#Like even him moving in next to gatsby!

[axsolotle]

do you ever think about how in The Great Gatsby Nick never really does anything of his own accord? how he’s always doing what others expected of him by others? because I sure do

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x F! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, dry humping, nipple play Summary: Eddie turns up at your house one night and in need of help so you show him how far you're willing to go to help out your closest friend. WC:4K

For the most part you were indifferent towards Jeff Parker. Neither of you ran in the same circles and he was usually the type to keep his head down but add a little alcohol to the equation and the guy turns into a regular Jay Gatsby — all over indulgent and the life of the party. You just wish that party wasn't taking place 15 feet away from your bedroom window.

It was all the drunken hollering and the thumping music that kept you up that night, bone-tired after pulling double shifts at work. It was the police sirens blaring an hour later that ripped you out of a dream just as you were finally able to doze off with your head buried beneath your pillow. And it was the tapping on your bedroom window that came ten minutes later that made you spring up and nearly shoot out of your own skin.

"Eddie! what the hell?", you whisper shout into the darkness of your bedroom, recognizing his shaggy haired silhouette crouched behind the glass and backlit by nearby streetlamps.

You figured he must have climbed up the lattice to get up onto your roof as he begins to point urgently at the lock on your window, mouthing at you to let him in.

Kicking off your covers, you quickly make your way over to the window and unlock it for him, pulling it open and stepping aside to allow him to barrel roll into your room and heave a heavy sigh of relief.

Sprawled out on your carpeted bedroom floor, Eddie pants the exertion away and you leave him there to rest, connecting the dots yourself.

"I told you to stop dealing at parties", you deadpan, shaking your head in that world weary way you often slip into when it comes to Eddie but all that seems to do is trigger a grin that makes him look suspiciously chipper.

"Got to make a living don't I?", he replies from the floor, his hair all wild and fanned out in an unruly halo of frizz and curls.

It's far too late at night for you to be bothered enough to get into it with Eddie so you simply roll your eyes at him instead, making sure to shut your window to keep the chilly night air from seeping into your warm, cozy room.

The music that'd been playing next door has finally been silenced, you're pleased to notice but as you look out the window you see that the patrol car responsible for making Eddie and several other partygoers disperse and hightail it out of there remains parked in front of Jeff's house.

"I'll make a move once the fuzz's gone. I'm parked a couple blocks away so it should be fine", Eddie explains casually, able to anticipate your concern but you keep your eyes fixed on the car and its flashing lights for a moment longer, chewing on your bottom lip.

The thing was, in a town where almost everyone had it out for your best friend, you weren't too fond of the idea of him driving home at this time of night with his pockets stuffed with illicit party favours. Hell, Eddie often gets pulled over in the middle of the day by asshole officers hoping to book him on a possession charge. And since the trailer park isn't exactly closeby, the likelihood of him running into another cop and getting pulled over seems way too high for your liking.

The thought of it alone makes your stomach plummet. You just didn't want to see your closest friend getting into any kind of trouble. Especially if you could do something to help prevent it.

Turning away from your window, you eye Eddie intently while he glances up at you from where he's still laid out on his back, his breathing even now that he's managed to catch his breath.

"I think you should stay the night. It'll be safer that way", you tell him plainly.

Though most of your room is draped in darkness, Eddie's lit up in a column of orange light that pours in through your window so it's easy for you to make out the way his eyebrows rise up and disappear behind his bangs, his eyes growing wider too as he props himself up on his elbows to look at you.

"Y' sure?", he asks and you can feel him studying your face closely, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

You know he'll find none though. Sure, this is all very spur of the moment stuff but you have no reservations about having Eddie stay over. Exactly the opposite.

"Yeah. But be quiet, okay? My whole family's asleep", you tell him as he begins to pick himself up off the floor, face beaming as he grins at you and steps closer to where you're standing.

"Ya big softie. All worried about me, huh?", he posits, tipping his head to the side in a way that at any other time, you might have considered cute. Right now however, all he's managed to conjure is annoyance given how little sleep you've had tonight.

So you narrow your eyes at him, the rest of your expression flat as he makes the mistake of bringing his face closer to yours, giving you the opportunity to reach out and pinch his earlobe between your thumb and forefinger, twisting the soft skin until his teasing grin deflates and he throws up his hands in surrender.

"Fuck, uncle, uncle!", he calls out while keeping his voice as low as possible, face pinched in pain and looking all kinds of helpless before you decide to let go with a pleased scoff, a small smirk playing on your lips too.

Eddie rubs a hand over his newly freed ear, his gaze wandering away from your eyes, seemingly sizing you up before he takes a step back, no longer within your reach.

"By the way...", he utters cautiously, his gaze returning to your face when another smile curves his lips.

"Nice get up".

Confused, you take a look at yourself, your face turning warm as you tug down on the hem of your oversized t-shirt, hoping in vain that Eddie hadn't caught a glimpse of the panties you've got on underneath when he was down on the floor.

Though he doesn't confirm it, the look on his face says it all — that overly pleased smirk and that telltale glint lighting up his deep brown eyes. It irks you for just a moment before you surrender with a sigh.

"Eddie, I'm too exhausted for this. Please, can we skip the teasing and just go to sleep?"

A look of vague disappointment flashes over Eddie's face when you're able to quickly brush aside your momentary embarrassment, padding over to your side of the bed, no longer concerned with how much of your bare thighs might be on display before you pull back the covers and get in.

"C'mon, get in already", you urge him to join you as you motion to the vacant space on the left side of your bed, fighting off a yawn in the process because your eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

It's Eddie who looks a little rattled now as he eyes your bed, his fingers fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket with restless uncertainty before he rids himself of it, setting it on your desk chair before he bends down to begin unlacing his shoes in the dark.

You hear him struggle while he's crouched down, whispers of 'shit', 'fuck' and 'god fucking damnit' said loud enough for you to hear while you giggle at him, feeling a bit more at ease now that you're reminded of the kind of dork Eddie is at his core — sharing a bed should be no problem.

You've already turned over, your back to Eddie and your cheek resting on your pillow by the time you feel him slide in under the covers next to you, mattress dipping under his weight.

"I'll take off before your folks get up, I promise", he says to you and you hum back a sleepy 'okay' in reply, nuzzling into your pillow.

With that out of the way and both of you settled in bed, you thought that would be the end of it until next morning but sleep doesn't come as quickly as you would like.

For the next couple of minutes you can feel him readjusting beside you, tossing and turning and you already know why. In the interest of getting back to sleep you interrupt him. "Eds, just take them off already", you mumble over your shoulder at him, causing him to freeze.

"You want me down to my underwear?", he whispers back at you and though your back's still to him you can feel the incredulous expression he's got on his face as his eyes bore into the back of your head.

"It's fine. I'm in mine too", you tell him with a seemingly unbothered huff though if he'd had his palm pressed to your chest and just above your heart he'd know you're nowhere near as calm as you make yourself out to be.

A moment of silence elapses before he finally answers.

"Mkay"

You feel him move around, catching the sound of his zipper being pulled down before he's shucking his tight jeans off, relief apparent in his tone when he settles back in bed now that he's shed the tight denim.

"Night then", he whispers to you as you do your best to stifle the warmth swirling in your belly.

"Night", you answer, eventually drifting off to sleep at last.

~

"Shit shit shit shit shit"

It's the first thing you hear when you begin to wake up, blinking several times to clear your blurry vision before you can take a look at your alarm clock.

6.30AM. The sun's just beginning to rise and you grumble under your breath as you turn over to face Eddie, figuring now's the best time for him to make his way home.

"What the hell?"

You squint at the boy who appears several shades paler than usual, his eyes all large, looking like some kind of cornered animal with a pillow shoved over his lap.

"Um, are you okay?", you sit up in bed, your back against the headboard just like Eddie's.

His eyes dart nervously all over the room, seemingly preferring to focus them anywhere else besides on you and that only leaves you feeling even more confused.

"Okay so- the thing is...I can't exactly leave right now", he mumbles sheepishly to you, the corner of his left eye pinching into a slight twitch.

"Why? are you okay?", you ask, yet to catch on as to what seems to be troubling him.

He looks positively torn with his teeth worrying his bottom lip and a light sweat forming at his temple. "Fuck. Okay. Please don't hate me. It's just that— I have no control over it, okay? it just happens sometimes in the mornings, you know? and- and I...oh god you think I'm some kind of perv don't you?"

You can only blink at Eddie as he brings both hands up to cover his eyes, his neck stretched taught as he leans his head back until it thuds softly against your wall, letting out a defeated sigh.

Looking down at the pillow placed over his lap, you're finally able to guess what the problem is, your belly swirling with a familiar flash of warmth again, same as when you listened to him taking his jeans off last night.

"Oh...well, I don't think you're a perv. It's uh, natural? you can't help it", you tell him as calmly as you can manage, wanting him to feel better by lightening the weight of shame and guilt he's currently shouldering.

Hands still on his face, he parts his fingers enough for him to peek at you from between them. "So you're not mad?", he whispers, watching you closely to gauge your reaction.

You shake your head softly, trying your best not to let your eyes drop back to the pillow in his lap like you might be able to see right through it. You want to see right through it. Badly.

"I'm not mad Eds. I promise".

With another deep sigh, he seems to be more at ease now that he knows that he hasn't upset you, letting his arms flop down at his sides.

"I don't know what to do" he whispers and you can hear how torn he is over the whole situation as you catch the helpless little quaver to his tone.

"What do you usually do?, you ask, your thoughts all frazzled and crowding your head way too quickly than you can manage to comprehend them.

Eddie says nothing, turning to face you with a pointed look, quirking an eyebrow up high at you.

"Right.. dumb question. sorry", you admit.

A few beats of silence commence as both of your minds work, passing over bad idea after bad idea before you turn to back to Eddie again.

"I mean, you could just use my—"

"I can't just jerk off in your bathroom with you sitting here", he stops you quickly and firmly though not unkindly, making you realize that no matter what you try to come up with, he's probably already thought of it first.

"Eddie we have to do something about it", you maintain, sparing a glance at your alarm clock as it reminds you that he's only got a limited amount of time left to leave before he risks getting caught by your family or a neighbor seeing him clamber out your window.

You think about it long and hard, one particular thought echoing louder than the rest in your mind. You try to will it away but it only takes up more space in your head until it's all you can think about, taking in a big breath before you decide to share it with Eddie.

"If you want, I could help you", you tell him, nervously picking at your fingers in your lap.

"...What do you mean?", he asks, looking at you suspiciously.

You shrug. "Y' could grind on me".

There's a pause that seems to drag on much longer than you would have liked, both of you staring into each others eyes, unblinking.

"I can't do that — feels like I'd be taking advantage of you or something", he finally breaks the silence, making you feel somewhat wounded that he'd turned your offer down even though you know he's only trying to be a decent friend. You wish he'd give it a rest.

"Would it help if I took over?", you offer next, steeling yourself in the case of him turning you down once more.

"Sweetheart...please don't tell me you're just fucking with me."

"I'm not I promise", you answer firmly.

"I...are you sure? I mean really 100% sure?", he asks again.

You can't help but roll your eyes at him, slipping your legs out from under the covers to straddle Eddie's thighs all while his jaw falls slack at the sight and feeling of you on top of him, your fingers curling around the pillow still resting on his lap.

"I'm sure. Are you?", you ask him before proceeding though if you were to guess, you could read the answer off his face with ease.

"I...yeah", he squeaks, eyes all big and round like he's in awe of the way you've taken the lead.

"Okay then. Let me get rid of this."

You toss the pillow aside to the spot you'd formerly occupied, gulping down the lump in your throat with some difficulty when you set your eyes on the tent in his striped boxers. The way it strains against his underwear, it's easy to guess he's both thick and lengthy under that thin veil of cotton and the more you look at it the more it feels like the room is starting to tilt and spin.

It's the kind of thing you've thought about in secret a fair amount, you and your best friend doing things that you wouldn't ordinarily do with someone who was just your friend. You pull yourself closer to him, laying your hands on his shoulders as you balance your core over his bulge, carefully lowering yourself until you're pressed up right against his clothed cock. Both of you release a shaky breath at the feeling, him, because you feel so warm and soft and you, because he feels so warm and firm.

"Put your hands on my hips", you tell him next, liking the way his cheeks pink up in response as he places them on you gently, sending a wave of goosebumps all along your body.

You start slow, grinding yourself on the ridge of his cock, unable to help the way your pussy flutters as you drag it up near Eddie's tip and back down close to his balls, working your way up to a simple rhythm.

"How's that? is it good?" you ask, making sure to check in with him.

"Shit yeah that's...that's good. Keep going", Eddie starts to firm up his grasp on you, guiding you, encouraging you to pick up the pace, all the while you try to keep secret the way your stomach tightens up with so much heat, your pussy dripping plenty with slick.

"Eddie..."

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?", you ask him as you notice the the way his brows have begun to knit together, the same way they get when he's concentrating on nailing a solo on stage.

"I don't think I should uh answer that", he answers cautiously, disappointment making your lips push out into a little pout.

"Please. I wanna know", you ask gently, melting his resolve with your pleading eyes

"...M' thinking about your tits", he grits out, looking like he ought to be ashamed about it. You figure you have a way to fix that.

"Do you want to see them? would that um, help?"

Your offer hangs in the air for a few seconds as you finally manage to catch your clit the right way along Eddie's clothed cock, your toes curling while pleasure blooms inside your bones.

You no longer make a strong effort to hide the way that humping his cock is making you feel either, that it's not just him who's getting off here and maybe that's why Eddie manages to convince himself that it's okay to take this next step with you.

"I want to see them — yeah", he manages to croak out, his fingers twitching with so much excitement around your hips. He's thought about it too — the two of you like this. How could he not? when you're the only one who's ever cared. When you look the way you do. When you're soaking through your underwear and his with your nipples already hard as they show through your shirt.

How could he not want you?

With Eddie giving you the green light, you take your hands off of his shoulders and pick up the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off as you toss it behind you, uncaring of where it might land.

"Oh my god."

To you it might have felt like a quick undressing but for Eddie the world slows down to a crawl. He sees it all; the subtle way your breasts bounce and shift with your movements, the way they slope and rest on your chest, rising and falling with every breath and the way your perky nipples react to the cold air in your room, pebbling before his eyes.

"You can touch them if you want", you notice the way he's looking at them, feeling his cock jump under you.

"Christ, you're trying to kill me", he answers all hoarse.

To you, there's no greater compliment, your smile widening into a grin. Carefully, you guide him this time, prying his hands away from your hips and encourage him to cup his hands over your tits instead, moaning when he begins to press into the soft flesh, squeezing and massaging them.

"That feels good", you whisper, hips still working as you drag your drenched clit along his cock. "God, Eddie I've— I've wanted this for so long", you sigh dreamily, the truth spilling out much faster than you can try to swallow it all back down, all because you're so weak for the way those big, wide cinnamon eyes of his are staring back at you.

Your core's all sticky now, panties practically pasted to your skin in that messy way that usually has you eager to peel them off. Though as much as you'd like for the both of you to rid yourselves of all the tacky cotton between you, to be completely bare with each other, you don't want to mess up the rhythm you've fallen into, your clit pulsing and throbbing as you ride Eddie's lap.

"Honey... are you telling me that we could have been doing this from the start?", he asks, slightly anguished. He continues to gently pulling and pinching at your nipples while he keeps his eyes locked on yours, hushed grunts and groans falling from his parted lips.

Your hips are moving faster now, bed squeaking beneath you both, not that you care about your family hearing it — not right now — not when you're so close.

"I— I guess. Yeah", you gasp out when he pinches your right nipple, his left hand falling back down to your hip to guide you.

"You know how many times I've thought of you like this? how many times I've had to picture you on top of me just to get me through the day?, he asks, pulling and pushing you along his length with fervor.

"Why didn't you say anything?", you whine back.

"C'mon. We both kno— know you can do better than—"

Despite almost reaching the peak of your climbing orgasm, you dig your nails into the hand Eddie's got fixed on your hip, forcing your knees into your mattress to bring you both to a halt.

"Don't ever say that. Don't ever say that because it's not true", you place your hands on his cheeks, caressing his face gently. "I only kept my mouth shut incase you didn't feel the same about me...I didn't want to spoil what we already had. I couldn't stand it if you didn't want to be friends anymore..."

"Baby—", it's his turn to cradle your face, thumb making gentle circles on your cheek. "You could never lose me", he tells you, soft but firm and then you feel a pull and you suppose he must feel it too because you're both leaning in, faces closer than they've ever been before, lips grazing each other before you're sharing a kiss with your best friend for the very first time

It's gentle at first, both of your fingers weaving into each others' hair, a soft nip here and there before growing more hungry when Eddie's tongue meets yours. Both of you moan and whimper into each other's mouths, sloppy and messy, your heartbeats turning rapid when you eventually have to break for air, Eddie in need of the same when your lips part with a sticky click and he leans back to rest against the headboard again, panting. Any longer and he'd have cum from the kiss alone.

You catch your breath first, the corner of your mouth picking up into a lopsided smile. "Now are we going to make up for lost time or what?", you challenge him, both of you beaming with bright eyes and brighter smiles.

You pick up where you'd both left off, your hands on Eddie's shoulders and him, one hand on your hip, the other on your right breast, squeezing your soft skin, flicking your nipple because it makes you gasp and he loves hearing the sound of it.

"Please tell me you're close" Eddie grunts, sure to leave marks behind on your hip in the shape of his fingers. You were looking forward to admiring them in the mirror later.

"G-getting there. Wanna go faster— is that okay?", you make sure to ask, his answer coming through when his left hand slips down to find space on your other hip, pulling and pushing you along his length quick enough to make you squirm on his lap as your clit drags on him just right.

"Eddie— feels perfect...I think I'm gonna-"

"Please—" he cuts you off quickly with a ragged huff, his eyes wandering away from the wet, sticky stains that'd developed on both your underwear and his, pausing on the way your breast bounce and jiggle before fixing on your your eyes. "Please cum. I wanna watch you."

Your body begins to move on instinct as it chases your climax, eager to reach it this time than let it slip through your fingers twice. You're closer than before because it feels even better when you begin to lean back, your hands coming to rest on Eddie's thighs behind you. Your chest puffs out while you start to bounce yourself on Eddie's clothed cock, your puffy clit grazing against the stiff underside of his shaft, dragging dragging dragging until your eyes squeeze shut and it happens. The force of it wracks your body, overcome as your whole body quivers, and shakes, your pelvis twitching and jerking — and Eddie watches it all closely and unblinking.

In all his years of settling for quick glances and sly peeks at your body like those times your cleavage showed above your neckline or your bare legs and thighs were displayed whenever the weather called for a pair or shorts or a skirt, Eddie's never seen a more beautiful sight than the one he's taking in now — The way a light sheen glistens on your face, neck and chest, your swollen lips parting, releasing whimper after moan, your hair a little wild and beautiful and your panties drenched and ruined.

Eddie reaches out and brings you close, wrapping his arms around you as your chests meet and you fold into him, burying your face in his neck, whimpering and whining as your clit aches with oversensitivity though not enough to ask him to stop.

He's close by the sound and feel of it, so you grit your teeth and let him buck up against your poor soaked cunt, over and over as you drink in every grunt and groan. You want him to feel good too, unable to resist helping him tip over the edge. You let your tongue slip out from between your lips, licking the salt by his pulse point and letting out a little whisper to unravel him completely.

"Go on, cum for me, Eddie."

A guttural groan rumbles out of his throat just seconds later. it's instantaneous the way pleasure flares white hot at the pit of his stomach, shooting all the way up and raining down on the rest of his body like fireworks.

Though you're yet to feel Eddie inside you, yet to have your walls stretch to accommodate his shape and length so that you don't miss every little jerk, twitch and throb before he spills hot into you, you're still able to feel the effect of Eddie's orgasm. His body shudders and twitches underneath your weight, your pussy feeling warmer and wetter where just under it, Eddie's cum spurts rope after messy rope into his underwear, the cotton becoming saturated with his spend and transferring to your panties.

In the moments following your intense mutual pleasure, the both of you remain entangled in each others arms, sitting in the damp mess you've made of yourselves while you fight to catch your breath. It's Eddie who manages to break the silence first.

"...Do I have to go?, he whispers to you, one warm hand stroking your back gently.

"Do you want to go?, you ask softly against his neck, nuzzling against his skin.

"Not if I can stay and be with you"

You smile hard, chuckling against his skin. "Then stay. I want you to stay too. Y' can hide out in here"

"Yeah? I'm your little secret, huh?", he teases, his lips kissing your temple

"Only for today", you reply.

"Oh?"

You gently unstick yourself from Eddie so you can look him in the eyes, brushing his sweaty bangs away from his bright eyes before you cradle his cheek with one hand.

"Tomorrow I'm telling everyone we know that you're mine"

[irisbleufic]

REVIEW

Gatsby: An American Myth (Welch, Chavkin, Bartlett, Majok, & Tayeh; American Repertory Theater)

Something that most adaptations of Gatsby get wrong, whether film or stage, is the treatment of characters as archetypes rather than individuals. Symbolism drowns out most genuine attempts at capturing emotional connections and conflicts of personality. They forget that this story is not only a failure of the so-called American Dream; first and foremost, it’s a tragedy of failed roles and relationships. Almost every one of the players is attempting to be someone they are not, and even as they reach for what they believe they should want, they reveal with increasing fervor what they actually want. This is the heart of what makes Welch’s new adaptation so devastatingly, disarmingly unique, so true to its source.

The set design is literal wreckage. Crushed and warped automobile chassis scaffold the moving staircases, and concealed trap doors. The backdrop shows no clear incorporation of the infamous Eckleburg billboard; rather, it is made up of a dotted grid resembling headlights. These play out effects ranging from a downpour to camera flashes to, briefly and only once, a pair of eyes that make no effort to hide behind the owlish frames of glasses. The only thing infusing this jagged framework with meaning is the people who move through it.

The lighting design works with the set’s incongruences, deepening or excavating shadows as needed. The brightness, when it flares, is blinding. Jewel tones either enhance or diminish a costuming scheme that is composed of either very pale or very dark shades, no in between. And whether it’s the post-apocalyptic black and gray cabaret garb of the ensemble or the wealthy protagonists’ pale suits or the gunmetal and gray denizens of the wasteland, everyone’s trouser and skirt hems are conspicuously rimed with reddish dust. The visual effects are nearly impossible to describe without sounding like I had some kind of desperate fever dream.

So far, I realize that these descriptions of the set and lighting design sound like this production is about to fall into the trap of overplaying symbolism, but please bear with me. With all of that established, I can focus on what’s truly extraordinary here, what’s meant to and does shine unhindered. The acting, musicianship and vocals are all so precise that it was hard for me to believe this show is still in previews. It feels Broadway ready, West End ready, major international tours ready. If I was the production crew, I’d turn this loose on a massive scale from the get-go without a second thought.

Much like with Hadestown, the musicians are not down in an orchestra pit. They’re characters in their own right, present on the stage from start to finish on tiered risers that run up from the center on each side from one of the catwalks. I’m sure Chavkin’s involvement as director has everything to do with why this show feels so much like, moves so much like Hadestown. The company is on an equally small scale, about 23 - 25 people including the principals.

Costuming among the ensemble is delightfully gender agnostic. I mention a cabaret aesthetic earlier in this review, and I’m not kidding. If you had shown me the ensemble costume designs without showing me the principals’ designs, I would have assumed I was looking at a Cabaret revival. They’re the most talented dancers I’ve seen occupy one stage in more than a decade. The choreography relies on movements in eerie unison for a significant portion of the show, but not without allowance for individual flair within those constraints. The guy sitting next to me, when I spoke to him at the intermission, said he works as a choreographer in regional theater, and he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t agree more; the dancing is singular, and as impressive as the musicianship is, the dancing and unusual body movement are maybe the greatest achievements of this show on the living, breathing end of things. I could have watched the dancers for those three hours without any dialogue or vocal intervention and still understood the story. That takes so much fucking doing.

As for the principal cast, they’re constantly among the ensemble; when I say these are all triple threats in the purest sense of that terminology, I really mean it. You always expect a few of the principals to be less dance and movement focused, more polished on the acting and singing side, but this show gives you terrifying proficiency from every angle. Even the guy playing Meyer Wolfsheim is at the center of what I think is the most memorable dance number in the piece. I’ve just never seen such versatile principals all in one production. What’s even more extraordinary is that I had never heard of or previously seen any of them, and that takes some doing given how much live theater I’ve consumed in several decades of life.

Ironically, the musical composition is the one aspect of this production on which I’ll be spending the least time. I need not tell you why Welch and Bartlett were perfect for this job. They understood the assignment, and then some. There’s not a single weak number among the track listings, and I desperately hope they release a recording soon. The standout numbers all have something in common: they showcase Soleia Pfeiffer as Myrtle Wilson. You can tell that’s the role where Welch sank most of the sound that’s considered her signature style. I don’t even need to describe it; you already know what I’m talking about. What’s impressive otherwise is the restraint, the lack of over-reliance on that signature style.

The principals are fucking perfect. I’ve kept this review tautly professional without meaning to thus far, but from here on out is where I start bleeding feels all over the post. If you don’t already know who my blorbos are due to my writing history with a Gatsby-related novel (The Pursued and the Pursuing, 2021), you’re going to know by the time you’re done reading this. You’re going to know exactly who I love and why, who I hate and why, who I ship and why. But you’ll also know that I approach all three of those elements from a place of enjoying every moment of those characters, even the ones I hate. Nobody’s performance put me off or struck the wrong tone when taken in context of the novel and how the tragedy of how their relationships play out.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that there are certain support roles, certain sidekicks, that make or break the higher-profile person to whose side they’re stuck, ride or die, until the bitter end. Horatio is a great example that I’ve ranted about before; if your Hamlet production has a lackluster Horatio, then it doesn’t matter how good the Hamlet is. You have nothing if you don’t have the binary star system at the heart of that harrowing universe. I’ve seen other adaptations of Gatsby consistently fall apart because Nick Carraway is treated like the kind of voyeur who doesn’t matter, the kind of voyeur who serves as the audience’s eyes and ears, and nothing else. Anyway, this is all to say: Ben Levi Ross as Nick might be the most compelling argument I can make for the fact that the creative team behind this show understood the assignment. He’s awkward, warm, sincere, and reactive in all of the ways you need Nick to be. He’s not a passive observer; he’s in the middle of everything, and he knows it. There’s a self-deprecating response he makes when one character, Jordan if I’m not mistaken, quips that maybe he’s the reason for Gatsby’s parties for all he knows. “Maybe I am,” he says, and the tongue-in-cheekness belies a gutting meta-sincerity. We believe Daisy is the point, Gatsby believes Daisy is the point, but what’s borne out every breathtaking moment of this production is that Nick is the point. He always was. He’s also given his due as a gay man in context of the story for the first time ever. I might make some folks mad when I say Nick has always been gay; I’m going to point you to Myrtle’s apartment party and the hookup with Mr. McKee as textual evidence in the novel. The kiss with McKee, the hookup with McKee, is unapologetically here. His lack of belonging everywhere else he’s ever been, because he is gay, is unapologetically here. One of the most memorable numbers in the show hinges on the hope feels at being able to be himself in New York. Queer fans of Gatsby have been waiting a long time for this. Anyone who’s read the text closely and understood him has been waiting a long time for this. I’ve been waiting several decades as a reader, and I would’ve waited forever to have Nick so fully, lovingly realized.

One of the other things that Gatsby adaptations have persistently gotten wrong is the titular character himself. The invention of Jay Gatsby hides the underlying James Gatz, makes it feel as if that old self is truly subsumed, as if it never mattered. But Isaac Powell gives us a Jay who’s exactly as he should be, who can’t hide beneath his own attempt at artifice and reinvention worth a goddamn. He’s young (as young as Nick; they’re 32 and 30 respectively both in the novel and here), painfully earnest, and just barely keeping a handle on the criminal shit he’s had to do in order to get where he is. When he says old sport to Nick, it’s not an affectation; when he says it to Tom, it becomes a biting insult. This is a Jay who knows where and why he’s vulnerable; he latches onto Nick like a not because he sees a man close to Daisy that he can exploit, but because he sees another young man who’s equally vulnerable, equally an outsider, equally haunted by the things they had to do in the war. From the moment they meet, they are almost always touching—a hand on the shoulder, on the back, getting in social harm’s way for each other, eyes seeking each other without cease in the most crowded of settings. When Jay takes Nick to lunch to meet Wolfsheim (who has in this production taken on the function of Dan Cody as well), it’s not to have somebody else vouch for the artifice of who Jay Gatsby is. It’s taking Nick to meet his fucking father-figure, and all of the messy, sincere “if you hurt my boy, I’ll kill you” sentiment that Wolfsheim aims at Nick was the moment I knew just how much the Nick’s loss by the end was going to hurt. Jay’s love for Daisy is a ghost of itself, even if as painfully earnest as everything else about him. Meanwhile, his attachment to Nick is so disarmingly genuine from the start that you understand the true tragedy you’re about to watch untold: these men who need each other, maybe even were made for each other, each prove unable to step outside their parallel distractions from what they truly are to each other. Jay’s interactions with Daisy and Nick’s interactions with several male and/or gender ambiguous members of the ensemble have something in common, which is a shocking level of physicality. This show had an intimacy coordinator; that’s the level of no holds barred we’re talking about. When you look at Tom and Myrtle, you can see why that was merited, too.

Speaking of Tom (Cory Jeacoma), the treatment of him here is every bit as scary as it should be. There’s no attempt to make him palatable, unlike what I’ve seen done with him in other adaptations. He towers over everyone else in the cast, I mean everyone, to a physical degree that’s uncomfortable. The way his wife, lover, and friends all flinch when he gets too close to them speaks volumes to the fact that he’s an abuser in every sense of the term. Even Nick, the prodigal college friend from Yale, is on eggshells around him (which, by the hotel blowup at the end of the show, becomes a sneering, reckless contempt, one of the driving forces that drives Nick to put himself between Jay and Tom whenever real harm is on the table). At the same time, this is a Tom who sincerely loves his wife and was only ever using Myrtle as a fling. You can tell he never meant any of the promises he made Myrtle. When Daisy tells him she didn’t stop the car on purpose, it’s as if his wife’s unapologetic act of manslaughter (“It was her or me!”) is the thing that wins him back. They aren’t careless people; they are people who consciously choose, day in and day out, to use others until they’re bored or done with them. The ruthlessness of Tom and Daisy as a couple is impressive, played up to a level that I feel more adaptations should do without fear of exaggerating the text.

As mentioned above, Daisy (Charlotte MacInnes) is no delicate, nervous creature who can’t help her actions under duress. She knows what she’s doing every bit as much as Tom knows what he’s doing. They use people, hurt people because they get bored and restless and enjoy it. I respect a Daisy who’s in control of her actions every step of the way even if I don’t like her; it’s better than trying to depict her as weak and at the mercy of the men around her. She’s a pragmatist and a survivor. So many of her songs are about choices and being conscious of those choices. She is a person you should fear every bit as much as you fear her husband, and even Jordan knows she’s not safe in Daisy’s orbit.

As Jordan, Eleri Ward is one of the neatest personalities on stage. Like Tom, she’s noticeably taller than most, which gives her a commanding physical presence. She has no romantic interest in anyone; I fucking love that this production show her and Nick bonding on the basis of being queer and tired of everyone else’s shit. This is a more likable, relatable Jordan than I’ve seen in the past. This is a Jordan whose relationship to Gatsby is much more familiar and warm, much more akin to the friendship she forms with Nick. In fact, the queer-and-tired vibes that roll off several of the principals in this production are palpable.

Myrtle and Wilson (Matthew Amira) aren’t always played as effective foils for Daisy and Tom, but here? They unquestionably are. They do actually love each other in spite of the things they’ve done to hurt each other, and it’s a constant dance of daring each other, challenging each other. The most memorable duet in the entire show is between them, during Act II. The confrontation is positively electric. These are two people with deep, complicated history. Of all the couples in the show, they feel the most real, the most alive. It makes the loss of Myrtle so much more wrenching; she’s not just a plot device emblematic of the bad choices they’ve all been making. She’s not shallow or frivolous or anything like that. She’s a shrewd woman with complex motivations, and for the first time ever I find myself loving her and caring what happens to her. She’s thrust even further into the action in that one of her part time gigs is working as a maid at Gatsby’s parties, a conceit that works shockingly well and hastens the devastating consequences of her affair with Tom.

I’ve made mention of Meyer Wolfsheim’s (Adam Grupper) uniquely enhanced role previously, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on him again. This is a man who does, in fact, seem to give a shit about Jay above and beyond using him as a tool in his criminal empire. It’s not necessarily a healthy father-son dynamic, but Wolfsheim is usually played as ruthless, opportunistic, inhumanly calculating. Here, he’s a charming, but unquestionably dangerous man moved by a young soldier’s plight. He seems conflicted between his love for Jay and his need to have Jay continue to hold the party line within their business relationship. Wolfsheim is deeply conflicted about Jay in a way that I haven’t seen any Wolfsheim be played previously. And, as I mentioned earlier, the actor has a showstopper of a song and dance number. That may be the #1 “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it!” moment for me in this show. And I say “may be” only because the moment that truly stopped my heart, will stay with me until everything else fades from memory, is perhaps only understandable in the context of my engagement with the text of Gatsby as a writer of transformative works.

Daisy’s and Tom’s daughter, Pam Buchanan doesn’t always appear in adaptations because she’s a toddler. Even in the novel, she a throwaway mention plus a single scene near the end where the nanny brings her out to meet Jay and Nick. She’s most often left as a throwaway mention without even grave of the scene where she appears. The scene in the novel, however brief, is memorable—and has been captured in all its fragile beauty for the first time in this adaptation. Jay and Nick both pay bewildered, wondering attention to this kid when she’s brought out. Jay drops to his knees and takes her hand when she greets him while Nick looks on in a moment of singular focus on both of them. The child who plays Pam here has a spark, an expressiveness that made me choke up even though she’s only on stage for a few minutes, if that. The tableau is one in which you can feel the shock of reality, however brief, touch on these men—Daisy’s and Tom’s reckless actions may yet do harm to someone who’s barely even begun to live her life, but who is just conscious enough to be a participant in it. They recognize that they, like this child, are probably in for a word of ruin—and that they have let it go on for so long that there’s now nothing they can do about it. For me, the deepest tragedy was watching Nick and Jay throw off that moment of heartbroken, horrified recognition prompted by Pam and return to the parts they’d decided to play out until the moment one of their hearts stopped.

Speaking of grief, of Nick’s grief since he’s the one who loses so much: there is only one person who loses more, and that’s Mr. Gatz, Jay’s father. They preserve his arrival at the house when Nick is the only person who stays around to carry out Jay’s funeral and burial. And when he arrives, the visceral shock of seeing his dark skin, braids, and beaded elements of Native regalia in juxtaposition with his otherwise period-typical Western garb underscore the tragedy of what young Jay was running away from, of what he never quite succeeded in erasing from himself. The burial scene shows Nick reverently bringing several of Jay’s folded shirts from the house and handing them down into the grave to Mr. Gatz, who places them reverently as possessions to accompany his son into thereafter. The cultural ramifications are all at once understated and devastating. Nick has moments with each of Jay’s father figures that are among the most complex and moving in the show. The program does not make clear the name of the ensemble member who takes on this most memorable of all Mr. Gatz appearances, and this erasure in and of itself is both unfortunate and telling. This is a world that never belonged to the majority of those who inhabit it, and Nick realizes it with heartbroken clarity after having this final interaction. Even though he’s an outsider, he’s part of a world that has erased and betrayed the man he loved so much at every turn.

The closing number, “We Beat On,” felt like it needed something more, but it utilized the final line of the novel to a deeply moving effect. The lights go down suddenly as the last word is sung; it feels like the song is half finished. When the lights came up, Nick and Jay were center stage in each other’s embrace, just withdrawing from each other as the entire company transitioned into final bows. That’s how I’ll remember them, always: touching even when they’ve already lost each other, borne ceaselessly back into each other’s arms. If Nick is Orpheus, then I have no doubt that he, too, will tell this story again and again until someday, somewhere, something gives.

[marysdonuts]

Turning Tables

wants to be chased!Jeonghan x had enough of chasing!reader

Synopsis: requested in this two part ask

WC: 1.6K

Warnings: not much, making Jeonghan jealous, crack, implied oral (f)

a/n: both parts combined to one post. first half - your pov, second - Jeonghan's

masterlist / requests / taglist

Oh the almighty Jeonghan. Sent from above specifically to torture you. The popular guy who has six ladies lined up on each finger hoping to get their turn. Funny, easy on the eye but that personality? Ugh, you've seen better.

You made your interest in him more than clear, still.. to this day no definite answer. Only insufferable amount of teasing. You weren't one to play the game of push n' pull. It was getting on your nerves. Especially the constant flirting with anything that moved - just for sport. Or maybe not for sport per sé but to get you jealous. Making sure you saw him making move on somebody. There was even a moment when he jokingly almost kissed you only to pull away at the last moment, smug as hell. So full of himself.

Fuck it. Does he think he is the only one who has options? Isn't the last man on Earth for sure. The hell. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

//

And so you danced. You danced with every man who showed even drop of interest that night. Sending Jeonghan clear message - this is what you are missing by acting like a little bitch. Drowning one drink after another. Price? Didn't matter. They were paying.

When a friend of yours, equally as drunk, suggested to climb on the bar, you thought it an excellent idea. Both of you moving to the rhythm of some latino song with questionable, extremely toxic lyrics. Drink in hand, Great Gatsby style, you cheered the growing attendance at your feet. People going feral.

"I think you've had enough fun for today," Jeonghan's cold hand grasping your ankle "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" seemingly asking the audience a rhetorical question, crushing his fingers with your heel

"Your boyfriend~" squirming in pain

"My boyfriend?? Stop pissing me off Jeonghan. I had enough of your shit. It's not difficult to find somebody better than yo-"

Fuck, am I falling?

All the drinks from before picked the worst moment to take effect. Dizzy head, weak legs, heels plus slippery bar? Unfortunate combination. You were indeed about to hit the floor.

Next thing you know shawty got low low low - Music in the background mocking your life decisions

"Aaaaaaa" crashing down, drink spilled, body aching, pride hurt

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again." patting it lovingly

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" Noticing Jeonghan squished under you, also lovingly patting your bum in unison

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" intoxication not letting you fishing your sentence, making you wobble, once again ending up in Jeonghan's arms

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

This fucking bitch keeps playing with me!! You wanted to punch hole into his beautiful face. Body working faster than the mouth, clenched fist flew towards douchebag's face.

KAPOW!!!

Sadly, your fist was not at all clenched, flying much further from his face, finally landing on his chest. You weren't sure if his shirt was always this unbuttoned but what was staring at you currently - pair of *shiny* man-tiddies.

"wow" blinded by the sight

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan caressed your hand moving it over his heart "do you really want to know my feelings that much?" Mischievous eyes trying to meet the hazy ones.

"yea" gaze still kinda stuck on his tiddies

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The first time Jeonghan kissed you was in backseat of taxi on the way to his apartment. It wasn't just a kiss. More like he was feeding off your growing excitement. Producing such obscene sounds the driver had to rise the radio volume.

//

Reaching the destination, the moment the door closed shut, you found yourself pinned against them. Jeonghan's urgent lips tracing the curve of your neck.

"You really made a number on me today, you know that?" sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving mark behind

"Oh? Allow me to laugh. The Jeonghan hot and bothered? Hard to believe." tauntingly, grasping the hair

"Tell me 'bout it..," defeated exhale tickling your ear "seeing you with all those men...didn't expect to feel like that. Made me want to jump every single one of them."

"Did it, now?" placing thumb on his bottom lip "little boy got upset when his toy was taken away?" full of irony

"I was never good at sharing" allowing the entire length of your finger feel the softness of his mouth, sucking it almost apologetically

"Forgive me?" Big brown eyes praying for redemption

Not sure if it was the residual alcohol but this time his words felt sincere. Seeing him sucking on your thumb like that, all docile and at your mercy..? Ufff, you were running too hot

"Want me to forgive you, huh, " making him sink to his knees under your authoritarian tone.

"you know what to do." parted legs offering not so subtle invitation to the sinner beneath you.

.

.

.

"At your service, my lady~"

Jeonghan's pov

Yes- he loved to tease you even after you confessed your feelings. He played games to make sure you were really up for the challenge. Testing your character and morals. Enjoyed torturing you a bit too much. However when it came to his feelings.. Jeonghan thought himself to be the only one worthy of your affections. He intended to show his interest soon enough, just wanted to frolic for a moment longer. Tragically that was exactly where he miscalculated.

And there you were, in all your glory, dancing with bunch of worthless peasants.

Jeonghan could literally feel the blood in his veins boiling. How dare they put their filthy, sweaty little hands on your holy vessel? Were they really so dense to think someone like YOU would be interested in them?

"Pathetic losers." Furiously gulping down his drink only to smash the glass on the floor. Making any bystander jump away in fear.

Tangible darkness emitting from Jeonghan's pitch black stare in direction of the unfortunate dude you were dancing with. Poor guy shivering, cold sweat running down his spine. He got the message and promptly took his leave.

"That's what I thought" Jeonghan scoffed, raking thru his hair

After not so subtly, striking terror into all the suitors, new drink in hand and in high spirits, he was watching your bar show. How your hair sparkled in the light, how you moved to the seductive latino rhythm - not a care in the world. He watched you cheer the crowd, queen in the castle.

"It's about time I made my move." few long steps, grasp on your ankle

"I think you've had enough fun for today," lifting his gaze, half entertained half worried you might come crashing down "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" the way you proudly pushed your chest out, the delicate curve of your décolleté, made it's way straight to his pants heart

"Your boyfriend~" damn, stepping on my fingers now? Guess I deserve that

"Aaaaaaa"

Jeonghan saw you falling in slow motion, drink spilled all over him, catching you at the last moment

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again."

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" rubbing your bum lovingly, it was very nice bum

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" There you were once again falling into his open arms. Jeonghan could hardly contain his enjoyment, pulling you closer

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

Angry palm flying in his direction made him chuckle. Such tiny hand managed to destroy four buttons on his shirt. He could see your eyes glued to the bare chest. Like what you see?

"Well, well, well, do you really want to know my feelings that much?"

"yea"

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The moment taxi started moving all the repressed feelings came rushing to his head, famished animal, so so desperate, his lips on yours were searching for sustenance. You were so beautiful and his. After he's done with you tonight he will shout it to the whole world but right now he will at least let this old man behind the wheel know what's up.

He fucked up and was willing to do anything to make it up to you.

//

Once he had his hands on you he couldn't let go. Well, he could but didn't want to. Holding you so tight, no distance left between the two of you, it was almost unbearable. Every part screaming into the void of his aching heart.

He just wanted to make you feel good. To show you how much he really liked you. Spoil you rotten. Never let another guy touch an inch of your body.

"Forgive me?" Falling to his knees, just a sinner asking for redemption in front of your heavenly gates

"Want me to forgive you, huh," "you know what to do."

Oh, he knew

"At your service, my lady~" After finally receiving his absolution Jeonghan prayed more than dutifully

[spider-man-199999]

The bracelet

pairing: Nathan Drake x Reader

word count: 3,5 k

warnings: drinking

summary: You meet Nathan while he's working at the bar. He recognizes you and tries to steal your bracelet because he knows you're filthy rich. Instead, you manage to steal his heart.

a/n: This idea originally was supposed to be smut, but I changed my mind. I could make the smut part a part 2 if it's liked enough?

part2

Your black high heels clicked on the floor as you made your way over to the bar. The black dress that tightly hugged your body was making it rather uncomfortable to move and breathe but it certainly did make you look fantastic. Heads were turning to look at you, an emotionless expression on your own face, avoiding eye contact. It was your first night out since the divorce, which made you even more anxious, especially since you deciced to go out alone, no friends, no driver, no bodyguard. After your husband left you, or rather you left him with half of his fortune, which included a hotel to own, you hadn't really been there much, it brought back too many bad memories. But tonight wasn't about the bad memories, it was about forgetting them. So, you sat down in front of the bartender, looking him up and down before he even managed to notice you, placing your bag next you as your hands rested on the bar. He was handsome and young, his dark hair styled nicely. He looked at your hands, staring at the diamond bracelet on your left wrist before his eyes shot up and looked into your own. You smiled at him, crossing your legs on the stool and adjusting your position.

“Aren’t you too pretty to be here alone?” He asked you, placing down the glass he was previously cleaning.

“Aren’t you too handsome to be a bartender?” You asked back casually, earning yourself a raised eyebrow from the man in white shirt and black vest.

“So what will it be tonight? Sex on the beach?”

“Last time I checked the beach was pretty far from here��

He shook his head at you, bitting back a smile.

“A martini would be fine”

“Really? A martini? I can do better than that”

You turned your back to him, resting your elbows on the bar. Looking around the place for a few seconds, taking in the scenery. It was calm and relaxing, piano playing in the background, the soft chatter of people all around, the sounds of the cute bartender moving around behind you. The lights of the crystal chandelier flickering softly. It felt like the 20s, like a scene from "The great Gatsby". Rich people everywhere, expensive drinks, expensive furniture, muffled private conversaions, secret lovers shooting eachother provocative glances. You got almost lost in the moment of calmness, closing your eyes for a second before your nirvana was interrupted by a soft. “Your martini madam”, which made you turn slowly. Your small hand grabbed the tall martini glass, taking a sip from it as you kept staring at the brow-haired boy, a soft smile on your lips. He was way smoother in his movements than you anticipated him to be, you barely even noticed when exactly he took the diamond bracelet off of your wrist. Fascinating, you didn’t expect the night to become so fun so soon. He was one of your own, a smuggler, a man of deception. He went on making drinks for other clients while you stared at him, playing with the olive in your glass. It felt like the bar was a barrier between your two worlds, you knew he probably made minimum wadge without the tip. And there you were, on the other side of the bar, owning half of the hotel, dressed in a Versache dress that was probably worth more than his rent, not a single care in the world but your shattered heart. Guess some were better at deception than others. However, he managed to capture your attention, even if not intended by him.

“I didn’t catch your name” you said as he came near you, playing around with the shaker as he was mixing something up.

“Nate” he replied with a stern voice, poring out the content in a pretty glass and serving it to the person who had ordered. He seemed slightly anxious, like he was avoiding your gaze. Crucial mistake when stealing.

Nate retuned back to you shortly, his body seemed stiff, and he wiped some sweat from his forehead. He worked hard, you could say that, but he mostly looked nervous.

“I assume you already know who I am, since you didn’t ask”

He thought for a second as he looked into your pretty eyes, analysing your face, or rather admiring your features. He cleared his throat after he caught himself staring, breaking the intense eye contact and grabbing a glass to clean.

“I know” he replied shortly, continuing his act of polishing the glass.

Of course he knew who you were, your face was in the newspapers way too often for your own good, along with the change of surname every once in a while. He thought that those tabloids never did you justice now that he had seen you. In the pictures you always seemed gorgeous, but not even nearly as gorgeous as you were under the warm lights of the bar. They called you the “black widow of the upper east side", rumours about your intimate relationships with some of the richest men in New York were spreading like a forest fire. Even if in reality they were nothing more than just fiction, one thing was not, and it was your marriage to the owner of The Ritz-Carlton, the very place he worked at. Nate had heard about the divorce from clients here and there, everyone was talking about how you had managed to set him up into fake cheating on you so you could divorce him. Brilliant move, unfortunately, it was just a rumour. Maybe in your previous marriage you had pulled a stunt or two to get out with as much money as possible, fake accusations, setting up scenes, they were your speciality. But not this time, this time the cheating was very real and very much not your own idea. Maybe that's why this time it hurt so bad, because you actually loved your, now ex, husband. Defeat was something hard to admit for someone with so much pride and confidence as yourself. Nate knew nothing, only gossip.

“Then why did you take my bracelet? It was a gift from my ex husband” you asked, earning yourself a shocked looked for a brief second, before he put on his poker face and looked away. He had a few ways to play his cards in that moment, thoughts calculating the possible outcomes of each one.

“You could’ve lost it” he stated “Do you want me to look around and ask if anyone has found anything?”

You smile at him charmingly, making him blush slightly. You gracefully stood up from your stool, placing your arms on the bar as you hovered closer to him, faces side by side, your cheeks almost touching each other. You whispered in his ear softly, which got Nate’s heart beating so loud he could barely hear your words. While he was busy being nervous your hand travelled down to the pocket of his pants, slipping inside and finding the heavy jewellery that was previously on your wrist. The weight and shape of the bracelet felt familiar between your fingers, I’d worn it countless of times. You took it out, your hand travelling up Nate’s body.

“I have to admit your work is impressive” you said, hand still moving slowly up until you reached his shoulder. You knew he couldn’t feel a thing because your movement was slow enough and far away enough. “But you still have to master the speed of your hands, your touch needs to be like silk, felt only when you want it to be” you continued whispering in his ear.

You knew your mission was successful when he flinched at the touch of the cold diamonds against the bare skin of his neck. You smiled at him and pulled away, shock written all over his pretty face.

“Looks like I found my bracelet!” You giggled happily, clicking it on your wrist as he stared at you.

Nate obviously didn’t know what to say and how to react, he knew that one wrong move would get him fired, possibly arrested and charged with theft. However, your smile suggested otherwise.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you’re scared” you told him, taking a sip from the martini. “Don’t be, I wouldn’t say a word, actually, you can have the bracelet if you want it, I came here and I intended to lose it”

And it was the truth. It was the only gift your dear ex husband ever gave you that was not originally bought for his mistress and passed down to you when she didn’t like the gift. This was the only gift you knew, or at least liked to think that, was ever bought with the intention to be given to you. It hadn’t left your wrist in public since. After the divorce you kept it as a reminder that for a brief moment there actually was a version of you that was loved by your husband, there was a version of you that you were capable of loving someone too. Now it was a token of a broken, dysfunctional marriage, that came crumbling down the second your foot stepped out of the presence of your husband. With a swift motion you took it off, placing the bracelet on the bar. It sparkled almost blindingly under the soft interior light. Nate’s eyes kept travelling from your face to the bracelet and back. He was rested against the bar, unsure of what the right move was. He assumed it was some sort of trick that would get him in a lot of trouble. You smiled reassuringly as his hand reached for the diamond jewlery, taking it and placing it in his pocket again.

"Well, it's not every day that someone tips you with a diamond bracelet" he said, making you giggle softly

''You'll have more use of it than I do, that's for sure'' you told him, finishing up the martini. You took out the olive and ate it, starting to get lost in your sour thoughts about the bracelet and what it symbolised.

"Another drink?" he asked, taking you out of your train of thought

"Maybe another night" you said, feeling overwhelmed enough to want to leave. "All this bracelet talk kind of ruined my mood"

Nathan was undeniably very handsome, and you did come with the idea of not leaving alone but all the memories of your ex came rushing in and was about to turn your night into a nightmare. You took out some money from your purse to pay him from the drink but he stopped you, placing a hand over yours.

"It's on me"

"Aww, a gentleman" you smiled at him "Some lady is going to be very lucky with you"

"Maybe you could be that lady" he winked, shooting you a smile.

You looked at him confused for a split second, starting to laugh softly at his sudden boldness. You got up, collecting your things and straightening out your dress while he watched your every movement.

“You don’t have to be nice to me because I gave you the bracelet”

"I was serious" he stated "How about I pick you up after my shift and lighten up your mood?"

"Pick me up from where exctly?" you asked, almost not believing what he was saying.

"Here, 12:30, lose that dress and put on somethig more comfortable"

You looked at him in disbelief but agreed. As you walked away from the bar you could feel his eyes on you as you ocassionally stopped here and there too greet some people you knew. Maybe this "date" was going to be a nice change of pace. After all of the dating on the upper east side, the luxury restaurants, the balls, the charity events, you had no actual idea what people usually did when they were on normal dates anymore. After not one but two failed marriages, the dating world seemed so distant, so surreal. Frankly you had no intention to pursue anything serious with anymore, let alone a bartender that was your employee.

An hour later you found yourself staring dumfolded at your wardrobe, Nathan's voice kept repeating in your head "wear something comfortable". You mocked his tone aloud as you took out even more clothes to throw on your bed. Was he going to be in his work clothes? How were you supposed to match that up? Finally, you stopped on a blue high-waisted, wide leg jeans and simple black blouse. For a while you were considering black heels but decided to switch them up with some very old platform converse sneakers that you hadn't worn for years. You put on a leather bomber jacket to finish off the look. It felt ridiculous, you hadn't dressed this causal since freshmen year at university, having forgotten you even had those clothes at all. You sighed, shaking your head as you walked out of the door and headed towards the hotel. Unsrprisingly, you got there about 15 minutes late, which got you anxious because Nate could gotten discouraged and left. You looked around, not seeing him and you felt slightly disappointed, but not surprised. The whole situation was so odd to begin with, no wonder it didn’t follow through.

"And I thought you couldn't get more gorgeous" you heard from behind you, turning to be met with Nate's charming smile. He just walked out of the doors of the lobby, probably spotted you from inside.

"I'm sorry for the wait"

"It's alright, it was worth waiting for, come on, I'm starving" he said, taking your hand and leading you somewhere.

You followed him, as you walked the streets of New York hand in hand. He wasn’t in his work clothes, instead he wore a simple grey t-shirt with a leather jacket on top, black jeans and probably his work shoes. He had a backpack on one shoulder, assuming this was where he kept his uniform. The spring air was warm but there we ocassional cold brezzes. You looked around the flashy signs of shops and supermarkets, the monotonous souds of ocassional cars filled your ears, along with the calming sound of his footsteps a little ahead of yours. They say New York is the city that never sleeps and it's true, but despite living there your whole life, you never got to experience it in that way. You didn't really know where Nate was taking you but you didn't care either, too engaged in the scenery. Late night walks were something so foreign and so new, your eyes were shining more than the diamond bracelt that you gave him and he couldn't help but smile at how awed you looked by everything around you.

"You ever been to this side of town?"

"I have no memory of it"

"You're adorable" And that made you blush, hiding in his shoulder. He laughed at how cute you were being, stopping at a 24-hour sandwitch shop.

"Are you hungry?" He asked after the two of you got in

"I guess, it's kind of late though"

"Who cares?"

He ordered for the two of you, finally letting go of your hand so he could pay and grab the two cola bottles he had bought. In a couple of minutes your sandwitches were ready, so Nate guided you to the closest bech in the nearby small park. The park was adorable, it looked more like a sitting area with a playground for children. You really had never been to this side of town before. Nate started eating hungrily and you couldn't help but stare at how he devoured the food in his hands. You chuckled softly before bitting into your own sandwitch. It was warm in your cold hands and tasted way better than it actually looked. It wasn't like you had never eaten sandwitches on a bench before, but it was so long ago you could hardly recall when it really was. It did remind of freshmen year, being out late at night, eating fast food and meeting up with a guy you actually liked and had no intention to manipulate. It was, in a way, nostalgic even. After the two of you were done with your food the silence was finally broken.

"I feel so alive!" Nate exclaimed and startled you, making you jump in your seat. Both of you laughed softly at that.

"I'm glad you're happy and content" you said, rubbing his belly.

He got up from the bench, offering you a hand. You took it, following him up.

"So where are we going?" you asked finally

"You'll see." He said, continuing the walk. You got to an apartment buildind soon enough, he walked you to the alley on the side where the fire escape was.

"Come on, we go up" He told you, helping you get to the ladder. Nate followed closely behind, guiding you to the rooftop.

''I'm so glad I wore pants to this" You said once you reached the top.

"Yeah? Well I'm not" He joked, taking your hand again and walking you towards an area on the rooftop that had pouf chairs and fairly lights.

"It's so pretty" you said once he sat you down. Nate pulled one of the poufs next to yours and threw himself on it.

"Yeah, best part is, you can see the stars"

You looked up, despite the light pollution, you could really see stars and the moon almost clearly.

"You see this constelation there? It kind of looks like a pan?"

You nodded with a giggle at his description, following the arm that was showing you were to look. You scooted over to him, the top of your head touching his.

"That's Ursa Major..." he contionued

"The great bear"

"So you know your constellations?" he shot up, looking at you

"No, just latin"

"Oh in that case you're about to have a blast!"

And you really did have a blast, you sat there for hours listening to him, looking at the stars. It was so romantic that you wanted to melt into the chair and stay there forever. You lost track of time, reality even. It felt like you two were in your own small world on that rooftop and nothing and no one could reach you. Around 3 am the two of you started to get sleepy, cuddled up against eachother. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, your head rested on his chest. At some point the two of you had decided that moving on one pouf was better. Your eyes were starting to feel heavy while his voice soothed you into sleep.

"Hey" he said softly "Want me to drive you home?"

You nodded sleepishly, getting up after him. He drove you home in his slightly beat-up car, walking you to the door of the building.

"I really had fun tonight" you told him at the door "I really hope that you're not working tomorrow, it's so late"

"I'm glad you had fun, you shouldn't worry about me"

You nodded, kissing his cheek goodnight.

You hadn't had such a great date in a while, which made you think about Nate more in the past few days. How could you not? The pictures of the two of you wandering the streets of New York hand in hand, the headlines wondering who your new "victim" was. Your head would start hurting solely from the idea of putting him in this position. So, you decided it was best to talk to him. That night, you walked into the hotel in your usual attire, but this time the dress was champagne colored.

"Hi Nate" you said as you sat down. He greeted you with his charming smile, wiping the bar in front of you.

"A martini?" He asked, grabbing the bottle

"Actually, a word in private"

He had a puzzled look on his face but followed you to a more private area by the windows. Neiter of you sat down, you were too nervous to adress the topic and he became nervous from your worried state.

"I'm sure you've seen the papers..."

"Oh my god it's about that!" he sighed in relief, placing his handa in his pockets

"What else could it be about?"

"From the way you acted I thought someone died"

"Well, no, I just wanted us to talk about the pictures and say I'm sorry"

"Sorry about what? The way they talk about me?"

"Precisely"

"Well, I find it amusing actually"

"I don't people seeing us and thinking that way"

"I don't care about who sees, I like you"

You looked up at him with sadness in your eyes and it seemed like he got the idea you had in mind. He shook his head in disbelief, his hand reaching out to hold your waist and bring you closer.

"You can't be serious"

"I am"

His hand travelled up, cupping your chin.

"I'll have to kiss you now, you know that" he whispered againt your lips. You closed your eyes and waited, his lips pressing softly against yours. You returned the kiss but your hands remained on your clutch, afraid that the whole thing was going to get out of control if you got too touchy.

"I should have kissed you that night" he whispered against your lips

"You should have"

"You'll wait for me right? I'll become rich for you, I promise"

You nodded in response, hugging him tightly, feeling his heartbeat agaisnt yours and the warmth of his body. You could feel his gaze as you walked away, probably the hardest walking-away you had to do in a long while.

The picture of the two of you kissing also made the papers.

A week later Nate left his workplace and you didn't hear a word from him.

[puckleberryfinnie]

ok so ik my req might seem a bit weird butttttt.. i have been dyingggg for ray. like his body tea, i loveeee his lil accent and smile so i just wanna see like host!reader get nervous when he gets injured, him giving reader his jersey, and a lil post-game smooch 🫶🏾🫶🏾.

girll you don't understand how glad I am that someone else feels this way about him like I feel so wrong about it but?? he's such a cutie?? thank you soso much for sending this in, love this idea <33 so sorry this took so long, life took hold of meee

Beautiful Little Fools

You being a friend of Kai's, and being in several of his streams as an internet personality yourself. Of course, you meet several of his friends, including Ray. He's just using his cheesy "rizz" with Kai's encouragement, and you're laughing on to all his funny tactics.

When the Beta Squad and AMP decide to have the match, there's almost immediately an invitation for you to join in as a host, that you accept gratefully!

The days leading up to the event, you spend a lot of time hanging out with the American group, as well as meeting new people that you become fast friends with.

Ray, however, stays close to either you or Kai at most points, finding himself most comfortable with people he knows pretty well already. Everyone (thought mostly Kai) loves the relationship you two have, and joke around about it a LOT.

You, of course, enjoy his company and help him with training that they have set up for those participating the day before the real match. It's mostly just simple things, though, like returning the balls to him or mock-guarding him.

At some point during the practice, he gets slightly injured, tripping over a ball or something like that. It really isn't that bad, but you find it concerning, especially considering the big match is the following day.

He, however, reassures you, comforting you by patting your head and giving you a brief hug. He doesn't like you being worried about it, so he tried to make sure you understand he's okay.

The next day is obviously intense, and you spend a lot of time making sure Ray is safe, keeping an eye on him throughout the game. You interview him at halftime momentarily, joking around together before he has to go. You also remind him to be safe out there, yelling after him.

He clearly doesn't follow this advice too closely, however, and ends up getting tackled by some larger player (probs Niko lets be so fr) You, of course, feel incredibly scared, watching him from the sidelines all while trying to keep composure as a host.

As he gets guided to the bench to rest, you move yourself over there to talk to him, frantically making sure he's ok. You end up in his arms, him holding you tightly.

After that interaction and him assuring you plenty that he's alright, you go back to doing your job as a host, interviewing other players and such.

Post game, he comes back to see you, striding over to you with intent. It startles you for a moment, when you suddenly see him standing so close to you. He give a short hug followed by a even shorter, nervous kiss.

After a moment of staring at each other, he takes off his jersey, handing it to you with a smile. He doesn't even say anything, just holds it out for you to take.

You end up wearing that jersey on your flight back and on many occasions afterwards. <3

guys I legit don't know why but I really can't tell if I like this style of writing or not. let me know what you think, I'm soso sorry this isn't very good, I truly hope you still enjoy <33

title is a song from great gatsby the musical ofc

anyways, thank you sososo much for being my first ever request, I love you to the moon and back tbh!!

I definitely want to do more of these before school starts to make everything crazy again, so if anyone wants to send something in feel completely free and wanted within my inbox! I'll take requests about pretty much anyone (check out the list of things I love for some reference!!) or I'm for sure here to chat <33

MUAH LOVE YA!!

[cameronspecial]

Drew x actress!y/n play charades at one of the y/n's friends it's going to be a fun evening

Charades

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

When Y/N got her own place, the first tradition that came to be in the apartment was Friday game night. Her life as an actress means she is used to going from one fancy and public event to another, so a night in with her friends is exactly what she needs. Drew soon joined in on the routine when they started dating and every night has been a success since. The couple's favourite game to play? Charades. They just understood each other in a way that helped them dominate in the game. “Okay, alright. Cheery couple, it’s your turn,” Natalia announces, holding up the bowl to her friend. Drew nudges Y/N’s shoulders, so she gets up to pick a paper out of the bowl. She reads the book on the slip of paper and motions with her head for Ben to start the timer. She mimes reading a book. “Book,” Drew guesses and she nods, moving on to the next motion. She rubs her arms, pretending to be freezing. Drew stands up and points at her, “The Great Gatsby.” “Ding. Ding. Ding. You got it, Baby,” she congratulates, jumping into his arms. Natalia and Ben look at each other with jaws on the floor. “That is a lie. There is no way he got The Great Gatsby from what? You being cold. Show me your paper,” Ben complains. Y/N holds up the paper for the other two to read and it does say The Great Gatsby. 

Natalia looks between the couple, “How did you know?” “It was a book. Leo was in the adaptation of the book. He was also on Titanic. Hence, she was cold and that leads me to The Great Gatsby,” he shrugs, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Okay, it’s your guys’ turn,” Y/N points out to the other team. She hands the bowl to Ben and after a very unsuccessful attempt at getting Natalia to guess Die Hard, it is Y/N and Drew’s turn again. 

He pats her thigh as he takes her off of his lap. He stands and picks out a word. The Office. Oh, this was going to be easy. Ben starts the time and Drew forms a box with his fingers. “TV show,” she states, watching for his next move. He thinks about what to do. There are so many different things that he knows he can do to get her to guess, but he wants her to continue their streak of guessing it with the first gesture. He finally figures it out and a lightbulb goes off in his mind. He motions taking something that is being handed to him. “The Office,” she screams with excitement because she knows she got it right. She doesn’t wait for him to confirm her victory before she runs around the room. Drew knows the other two are going to ask for verification, so he holds the paper out for them. She runs back to his side, “He was acting out the scene where Pam gives Jim the lamp she just bought and Jim is just like, okay then.” Natalia and Ben look at each other. “You guys pick the most obscure moments to reference,” Nat says with raised eyebrows. One of Y/N’s shoulders rises, “What can I say? He just gets me.” Ben opens up the ottoman to take out a different game. “We aren’t playing this anymore. It’s not fair with the mind readers over there,” Ben informs. Drew chuckles, “You can pick out any game, but I promise we are going to win all of them because we know each other that well. Although, we won’t be as good as we are at charades.” This is how Natalia and Ben learned why almost all of Y/N’s other friends stopped coming to game night. Because there is no chance of winning against the combined forces of Y/N and Drew.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[miryum]

Always in All Ways (Mattheo Riddle x Reader) Great Gatsby AU

Warnings: angst!!!! (but a happy ending) Reader wears a dress (once) cause it’s the 20s. Talk of kids and a future together. For the sake of incest, we’re gonna ignore the fact that Enzo and Mattheo are half brothers… And if you squint, there could be a sign of domestic abuse (but it is so little there that I'm not sure if you can call it that). Reader is married (not to Mattheo at first) and it's not technically cheating.... it's hard to explain. As always, swearing. Not entirely proof-read, but will get it done soon

Lorenzo Berkshire had moved into a gated, two story house, surrounded by a thick forest. The neighbourhood he had moved into was affectionately called Diadem East. 

Diadem East was surrounded by a large bay, which, in turn, separated it from Diadem West. Diadem East and Diadem West were similar in the fact that they were obscenely rich. Even though both had enough wealth to buy the island of New York, Diadem West looked down on Diadem East because of generational wealth. Diadem West had come from old money - long lines of families that treated life like a simple game of chess and they could move others like pawns. Diadem East were those who only recently came into money and spent it freely and without care.

Lorenzo had moved to Diadem East in hopes of getting away from his overbearing parents, and it helped that his cousin lived right across the bay in Diadem West. 

Y/n Pucey was a recent newlywed to Adrian Pucey. Lorenzo hadn’t been able to make it to the wedding, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his baby cousin married to a man fifteen years older than her. Y/n had always been Lorenzo’s favourite cousin; she was a bubbling, carefree girl, probably due to the fact that from birth, she had no restrictions with her father’s money. Now that she was married to the pretentious Pucey family, Lorenzo doubted she was familiar with the word ‘no’. 

What Lorenzo did doubt, however, was Y/n’s happiness. He remembered a time, back when she was nineteen, that he had visited her over summer break. She told him tales of a man that had captured her heart. Lorenzo remembered how Y/n’s eyes gleamed and her cheeks burned with her extensive smiling. He remembered laughing with Y/n in the sunroom, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

“I’m in love, Enzo,” she had replied simply. 

Needless to say, Lorenzo couldn’t wait to see his cousin again. He also couldn’t wait to return to a normal sleep schedule, given that his new neighbour wouldn’t stop having parties every single night that blasted light and music into Lorenzo’s bedroom window. It wasn’t until Thursday at four pm when a butler knocked on Lorenzo’s back door, holding a silver plate with a letter positioned on it. “Can I help you?” Enzo asked slowly, leaning on the door frame.

“Mister Riddle requests your presence on Friday night for a party he is throwing,” the butler said. 

“Mister… Riddle?” Enzo reiterated. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Your neighbour, Mister Mattheo Riddle,” the butler explained. “He wanted to welcome you into the neighbourhood.”

“Right,” Enzo trailed off. “I’ll be there.”

“Mister Riddle looks forward to making your acquaintance.”

****

The next day, Enzo drove up to Diadem West, the hilltop Pucey Manor looming over everything. As soon as Enzo finished driving up the winding gravel road, the front door swung open dramatically. Y/n stood there, arms flung wide. “Darling Enzo!” she squealed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” 

“My sweet cousin!” Enzo called back, bounding up the steps. He whirled Y/n up in his arms, swinging her back and forth, much to her delight. Her sundress flared around them in a swirling dance. “How have you been?”

“Lively,” Y/n answered simply. “How are those back home? You must tell me everything.”

Enzo flung his head back and said dramatically, “they miss you dearly, loving cousin. When I passed through town, everyone wept when they heard I was to see you. Jealous men came running down from their houses and begged me to take them with you. Mothers sobbed and cried out how they wished their daughters would turn out like you. Children dashed through the streets, racing after my carriage with joy.”

“They did?” Y/n beamed, gripping onto Enzo’s arms. “I do miss them, you know. Perhaps I should visit next summer.”

“They would all love to see you,” Enzo stated plainly. “Yet I have a question for you. Do you know of-”

“Lorenzo Berkshire,” a voice boomed from the front door. “What’s a man like you doing in these parts?”

Enzo stared up at Adrian Pucey, the esteemed husband of Y/n. “Adrian,” Enzo peeled himself away from Y/n and sauntered up the steps. “It’s nice to see you again.” He held out his hand for the man to shake.

“Get in here, good pal.” Adrian clapped Enzo’s hand and pulled him into a rough hug. Enzo let out a huff of air as he collided with Adrian’s chest. “Wonderful to see you as well. Tell me, how’s the stock business going?” Adrian placed a nonnegotiable hand on Enzo’s shoulder and led him inside the Pucey mansion. Y/n let out a noise of surprise and hurried in after them, determined not to be left behind. 

“Good, good.” Enzo made senseless conversation with Adrian as he tried to take in the curated house he was in. All the doors and windows were open, letting in a soft breeze and the stinging smell of the bay water. The curtains fluttered around Y/n as she walked, her eyes cautiously on her cousin and husband. No matter how she acted, Lorenzo knew of the whip sharp mind that Y/n had.

“And you know where he’s living, Adrian?” Y/n cut in, moving to recline gracefully on the settee. “In Diadem East!” 

Adrian’s brows rose and he turned to Enzo as the men sat on the couch. “Why not buy a house here? Hell, you’re welcome to stay in our guest room. Anything for a relative.”

“No, please.” Enzo held a hand up. “I’m perfectly fine on my own and I don’t want to intrude. It’s a nice, cosy house looking over the bay. In fact, if I look towards the right, I can see the end of your pier.”

“Really?” Y/n lit up, head turning towards Enzo. “How sweet. It’s almost as if we’re neighbours.”

“Speaking of neighbours,” Enzo took this opportunity to ask, “my own seems to be very eccentric.”

Adrian chuckled and poured himself some whiskey. “How so? Do you want any?” He gestured to the whiskey.

“No, but thank you.” Enzo adjusted in his seat and crossed his legs. “My neighbour throws these obscene parties almost every single night. I’m convinced that if it weren’t for the trees, I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep.” Y/n stretched out her legs and leaned her head back until it was resting on the arm of the chair. “But the oddest thing happened - he invited me to one tonight.”

“Really?” Adrian sipped his drink. “And who is this poseur?”

“A Mister Riddle.”

Y/n’s lips parted and, almost in slow motion, her eyes flickered to Lorenzo before going back to staring out the window to the gleaming blue water outside. “Riddle?” she murmured. Adrian glanced at her and Enzo’s brows furrowed. “I mean, there must be a thousand Riddles… why, in fact, just last month, I was introduced to a Ryder. Which is like Riddle, I guess.”

“Y/n, are you alright?” Enzo asked softly.

“Yes, are you well?” Adrian added on.

“I’m sure I’m fine,” Y/n said. “Perhaps just lightheaded. I’m going to go lay down now.” Her hand flit to her collarbone where a small chain was tucked under her dress.

“Okay.” Enzo stared after her, admittedly worried about his cousin, before standing and adjusting his suit. “Well, I'm afraid I have to go. Mustn’t be late to this fellow’s party.”

“Of course.” Adrian stood as well, in common courtesy, knowing that the two men had nothing in common or nothing to do with each other without Y/n as the mediator. “Riddle…” the man muttered. “I could’ve sworn I heard that name somewhere.”

“It’s a common name, you know.” Enzo chuckled as he swiped out the door. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Adrian closed the door behind Enzo almost as an afterthought.

****

“What do you want, my darling? Anything you wish and I will make it happen.”

“I’m happy with just you, Matty.”

“That’s not a good enough answer, and you know it. Now, I’m going to ask again: what do you want?”

“… I… I want a big house. Overlooking the water so our kids can play in the water.”

“Our kids, hm?”

“Oh, yes, Matty. Our kids.”

“Alright. And what else?”

“Hmm… and a big ballroom that we can dance in. And all the paintings will be our favourites. And big parties for every occasion. Perhaps a pool. Or a sunroom. And the largest bedroom ever.”

“Is that all?”

“As long as I have you, Matty, that’s all I ask.”

****

While everyone else arrived to Riddle’s party in new and shining cars, Enzo simply walked. People of all backgrounds were streaming in the doors and Enzo was pushed into the unrelenting mob of partygoers. Enzo shoved his way to the first butler he saw and presented his invitation. “Uh, yes. I have this invitation here…” 

The butler glanced down at the letter and said stoically, “you needn’t one.”

“Pardon?” Enzo had never been to a party where he didn’t need to be invited. 

“The guests come and go as they please - per Mister Riddle’s orders.”

“Alright,” Enzo pursed his lips together and nodded awkwardly. “Thank you. Do you know where I could find Mister Riddle?”

“No, sir,” the butler replied. “He likes to socialise with his attendees and be in the throng of things. He likes to make sure that everyone is comfortable and having a good time.”

Enzo hummed and nodded in thanks before allowing himself to be swept up in the current. He was carried further into the opulent mansion and Lorenzo needed to remind himself to close his mouth at the palatial nature of it all. 

Practically every surface was plated with gold or made of marble. The ballroom opened up to a balcony that overlooked a large pool which was currently populated with dozens of people. On the other side of the ballroom, a large sunroom was occupied by a throng of people, cigarette smoke wisping up through the open roof. The stars were obscured by not only the smoke, but by the fact that every light in the mansion was turned on. Marble stairs led down to another open room which held a stage and a band whose music filtered up throughout the rooms. Congressmen, celebrities, and random people off the street were packed into the house, booze and drugs were passed around and waiters tried to filter through the crowd to hand out refreshments and food.

As he passed, Enzo heard tidbits of conversations about their host. “Did you know he was a bootlegger?”

“No, no, I heard he fought in the last war.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s all terribly romantic.”

“Well, I thought that he was chasing a girl-”

Enzo managed to fight his way to the balcony and snag a glass of champagne on his way. He sighed in relief at finding a bubble of air to himself. A man dressed in a finely pressed suit jostled into him and quickly apologised. “Terribly sorry, old friend,” the man said. “I didn’t see you there. It’s a rowdy party tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Enzo replied loudly. “Is it usually like this?”

“Unfortunately,” the man grinned. “Although few frequent. I always find that many people come once and then never return.”

“You seem like you know an awful lot about Mister Riddle’s parties. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” the man tsked. “As hard as I try, I can’t pull myself away from this old mansion. Something always draws me back. Did you know that Mattheo Riddle built this house from scratch?”

“I did not.”

“Yes,” the man laughed, his lips curing up. “Of course, he didn’t build the actual thing, but he bought the land and drew up the blueprints years ago. Six, to be exact.”

“Why is that?”

“No one knows for sure. There’s a lot of rumours circulating around Riddle.”

Enzo shouted over the music, “I was actually invited by Mister Riddle himself. But his butler seemed surprised by that.”

“Yes, it is very rare that one is personally invited to these gatherings.”

“Do you know where I could find him? Mister Riddle, I mean.” Enzo took a sip of his champagne.

The man laughed again and raised his own champagne glass. A smirk coiled up on his face and he said simply, “why, you’re talking to him, old friend. I am Mattheo Riddle.”

The party noise faded in Enzo’s ears. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” His hand shot out for Riddle to shake. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Pardon me, Mister Riddle.”

Mattheo Riddle shook Enzo’s hand, still grinning. His eyes held a mix of anticipation and happiness. Those who were close to Mattheo Riddle - which, really, was no one - had never seen such joy on Mattheo’s face. “Oh, call me Riddle. Or better yet, Mattheo. I feel as if I already know you, old friend. And, seeing as we’re neighbours, I hope to get to know you even better. How would you like to join me in my study?”

Enzo raised a brow and cliched his champagne fluke. “May I ask what for?”

“Oh, well, to tell you my life story, after all.” Mattheo clapped a hand on Enzo’s shoulder, much like Adrian had hours earlier. But unlike Adrian, Enzo found himself agreeing to go along with this man he only met today. 

Mattheo led Enzo down the hallway and nodded to a butler who was standing guard over an oak door. The butler opened the door up to Mattheo’s study, which was more of a library. The library was a much different aesthetic than the rest of the house. While the mansion next to Enzo’s little cottage was energetic and extravagant, Mattheo’s library was dark and cosy. Instead of gold and marble, it was made of oak and the flickering flames of candles.

“An impressive collection,” Enzo commented, glancing around the room at the rows of books.

“Why, thank you,” Mattheo replied. “It overlooks the bay, you see?” He pointed towards the window that, true to his word, was directly facing the large water. 

Enzo peered out the window and huffed a laugh when he saw Y/n’s house staring back at him. “That’s my cousin's house,” Enzo glanced back at Mattheo to see his gaze locked on the Pucey mansion. 

“I know,” Mattheo said quietly. 

“You know?” Lorenzo repeated questioningly. 

“Yeah,” Mattheo nodded. “You’ve heard rumours of me.” It wasn’t a question. Before Enzo could answer, Matthei continued, “but I can assure you, only one of those is true, old friend. I am… a helpless romantic.” Mattheo chuckled lowly, a sad layer in his eyes. Instead of sitting behind his large desk, Mattheo opted to lounge on a couch and Enzo sat in a loveseat next to him. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“About… eight years ago I met this girl. God, she was absolutely perfect.” Mattheo gazed out at Diadem West. “I have been bereft of her for so many years… And I finally hope to make it up to her. I’ve become the man that will be good enough for her archaic parents.”

“Where did you meet her?” Enzo asked quietly.

“I was visiting her hometown one day, eight years ago. And I just…” Mattheo took a moment to wet his chapped lips. “She had all other eyes on her. She was simply walking down the street, yet she drew everyone to her. And when I was blessed enough to hold her in my arms… to kiss her lips is better than heaven.”

“May I guess her name?” Enzo’s smile grew larger. “Is this lovely, captivating woman my cousin, Y/n Pucey?”

“How did you know?” Mattheo’s voice was airy and wistful.

“Many men have tripped over their feet just to take a glance at my cousin. She is not only beautiful, holding the Berkshire genes, but witty, magnetic, and gentle.” Enzo finished his champagne and lit a cigar that Mattheo had offered him. “And, well, she might have mentioned you once or twice. She was in love with you when she was nineteen. Perhaps she still is.” Mattheo’s eyes snapped to Enzo. “Then she was married to Adrian Pucey. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that you’re living right across from her.”

“Yes, I’m aware of all that,” Mattheo stated. “But nothing has been an accident, Mister Berkshire. There’s a reason why I host parties every weekend, why I keep the lights on every night, why my home is directly across from hers, and why you, her cousin, is renting next to me.”

Enzo scrutinised this stranger across from him. “You’re obsessed with my cousin,” he stated, somewhat disgustedly. 

“No,” Mattheo whispered. “I’m in love with your cousin. I have always been in love with her - in all ways. And she is me. Mention my name around her and you’ll see.”

“I have,” Enzo admitted. “She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. But she also looked guilty, Riddle. She’s married. She has a life. She wants children.” Mattheo’s jaw jumped as Enzo continued, “you can’t rip her away from that. It’s been years, Riddle. She hasn’t seen you for years.”

“I know…” Mattheo trailed off. “But just to see her again would fulfil any wish of mine. I have a vow I need to make due on. I- uh, I was wondering if you could invite her over for tea. And I could drop by. Just one day.” Mattheo’s eyes felt dry and he quickly blinked. 

Enzo sighed deeply and after a long moment, said, “okay. Tuesday? At three?”

A weight lifted off of Mattheo’s shoulders. He now had all the time in the world. In his eyes, everything was finally falling into place. Mattheo would finally get to be happy again. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

****

Tuesday was outrageously cloudy. Lorenzo could hardly see the sun as he drove back to his house. As he pulled into his driveway, he came to see an ostentatious green Rolls-Royce convertible that was blocking his drive. Enzo stared defeatedly at the car for a long moment, knowing exactly whose it was. 

Mattheo Riddle leaned on the hood and proceeded to wave at Enzo as if the man wasn’t hours too early to tea. 

“You have a watch, don’t you?” Enzo called out, getting out of his car. 

“I couldn’t wait,” Mattheo admitted. “I had nothing else to do today - well, that’s not true. I in fact cancelled some meetings that were set to take place today, but no worries.”

“You cancelled - you know what? Nevermind. Look, Riddle, I sure hope you know what you’re doing. Y/n… she’s changed from when you met her.” Enzo couldn’t look at his neighbour as he unlocked his door. Mattheo followed in after him, glancing around courteously, as if the real reason he was here wasn’t sending waves of nerves through his stomach. Enzo glanced back at Mattheo and moved to the kitchen to make some tea. Mattheo followed after him, his gait slow. “She used to believe that she could live any way she wanted,” Enzo continued. “But then she met Adrian.”

“Hm.” Mattheo made a low noise in his throat, fingers reaching out to play with the teacups that hung from a shelf. 

“She’s not… unhappy with Adrian,” Enzo tried to explain. “But she’s putting her happiness aside for the grandeur of life.” 

“I could give her that grandeur,” Mattheo muttered. 

“Do you know how people back home would treat her if they found out she got divorced from Adrian Pucey just to marry a man who is rumoured to be a bootlegger?” Enzo asked, aghast. He roughly swallowed and said quietly, “I’m sorry. That was out of line.” 

“No, no,” Mattheo waved him off, still seemingly fascinated by Enzo’s teacups. “It’s perfectly in line. You make a valid point. Though I can assure you, I am not a bootlegger. Far from it.”

“Then what is your line of work?” 

“Never you mind. When is Y/n coming?” Mattheo turned to Enzo, changing the topic at an alarming speed. The teacups were long forgotten.

Enzo exhaled and dunked a teabag in the teapot. “She said she’ll be arriving around three. However, that means that she’ll either be arriving at two-fifteen on account of wanting to escape Adrian, or she’ll arrive at four-thirty because Adrian needs something from her.”

“Let’s hope it’s the former,” Mattheo growled.

As if on cue, the two men heard the rumbling of a car approaching. The air in the room stilled. Mattheo’s face dropped and he turned pale, staring at the door. They heard Y/n’s honey voice call out, “Lorenzo!” Enzo quickly came to his senses and rushed to open the door. Y/n was driving up, waving her hat enthusiastically in one hand. A smile split on Enzo’s face as he rushed over to help her out of her car. “I must say, I was wary when you asked me to visit without Adrian,” Y/n chatted as Enzo escorted her into the house. “I couldn’t possibly think of anything you would need from me.”

“Can’t I just ask you over for tea?” Enzo chuckled. “Does everything I do need malicious intent?”

“Based on your past, yes.”

Enzo rolled his eyes playfully. After he took Y/n’s coat and hat, his eyes darted around his house, but he couldn’t find one trace of Mattheo anywhere. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll… I’ll grab the tea,” Enzo muttered. He moved to his kitchen, and seeing his back door ajar, he shoved it open. “Where are you going?!” he cried out to Mattheo who was currently halfway across the lawn.

Mattheo spun back to Enzo, fear deeply rooted in his expression. “I can’t,” he whispered after he jogged back to Enzo. “I can’t do it. You’re absolutely right. She... she has a life. And probably doesn’t even remember me. It would be cruel to subject her to such emotions. I don’t want to cause her any harm.”

Enzo shook his head. “I will not have invited my cousin to tea under false pretences,” he said slowly and firmly. “You owe this to her,” he added. 

A droplet of rain fell from a passing cloud and fell faster and faster until it splattered on Mattheo’s wrist. The water was absorbed by the cuff of Mattheo’s shift, but a small bit of the water rolled down onto his hand and drifted its way down to Mattheo’s ring finger. A thin gold band sat snug there. “Do you know what a pyrrhic victory means?” 

“Yes.” Enzo frowned inquisitively. “It’s victory that cost the victor more than it did the defeated. But what does that have to do with Y/n?”

“My love for Y/n has cost me everything,” Mattheo muttered. “But she is everything. I'm used to people hating me for my wealth and how reserved I am. What I'm used to isn't people's love. And now, my love is with Y/n and I'm not letting anyone ruin that or take it away from me.” More raindrops began falling from the sky until a gentle pitter-patter could be heard all around them.

“So why don’t you come in and tell her that?” Enzo asked, gesturing towards his door. 

Mattheo’s jaw jumped but he nodded, giving in. He shuffled through the door and into the living room where Y/n sat. Enzo grinned to himself and shut the door behind them before hearing Y/n gasp and the sound of a glass breaking. Enzo cursed to himself, knowing one of his precious teacups had now lost its life.

“M- Matty?” Y/n murmured, eyes wide. “Oh- oh, dear.” She stared down at the broken teacup on the carpet and bent down, hands shuddering. Mattheo crouched down as well, maintaining eye contact with Y/n the entire way. Y/n shook her head and focused on cleaning up her mess. Enzo noticed her whole body was trembling and he took a step forward as if to console her. Mattheo beat him to the punch. He grasped her forearms and helped her up, leaving the teacup behind. Y/n sniffed and repeated, “Matty?”

“Yeah, darling. It’s me,” Mattheo murmured, stepping closer to her. His hold on her arms softened and his cheek brushed against her forehead. 

Y/n exhaled shakily. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, tipping her head to lean into a more intimate position with Mattheo. Enzo slid out of the room, smirking faintly.

“I live next to Enzo,” Mattheo said, neither one bothering to look for Y/n’s cousin. 

Y/n chuckled humourlessly. “Tell me the real reason, Matty. I know you better than this.”

Mattheo smiled - the truest smile Enzo had ever seen on his neighbour’s face (not that Enzo was watching from the next room) - and leaned down to bump his nose against hers. “I could never hide anything from you. Not that I ever would, but I digress.” Mattheo reached down and gently lifted Y/n’s hand to his lips. He pressed featherlight kisses along her fingertips and confessed, “a year after you married Adrian, I built a house across the bay. The mansion whose windows are alight every single night with fireworks going off every weekend… that’s me, darling. Trying to get you to even glance over at me. Renting the neighbouring cabin to your cousin… that’s me. Every little detail, down to my car, is so I can see you again.”

“You did all that for me?” Y/n ran a soft thumb over Mattheo’s jawline, making the man shiver. 

“And I will do so much more,” Mattheo promised. “I am yours, my love. Always in all ways.”

****

Y/n sat curled in Mattheo’s lap. The pair was under a tree on a picnic blanket, far from the L/n Villa. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend my birthday with you, Matty,” Y/n murmured to him. “I know you had a surprise for me.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Mattheo whispered back, dragging his fingers through Y/n’s hair. “I know nineteen is a monumental birthday for your family.”

“But now you have me all to yourself,” Y/n lightly laughed, turning to grin at her lover. “What was the surprise you had for me? You’ve been awfully suspicious these past few days, Matty.”

Mattheo hummed, looking to the sky and rhythmically tapping his fingers against you. “Well, I don’t know, my love,” he teased. “What could I possibly get the most perfect girl for her birthday?” After your protests, he continued, not before kissing your temple. “I got you my heart,” he whispered. Out from his pocket, he pulled a thin chain. Dangling teasingly from the chain was a golden ring. “So I can be with you always,” Mattheo explained quietly. 

Tears pricked at Y/n’s eyes as she gently took the necklace from him and thread the chain through her fingers. “You… you’re being serious right now?” Her focus was drawn to Mattheo’s own ring finger, where she noticed a new, immortal band lay proudly. “Are you…?”

“Only for you,” Mattheo reassured her. “Don’t worry. It’s my way of showing my devotion.” He twisted the necklace around her neck, clipping it there. 

“Only for me?”

“Always in all ways,” Mattheo vowed.

****

Y/n frequented outings with her friends much more often as of late. Adrian only sent Y/n away with a half-committed kiss on the cheek and eyes fixated on his golfing or his business contracts. Y/n would get in her car (or Enzo’s if he was feeling nice), and drive down to Mattheo’s mansion. Most days, there would be other cars there, waiting for Riddle’s house to open to party. They would be carrying booze and wearing all fashions of clothes, and when they would walk up to his door only to be turned away, they would pout and groan. Mattheo’s house wasn’t blazing his lights anymore, nor were there any fireworks crackling each weekend. His car was kept parked in his garage and his smile was constant. 

The first time Y/n had gone over to Mattheo’s mansion, so conveniently and coincidentally located across from hers, she had been in awe. “It’s exquisite!” she had exclaimed. She had run all over the house, marvelling at the floors and the ceilings, dragging Mattheo along behind her. Mattheo laughed loudly, his joy echoing off the walls. Of course, all of the art decorating his walls was accented to Y/n’s taste and the colour palette was exactly as Y/n had hoped for all those years ago. 

“Dance with me,” she beckoned Mattheo one day, already spinning on the deserted dance floor. Mattheo would lock the doors to his manor and keep out the partiers forever and always if it meant he could see Y/n on his dance floor, waiting for him. 

Mattheo stared at her, his eyes bright with love. He swept her up in his arms, pressing her close, and they danced to nonexistent music. Y/n rested her head on Mattheo’s chest and whispered, “this is nice.”

“This is very nice, indeed. I hope to do it more often.”

Y/n’s fingers gripped onto Mattheo’s shoulders. “Matty…” she whispered. “You know my feelings for you. But I- Adrian-”

“Please don’t speak his name,” Mattheo pleaded. “And I know about him. But I don’t care about him. Please tell me you don’t care about him either.”

“He is my husband, Mattheo.”

“That doesn’t mean you care about him.” Y/n took a breath and stepped slowly back from Mattheo. His mouth parted slowly and desperation filled his eyes. His hands reached out in anguish. “Please, my love. Don’t do this.”

“I will never love him as much as I love you,” Y/n clarified gently. “But I don’t hate him, either. Over the years, I have come to care for him. It’s a complicated feeling, Mattheo, I’m sure you understand.”

“Marry me,” Mattheo suddenly declared. “I promise, my dearest, I will give you all and more.”

“It’s not fair to Adrian,” Y/n protested, her hands dropped to her sides. “We don’t live in a life where one can just divorce their spouse to pursue another. You know of the rigidity and the silent rules that if we don’t follow, the exile we face.”

“Exile of what?” Mattheo cried, helplessness in his voice. “You can move in here. I can give you the life we dreamed of.”

“The life I dreamed of included my parents and my loved ones,” Y/n objected. “Not an isolated life with only one of the many I love.”

“Anyone you love can come visit you if they want,” Mattheo offered. “I won’t push anyone away. I just want you.”

“You know they won’t visit,” Y/n’s voice broke. “You know people will ridicule us. And I am so sorry, Matty, but I don’t know if I could live with that.” Mattheo didn’t speak for a long moment, staring at Y/n’s neck. “What’s wrong?” she eventually demanded. “Do I have something on my collar?”

“No,” Mattheo murmured softly. “It’s just… you kept it.” He pointed to Y/n’s neck and reached out to finger the chain around Y/n’s neck. The woman couldn’t help but shiver under his light touch. “You kept it,” he repeated. Carefully, as if afraid he might break her, Mattheo lifted the hidden necklace that was tucked under Y/n’s dress. “My ring.”

“I couldn’t bear to get rid of it,” Y/n’s breath hitched and she swallowed back tears. “I’ve never taken it off. Even- even on my wedding day.”

Beside himself, Mattheo chuckled, though it quickly turned to a gasp for breath. “So even when he made love to you, you always kept my ring around your neck?” Tears slipped down his cheeks and Y/n reached up to quickly wipe them away. 

“I don’t want you thinking about that,” Y/n muttered, shaking her head at the absurdness of it all. “Please… just be here with me.”

“I’m here,” Mattheo could hardly get a couple words out. He pulled her close to him and pressed a firm kiss on her forehead. “You still haven’t said no to my proposal.”

Y/n laughed loudly. “I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“With you, I am always serious,” Mattheo grinned, bending down to look her in the eye. “And that wasn’t an answer. Why are you avoiding the question, darling?”

Y/n sighed, a coy smile on her lips. “Would I simply leave Adrian? What of my things? Adrian would come looking for me, you know?”

“I would buy you whatever you’re missing a thousand times over.” Mattheo stared at Y/n, his eyes holding all the tenderness that a lover was supposed to have. “I would protect you and Adrian would never know where you are. He will never harm you, I promise.” 

Y/n tapped Mattheo’s chest thrice and hummed. Mattheo’s heart fluttered and his lips brushed against her temple. Silently, he begged all the gods he knew of that Y/n would agree to be with him. His lips moved wordlessly, pleading, before Y/n said, “I will call you tomorrow, Matty. I’m sure Adrian already knows of our endeavours, but give me one night to collect my thoughts. Can you give me that much?”

“Of course, my love. Whatever you need.” He kissed Y/n’s forehead again. “Always in all ways.”

“Always in all ways,” Y/n repeated.

****

“Where are you going?”

Y/n’s shoulders tensed and she slowly turned around to face Adrian. A packed bag was on her bed. “Enzo, the sweetling cousin he is, invited me to stay with him,” she said. “I thought it would be fun to spend a night in East Diadem. To see how others live.”

“You? In East Diadem?” Adrian chortled a laugh. “And why, pray tell, would you do that?” 

“Because I love my cousin,” Y/n reiterated firmly. “Are you forbidding me to see my family?”

Adrian’s head hung and he shook his head. “I may be rich, but I’m not stupid.” He hesitated before stating, “I know about Riddle.”

“My old friend?” Y/n asked smoothly. “Yes, he was a friend of Enzo’s. That’s how I met him, you know.” She cleared her throat and zipped up her bag. 

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” Adrian then suddenly shouted out, his hair flying out of place and his face turning red. “He’s fucking my wife, that bastard! Why, I should- I outta- you bitch!” He growled and whirled around, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Adrian.” Y/n held up her hands, trying to soothe his emotions. It was the only way she learned how. “I haven’t been unfaithful to you, I promise. I made a vow on our wedding day and I have since upheld it.”

Adrian grunted and demanded, “so tell me you love me.”

Y/n swallowed. “I- I love you, Adrian. Just not in the way you want me to.”

Her husband let out a yell of frustration and slammed his hands down on the back of an armchair. Y/n flinched. After a tense moment, he hissed out, “go, then. Leave me.” His voice rose to a crescendo and he shouted out, “but know that I will never let you back into this life again! No one will ever let you step inside Diadem West without rumours and hatred trailing behind you.” He let his voice drop and as Y/n shuffled back, he raised his head and looked at her, pleadingly. “I want to make you stay,” Adrian whispered. “I want to tell you all the ways I love you. But… But I think we both know I can’t.” He took a step towards her and held a hand out as if he wanted to cup her face in his palm. “You are so beautiful, Y/n,” he muttered. “But he makes you feel alive. You- you deserve that.”

“So do you, Adrian,” Y/n choked out. 

“I know,” he nodded once, conceding. “I know.”

****

It took four weeks for Y/n to officially move into the house across the bay. Immediately, she had sought out her cousin and stayed with him for some time. She spent many of those days sitting out on the lawn, staring out to the bay and her old house. Her hair would whip across her face and sometimes, Mattheo would come and sit a couple feet away from her, not saying a word. Mattheo knew she was experiencing the eroding feeling of guilt. He didn’t dare disturb her thoughts if, eventually, it would lead to him. What’s a couple more weeks when he had been waiting years?

Then, one day, Y/n turned towards Mattheo and said, “you promised to love me always and in all ways.” 

Mattheo’s head whipped toward her. The shame in his eyes was deep. “Yes,” he uttered.

“I think I’m ready to take you up on your offer.” 

Mattheo broke into a smile.

A year later, the pair was married. The band that had been around Y/n’s neck was now around her finger. Y/n’s parents refused to attend and she had spent the night crying in Mattheo’s arms. Enzo had taken the place of her father and walked her down the aisle. The wedding was sparse and while Mattheo’s aunt had come to offer her congratulations, as had one of Y/n’s old friends, the couple knew that their life would be a lonely one until they either made new friends or Y/n’s old friends in Diadem West came around. But they were happy. 

Grand parties weren’t a frequent occurrence, though every month or so, Mattheo threw a celebration for an unimportant holiday, simply to show Y/n off. He finally had the pleasure to kiss her in a room full of people and not be ridiculed. However, parties weren’t needed. As long as Mattheo woke up with Y/n in his arms, he would call it the most wonderful day ever. 

And when years had passed and their children would move out to begin their own endeavours, the house would lay empty. After decades had gone by and the mansion was simply a statement of extravagant wealth and the jubilance of society, people would wander in the house, marvelling at the gold and marble. Whispers would echo the hallways of the great love story that transpired within its walls. A large, dusty old portrait of the couple still hung above the fireplace, their eyes holding as much love as there was water in the bay.

[foster-the-world]

Great Gatsby

My Mom, Aunt and I saw the Great Gatsby last night. Great show. Amazing costumes and scenes as you would expect. We got $24 tickets we get through Bee's ice skating program. My husband and I will go see Water for Elephants next month. The Classical theater of Harlem is also having free nightly outdoor performance of a midsummers night dream - which looks like a fun adaption. Thinking of taking the girls next week. I think it has lots of glitzy costumes and dancing. It doesn't start until 8:30 but I think we can go for the first half. As a kid my mom had weekly tickets to the Muny - a huge outdoor theater. All of the kids went to the kids show once a summer. Fond memories.

The girls start science camp next week. They love Camp Half blood/sword camp so much. So much imagination. They are bummed its over but they did science camp and liked it last summer.

We are scheduled to go to Banff and Jasper National Parks the end of August. We always do our summer vacation then because camps end but school doesn't start. Turns out two other people at work also want that week off. They may tell me no. Which is fine. So far I've only booked cancelable lodging. We will figure out childcare and go the week before. We may end up switching destinations because we will no longer have the extra labor day Monday off. Its a pretty pricey flight so I don't want to go if we don't have enough time. Maybe Columbia? We will make it to Banff someday.

Talked with baby boy's new school OT and PT. They said he's doing great. He's so used to doing therapies that he has no problems going with new people. PT mentioned the inability to slow down is his problem. Not news to us. Let's hope they can help.

Was reading the NYT's article about the study that says children's moving anytime between the age of 10 and 16 has really detrimental long term effects. For obvious reasons loosing your close knit community during that age is difficult. Here in NYC because of school choice kids can go across town for Junior high and then to a totally different location with no one they know for High School. In addition to the (unhealthy, I think) stress of applications, etc I do wonder if it would have the same negative outcomes. Maybe that's just common practice everywhere now? Where I grew up Jr High was everyone you went to Elementary school with and then three other elementary schools. High school was everyone from your Jr High. I def went from Kindergarten through Graduation with many of the same people.

In my circles everyone believes social media is the cause of teenagers mental health problems - which I believe. But I also think kids having so much less freedom contributes. Its tricky in NYC - as I can't send my kids out to their neighbors backyard - but I try to give the girls freedom as much as possible. Baby boys only four but unless his personality changes I think it will be even more difficult to give him freedom.

Here's to hoping Biden drops out in the next few days. Let's all buy the man a drink, give him a big thank you and let him live out his days in peace. Job well done. Lots of room for improvement but overall A+ in my book.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 50: Are We All Safe?

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

How is it possible to function on three hours of sleep? All night I toss and turn trying to relax but my mind is too full. Eventually I hear Thomas get up and leave. It’s barely daylight but I shouldn’t pay any mind to him. I can easily count how many apologies he owes. 

I throw in the towel and begin to make breakfast. Charlie is still asleep so the meal will just be for me. After a small portion of toast and eggs I try to distract myself with a copy of The Great Gatsby. Talk about the American dream being disintegrated into a shallow pursuit of wealth. Just like another certain someone…

Ring! Ring!

Who would be calling? I jump up and rush to the phone. Oh Lord, is it someone from home-?

“Is this Verena?” A familiar voice asks on the other end.

I gawk at the receiver. “May?”

“Verena, is that you? My, it’s good to hear from you. I wanted to call and see how you’ve been. I stopped by to collect Thomas’ horse. Um, pardon me for asking but the Americans that Curly told me about, they wouldn’t happen to…?”

Hearing May’s concern is a wonderful reminder that not all the rich and wealthy are heartless. 

“My family’s Irish side has made me a part of this too. The Italians are known enemies of the White Hand gang. I’m afraid my terms with Changretta are painted the same as the Shelbys’.” Unless… “That is unless I can arrange a diplomatic meeting to take the hit off my family.”

“I’m so sorry.” There’s a pause over the phone. “Does Tommy still treat you well?”

The thought of yesterday’s events makes my fist clench. Between his remarks on my family’s situation and Lizzie’s cold stare I’d say that this vendetta is starting to become more like a prison sentence.

“As good as any other employee,” I reply darkly.

“I see.” May pauses again and this time uses a more upbeat tone. “It was good to catch up. Pop by London sometime. We’ll go shopping.”

Somehow the ghost of a smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll put it in the books.”

I replace the phone and begin to go about my normal routine- All aside from looking for Thomas. I’m still too heated to hear any excuse he has. As for that idea from earlier… I could try. It couldn’t hurt… Could it? If I wave the white flag and ask to speak with Changretta then I could ask him to remove my family’s hit. 

“Veena?” Charlie asks from the sofa. “Are you sad?”

Lord bless him and his childhood innocence. “I’m okay, Charlie. Just… a little tired, ‘s all.”

“Do you want a nap?”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and feel myself decompress onto the sofa. “Charlie, a nap sounds wonderful. Are you still tired too?”

“Yeah.” The young Shelby crawls up next to me and lays down facing me. “Veena, is mummy with God too?”

I move my arm over to rub his small head. “Yes, Charlie. Your mummy was a very kind person, and she loved you very much. She watches over you every day.”

Charlie’s tired eyes widen. “She does?”

“She does,” I repeat. “And I promised her that I would take care of you. Right now you need to sleep, alright?”

“Okay.”

His eyes finally close and I wait for him to fall asleep before letting my own eyes shut. Somehow sleep does find me, because when I open my eyes again it’s because Thomas is shaking me awake. Charlie is awake too and is clinging to his dad’s leg.

“Verena? It’s after six. Are you alright?”

After six? I slept a solid seven hours! I jump up in surprise to look at the clock but then remember I’m still cross at Thomas. I resume a tight posture and merely hum in response.

“Charlie, why don’t you go play with your blocks, eh? Or I’m sure there are some books to read.” 

Thomas ushers his son off and stands directly in front of me so that I can’t avoid looking at him or getting up from the couch. Of course Thomas can tell when someone is angry. Heaven forbid he can tell when I’m trying to love him. 

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Are you going to apologize for speaking so harshly of my family yesterday?”

“Yes.” 

Thomas moves to sit next to me on the couch, looking at me with sincerity. His face tells a story of a man who’s frustrated with himself. Is he really going to say sorry? Can I bring myself to forgive him for not only mocking my family but also keeping me from talking to another man?

 “Verena, I’m sorry. You just need to understand that-”

“You are not the most empathetic person,” I say slowly. “I know.”

Something is wrong. Like Thomas once told me, no one apologizes unless they’ve done something else. The sound of his voice tells me he’s hiding something. He’s too stubborn to give in so quickly… What exactly happened at the office today?

“Something happened today,” I state bluntly and my face hardens with worry. “What happened?”

Thomas’ mouth drops slightly. “How-? You read me like a fucking book.”

“Thomas Shelby. Just answer me one fucking thing. Are we safe?”

If I had the idea of talking to Changretta then Thomas’ mind can’t be too far behind. This vendetta involves me too so if he makes any move to address it then I need to know. 

Thomas reaches across and takes my hand. “Yes.”

Does he mean everyone or just my family? “Are you safe?”

He holds up a finger. “That’s two questions.”

“Thomas Shelby!” I squeeze his hand tighter and can’t stop my brow from creasing. “You can keep me in the dark from whatever sinister deeds you concoct. I don’t want to know. What goes on in that boardroom is your burden. Whatever strike or uprising, it is brought on by yourself. I was hired for international relations and that is what I will work for. But that does not mean I stop caring for your safety. I do want to know that after all this is said and done that you will still be here.”

“And if I'm not?” Thomas challenges, still keeping a calm face. “If you could save your family by killing me, would you?”

My chest tightens and I fight to keep from crumbling into him. “You make it so easy to say yes. But you know I am no murderer, Thomas. Even if I don’t pull the trigger I will never arrange for you to be killed.”

There are far more dreadful ways of torture. If I ever want Thomas to suffer then I will walk away completely. We’ll see who’s angry when there is no one who will listen.

Thomas must believe me because his crystal eyes have a look of content sadness. If he has anything to say then it’s his own fault for staying quiet. As is mine.

“There is a meeting tomorrow I want you to be at,” the gangster murmurs. “At the hospital with Michael. Arthur, Ada, Polly, and Lizzie are coming too. See these?” He holds up a set of keys. "These are the keys to your car outside. You can take it to the meeting. Trust me, you will want to be there. Even if you’re still mad at me.”

“I will be there,” I promise. “Hopefully after a few more hours of sleep.”

“Yes, do sleep,” Thomas insists and gets up to let me have the whole sofa. “You shouldn’t have to go through this, Verena.”

He walks off to the kitchen. Did I hear him mutter ‘all my fault?’ Well, partially that is true. But it is also my fault for being dumb enough to come back. What have I accomplished? John is dead and I’m no closer to admitting my feelings than I was a year ago. Why does love have to be this complicated? I suppose another night of fighting for sleep might calm me down.

@meadows5

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

THE CASE OF THE GREATER GATSBY EPISODES 20-21

Okay, so tomorrow is the release of the LAST EVER EPISODE OF GREATER GATSBY (cry with me, folks!), and while I’ve been keeping up with my listening I have fallen a bit behind with these analysis posts, largely because these last few episodes have been so jammed packed with answers that up until last week there wasn’t much theorizing to do. So while this post is about episodes 20-22, I’m writing it after having already listened to episode 23 multiple times. I’ll do my best not to spoil anything from episode 23 in the thoughts below, but there will probably be a lot less pondering and guesswork than usual.

Anyways, spoilers for episodes 20, 21, and 22 under the cut!

Okay, first things first—are Shipwrecked really going to get away with not letting us in on Ford’s secret? I couldn’t quite tell what Fig was saying when Ford cut her off, so I pulled up the transcript and it looks like she says “I can’t believe you managed to them all in—“ Which, for the life of me, sounds like absolute nonsense. I’ve spent hours trying to come up with what she could be about to say, and I’ve drawn a blank. Any ideas?

Speaking of Ford, our boy definitely needs therapy. While I understand the place his anger is coming from, probably a lot better than Ford himself does, he does need to remember that technically Fig was hired to shadow Willy as a bodyguard and was technically there on set in her capacity as a P..I. as well. I predicted from the start that Fig’s side job would clash quite badly with Ford’s trauma, and frankly I’m surprised it’s taken this long to get there. But here we are and I am sad. :(

But hopes springs anew! Mel has officially shuttered The Grapes of Wrath! This seems like another tick in my “Mel is intentionally sabotaging the movie” column. If anything, the only real evidence contradicting that theory is that it took so long for her to shut it down in the first place. Perhaps Beanslot is particularly keen on Steinbeck? Regardless, Mel is still my personal favorite suspect for writing the letters, or at least for being the person behind them (I don’t quite believe she composed any of the messages herself). I know Fig and Ford believe the threatening author and the murderer are one and the same, but we have no real evidence for that, beyond the word of the letter writer. Plenty of people could have figured out he was likely murdered, and decided to use that increase the power of their anonymous threats. Mel, for instance, could have learned from Mo Beats. And now that I know who the murderer seems to be (more on that in my next post), I’m not sure what their motive for writing the threatening letters would even be.

Moving on from all these questions, let’s talk a bit about answers. TD stole The Greater Gatsby during the night of Mel’s party to bribe his way into Bixby’s Brigade. He gave the script to Willy on the suggestion of Roger, who was keen on his movie-star wife getting arrested and joining him in prison. Guys, I love Roger. I know he’s kinda’ terrible but I just can’t help it; I guess it’s that classic Gabe Greenspan magic. And he and Willy are, in a very odd and slightly worrying way, kinda’ perfect for each other. The swelling music cue that plays every time Willy decides his dubious criminal action is actually The Most Romantic Thing ever(TM) makes me laugh. Every. Single. Time. It helps that Roger is such a silly goose that it’s impossible to imagine any of his harebrained schemes actually resulting in harm coming to his lovely wife. That’s just not the narrative vibe, I guess. Also, I was right about Dash keeping an eye on Wilhelmina on Roger’s orders! Yay me!

The other bout of answers comes from the Punchwhistle triplets and their grand reunion in Fig and Ford’s office. As expected, “George Astrum” is both Eugene Punchwhistle and the Hinge Highwayman. Except for my brief foray into “Barnaby is Eugene!” madness (look, not all of my crazy theories can be right), George has been my top candidate for Eugene since his introduction in Scott’s tapes. Meanwhile, it turns out that Lex had not been kidnapped or swept up in some epic trail of clues, but had simply gone to ground as part of the search for her missing brother. While I missed the delightful Esther Fallick, the moment where they asked Lex if she was aware she’d been recast was maybe my favorite line of the episode. Love a good bit of meta humor. Lex also gives more evidence that the writer of the threatening letters has plenty of access to the set. While this does point a finger towards the supposed killer unmasked in the next episode, it could also point to any number of other characters. I’ll probably come out of this looking very silly, but, as I said, I’m still not convinced that our killer and adaption-hater are in fact one and the same…

A Couple of Other Thoughts: -If Ford hadn’t been acting so ridiculous about Fig’s onset work, she probably would have taken him more seriously when he said not to hand Mel the script. As it is, I supposed we should just be thankful that Mel did, in fact, destroy it. -Mel and Ford, for all that he hates her, seem to have the same opinion on the bookclub. I don’t think that’s particularly important, other than as an indicator that Ford’s perspective is a bit out of whack, but it’s funny regardless. -God, to be a fly on the wall next time Mel sees TD. I want a three hour Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf-esque character study about THAT.

[ashes-2-ashes57cba]

The Bad Batch: Valkyrie

Episode 3: The Solitary Clone (part 2)

The conclusion to my first original episode with Specter! *shebs'palons: "assholes", Mando'a warnings: references to The Great Gatsby, references to jazz, canonical violence, almost swearing

“Did she find it yet? Is it there?” Omega eagerly asked, running back inside after lighting the fireworks with Wrecker.

“She went quiet, we have no clue what’s happening,” Hunter updated. He paced behind Tech at the console, who read the data from the droid they commandeered.

“Oh, shi-”

“Language,” Echo stopped Tech from swearing in Omega’s presence.

“It appears the diamond was removed from the vault.” Tech’s hands slowly moved away from the controls.

“What? Where is it now?” Wrecker exclaimed. 

“On display… in the middle of the ballroom for all to see,” Tech said, defeated. “Do you copy, Specter?”

“Yeah,” she sounded equally defeated. “I want to guess you don’t have a backup plan for getting the diamond out of there?” Tech didn’t reply, only pinching the bridge of his nose while racking his brain for an idea.

“What if we got the people out of there?” Omega suggested. 

“...That is not a bad idea,” Tech thought.

“In fact, it’s a great idea!” Specter exclaimed over the comms. “Tech, can you change the droid’s security parameters so it sees everyone as a threat?”

“Already on it. I shall wait for your signal. Echo?” he nodded Echo over to join him, working together. 

“Please be careful,” Hunter asked.

“Don’t worry, Hunt. Besides, you know what they say, ‘diamonds are a girl’s best friend’.”

Specter slipped back into the ballroom, drifting toward the hors d’oeuvres table and slipping the axe underneath, as well as taking a treat for herself to fuel her for the upcoming excitement.

“Tech, Echo, you ready with the droid?” she whispered, wiping the corners of her mouth.

“Ready when you are,” Echo replied.

“Good. Wait for my signal, I’m going to get a closer look at the diamond.” Specter made her way into the crowd, looking for a way to see what kind of defenses the jewel was under. It was up on display on the center dais, replacing the musicians. However the crowd surrounding the dais was too thick, and even with the high heels, Specter wasn’t that tall. Someone tapped her shoulder, she turned to find her dance partner from earlier. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she said with a smile. 

“Miss Pierce,” he smiled, nodding his head, “are you enjoying the party?”

“Well, I’d enjoy it a lot more if I could actually see the diamond,” she giggled. He offered his hand to her again. 

“Then shall I escort you up to see my diamond?”

“Your diamond?” she puzzled over his phrasing until she gasped and realized “You! You’re Jaerono Gatsaebyn!” He laughed aloud.

“Call me Jay.” She smiled and took his hand, letting him push past the crowd and up to the dais.

“Oh, wow…” Specter breathed, in genuine awe of it. 

The Heart of the Eternal White Point Star was said to have fallen out of the center of a white dwarf star and estimated to be the most valuable gemstone to date. Not only was it a rather large stone, but it emitted its own natural glow. Specter smiled at the display, knowing it was a fake and knowing the real one was kept safe by the native people who discovered the diamond.

She saw her reflection in the glass case and tried not to double take; her confidence was the biggest change she saw, other than the beautiful outfit she rented for the night. 

She still didn’t feel like a Valkyrie, nothing felt quite right yet, but she felt better, which was improvement enough. Still, as comforting as the confidence was, it felt foreign to her. Her sisters had guided her to this moment, whispering in her ear, counting down until the right moment to unleash the droid.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jay whispered next to her. “3,700 carats, uncut, and flawless. The pinnacle of my collection, worth 1.73 million credits.”

“I can see why. Oh, Jay…” she trailed off, still enraptured by its beauty, synthetic or not. “And it’s truly the real thing?”

“Of course it is!” He was a poor fool.

“Now,” Specter whispered into her comm before turning back to Jay, “with a collection like this, your mistress must be a very lucky woman.”

“She will be, once I find the right one.” He gazed at her, intently; Specter hardly let it phase her, but made sure she blushed and fluttered her lashes. 

“Well, if she just so happens to-”

“Look out!” someone yelled. The droid burst into the ballroom, pushing aside staff and guests in its way.

“Multiple intruders detected!” it announced in a deep voice, charging at a group of screaming party-goers.

“My droid!” Jay exclaimed, tangling his fingers in his hair.

“Everybody get out!” the guard at the door shouted, opening the doors wide to let the stampede of frightened guests escape.

“I can distract it. Get the diamond!” Specter ordered before Jay could argue, weaving through the panicked crowd and sliding under the hors d'oeuvres table and grabbing her axe. “Nicely done, Tech,” she complimented.

“Thank you, but there is a slight problem. I cannot regain control of the droid.”

“Oh.” Specter turned to watch as Jay opened the case and clutched the diamond, fearfully watching the droid as it stalked and attacked guests. “I’ll make do.”

Specter, wielding the axe, marched to the middle of the ballroom, facing the droid. It caught sight of her and the weapon. Its eyes turned red.

“Your droid doesn’t happen to have any blaster attachments, would it?” she asked Jay, who was cowering behind an overturned table.

“Uh-” The droid lifted its arm and lowered its hand, firing from hidden blaster barrels.

“Nevermind,” Specter scoffed, dodging fire, darting around the droid to test its range—even in heels her speed and reflexes were quick enough to stay out of range.

Specter launched herself toward it, swinging her axe with wild abandon. The blade lodged into its arm cannon, disarming it completely. The droid stumbled back from her attack but easily adjusted for close combat. It pushed away, blocked, and redirected her swings, causing her to stumble with the weapon. She found it frustrating; the axe-head was too heavy and she couldn’t find a balance or rhythm with it, throwing off her footing and strength distribution. The Valkyries were screaming in her head, telling her to find the balance, get it together, be sure of her footing, hope her team is okay—focus! Dodge!—pull more of her strength, worry for Hunter and Omega, make sure Jay is okay.

It was too much. The droid caught her off guard and kicked her back. She yelped as she landed on the floor, her weapon sliding next to her. She struggled to push herself up, keeping an eye on the droid as it assessed the damage on its arm cannon. Specter’s breath was caught in her throat, held back by frustration and embarrassment. She caught her tired and disheveled reflection in the blade of the axe. 

CT-9905 grunted as she fell onto her back, her panicked breath fogging up her helmet and watching as blaster fire flew overhead. 

“You alright, 05?” 01 shouted from the other side of the simulation room.

“She’s fine,” her twin sneered, kneeling beside his downed sister to cover her. The other four managed to take down the training droids before she had a chance to get up; but she was already disappointed in her performance. Her brother turned to her, observing her slowly sit up and slouch.

“Why can’t I get it right?” she mumbled. “Every time I think I’m clear, I just end up in another one’s range.”

“You improved significantly compared to last time. We all have,” encouraged 02 as he and 03 came around. 05 took off her helmet—in a split second, 03 ruffled her hair with his large hand. She playfully swatted him away but still frowned. 

“You need to let us back you up,” CT-9901 said as he came around, taking off his helmet as well. His tied-back hair was only a little messy; she was sure the Kaminoans would insist he cut it. 04 helped her up. 

“I know,” she sighed as they began to leave the room. “I trust you guys.”

“You have to trust yourself too, sister,” CT-9904 added. She looked up at her twin with curiosity. 

“He’s right. We can give all the support we can, but if you don’t trust in yourself and your abilities, it’s useless,” 01 explained.

“Zero multiplied by four is still zero,” emphasized CT-9902. 

“Hah! She doesn’t need equations, 02,” 03 said, bumping into him. “You’ll be great, 05, you’ll see. Soon, we’ll reach our prime, get out of this stuffy training armor, and be the best squad anyone has ever seen,” he cheered, grinning wide. She couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. She took a moment to pause and take in the atmosphere around her, her team talking and laughing and encouraging each other. She smiled. 

Having spent her entire, albeit short, life feeling wrong, as though something was missing, this—this moment of belonging and purpose in her family—felt right.

The memory came and went, but its effect remained, echoing in her bones. Whether it was the Bad Batch or the Valkyries, she would be supported. She was the exception; alone, she was a strong fighter, but with the support of her team—family—her strength grew exponentially. Specter forced herself to get up, though it felt like the arms of her sisters and absent team were lifting her on her feet. She grabbed the axe, staring down the droid, finding her grip on the handle until it seemed to click into place in her hand. The droid made an approach toward her.

Her heart was beating fast, so fast she barely felt it; she entered a state she couldn’t describe. She wasn’t just fast, the world around her was slow. She seemed to know exactly how and where to position herself. Ducking under the extended fist of the droid; using the axe handle to jab into its abdomen. Swinging the blade at its chest; twisting out of the way of a kick. Specter executed it all precisely. The axe became an extension of her, cutting into the droid and disabling it before it could process what was happening. Specter moved like never before, fluidly dodging and attacking.

Her breath caught up to her. The remains of the droid crumbled at her feet. Specter was shocked to see such damage done, by her hand especially, with an unfamiliar weapon. It frightened her, she embraced it. Her heart slowed to its normal pace, yet the adrenaline before had somehow been soothing. This is what a Valkyrie could be—what she could be.

“Are you alright, Jay?” she turned and called to his hiding spot. He peeked over the table and crawled out, still holding the diamond close to his chest. 

“Is it over?” he asked. “How the hell did you do that?” 

“I took self defense classes,”  she shrugged. “Now about the diamond-”

“Yes, well, that’s the problem isn’t it?” Jay interrupted her, his demeanor shifting. “Valentine can barely lift a rifle, let alone an axe.”

“Jay, listen to me,” she carefully said, “the diamond-”

“Is mine and will stay mine,” he growled, pulling out a small blaster pistol and aiming it at her. “How does the song go? ‘My funny Valentine. Sweet, comic, Valentine.’ You’re a fool if you think you can take this from me.” Specter scowled, unsure how she would be able to get the diamond now. “I’ve worked too damn hard to get to where I am—to own a treasure such as this—to let some girl take it from me now. So, what I’m going to do is-”

“Shut up,” someone behind him said, stunning him. Jay fell on his face, revealing Hunter with a smoking gun. “And she’s not just ‘some girl’,” he said to the unconscious body, kicking it a little. Specter snorted.

“My hero,” she teased, slinging the axe over her shoulder. 

“Saving you from monologuing shebs’palons since day one,” he said, bowing his head. Specter knelt down, shoved Jay onto his back, and pried the diamond from his hand. “That’s it?”

“Yup. All that work, just to take it from his hands,” she said, feeling the weight of the jewel.

“We should go before any other security arrives,” Hunter suggested, nodding toward the door. Specter stood up and blew Jaerono Gatsabyn a kiss before stepping over him and walking with Hunter back to the Marauder. 

Specter kicked off her heels and tossed aside her fur wrap and lounged in the seat behind Wrecker, just as they entered hyperspace back to Ord Mantell. 

“So, was it fun?” he asked, turning around.

“It was alright. I had some champagne, danced, snuck around; honestly, Wrecker, you would have been bored in two minutes. But hey, you and Omega were great with the fireworks!” she said.

“It was so fun!” Omega came running in, hopping into the seat across from Specter. 

“How about that axe? Hunter said the droid looked like nothing but a bunch of scraps when he got there,” Echo added, pointing to the weapon leaning up by her seat. Specter ran her hand over the solid wood handle. It still felt “correct”; the Valkyries were calm, keeping to a low hum. She was, for the first time in a long while, proud of herself.

“I think I’ll keep it,” she said, fondly. Tech and Hunter then entered the room, holding the Heart. 

“This is a rather excellent synthetic diamond. The chemical compound used to emulate the glow is quite ingenious,” Tech commented, letting Omega hold and ogle at the jewel.

“I can’t imagine how much the real one is worth,” Wrecker crossed his arms. 

“It means more to the native people who found it than any monetary value could meet,” Specter said. 

Hunter watched them all from the doorway; he was curious about Specter, her confidence was… different, and she had a glow about her. Much like the diamond Echo was now holding, a soft but prominent light came from within. 

“But, this is a really good copy,” Specter continued as Wrecker took it from Echo.

“I don’t think it’s a copy, anymore,” Hunter’s voice broke out. He turned back to Specter, who had met his gaze. “I think it’s something else. Something new.” Specter smiled, heart warm and full.

He smiled too.

Omega quietly hopped down from her room in the rear gun, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she was drawn to the glow of Specter’s datapad from the cockpit.

“Specter?” The woman looked up from her cross-legged position on the floor, tired, but happy to see the girl.

“Hey there. Couldn’t sleep?” Omega shook her head. Specter opened her arm to her, the girl drew near and sat next to her, leaning into her embrace.

“I was just thinking,” started Omega. Specter hummed in response. “I’m sorry you’re not who you thought you were. It must have been really scary and I know it’s made you upset.” The woman gently kissed the top of her head.

“It’s alright, Omega. I promise you it is. In fact, I feel much better about the fact now,” said Specter. She stretched out her legs and leaned back against the wall. “Do you think you can help me with something?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s these designations for the Valkyries, I can’t make sense of them. Can you help me think of their names? Like mine; Valkyrie-101sdne,” Specter tilted the screen towards her. 

“Hmm… oh! How about Sidne?” said Omega. The name rang throughout Specter’s head, her sisters sang it. It felt correct.

“Sidne… I like it!”

The two named the rest of the Valkyries and read through as much as they could, discovering secrets of what abilities the Kaminoans were looking for, development plans and training modules. Omega eventually drifted back to sleep and Specter paused her reading to let her mind wander.

The Valkyries sang lullabies around the sleeping girl, but the beginnings of turmoil stirred within Specter again. She accepted her Valkyrie heritage, accepted she was different and embraced the ideas of what she could have been. Yet she still didn’t know who she was. Who is Sidne? Who is Specter now? 

Wrecker entered the room, coming to take over for watch, interrupting her internal chaos. 

“Switch,” he whispered, being careful not to wake Omega.

“I can stay up,” Specter insisted, wanting to be nice to her teammate. Wrecker, surprisingly, shook his head.

“Nope. Hunter’s orders,” he insisted. Specter quietly huffed a laugh, smiling to herself.

Of course he did. She carefully adjusted herself and picked up the sleeping girl. Wrecker patted her shoulder as she passed by into the hold. After placing Omega back in her makeshift bed, Specter went to climb into her own bunk, pausing to glance at Hunter’s peacefully sleeping form. She was grateful for him, smiling and hoping he got good rest before settling down on her own bunk, waiting for dreams of her sisters. The Valkyries welcomed her into the battles of the night. 

And that's the end of my original episode! I really hope you liked it; a little behind-the-scenes fact... this is my third version of this story. The episode may be over, but it seems as though our dear Specter is still troubled... perhaps a more concrete resolution is needed... ;)

[detectivecarisi-1]

The Senator’s Daughter Chapter 2 (Bodyguard! Dave York x Female Reader

AN: Lol I am alive. Honestly, I am even surprised this took as long as it did, but I transferred from my old job teaching at a middle school (after a student threatened to stab me lol) and moved to a high school, so I had to completely restart my curriculum, which, if you’ve been following me, is why I’ve been having a bit of a mental breakdown as of lately. But being at the high school has been so much better for me, so I am finally back to writing! I appreciate you all for your patience, and if you’re reading this, thank you for coming back :) I am currently figuring out how to make a masterlist, so hopefully that gets up soon. I have alot of oneshots in mind for Din Djarin (my beloved) and Joel Miller… But we’ll see if I ever have the time to write those. I know there’s a ton of new people to the Pedro Pascal fandom so... that makes me a little nervous. But, stay tuned! Thank you again! - Megan 

Rating: M for language, and discussions of drugs and alcohol. Future chapters will be explicit, so 18+ ONLY!!! MINORS DNI\

Word Count: 2.5k 

Warnings: A lot of language (sorry, I have the mouth of a sailor, it’s hard to write without it), Eventual Smut (18+ FOR THE WHOLE SERIES), AFAB! Reader, HUGE divergence from canon, MeanDom!Dave York, Dom/Sub undertones, Brattysub!Reader, legal age gap relationship, Enemies to lovers, Mentions of drug/alcohol abuse, self-destructive behaviors, corrupt cops (probably only in this chapter), Politics lol, Minor violence (probably?), eventual mentions of parental abuse. 

Tags: @fatimaisabelpascal

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, feel free to dm me! 

________________________________________________________________

“Sir, yes, sir” she says before slipping into the connected bathroom to shower. Dave starts to turn away, to give her some form of privacy, but Senator Leland grabs him by the arm before they could leave. Dave watches, as the strict father act Leland was putting on earlier melts away, as he slumps against the wall near the bathroom door.

“I just… I wanna make sure she gets in okay.” Just like his daughter, Senator Leland looks completely different than how the news channels show him. Where she looks younger, and softer than the washed-up party girl TMZ shows, Till Leland looks more exhausted, and unsure of himself, compared to the confident, perfectly styled politician he saw on MSNBC. Dave, after years of service in the CIA, has a certain skill for reading people, and Dave doesn’t see Mr. Leland as a slimy, sure of himself politician, he just sees a tired father. His shirt is wrinkled, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looks exhausted, like he has been up all night. Mr. Leland stands, close to his daughter private bathroom, waiting for the sound of the shower to turn on, with one of his hands pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dave takes his time to look around the girl’s room. Just like the girl herself, her room is nowhere near what Dave would’ve expected. Despite the shoes in her bed, and the mascara stains on a pristine white pillowcase, her room is perfectly kept. She has a makeup desk, with a few photos of her smiling next to a small white dog. On a shelf above her bed, she has a collection of stuffed animals, each one seems to be placed carefully, with the smaller ones in the front and center, while the larger ones are arranged in a neat row behind them. He spots a bookshelf in the corner, with a few cookbooks, The Great Gatsby, and War and Peace, Dave raises his eyebrows, genuinely impressed when he spots a tasseled bookmark, sticking out of the book, she’s almost finished with it. Dave had expected her room to be a complete mess, with dirtied clothes, bottles of pills and alcohol, and the trash overflowing, but this is the room of a normal girl. She continues to defy his expectations.

Finally, the shower starts, and Dave watches the senator’s entire body relax with relief. Senator Leland turns to Dave, “You have kids, Dave?” Dave nods, “two girls.” The senator nods… “so you… understand what I’m trying to do. I just want to make sure she’s okay… I don’t know what else to do.”

Dave doesn’t respond. Dave would stop at nothing to ensure their safety and their health. Dave has killed for much less, but for his daughters? He would make anyone, anyone who even looks his daughter’s direction with a sense of malice, suffer until they are begging for him to kill them.

He looks at the senator, he sees a distraught father, desperate to save his little girl from her own self-destruction. Dave thinks… If this was his child, he would burn down every nightclub in the state and nail her door shut. Perhaps Till Leland’s plan is just a little more level-headed. Dave has never been the best at controlling his temper, so a he understands the Senator, sure, however, he still questions how things could’ve gotten this bad with the girl.

Dave simply sets his jaw, and nods.

The senator runs a hand through his hair, sniffs and turns to Dave, shifting back into the smooth-talking senator Dave met earlier that morning. “Let me show you around the house. I can show you where you’ll be staying.”

They leave the girl’s room, and Senator Leland leads Dave to a room, only across the hall from the girl’s room. Leland opens the door, revealing a simple, but still beautiful bedroom. There it’s painted a soft gray, with dark wood floors, clearly original with the house, Dave can tell they’re aged, even though they had clearly recently been polished. There is an oak desk along the front wall, and a queen-sized bed with a white comforter on the opposite wall, with a simple nightstand beside it. Senator Leland breaks the silence “It’s not much, I know. Before my dad passed he stayed here full time.” Leland opens a door in the back corner, “You have your own restroom, shower, bath, anything you need. Dave don’t hesitate to ask for anything else. I know this job isn’t the same as a simple celebrity escort. I want to make sure you are well taken care of, so you can take the best care of my daughter.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You step out of the shower, confused, and more hungover than you’ve been in your life. You look in the mirror, and oh great you look just as fucked up as you feel. Incredible. Thinking back to the mysterious “Mr.York”  in your room, you feel the heat of embarrassment warming the back of your neck… 

No big deal, just saw the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and what a great first impression, vomiting in a trashcan… things could be worse… hopefully.

 You look in the mirror, trying to piece together the night before, attempting to shake the weight of shame, and embarrassment that’s currently making you want to melt into the cool tile of the bathroom floor. It only worsens when you remember the look on your father’s face, he hasn’t looked that disappointed since… well ever. Some shit went down last night and its driving you crazy that you can’t remember a thing.

“Whatever… can’t get worse than this.”

You throw on some clean pajamas and stumble downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you enter the dining room, you spot Mr. York and your father, facing the stairwell, looking like something out of a sitcom’s “intervention” episode. If you weren’t so nervous, (and not insane) you would consider looking for a camera.

You get your first, clear-headed look at Mr. York, and, somehow, he's even more attractive when you’re (mostly) sober. You feel a little insecure, seeing him so perfectly put together and unaffected, and here you are, with your knees turning to jell-o.

Despite your distraction with Mr. York, you can still feel the tension in the air.

You walk up to your father and wrap him in a hug, that he doesn’t return, “Morning, old man. What’s the deal? Polling numbers down?” Your dad chuckles dryly “yeah, well, they’re about to be at least.”

His voice is raspy, he sounds exhausted. You hate that he feels like this, and, although you’re not exactly a genius, you know it’s somehow because of you.

You raise an eyebrow, and plop down on the seat across from your father… You pretend to think deeply for a moment, before gasping, “Oh, shit, they found out you did acid at a Nirvana concert in 91’?” you ask, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

“It was the Smashing Pumpkins, sweetheart, you know this. But no, that secret is locked away.” He smiles, and for a moment, he seems like it's just a normal morning, and that everything, deep down, is okay. But his face falls again, and he reaches across the table to grab your hand. “Honey… I love you very much, you know?”

Oh shit. This is bad, this is really bad.

You feel the color drain from your face, and your blood turns cold. You don’t trust your own voice to come out without squeaking, so you just give your dad a nervous smile.

 “You… you got arrested last night. You were found passed out in front of a nightclub, and when the cops came to help you up… you dropped a small bag of pills.” He refuses to meet your eyes, he’s chewing his lip, and takes a deep breath before he continues, “If it weren’t for the fact that Office Benson was on the scene, you would’ve been charged. Benson owes me a favor so, he confiscated the pills and let you off the hook, but honey… you had Percocet on you. Where did you even get them?”

Your head is swimming. This makes no sense, you would never, ever, get hooked on meds like that. Alcohol? You admit you tend to overindulge, but opioids? No. No way, never in a million years. You’re trying to make sense of this situation in your head, trying to figure out how to explain to your dad that you would never, you could never do that to yourself, or him. You’re shaking your head, and tears you refuse to let fall start to burn your eyes… All is made a little worse when you look up at Mr. York, who is staring at you with the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen on a man. He’s judging your every move, he looks disgusted by you. You make eye contact, hoping he’ll soften up, but no, he just stares you down until you nervously look away.

You turn to your father, hoping that he starts laughing and this is just some sick tactic to make you straighten up, but he instead looks at you with red eyes, and “Honey, I’m just so worried about you… I can’t lose you.”

Fuck… you need a drink.

Everything, from the very moment you woke up, has just been too much. You want to leave, go to some shitty bar downtown, take a couple shots, numb these feelings that are currently making that sour taste at the back of your throat return, and maybe then you can have a civil conversation.

But it's 9am and your dad would probably die of a broken heart in front of you.

Or worse, Mr. York looks like he could kill you himself.

Instead, you resort to trying to talk, your voice warbled the tears you apparently can no longer hold back, “but… I don’t do drugs, dad, you gotta believe me I… I don’t do drugs.” Maybe if you weren’t so overwhelmed, things may have been a little more eloquent, but all things considered, you’re pretty proud of yourself for getting through that in one piece. Considering how much you feel. You feel like a child, you’re embarrassed, and scared, and… you can’t even begin to figure out how to process this. 

Your dad straightens up a little, and he clears his throat a little.

“I know, honey, I know. They did a drug test, last night at the station, you’re cleanBut someone gave these to you, and you took them. You’re losing yourself, honey, you may not see it now, but I have to watch you slowly destroy yourself, I can’t do it anymore.” He stops for a second and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, takes a deep breath, and like he’s presenting a new bill to the Senate floor he says, “honey, you have now made it clear to me that you cannot control yourself. This is no longer a simple rebellious phase.You may not see it, but I know are going to end up killing yourself and dragging me down with you if you keep going like this. You have shown me that I cannot trust you to stop, and that you will push things further and further with no regard for yourself or others. So, this is Dave York, he’s going to be your bodyguard until after the election.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so maybe you could have handled your response better. But fuck this. Fuck Percocet, mega-fuck the person who gave them to you, and seriously fuck Mr. York.

After your dad broke the news that Mr. York was essentially going to be following you around, no privacy at all, to make sure you’re in, what your dad calls, “in a better place mentally and physically”, it’s all a blur of you screaming, “fuck that”, “absolutely not”, “I’m not a fucking child”, and “I’ll do what I fucking want”. Your dad, during your (admitted) tantrum, argued back trying to reason with you, but even more infuriating, Mr. York just sat, watching you with those cold, judging eyes. His lack of response only makes you angier, you want to affect him, you want to see him get up, and tell you to get over yourself, or explain why him being your bodyguard is great, hell, even if he just laughs and agrees with you, that would’ve been better than him sitting, completely still, while you have a complete breakdown in front of him.

After your dad yelled “I won’t let you kill yourself this way, you hear me?” you just… gave up. Stormed upstairs, where you are currently screaming into your pillow.

You fuck up one time, and all of the sudden you lose all your privacy?

Okay, sure, maybe this isn’t the “one time” you fucked up. But you’re 21 years old living in Virginia Beach, where there’s literally nothing else to do except go out and drink till you blackout, but, who even cares?

You’re losing your mind. You’re shaking, and crying, and, screaming in the pillow did nothing to help the very apparent emotional break you’re currently experiencing.

Nah, fuck this.

You walk over to your dresser and pull out the flask you take with you to clubs sometimes, you’re not even sure what this is filled with anymore, and honestly?  You don’t even care. You need to calm your nerves, and you’d take a shot of fucking rubbing alcohol right now if it was offered to you.

You’re about to take a sip, about to let whatever this mystery liquor is burn down your throat, to soothe your nerves…

“I’m going to need you to put that down.”

That’s… definitely not your father’s voice. And of course, as if he appeared torment you further, you see Mr. York casually standing in the entrance of your room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

How did he even get in here so quietly?

“Fuck off, Mr. York.” You roll your eyes, “I’m in my own room, I’m not hurting anyone, get off my back.”

He doesn’t respond, just stands and watches you, like he knows that enough to make you break.

He’s right.

“Jesus Christ! I don’t need this! I don’t need a ‘bodyguard’! I don’t need you! What I need is to just… fucking calm down I can’t think straight, and I’d be a hell of a lot better if it weren’t for you standing here like a fucking serial killer. Get out!” You’re screaming at him, of course having your second temper tantrum of the morning.

And just like always, he just stands there, his arms crossed, not the slightest bit moved by your outburst.

“Are you all done?”

You laugh bitterly, “fuck you. Mr. York.” You look up at him, challenging him to say something back to you, to finally acknowledge your frustration.

He shrugs, “the little temper tantrum you put on downstairs not enough for you? Had to do it again? Are you so pissed off that you didn’t get your way? You think you can just scream your way out if it? Keep trying, maybe eventually it’ll work.” He’s leaning against your bedroom door, and he said that all like he was just reading the forecast for the week. He doesn’t even sound mad, just annoyed, as if the very fact he has to speak to you is an inconvenience to him.

Okay… so maybe him just standing there is better than him being affected by you, when he just stood there, it was a lot less embarrassing, hurt a little less. He’s staring at you, with his hand held out, waiting for you to pass over the flask, “you gonna hand that over to me or do I need to take it from you.”

You hand him the flask and get back in bed.

[marysdonuts]

FF idea :

Jeonghan is a type of man who understands other's emotions really quick and he knows when someone have crush on him, he flirts and teases subtly sometimes too bold but would never confess first cuz he would rather get chased instead of doing the chasing so now reader is chasing him and he is in the mood to tease to the point the reader starts losing interest and stopped the chase now what will jeonghan do?

thank you for the idea!

I want to preface this with- fckn hate nonchalant men. If it was me he would be blocked already

enjoy~

Tables have turned

Oh the almighty Jeonghan. Sent from above specifically to torture you. The popular guy who has six ladies lined up on each finger hoping to get their turn. Funny, easy on the eye but that personality? Ugh, you've seen better.

You made your interest in him more than clear, still.. to this day no definite answer. Only insufferable amount of teasing. You weren't one to play the game of push n' pull. It was getting on your nerves. Especially the constant flirting with anything that moved - just for sport. Or maybe not for sport per sé but to get you jealous. Making sure you saw him making move on somebody. There was even a moment when he jokingly almost kissed you only to pull away at the last moment, smug as hell. So full of himself.

Fuck it. Does he think he is the only one who has options? Isn't the last man on Earth for sure. The hell. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

//

And so you danced. You danced with every man who showed even drop of interest that night. Sending Jeonghan clear message - this is what you are missing by acting like a little bitch. Drowning one drink after another. Price? Didn't matter. They were paying.

When a friend of yours, equally as drunk, suggested to climb on the bar, you thought it an excellent idea. Both of you moving to the rhythm of some latino song with questionable, extremely toxic lyrics. Drink in hand, Great Gatsby style, you cheered the growing attendance at your feet. People going feral.

"I think you've had enough fun for today," Jeonghan's cold hand grasping your ankle "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" seemingly asking the audience a rhetorical question, crushing his fingers with your heel

"Your boyfriend~" squirming in pain

"My boyfriend?? Stop pissing me off Jeonghan. I had enough of your shit. It's not difficult to find somebody better than yo-"

Fuck, am I falling?

All the drinks from before picked the worst moment to take effect. Dizzy head, weak legs, heels plus slippery bar? Unfortunate combination. You were indeed about to hit the floor.

Next thing you know shawty got low low low - Music in the background mocking your life decisions

"Aaaaaaa" crashing down, drink spilled, body aching, pride hurt

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again." patting it lovingly

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" Noticing Jeonghan squished under you, also lovingly patting your bum in unison

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" intoxication not letting you fishing your sentence, making you wobble, once again ending up in Jeonghan's arms

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

This fucking bitch keeps playing with me!! You wanted to punch hole into his beautiful face. Body working faster than the mouth, clenched fist flew towards douchebag's face.

KAPOW!!!

Sadly, your fist was not at all clenched, flying much further from his face, finally landing on his chest. You weren't sure if his shirt was always this unbuttoned but what was staring at you currently - pair of *shiny* man-tiddies.

"wow" blinded by the sight

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan caressed your hand moving it over his heart "do you really want to know my feelings that much?" Mischievous eyes trying to meet the hazy ones.

"yea" gaze still kinda stuck on his tiddies

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The first time Jeonghan kissed you was in backseat of taxi on the way to his apartment. It wasn't just a kiss. More like he was feeding off your growing excitement. Producing such obscene sounds the driver had to rise the radio volume.

//

Reaching the destination, the moment the door closed shut, you found yourself pinned against them. Jeonghan's urgent lips tracing the curve of your neck.

"You really made a number on me today, you know that?" sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving mark behind

"Oh? Allow me to laugh. The Jeonghan hot and bothered? Hard to believe." tauntingly, grasping the hair

"Tell me 'bout it..," defeated exhale tickling your ear "seeing you with all those men...didn't expect to feel like that. Made me want to jump every single one of them."

"Did it, now?" placing thumb on his bottom lip "little boy got upset when his toy was taken away?" full of irony

"I was never good at sharing" allowing the entire length of your finger feel the softness of his mouth, sucking it almost apologetically

"Forgive me?" Big brown eyes praying for redemption

Not sure if it was the residual alcohol but this time his words felt sincere. Seeing him sucking on your thumb like that, all docile and at your mercy..? Ufff, you were running too hot

"Want me to forgive you, huh, " making him sink to his knees under your authoritarian tone.

"you know what to do." parted legs offering not so subtle invitation to the sinner beneath you.

.

.

.

"At your service, my lady~"

[sparkypantaloons]

Pocket Square

Dick helps Jason get ready for his first gala.

~

When Alfred sends Dick up to check on Jason, it’s all Dick can do not to snap at the older man. Agreeing to be here was one thing, but playing babysitter had never been part of the deal.

“Master Bruce is already at the Museum.” Alfred calls up the stairs after him. “We need to be on our way in fifteen minutes.”

“Alright!” He calls back, dragging his feet to the East Wing. He doesn’t quite manage to keep the bite out of his voice.

It’s the annual Wayne Memorial Fundraiser. An obscenely ostentatious party at the Gotham Natural History Museum. Every year Bruce pours who knows how much money into hosting, and every year, everyone from celebrities, to politicians, to Royalty, stump up for a ticket. Their money goes towards everyone in Gotham who has lost a family member to crime that year, and the rich and fabulous get photoed at the event of the season for their trouble.

Bruce says he hates it as much as Dick does, but clearly not enough to keep hosting the damn thing. This year the theme is 1920s, all Great Gatsby opulence, and totally ignoring the greatest economic downturn to ever hit the country that same decade.

Dick is dressed in a tailcoat. The soot-black jacket cut short at the front, tapering off at the back down towards his knees. Beneath is a white waistcoat, over white shirt and a white bow-tie for good measure. He feels like he’s going to dinner on the Titanic; impending sense of dread and all. But while he’s never been one for all the pomp, circumstance and nonsense that comes with the Wayne lifestyle, even he can admit to feeling pretty sharp in a tailored suit.

Jason’s room is down the same corridor Dick’s old room used to be, and the dull clench Dick feels in his stomach, is the same one he had last time he was down here. Packing his bags to leave… Not that things are as bad these days, as they had been then. But the Manor is hardly, Dick’s favourite hangout spot at the moment. He’ll be glad to get out of here.

He raps on Jason’s door with his knuckle, frowns at the light scuff in his otherwise brilliantly polished shoes. Wonders if he can get away with using his pocket square to buff it out. Jason distracts him before he can get to it.

“I’m not coming!” The twelve year old shouts from behind the old wooden door.

Dick scoffs. “Yeah right, kid. If I have to go, you have to go.” He pauses for a response. “Alfred says we’ve gotta be in the car in ten minutes.”

“I don’t care.” Jason yells back. “I’m not going to the stupid party.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not.”

Dick did not sign up for this. He might be trying to be more civil with Bruce these days and maybe he was a bit harsh towards Jason when the kid arrived, but he sure as hell isn’t interested in dealing with temper tantrums. It’s way above his pay grade, and his emotional investment if he’s honest. “Whatever, dude.” He says nonchalantly. “Ten minutes! Well, eight now.”

“I said—” There’s a sudden whoosh, as Jason positively rips his door open. “I’m not going!” He stares up at Dick glaring, cheeks flushed and eyes red. He’s dressed in his pyjamas, his hair sticking out all over the place.

“Have you been crying?” Dick asks, incredulously. A little meanly, actually. Smart move, Grayson. So much for that Rob— Nightwing empathy. He slides his foot forward just in time to stop Jason slamming the door in his face. “Sorry.” He adds, more sincere this time. “Are you okay?”

“Like you care.” Jason snaps, savagely. He’s trying to force the door shut in Dick’s face, but Dick doesn’t budge. “Just fuck off,” He growls, giving up. “I’m not coming.” He abandons the door and flops over onto his bed.

Dick stands a little awkwardly in the doorway. Considers his next move. He doesn’t have much interest in this kid if he’s honest. No more than any other child he might meet in the course of his day, at least. He doesn’t wish him ill and yeah, it’s a shame the kid is upset for whatever reason, but it’s not… it’s not his problem. And part of him, the part he’s been trying to tame these last few months, is more than a little pissed off that Bruce isn’t here to deal with this himself. Bruce is the one who adopted the kid. He’s about ready to turn on his heel and head back down to Alfred. Let the older man deal with whatever pre-teen-temper-tantrum this is. But then he hears what is undeniably a choked-off sob from the bed.

“You uh… you wanna talk about it?” Dick asks, hands in his pockets as he slowly heads to the bed.

“Nope.” Jason pops the p. Doesn’t look up from where he’s face-planted on the covers.

“You sure? Maybe I can help.”

Jason snorts at that. “Like you give a shit.”

Dick can’t really argue with that, he’s never been a very good liar. Instead he says “Maybe not, but it’s gotta be better than,” he gestures vaguely at Jason’s back. “All this.”

Jason turns his head to look at where Dick is now standing at the end of the bed. “I’m not going.” He says again. He sounds utterly miserable.

“You have to.” Dick shrugs.

“Why?”

“Because Bruce said so.”

“Since when do you do what Bruce says?”

The comment hits a little too close to home and for a moment Dick’s temper flares.

Jason must see it cross his face. “Sorry.” He says quickly, and he looks genuinely sorry. “I just…” he sits up on the edge of the bed, wrings his hands. “Sorry.”

Dick sighs. “It’s okay.” He says. Even though it doesn’t feel it. “But we really have to go. Alfred will kill us if we’re late.

Jason bites his lip at that, looks like he might start crying again. “Dick, I— I can’t...” He says quietly, eyes on his hands.

“Why not?”

Jason looks Dick up and down, gestures. “Look at you.” He says. “And Bruce too, will look so, so smart and— and—” he screws his eyes shut, “and I’m just going to look like some Crime Alley kid he dragged off the street. Some fucking charity case and he said Michelle Obama is going to be there, Dick and I can’t even get my shirt to button up.”

“Your shirt?” Dick asks, because that’s a lot of information and he needs to work up to the big stuff. “Why can’t you button up your shirt?”

“Because they’re not buttons!” Jason wails, miserably. “They’re these funny little metal things and I’m just too stupid and too poor to—”

“Hey.” Dick says firmly, placing his hands on Jason’s shoulders. “Hey, enough of that.” He waits as Jason takes some calming breaths. “You’re not stupid. And you’re not too poor either. You’re Bruce Wayne’s kid now. That makes you richer than Michelle Obama.”

Jason doesn’t say anything to that, just sniffles.

“Let’s take a look at this shirt.” Dick suggests, stepping back from the twelve year old. “Where is it?”

Jason shuffles over to the closet and passes Dick the shirt. Then he rummages in his pyjama pocket. Pulls out a handful of little silver studs.

“He couldn’t have just got you a regular shirt?” Dick mutters.

“I wanted to be like him.” Jason says, so quietly Dick almost doesn’t catch it. The sentiment is painfully familiar.

“Why didn’t you ask Alfred to help you?”

“Alfred cooks all of my meals and helps me with my homework, and cleans my room and helps me if I’m injured on patrol. I can’t ask him to help me get dressed as well.” Jason says miserably.

Dick frowns at the shirt in his hand, creased from lying in a pile on the floor. He lets out a sigh. “I’ll help you.” He says, shaking out the shirt. “You’re not stupid, Jason. Bruce is stupid. He forgets not everyone grew up in Downton Abbey.”

For the briefest of moments, Jason looks hopeful. Then it descends into confusion. “What’s Downton Abbey?”

Dick helps Jason with his suit. He’s not surprised the kid was stressed. The stud buttons are fiddly little beasts, and it takes more than a few attempts at each one before the shirt is properly done up. It has double cuffs too and Jason had never even heard of cufflinks.

The twelve year old’s mood slowly improves as he puts on each part of the suit, and by the time Dick is showing him how to do his bow tie, he’s almost grinning.

“Okay,” Dick says, manoeuvring Jason in front of the mirror. “Step one. This end longer than the other.” And he adjusts the tie slightly around Jason’s neck. “This loops over here, then pull this across. Loop that side back over the top and— pull it through… et voila!”

Jason beams at Dick’s reflection, his eyes are wide. “Thanks.” He says, slightly breathlessly. He turns slightly, to look at himself over his shoulder. “I… I look like Bruce.” He says, puffing his chest slightly.

Dick can’t help but laugh at that. He remembers doing exactly the same thing before his first gala. For all that Batman was impressive, there was something about just Bruce that was special too. In a suit he looked somewhere between James Bond and the President and a school Principal. Someone who was smart and important and capable. Who always seemed calm and and in control, when so much of Dick’s life had been chaos after his parents died. In the early days, it was what used to make Dick feel safe. Before he knew the truth about presidents and Bond and Bruce. Unreliable, controlling and secretive.

Jason will learn for himself one day, Dick thinks, a little grimly. Though maybe it won’t be so bad for him, if Dick is there to ease him through—

The thought catches Dick off guard and he shakes his head a little.

“One last touch.” He says, to Jason. “We really need to brush your hair.” And he ruffles Jason’s curls with his hand.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re stood in front of Bruce’s 1920s vintage Rolls Royce. Alfred’s irritation at their tardiness seemingly alleviated by the skip in Jason’s step. He insists on snapping a photo of the two of them.

“Can I have a copy?” Jason asks, before Alfred has even lowered the camera. “I mean um…” He looks up at Dick. “If that’s okay with you?”

The question takes Dick by surprise, the answer even more so. “Of course.” He says to Jason, putting an arm around the younger boy’s shoulder. “Alfred, I’ll have a copy too.”

[ruthplaysthesims]

MY WORST SIM NIGHTMARE JUST HAPPENED!

So as I was getting ready to narrate the next part of Kaori's story, I came to the dreadful realization... My screenshots weren't saving! So all I was preparing was for nothing! Well, good thing I am a writer. I'm not gonna leave y'all hanging. Good news is I was able to find the last two shots I took before closing the game. So those two will be used as the cover of this chapter (or part or whatever you want to call it) With that being out of the way, I will go ahead and write the story out for you all.

Part Nine: Face to face

As the girls arrived at the charter, they couldn't help but feel uneasy about the amount of security that was there.

Amani: Whoa. This is a lot of people..

Siddhartha: I know. You'd think the president is coming over. Are the Itos REALLY that wealthy.

Kaori stays silent.

Amani: Oh look, there's agent Morales.

Kaori quickly throws on her shades.

Siddhartha: Amor, don't be ridiculous. I'm sure he'll barely say anything about it. You're fine.

Amani: Who's that chick beside him??

They all look at the brunette standing next to Carlos.

Siddhartha: That's agent Deaton. She's a DDA too.

Kaori : Oh cool.

They showed their badges and headed onward to where the jets were supposed to land. The girls were idly waiting. Kaori couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. She knew Gatsby had sent Carlos to especially watch over her. But would she really be able to hold it in??

Kaori (Come on, Kaori. Pull yourself together!!!)

Morales : Agent Nishidake.

She looked up and saw Carlos looking at her.

Kaori : Agent Morales... A pleasure to meet you.

Carlos: Likewise...

*awkward silence*

Carlos: Gatsby would like to talk to you privately later. Be on the lookout for his phone call.

Kaori : I see.

**AN HOUR LATER**

After what felt like a forever wait, the first plane had landed and everyone began to adjust themselves.

When the doors to the plane opened, Nanami stepped out. She looked around and took a deep breath before descending the steps.

Nanami: Home at long last…

She looked around and smiled politely before Agent Morales walked up to her.

Morales: Welcome back, Ms. Ito. I hope your flight wasn't too much trouble.

Nanami: Hi. Is my brother here yet?

Morales: Your brother will be landing shortly.

Nanami: Can I wait here and see him? I haven’t seen him in forever.

Agent Grant walks up to her.

Grant: Ms. Ito, we are under strict rules to bring you home as soon as you land.

Nanami: But my brother -

Grant: I can assure you you'll see him once he gets home. Your ride is waiting for you. Agent Santiago and I will be riding home with you.

Nanami sighs, disappointed that she doesn't get to see Kiyoshi until he gets home. She reluctantly went into the car. Her luggage was put behind and the driver drove them to the Ito residence.

Kaori watched as she was led away to the car. Nanami looked more proper, was more polite and reserved. She had also grown to be just as beautiful as her mother. Kaori remembered just how much of a kleptomaniac she was when she was a kid. Looking at her now, she was sure she had grown past that phase.

A few minutes had passed and the other plane landed. Kaori could feel her heart racing. When the door opened, there he was… He looked even more handsome than she remembered. He had cut his hair, looked a lot more fit, taller… He walked down the steps of the plane and looked around before sighing..

Kiyoshi: Show off..

Kaori could not bring herself to move. She just stared as he made his way down the stairs. Agent Morales looked at her before nudging her.

Morales: Agent Nishidake.

Kaori looked over at Carlos.

Morales: Are you sure you can do this?

Kaori: I’m not a child. Yes, I can do this.

Agent Morales walked up to Kiyoshi.

Morales: Welcome back to Mt. Komorebi, Mr Ito..

Kiyoshi: Thank you.

Morales: I am Agent Morales. Agent Deaton and I will be escorting you back.

Kiyoshi nodded. He picked up a backpack and threw it over his shoulder. He walked toward the limo, though he noticed Kaori standing there, he couldn't recognize her because she was wearing shades. Kaori entered the Range Rover and at Carlos'signal, all dove to the Ito residence.