylized in the same way as the fashion magazines. Meticulously armed.

She approached Mia to talk in particular.

"You should be getting dressed." She spoke with veiled bitterness.

Mia tried her best to argue back.

"Sorry mother, I was doing shopping when..."

Her mother definitely didn't want to know. She twisted her eyebrows and said:

"Why are you so irresponsible. I'm tired of sorries. And what are you wearing for the gods' sake" She started yelling.

Mia swallowed her mother's sermons with her best poker face. Since she was a child, she knew how harsh Mrs. Hayek's criticism could be. Nothing different from the woman that searched for defects in everything.

"You know how this night is important. It's your first ball. My daughter shouldn't look like a hag." She took a pause to breath. "Go get dressed!"

Sophia came forward.

"Can the Yule Man spend the Yule with us?" She asked with manipulative eyes.

"You can't bring him here." She whispered while offering a false smile to greet the newcomer boy.

Fritz and Thomas, Sophia's elder brothers, looked at him with intense curiosity.

"Magic always leads to trouble." She put.

"Mother, he needs us." Mia shot back. "Besides not aging, there's not that much he can do. He is harmless."

"Mia, can you stop arguing..." Her mother tried to shut her down as she always did.

Mia had other plans.

"Father..." She turned to Mr. Hayek. "This is the true Yule Man. You can show him to the town's children tonight.

"I like children." His tiny voiced ricocheted off the living room walls. They turned to face him.

"They are nice to me." He said in a small tone behind them.

They almost had forgot he was still there.

"My dear, I don't know..." Mr. Hayek gazed at his unhappy wife.

"Remember when you were young and poor, and they chased you off that department store." She pointed to the boy. “They shoved him out of the confectionery as if he were nothing. He doesn't have where to spend the Yule days. He never had."

Mr. Hayek grew quiet. Not everyone had been nice to him. The way he looked had closed a lot of doors before. He promised to never take part in any judgment by appearances.

"You win." He winked at her. "Okay. Welcome to our Yule party Mr. Yule Man.

The boy looked at Mrs. Hayek. He saw her eyes steaming.

The guest started appearing around the evening. The parties in the Hayek Mansion always yielded weeks of conversation and gossip. They were more accessible than official public events. Open to everyone who wanted to participate. Thanks to that Mr. Hayek received the charming nickname of the "Father of the Poor." from his enemies. He liked it.

In her bedchamber, Mia wore a ballgown that had the color of the winter night sky. A low busted and short sleeved gown that drew attention to her silhouette. It was richly embroidered with snowflake patterns that surrounded her skirt. A delicate bow tied her curly brown hair back, drawing attention to her delicate face. Her strong red lipstick contrasted quite well with her light-brown skin tone.

When she went down the staircase. She gasped at how beautiful her house looked. Decks of holly, ivy and winter roses scattered everywhere. When the Yule Man saw her, he gasped at how beautiful she looked. He raced to her, still with his bag.

"Why are you still wearing this thing?" She pressed her lips together. She sounded just as her mother.

"Sorry If I was too rude. Do you like it?"

"No. No. I don't like this thing at all." He chuckled while eating a huge piece of marzipan with his free hand.

"So, why do you wear it?"

"As if I had a choice." He smirked.

He had finished his attack on the table of sweets. His mouth still was stained with sugar and chocolate. She noticed he had pockets in his suit, because they were full of gingerbread cookies and pieces of cake. The corners of her mouth lifted a smile as soon as she realized it.

When they arrived at the courtyard, the guests already crowded the place. The music had begun. The youthful couples already waltzed together amid the chatter of their families. That scene never failed to fill Mia's eyes, and now she could be officially a part of it. Her first ball as a woman.

She saw her mother approaching.

"What are you wearing." She yelled in her lowest tone.

Mia stood in her defensive position.

"Mother, you promised I could pick my own dress."

Mrs. Hayek exhaled.

"Yeah, I did. You look beautiful."

Mia smiled in relief.

"You too mother."

"You look perfect, and it's Yule, but don't exaggerate on the food." She laughed. "You know how the woman in our family have problems with weight."

Mia forced a yellow smile as a good daughter. As soon as her mother departed, the boy tried to cheer her.

"That was close. You survived the attack of the amazing shrew. Good job."

Mia laughed out loud. He felt proud with himself.

The children on the place couldn't stop looking at him with amazement. She turned to him.

"You don't really have a name?"

His smile disappeared.

"No."

He tried to physically walk out of that social interaction. She followed him.

"Do you at least have parents or relatives?"

He spent a couple seconds thinking.

"I don't know. I believe that I don't."

"Where you go when you aren't in Arnsberg? Do you visit other cities?"

"I prefer not to think about that." He said as politely as he could.

"Can I ask about the bag?" She joked.

He handled the bag over to the other hand.

"Nope!"

He really didn't like the direction of that conversation.

"Can I least ask you about the beard? Do you like it?"

He stopped. He looked at her.

"Not even a little." He laughed. "It's shaggy, it scratches, and it annoys me so much."

"Why you don't shave it?"

"As if I had a choice."

That was getting on her nerves.

"Why wouldn't you have a choice?"

He looked deep into her eyes.

"Because only real people have a choice."

On that same moment, a man wearing a red fur cloak and carrying a sack full of toys and stepped out of the servant’s door. The children gasped and cheered his presence and rushed in his direction. The adults were left amazed. Santa Claus had arrived. By his side, a very tall man came closer, wearing a wooden goat mask and wearing a very thick coat. On his hand he carried birch branches. The children surrounded them in seconds. The Goat-masked man asked in his spookiest voice if they had been nice or naughty that year. Santa had already start delivering the presents to all the children.

Mia nudged him.

"It's my father. He lives by the Yule Festival." She boasted. "He loves to dress like Santa. He's the only black St. Nick in the town."

"I find funny how you always seem to agree that he's an old fat man in red."

He left her confused.

"Excuse me."

"St. Nicholas is way younger than that. And he drinks." He chuckled. "A lot."

She tilted her head and frowned.

"How can you tell? No one can see him."

He stayed quiet.

"Do you know the real Santa?"

He broke the silence.

"He's a good man. He's nice to me. The Yule Goat is bad. He's very bad. He beats children."

He nodded to the goat masked man. Mia saw that it unsettled him a bit.

"Calm down. It's just Edgar, our butler. He likes to scare kids, so every year he dresses like the Yule Goat."

All the kids after receiving their presents ran to his side. Mr. Hayek as the jolly saint came closer to Mia at said in direction of the young man:

"This man..." He certified himself to be heard by everyone. "...is the Yule Man. Today he will show us the magic of the Yuletide season."

The crowd turned and stared at him in intensity. The typical hypocrisy of mortals: They fear magic but can't lose a chance to see it close. The boy himself stayed quiet as a mouse in his spot.

Mia asked in his ear:

"Crowds make you nervous"

"Yep" He almost couldn't be heard.

"I realized."

He walked to the center of the courtyard without saying no more words. Near the fir-tree he tossed his bag on the ground. Mia attended all that closely.

He pulled the knot that tighten the bag closed and opened it. A single snowflake came out first. It flew like a white butterfly in the direction of the wind. Calm, gentle, beautiful. It shimmered like nothing else. Some of the children ran after it and tried to catch. A second came out, and third, and a fourth. The snowflakes then burst out of the bag, billions of them. Small bright crystals that looked more like pixie dust.

He opened his arms and allowed the endless wave of light blast off and fill the skies. The crowd clapped and cheered in a mad frenzy. Mr. Hayek couldn't believe his eyes.

Mia stood there, speechless. The sight took all her ability to think properly.

The Yule Man closed his eyes. He shook both hands together as quick as he could. The bright outburst ceased. The bag dissolved in icicles. As if the world's largest swarm, they dashed up, up into the sky, while the snow started to fall.

He turned back to them.

"And this...This is how the Yule snow comes to Arnsberg."

The crowd clapped in pure ecstasy. He exhaled relieved.

The kids chased him. The adults had troubles understanding what happened. Mia stayed quiet in her thoughts processing everything.

The north wind blew over them all. The boy felt the message sent to him down to his bones. A dark figure appeared in the corner. He knew there were consequences to be dealt with.

Mia searched for him when he appeared and shook her hand.

"I'm grateful for everything..." He started. "... but St. Nicholas saw me. I already violated too many rules."

And he ran away.

"What!"

She stayed behind, left speechless again.

Mia marched to her parents close to the mansion's entrance.

"Father, what did you said to him?"

She took Mr. Hayek by surprise.

"Nothing, I..."

Sophia stopped playing with the other girls and their new toys and walked to them.

"It was not him. It was the real Santa.

"Hey!" His heart broke. He said visibly offended. "How long do you know I am not..."

Mia interrupted him.

"Sophia, why are you talking about?"

"St. Nicholas came here to talk to him."

"How I didn't see him?"

She responded with such innocence that terrified Mia.

"He's invisible to you."

Mia rushed back inside and searched for him everywhere. She found him when he was getting nearer the front gate.

"Why did you leave?" She approached him behind pulled him by the arm. You said you would spend the night here."

"I can't. I simply can't. St. Nicholas talked to me...

"Santa? Santa threatened you?"

"No. St. Nicholas is nice to me." He argued. "Only a few like him are. The North Wind brought him here. He told him how I was breaking the rules. Different from him, I can be seen by mortals. He thinks it's not wise for me to get too close to them, to you."

He paused as soon as he realized how that sentence could be interpreted.

"To you guys, the mortals, your family." The awkwardness possessed his body.

Her forehead furrowed while pressing her lips together.

"What are the rules?"

He scratched his head and lowered it down.

"I arrive to Arnsberg by the first light of the Solstice Eve. I must leave before the first light after the Yule days are over."

Her expression lightened.

"So, you can spend the festival with us."

"Do you even listen to me?" He cried out loud.

She placed her hands over his shoulder.

"Listen, you will not violate any rules. As long as you left..." She gesticulated for him to continue it.

"Before the first light after the Yule days are over." He added.

"I know you liked here. So, what do you say.”?

"Mia, I can't."

She raised her voice.

"So, they want you to spend the holidays in the street?"

"I don't have a choice." His jaw clenched and he shut his eyes.

She drew him closer.

"Yeah, you do."

That simple phrase teared down his walls. He no longer felt the ground under his feet. His eyes teared up.

"Do you really believe that." He said in a cry voice.

She struggled to look him in the eyes now.

"I do." She smiled to him.

He closed his eyes.

"Okay, I will spend the Yule Festival with you."

He heard the wind blowing outside. A very bad omen indeed. For some Mia sensed butterflies on her stomach. She felt a sweet taste in her mouth. Something sweet and warm inside her chest.

"Okay, I will ask Edgar to lead you to the Guest room."

He shook his head.

"It isn't necessary. I hate giving people trouble. I can sleep anywhere."

She raised her eyebrows.

"But you need a name. Can I call you Christopher? I always found a beautiful name."

"Yeah, you can." His eyes twinkled while the corners of his mouth quickly turned up.

She stepped closer.

"Happy Yuletide, Chris!"

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Okay! It’s related to addiction, hope it doesn’t bother you: Tony Stark is out from rehab, trying to start his life from zero after losing almost everything bc of his addiction. He had been in rehab for quite a long time, so going back to society is being kinda difficult. He can feel the stigma people have of him and so Tony feels lonely, until he meets Peter, a healthy kind man. Tony is afraid of falling for him and f*ck everything up as he has done before.

Spend My Days Locked In A Haze

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M)  Word Count: 4.5k Notes: So, this one has been sitting in the box for a little while because I wanted to approach it with educated respect. I did a lot of research. A lot. I hope this is what you were looking for, nonnie! Thanks for dropping the prompt my way <3 Warnings: Description of drug use (Tony struggles with a cocaine addiction), mentions of ADD, and therapy.  Summary: 

Tony’s brain doesn’t shut off and he struggles to manage it - so, he doesn’t. Instead, he develops a habit that is not the best for his body or his mind. A discovery during rehab helps a little, but the ultimate cure for restlessness is the adorable Peter Parker and food tours around the city.  

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

It started out small, like most things that have the ability to magnify always do.

After getting back from the desert, Tony couldn’t get his brain to turn off. Not only did he have a foreign object in his chest, he endured months of living in a cave with very little to eat and the inevitable happenstance of death clinging to his back like a needy child. Aside from the suit plans he wanted to refine and make into a working suit that could function with his now upgrading arc reactor, Tony didn’t have much of anything else going on.

It all got a little worse when he figured out that Obadiah was the one behind his kidnapping and hoped-for death. It stung a little, to be one of the smartest people in the world and miss something that after looking back, should have been seen from a mile away. How could a man that thought he ruled the world ever give up the throne without a fight? It didn’t make any sense to forget that Tony was one of the best fighters out there – but, he’d forgive the man his mistake when he got to see him behind bars.

The need to finish the suit became pinnacle and with that, long nights and even longer gaps of time between sleeping and letting his body rest. His mind didn’t ever seem to get tired, however – it ran on a loop for hours on end. Whenever he thought he might get to a stopping point, the next thought came flying across the forefront of his mind. It was great for his work, but not so great for his body and mental health.

After the 20th reminder from Jarvis about being awake for 80 hours straight, Tony forced himself from the lab and into the confines of his bedroom. It made his heart race, just thinking about sleep – yet, the second his head hit the pillow, he was out. His body’s need and the inability to shut it off pulled him under. The racing of his mind, however, did not go down with him.

Less than 4 hours later, Tony jumped awake, his entire body covered in sweat. He woke up patting at his chest, uselessly making sure he wasn’t connected to a car battery that with just one misfire, could take his life. Before he could contemplate getting back to sleep, his mind moved on to the adjustments he needed to make to the suit – the idea of rest was now gone for at least another 80 hours.

It got to be a little much – after the final interaction with Obie, Tony lost a little bit of steam. It was one thing, to go and go for hours on end when there was something to go for. Yet, it was something completely different, to be both restless and completely overwhelmed with a brain that didn’t want to power down. Sleep didn’t come and when it did, it was broken and interrupted by nightmares that drove him back to the lab or the kitchen or anywhere else other than the big empty bed that wanted to suck him in and keep him in the dark.

He remembered a brief stint in college when he was younger and going through the exact same thing. Tony knew that Bishop wasn’t dealing drugs anymore, but there were many people throughout the city that were. It didn’t take but a few well-placed calls to secure an in-person delivery of the China White that could at least take away the need to sleep. When his brain wanted to run a million miles a minute, who was he to deny it?

The first few bumps lasted him for a long time – his tolerance for the stuff was nowhere near what it’d been in his younger years. He wasn’t sure how the arc reactor effected the processing of it, either. Every time he leaned over to do a line, he might be one step closer to blowing his heart up. In a way, the risk seemed like the most appealing part of the whole thing. Living on the edge at least gave him something to live for.

Between upgrades for the Iron Man suit and the transition from weapons manufacturer to clean and sustainable energy, Tony didn’t have time to slow down, especially when it came to sleep – that took up too many brain bytes and didn’t contribute to the madness he continued to pump out month after month. As the days passed, Tony found himself getting more entrenched in the need for the drug that kept him both wired and level – it felt good to go and go and go without having to stop. Stopping was for the weak.

Despite the cavalier attitude, Tony started to notice some physical symptoms of the upper being in his system all the time. Since introduction of the arc reactor, Tony didn’t feel much in terms of his heart or the cardiorespiratory process that went down between the heart and the lungs. The higher his doses, however, the more uncomfortable his pulse became – the throbbing in his veins seemingly thicker and thicker as the days went by.

Of course, when the shit hit the fan, Tony was making one of his rare public appearances. It meant a lot to him to change the company’s perspective, but not a lot to the people actually affiliated with Stark Industries. After the business with Obadiah, it seemed pertinent to keep himself under the radar – which was well in good because he wasn’t in any condition to be in front of people. Yet, Pepper talked him into the barest of glimpses at the next press conference.

That particular day, Tony attempted to sleep the night before and felt a little strung out from the experience. It was weird – to be so aversive to sleep. In an attempt to wash his mind from the dreams that plagued him, Tony snorted an extra line before leaving his penthouse and getting into the swing of being a businessman again. It seemed like, especially since coming back to reality, that persona didn’t fit him – rules and restrictions and propriety weren’t really his thing; he was about to make that incredibly apparent.

Though he didn’t have any talking expectations, Pepper wanted him up front in the limelight – which was nice for about two seconds. Then, the sweating started; the brightness of the lights brought every bit of moisture within him to the surface. And when that happened, his heart rate picked up – how it got any higher than it already was, Tony didn’t know. Reaching up to loosen his tie, Tony shuffled from one foot to the other over and over again; he hoped the restless movement would cure the general weightless feeling that did not feel glorious like the high usually did.

Hitting the ground was not expected and try as he might, he couldn’t push off from Happy to get away long enough to do it in the relative peace of an empty hallway, not in front of cameras and many, many people that were watching the live broadcast. He was still conscious when Happy ran over to him, his big hands grabbing Tony’s arms tightly. They made eye contact before he finally slipped away, the horrified look on his face just seconds before forever engrained in his mind.

----

The worst part of overdosing didn’t come from the progressive removal of Tony from the board, or the headlines that spoke of the scandal – no, the worst part came when Pepper dropped him off in front of an in-patient rehab clinic. The intense amount of the drug in his system had him seizing and coding out a couple of times on his way to the hospital, followed by several days off waking up with excruciating pain everywhere, chills, a fever, nausea – all of the fun things that came from detoxing from a chronically used drug.

When he’d been cognizant enough to actually have a conversation, Pepper told him about the board’s decision to remove him from his position – he shakily signed the papers that would make her the acting CEO. She told him that pending a stint in rehab, they’d reconsider – but they both knew that was total bull shit. Getting out of rehab meant coming back to a haunted penthouse and no company in sight. Despite that, Tony agreed; he was only 45 – dying was the last thing he wanted for himself.

It was grueling to begin with – Tony was still on the edge of his detox and felt more irate than ever before. His chest ached from whatever happened to his heart during the course of seizing and having severe palpitations. To top everything off, his mind was still running on overdrive and there wasn’t a bit of relief in sight – they wouldn’t even let him exercise yet, his heart wasn’t ready for it.

About a week into his stay, Tony started attending the group and individual therapy sessions. He didn’t like to talk to people when he felt normal, so small attempts to open up were made during his group time – it took him 3 weeks of sessions before he even felt comfortable enough to introduce himself; everyone knew Tony Stark – but nobody really “knew” him.

The individual sessions were a totally different bag, however – the small female therapist sat in a big chair behind her desk, the width of it dwarfing her even more than her stature already did. If he had any ground to stand on, he’d laugh at the irony of it. Tony didn’t, though – the rock bottom he was laying on at the moment felt worse than the desert, and he’d been there against his will.

She looked at him a lot – Dr. Martin’s eyes were hazel and a little on the beady side – every time her eyes moved, Tony could feel her scrutinizing him. They didn’t talk for 2 solid sessions; the quiet would have been much more appreciated if she didn’t keep running her eyes over him, but beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

It was clear during his 3rd session that he wasn’t going to get away with keeping his mouth shut. Her posture was different when he walked in and her usual file was nowhere to be found. Sitting down, Tony took in a deep breath to prepare himself – it felt like a sweet kind of torture, waiting for the questions to come his way.

“I’ve spent the past couple of weeks trying to connect your file to you and I can’t – so I thought coming right to the source would be a good place to start. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? Your likes, interests, habits – “

Instead of balking at her, Tony settled back in the chair, his hands knitting behind his head – the position meant to give off ease. “Uh – what don’t you know from the papers? I like to build things with my hands and solve puzzles that other people can’t. I’m interested in not dying because of the habit that I have. I want my brain to shut off for a while, which is what led to the shitty habit to begin with.” Scratching his head, he shrugged, the words more than he’d said to anyone in years.

Dr. Martin tilted her head, her eyes a little brighter than just a moment before. The inquisitive part of her on the scent of something. “You want your brain to shut off. Can you elaborate on that?”

Looking at her, Tony quirked a brow – he’d never been asked to describe the chaos in his head before. It took him a minute to categorize his thoughts, the multitude of details that needed to be included sorting themselves out. “It’s like having a million files open at one time. I get to the end of one train of thought and immediately hop to another. Or I’ll be right in the middle of one and be on the opposite side of the room the very next second. There’s no focus. I fixate on my work and the things I like – everything else, it’s a restless toss-up.”

Tony recognized the light bulb going off in her head when it happened – there were more than enough eureka moments in his lifetime to know exactly what that looked like. Getting up, Dr. Martin went over to her stack of files and dug around until she found Tony’s. “It says that you have a long history with restlessness and an inability to sleep. There’s obviously some traumatic origin to some of the most recent feelings, but have you always experienced things like that?”

In the end, Tony went through a long line of tests to determine whether ADD contributed to all of the issues he experienced outside of the drugs. He met with Dr. Martin and told her his long history of times just like the most recent one – times of long stretches without sleep because a project consumed him, and then even longer times of disorientation because he couldn’t connect to anything. Tony didn’t know what a diagnosis would bring him, other than more stigma, but the prospect of an answer wasn’t the worst thing to be offered, either.

Upon being diagnosed, a certain sort of feeling washed over him. Not contentment, but something that might be like it. On top of the drug counseling and group sessions, Tony had a couple more therapist added to his repertoire. Instead of going through the 90-day program, Tony stuck around and did 180-days instead. Before he left, he wanted to make sure that he could put both feet on the ground and stand up on his own. There were too many ways to get access to the thing that could very easily be his downfall – having self-assurance felt absolutely necessary.

The nerves about the situation manifested in the fact that he’d have way too much time on his hands when he got back into his real life. Without SI, there weren’t a lot of things going on for him. Idle hands were never a good thing for him before – the necessity for a distraction allowed him to fixate and neglect any semblance of a routine. If he could just keep his shit together, maybe the bits of his life could be fit back together.

Happy picked him up with a soft smile on his face at the end of Tony’s stay. He brought the Audi and got out of the driver’s side when he saw Tony walking toward him. When he didn’t hop back in, Tony shot him a grateful smile and sunk into the custom seat he installed himself. The purr of the car during the drive was enough to drown out his anxiety and stop any sort of conversation from happening. One thing Tony always appreciated about Happy was the fact that he didn’t push. Tony needed to be around people that didn’t push.

Parking in the garage, Tony pulled the keys from the car and turned towards Happy – the only person who stuck with him through the 6 months he’d been taking care of himself. “Thanks, Hap. You being here today was really important to me,” Tony said, his eyes flitting from side to side to avoid having to see the look on Happy’s face. He learned that being honest was the best policy, but it didn’t stop it from feeling a little weird. Talking about his feelings wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

“Glad you’re back, Tony. It’s been too quiet around here.”

----

The process of getting back into society was harder than he figured it would be. Though he went away for a while, the world did not forget the tragic picture of him passed out on the ground, the later news of his overdose painting the picture more fully and discoloring how the public saw him even more. As he predicted, the SI board didn’t have any intention of letting him come back any time soon – the idea that his company stood in the hands of someone else for an undetermined amount of time made him want to punch something; but it was his own fault, the consequences were his to deal with.

In place of working, Tony developed a routine throughout the day that took up his time and allowed him to stay organized and far away from the listless feeling that could so easily take him over. Every morning, he got up at 8 to eat a breakfast that he cooked himself. It took a couple of weeks to master the art of making eggs, but he managed, regardless. After breakfast, he hit the gym in his building and ran out his troubles on the treadmill until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.

In desperation during his first few days at home, Tony asked Jarvis for good food places around the city to try – ever since, he’d been slowly going down the list. Some of the places were upscale and took lots of money to have a high quality cup of coffee, and some were mom and pop places that cooked love into every bite. In all of his years of being in the city, Tony hadn’t thought to explore the local eateries and highly regretted it – there were so many things he missed out on.

During his food trips, Tony got to see different parts of the city – some that he didn’t know existed before walking through them. One particular adventure led him to a part of Brooklyn that looked newer, despite the older neighborhoods surrounding it. Jarvis told him about a brunch place that was rumored to make the best waffles. The walk there was interesting and filled with many mural covered walls that were incredible. Stopping to take pictures of a couple of them, Tony walked right into the line for Snooze without really meaning to.

The toe of his foot hit the back of the man’s shoe in front of him in his haste to stop before barreling into him completely. Sucking in a breath, Tony let himself be grateful for his fast reflexes before he looked up to apologize to the person he almost took out. Brown eyes that met his were filled with amusement and focused solely on him. “I’m so sorry. I saw a Storm Trooper mural a block over and got caught up looking at the picture I took of it,” Tony babbled. “I got here before I realized.”

A soft smile also belonged to the man with eyes that carried a shine to them, the man’s teeth white and adding to the intensity of his grin. “That’s okay. I stopped and looked at that mural for a bit, too. If you go down a couple of blocks, there’s a Boba Fett one.” The man looked over his shoulder to make sure the line wasn’t moving before turning towards Tony completely. “Are you a big Star Wars fan?”

By the time they got up to the door, Tony found out that the man, who he came to know as Peter, worked as a freelance CPA and jogged around the neighborhood not far from here. He followed the smells to Snooze, his trip there totally unplanned, unlike Tony’s. They talked about the newest trilogy additions to the Skywalker story and decided that Ben Skywalker shouldn’t have died after all. The hostess looked at the two of them and didn’t think to ask if they were together or separate, she simply led them to a small table. And neither man stopped her.

One brunched turned into coffee on the Upper East Side, and then Chicago style pizza in Queens. Peter seemed to enjoy the different food adventures that they went on – the man jumping on every chance that he could to join Tony. Many times, their meet ups to get food turned into walks around the closest park or trips through museums and art galleries. In his life, Peter was the only person that didn’t judge him. He didn’t have the knowledge to do so, but something told him Peter probably wouldn’t, regardless.

In spending all of that time together, Tony inevitably started finding himself falling for the charismatic Peter Parker who talked with his mouth full and could put away an entire pizza all by himself. Tony came to know that Peter was left-handed and enjoyed ketchup on his hamburgers but not mustard. CPAs that made their own business hours got to work whenever they wanted and on off days, they played squash and read to kids at the Brooklyn Public Library. For every bad quality that Tony had, Peter countered it with something so positive, it became more obvious that he was way too good for him.

Baggage like his was hard for him to carry – he couldn’t imagine placing that on someone else’s shoulders, especially someone as good and kind as Peter Parker.

A desperate attempt to save Peter and his goodness from the inevitable way that Tony fucked everything up, he took a couple of steps back from their friendship. Instead of meeting Peter almost every day, he limited himself to once a week and tried to keep it as friendly as possible. A hard feat, it seemed, after 3 weeks of Peter looking at him curiously. More than anything, Tony wanted to run his hand across Peter’s cheek to flatten out the slight frown, but he held back – one touch would send him down a rabbit hole he more than likely shouldn’t explore.

Their latest get together felt a little strained, Tony could feel it from the second he walked up. Peter wasn’t nearly as friendly as usual and left before Tony could even suggest walking to the ice cream place he scoped out on his way to the restaurant. He tried not to feel disappointed – his attempts to create some distance between them were working. The sucky feelings that came along with them, however – they were not.

The very next day, Tony was surprised by the sound of his elevator opening a little after 7PM. There were only 3 people that knew the access code to his elevator and 2 of them were currently out of town getting ready for the Stark Expo. Thinking about that made his skin prickle, so he pushed the thought aside and made it over to the doors. He knew Peter would be there, but the sight of him standing in the foyer of his house hit a little different. The last time he was here, they were excitedly heading out to try Cronuts & Co – smiles on their faces.

Now, Peter looked at him with a mix of hurt and confusion. Tony matched him – after their time together last night, he was surprised that Peter wanted anything to do with him at all.

“Sorry to just show up, Tony. I just – what happened? I need to know. Things were going great. Then an alien overtook you and you left the building. I’m – scared. If nothing else, you’re my friend and the 180 is a little concerning.” The admittance caused the man to stop talking, the red on his cheeks spreading quickly, the color going all the way down his neck and probably further. “Did I do something? I’m sorry if I did – just please, tell me what’s going on.”

Tony took a step back, every word hitting him square in the chest. So wrapped up in his own shit, he didn’t even see the panicked look in Peter’s eyes – the one that was staring back at him so heavily now. Pulling in a deep breath, Tony bucked up, a new sort of determination settling within him. “There’s a lot that you don’t know. Too much for the foyer of my apartment. Come in, I’ll get you a drink.”

Five minutes of reprieve Tony got while he poured them a couple of small shots of bourbon felt like enough time to collect himself. Disclosing the most intimate details of his situation wasn’t how he figured he’d spend the night, but it seemed right – to finally get the pressure off his chest. Tony slugged his drink back, then took a seat on the couch next to Peter.

“I’m sure you know the basics about me. I think the picture of me fainting at that press conference is a meme,” Tony uttered, an uncomfortable chuckle leaving his lips. “I got a little lost after I got back from the desert. I have a thing – where I fixate and get restless and have trouble focusing and after I got things squared away with Obadiah Stane, I just sort of lost the way completely. I fucked up a perfectly good opportunity to make the company my own, Pete. I fucked up so much in my life and the last thing – the absolute last fucking thing I want to do is fuck anything up with you – especially you, Pete.”

He watched Peter suck back the booze in his glass – the bob of the Adam’s apple in his throat almost distracting enough to ignore the anxiety rolling through him. Long fingers pressed the glass into the coffee table, then those very same fingers were grabbing his hand. “You don’t owe me your past, Tony. I knew who you were when I met you. I liked the way you looked so lost the first time we met. You have a great personality and a kind of thirst for life that I’m really excited about.” His fingers tangled with Tony’s, the man using his leverage to pull him closer. “I don’t care how you got here, Tony.”

It was a little overwhelming, hearing Peter speak so candidly. Almost everyone else in his life wrote him off – how a random person could have such faith in him blew him away. There wasn’t a lot of sense in it, but in his journey over the last year, Tony realized most things didn’t.

A soft hand on his face brought him out of his thoughts, the smile Tony came to adore present on Peter’s face when he looked up. “How about we just take it a step at a time? Might be good for the both of us,” Peter suggested, his thumb running over Tony’s cheek as he spoke.

Leaning in, Tony let his lips press against Peter’s lightly, the ghost of a kiss enough for the moment. He gave Peter’s hand a squeeze and gulped in a breath, a genuine smile slipping across his face.

“Sounds okay to me, Pete.”

[tiger-manya]

So, my Miraculous Ulysses AU.

I was genuinely surprised how many people responded to this (which is like… ten, but still). Thank you everyone, @furryhamlet in particular. I don’t know how serious I am about this, but does anybody really?

First, let us take a moment to establish the main similarities between Ulysses, a modernist masterpiece by James Joyce, and Miraculous Ladybug, a (debatably metamodern?) kids show:

puns;

the revolutionary new trope of main hero having a dead mother and the resulting father issues (never done before or after);

farts and bathroom humour (more prevalent in Ulysses, of course).

I think everything is quite clear.

And now, without further ado, Miraculous Ulysses AU:

It’s still Dublin, it’s still 1904, but now there’s also magic. And superheroes.

Stephen Dedalus has a black cat miraculous; Buck Mulligan has a bee miraculous; Simon Dedalus has a butterfly miraculous (not because I think it suits him, but because someone has to); Leopold Bloom is the guardian, but he doesn't do a very good job; Molly is often Ladybug, but it's not like she cares a lot.

All of them, of course, have different names for their alternate personas, but I'm not clever enough with names and not skilled enough with English language. Let's just say: Simon doesn't bother; Bloom comes up with a name for every person he gives a miraculous to, but none of them use those; Stephen has a million names, all very deep and clever, but the only one that stuck is whatever Mulligan mockingly called him that one time; and I don't know what's Bee!Mulligan name is, but it's inappropriate for general audiences.

I’ll have some placeholder names to make it easier for myself. Stephen may remain Chat Noir (he would probably name himself after a cabaret, at least to honour his teenage rebellion against church); Simon Dedalus can be Moth Daddy; Buck is… idk, Hornet? Hornet will do.

May Dedalus, Stephen’s mother, died not from cancer but from the misuse of the damaged peacock miraculous. After her death, Simon started akumatizing people into villains. He’s aware of the wish, but at this point it’s mostly about revenge to Chat Noir.

(Chat Noir might be the one who damaged the peacock miraculous in the first place, but it never said outright.)

He, of course, doesn't know anything about his son being Chat. Stephen, however, knows everything about his parents, but has no idea what to do with this information. It's a source of his resentment, but he can't bring himself to properly sort out his feelings.

Mulligan and Stephen know nothing about each other’s alternate identities. Stephen is friends with Mulligan mostly because his father doesn't want it. He actually resents Mulligan a lot, but is sympathetic towards Hornet because sees him as someone similar to him, someone who could actually understand his world-view and take it seriously. Chat spends some efforts to turn Hornet to his side but to no avail. Mulligan, on the other hand, thinks Chat Noir is a pretentious prick, but has a lot of genuine admiration for Stephen, even though he hides it under the layers of sarcasm and cynicism, as he doesn't want to be seen as weak. And that is your love square, everybody.

Hornet starts out as an independent party, but at some point begins working for Moth. Naturally, Simon finds out his identity and that’s the main reason he doesn’t want to see him anywhere near his son.

It’s Bloom who deals with the most akuma emergencies. He often recruits different dubliners to his side, but almost none of them stick to the job. Chat helps time to time, even though this help is often incidental, and he’s a lot more interested in Hornet shenanigans. Bloom is aware of Chat, but they never have time to properly talk to each other. Bloom wants to meet him; Bloom is searching for him.

The guardian duties tire him a lot. Bloom inherited the miracle box from his father with three miraculous already missing. Later he lost the fourth one, the bee miraculous, which he considers his greatest mistake. His relationship with Molly is not that great either. She used to regularly take a role of Ladybug, but after her singing career took off, she started losing interest. Nowadays Bloom often gives the ladybug miraculous to other women. Gerty is one of them.

Boylan is there somewhere. There’s probably an episode where he gets akumatized and Bloom and Molly are the ones to deal with it (very awkward for all parties).

Just so you know, the masturbation scene is still there.

There are a lot of Odyssey themed akumas. For instance, local back-seat political expert The Citizen is turned into Cyclops.

There was one person Stephen tried to tell about Chat Noir. A few years ago, before his run off to Paris, he tried talking to Cranly about the ring. He immediately got excited about the possibilities, insisted he and Stephen could work together as a superhero team. Stephen tried to explain himself, but ultimately saw that Cranly wouldn't ever understand. He brushed the whole thing off as a joke and never returned to it. At some point, Stephen thinks he should reveal himself to Mulligan, but then remembers Cranly and decides against it.

Haines’s dream about panther hunting is still there and now it cuts even deeper.

There’s a Chat Blanc type episode. It’s called Pangur Bán and it’s about the horrifying alternate reality of Stephen staying in Ireland (it’s not that bad, actually, but Stephen has a meltdown).

Ultimately, Stephen finds out Hornet is Mulligan. That's what seals his betrayal to Stephen, so there is nothing he could do but go to the brothel and get drunk. What led him to this discovery is that during their last encounter Hornet reused one of Stephen's aphorisms only Mulligan could know at that point. (He also grossly misquoted it and twisted the meaning.)

It’s in the brothel that Bloom recognizes Stephen (who is severely drunk at this point) as a son of his friend and saves him from the trouble he’s about to lead himself into. That’s when he notices the ring and realizes that Stephen is Chat Noir.

Bloom is happy beyond belief. He’s finally met someone he could share his guardian duties with. He buys Stephen some food and lets him sober up a bit, afterwards he invites him to his home and proposes a plan. Stephen could live in Bloom’s house with a better, more stable job. Bloom could share all his guardian knowledge with him, so he could better control his powers. They could work together as a team to finally bring Moth and Hornet to justice and end all this mess. Finally, Stephen could become the next guardian and have a miracle box all to himself. He responds to this with silence. Bloom apologizes and says he understands it’s a lot to take in, so he tells Stephen to think on it until morning.

Bloom falls asleep near his wife, full of hope for the future.

Before dawn, Stephen leaves Bloom’s house with his ring and his wallet. He plans to spend his last money on a ticket to France.

Before we end, a few things about an ideal media format for this AU:

It’s an animated tv series, at least 3 seasons long.

The style and quality of animation varies drastically from episode to episode, sometimes suddenly changing in the middle of one. There are at least 9 studious working on this, the communication between them isn’t great.

It all takes place in one day, 16 June 1904, but the viewers can’t tell that for sure until the last episode. This revelation might frustrate them at first, but once they’ll look back, they realize it kind of makes sense, as there is hardly any change of weather or time of day during the vast majority of episodes.

Unfortunately, it will be very hard to look back at, as all the episodes are aired out of order.

The series is broadcasted in many countries, each of which has its own order of episodes. And none of them has a full translation. Actually, nobody can have a full translation, until the thing becomes public domain. Until then, there are only automatically generated and machine translated subtitles. And fansubs, I guess.

Not to mention it gets banned really quickly in a lot of places.

The fans lose their mind, trying to establish continuity. There are multiple theories and theme tables to make sense of it all. The meaning also can change drastically, depending on the order you watch it in, so there are full-blown fandom continuity wars. People go mad. People die. It feels like a fever dream.

But once it all put together?

Absolute masterpiece.

Thank you for reading. Sorry for any mistakes or awkward English. 

Was this necessary? No. Will I stand by it? Well, yes I said yes I will Yes