#PAST. / BROOKLYN BOWS BEFORE ME.

[gothamphantomgoat]

[mewhenimanangel]

spiderboy, miles morales x fem!reader

part 1! ʚɞ part 2 ʚɞ part 3 ʚɞ part 4 ʚɞ part 5

pairing: earth 1610! miles morales x reader

synopsis: you didn’t think anything of it when you bumped into miles on your first day at visions. it slowly became one of the best things to happen to you.

wc: 1.9k

warnings!: cursing

You got ready for your first day at Brooklyn Visions Academy. Your mom had decided to send you there for better "academic challenges" or whatever. You were nervous but found solace in knowing you'd already have a friend there, Zoya Hart. You’ve been friends since the third grade, absolutely inseparable.

You put on your uniform skirt and finished your makeup. New school, if you didn't make a good first impression, at least you’d look good. "Y/n hurry up! I've gotta go!" your mom called out from the kitchen. "Mommy just go! I can walk" you applied her lip gloss in the mirror. "Ah-ah, you're gonna be late. Hurry up"

You rolled your eyes spraying perfume over your body. Grabbing your backpack you shoved in your books and pencil case inside. "Wait mommy I need to fill up my water bottle" you rushed to the fridge and pressed it against the water dispenser. "Come on!" your mom yelled walking over to the door. "Wait I need my headphones!" you ran to your room to grab the earbuds sitting on the dresser, quickly scratching your cat's head "Bye Bobo" you breathed out before rushing out the door. "Baby it's school what do you need headphones for?" your mom grew irritated. "If I don't have these, I'll literally kill myself"

"Aye, I told you to stop saying that!" you both walked out the door, locking it. Getting in the passenger seat, you checked her appearance on her phone, fiddling with the nose piercing that sat on her nostril. Your blonde box braids were in two pig tails, edges laid flat. You wore a gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bow, you loosened the tie around your neck. "I hate this stupid ass uniform" your mom laid a smack on your thigh. "Watch your mouth!" "Ow mommy sorry!" you exclaimed rubbing your hand over your leg.

You plugged your earbuds in, listening to music until you saw the school in the distance. Your heart sped up as you took her headphones out, tucking them in her backpack. "Alright baby have a good day okay. Make me proud, I love you" your mom said giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Love you too mommy bye" you replied getting out of the car as she drove off.

You opened up your phone to Zoya's contact.

'i'm here and i'm shaking where are you??' you sent a text.

'in the principal's office'

'surprise baby i'm your tour guide :P' Zoya replied.

You felt yourself bump into another body. Looking up from your phone you saw a boy with a dazed expression on his face. The boy wore a pair of Jordan 1 bloodlines, a tiny spider-man figure on his backpack. He was about four inches taller than her and a bit lanky, his skin dark brown. His hair was a taper fade with kinky curls, his eyes were dark brown almost black shade as he stared at you.

"I'm really sorry about that" you apologized putting your hands out in front of you "Ah it's cool, no worries" he brushed off with a smile. "Um do you know where the principal's office is?" you asked looking around. "Yeah, I can show you. Are you new here?" he asked leading you down the hall to the right. "Uh-huh" "New to New York?" he asked again. "Nah my parents just thought this would be a better school". He nodded his head as they came to the front door of the main office. "It's the one on the left. I've gotta get to class though. I'm Miles by the way" he said, waiting for you to respond. "Y/n" you replied with a smile.

He walked away when you made your way to the principal. "Y/n!!" Zoya exclaimed, going to hug the girl. She had a light tan complexion, pink lips and a bright white smile. Her hair was a beautiful ginger color with her curls falling past her shoulders. Zoya was about two inches taller than you, wearing a pair of platform doc marten 8053s. Her 'Z' necklace rest on her chest along with your matching bow necklace.

"Ugh I am so glad your parents sent you here!" The man behind the desk cleared his throat, alerting the two girls of his presence. "Oh sorry, Y/n this is Mr. Hale, our principal." He reached out his hand for you to shake. "Nice to meet you, Ms. L/n". She smiled as she shook his hand "Nice to meet you too, sorry I'm late" "No matter, it's your first day, just don't let it be a frequent problem." he sat back down in his chair.

"Alright, here's your schedule, look over it while i pull up your file" he handed you a piece of paper with all of your classes for the day.

'English Language Arts 11' 8:30 AM

'Modern Us History' 9:34 AM

'Ceramics 1' 10:38 AM

'Algebra 2' 11:42 AM

'Lunch 2' 12:45 PM

'Physics' 1:19 PM

'Sociology' 2:27 PM

He gave you all the information she needed: locker number and code, teacher's names, grade expectations, your guidance counselor's name and office, etc "Alright, I'll have Miss Hart here show you around." he said as the two of you made your way to the door. "Have a good day and good luck settling into your new classes. It's only September, so I'm sure you haven't missed much." he bid goodbye.

You and Zoya got to your locker as you attempted to put the code in. "Right, left, right" Zoya instructed. The locker popped open and you sorted out your things. You saw Zoya look over her shoulder at her sister, Maya. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" she asked the girl. "Yeah, but I don't wanna be" Maya replied giggling. "Heyy, n/n! I forgot you were coming here." Maya said hugging you. "I'm giving her a tour of the school" Maya said, opening her phone to take a quick selfie with you. "Oou can I come?" Maya chirped. "Youu have a class to go to." Maya rolled her eyes and left you two to start your tour.

Zoya intertwined her arm with yours as you walked through the school. She showed you the gym, the library, the cafeteria - all huge. She showed you the student council room, the dorm halls - which wasn't necessary since you wouldn't be staying there, they made their way over to a big window in the main hallway which overlooked a courtyard where she found people sitting outside and a teacher have a class.

"This place is so fancy, shit" you exclaimed. "Ahhh it's aight" Zoya joked. Anyways, let's get you to class." It was 8:45 now and Zoya knocked on the door of your first period. "Meet me at lunch, good luck" Zoya kissed your cheek and walked away. "Well class, we have a new student joining us, Miss Y/n L/n"

Your day went pretty normal, people were nice enough to you and you talked to a few people, making their acquaintance. The bell rung which meant it was time for you to go to lunch and finally see your friend again. You sent her a text asking her where she was sitting when you bumped into someone again. "Woah, gotta stop meeting like this" the boy said letting out a light laugh. "Yeah, my bad" you let out an awkward laugh. "You have lunch now too?" he asked you "Yeah, actually I'm waiting for my friend-" you was interrupted by a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, I'm starving let's go in the line" Zoya said. "Oh you know Zoya?" Miles said, dapping her up. "Yup, since third grade." "Cool well see you around, preferably not bumping into you" he joked and walked away with his friend. "How do you know Miles?" you asked her as you walked over to the lunch line. "Classes, plus he knows Peter." she replied, getting a cheeseburger and fries. "Why, do you think he's cute?" she teased . "Oh he's realll cute" you giggled.

You made your way over to a table where Peter, Maya, and a girl you didn't recognize were already sitting. "Yoo, n/n how you liking the school" Peter said, as he dap you up. "It's alright, fancy as fuck though" Zoya sat down next to Peter, giving him a kiss on the cheek, while you found a seat next to Maya. "Hey, I'm Kiona" the girl you didn't recognize spoke up. "Y/n, you're so pretty by the way" you smiled at the girl. "Aww thank you, you too"

Lunch ended as you and Peter parted ways with everyone. "Physics is brutal but Mr Johnson is chill as fuck" he informed you walking into the class. Peter took his seat as Mr Johnson spoke up "Ah, Miss L/n, nice to meet you. You can take a seat back there next to Morales" he pointed to the back of the room where Miles was sitting, already looking at you. You smiled at the boy and made your way to the back. "Hey" he whispered to you . "Hi" you replied. "Didn't know we'd have this class together. Shoulda told me" "You didn't ask" you joked, opening a notebook.

The bell rung and you got your stuff together "Hey what's your next class?" Miles asked, stacking his notebooks. "Sociology" you answered, putting papers in a folder. "Ah I don't have that" he said, disappointed. "Walk you to class?" he offered. You looked around and saw that Peter already left, so might as well. "Yeah, sure".

"This isn't going to make you late is it?" you asked him. "Nah it's in the same-". All of a sudden Miles tensed up and there was a loud booming noise coming from outside. Everyone in the hall, including you and Miles ran to nearby windows to see what was going on and here was a fire emerging from a bank down the road. You looked to your side to see that Miles wasn't there anymore. Out of nowhere, spider-man swung over to the bank stopping the guys who were trying to rob it. Everyone cheered when he brought the guys out, tied up in his webs

When school ended, Zoya and Maya came up to your locker as you were packing up to go home. "Hey n/n, you going home?" Maya asked, biting into an apple. "Yeah, it would be cool if i stayed in the dorms. Buttt that's mad money spending so nah". You gave the girls a hug and made your way out the building. "Oh Y/n, you're not staying in the dorms?" Miles asked, coming from the nurse's office with a few bandaids on his face and bandage on his arm. "No, what happened to you?" you asked pointing at his face. "Tripped down the stairs on the way to seventh period". You stifled a giggle and nodded your head. "Uh you want me to walk you home?" he offered.

You furrowed her eyebrows in confusion "You don't really have to do that.." "O-oh uh I was just offering, I'm not super busy right now and didn't want you to be alone-" You put her hand out and giggled "Okay yeah you can walk me home" He smiled and skipped down the steps to join you. "Don’t you get in trouble for leaving the dorms without permission?" you asked looking up at him. "Ah sometimes but I get my way out of it"

"So what happened earlier? You disappeared when the  fire happened." you asked him, finally. "Oh I had....gotten..scared" he said, looking up. "Oh..okay. That's normal I guess" "Well this is my stop" you said, walking up to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow" he said waving goodbye "See you" you said with a smile, unlocking the door.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

My Queen Chapter 5

Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Warnings: smut, slight domestic violence, minor character death

Previous chapter Next chapter

Steve came home late from another date one night to find his mother waiting for him.  “Goodnight, Ma,” he yawned, walking past her briskly trying to avoid a conversation.

“Steve, wait,” Sarah called after him, her slippers squeaking against the floor.  “You need to tell me how it’s going!  That was your eighth outing with her—“

“Eighth?  Are you keeping tabs on me now?” Steve accused, his eyes piercing as he looked at her.

“Of course I am, you’re dating the QUEEN, it’s my job to know what’s going on.  Have you talked about marriage yet?  What about combining your homes and families?  Children?  Have you had sex with her yet?”

“Ma!” Steve yelled incredulously.  

“You need to seal the deal, Steve!  Secure our future!” She wailed, clutching at his shirt.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Steve bellowed, shoving her hands away.  “My relationships are none of your business, no matter who they’re with!”  He stepped back, holding his hands up when she tried to speak again.  “Ma, you need to find a new place to live.”

Sarah scoffed.  “Excuse me?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Steve said, rubbing his eyes and his face roughly.  “Go shack up with Lord Pierce for all I care.  As awful as he is, he seems to be your flavor of the week.”

Sarah gasped and tried to slap him, but he caught her wrist roughly.  His eyes were murderous as she stared up at him in fear.  “Get out of my house,” he growled before shoving her hand away and walking to his room.

The next morning he woke to the sound of his phone buzzing repeatedly.  He grabbed it and saw multiple missed calls from Y/N.  He quickly answered.

“Hello?” He grumbled and cleared his throat.

“Steve,” Y/N whispered harshly.  “Why is your mother here claiming you hurt her last night?”

Steve jolted up in bed.  “What?!”

Y/N sighed.  “She is here, crying and wailing about how her son twisted her wrist last night and kicked her out of her own house.”

Steve groaned at the audacity of the woman he called mother.  “Oh my fucking god,” he spat.  

“You need to get over here now,” Y/N said quickly.  “The Prime Minister wants to try to use this as a way to get rid of you.”

“What?  Why?”

“The Parliamentary takeover,” Y/N said angrily.  “He’s suggesting that I don’t know how to find a good match to be my prince consort, and if my judgment is bad here, then it will be bad for the government.”

“Shit,” Steve grunted.  “I’ll be there soon.”

Y/N didn’t answer, the phone going silent.  He quickly dressed to make himself presentable for the palace then drove like a bat out of hell to get to her.  When he arrived he was quickly ushered into what looked like a study.  Y/N sat at the desk with Sam standing next to her.  She stood when he walked in.  He bowed to her and then gave a slight head bow to the Prime Minister, a stern man named Thaddeus Ross, who sat on a chair next to the desk.  His mother was sitting across from Y/N at another chair, looking at him fearfully when he walked in.  

“Your Majesty, Prime Minister, Mr. Wilson,” he greeted them then looked at his mother.  “Mother.”

Sarah shivered dramatically.  “Stay away from me.”

Steve sighed quietly, trying to keep his wits about him.  He couldn’t lose his cool, not here, as much as she brought his anger out of him.  Y/N gestured for him to sit at a seat closer to her.  “Now, let’s figure this out,” Y/N said gently.  “Mrs. Rogers, how about you start from the beginning.”

Sarah gasped, sucking in her bottom lip as she looked at Y/N pitifully.  “Oh, Your Majesty, it was awful.  He came home and I was asking him about his night with you, and he yelled at me,” she said sniffling.  “Then he insulted me and my character and twisted my wrist.  He bruised me!”  She lifted her wrist, a deep purple bruise showing, shaking it at Y/N and Ross.  Y/N narrowed her eyes at Sarah’s wrist then turned to Sam and whispered something to him.  He nodded and quickly left the room.  “Then, he screamed at me to get out of my own house.  The gall!  I raised him,” she cried again, hiding her face in her arm as she sobbed nonexistent tears.

“I see,” Y/N said, trying to sound sorry.  “Your Grace?” She turned to Steve.

Steve nodded.  “I came home last night and my mother started asking me inappropriate and personal questions about my time and relationship with Your Majesty,” Steve rattled off the events of the previous night like it was a mission report.  He kept his eyes focused on the desk.  “I will admit I lost my temper, I did yell at her when she asked me something highly sensitive, and when I told her to stop and that it was none of her business I did tell her to find somewhere else to live.  My relationship with my mother has never been…a good one,” Steve glanced at Y/N for a moment.  Y/N nodded, her eyes looking sad for him.  “We fight often, and I did insult her by telling her to go, I believe I said, ‘shack up with her flavor of the week,’” he tightened his lips to stop himself from smiling bitterly.  “That’s when she tried to slap me, and I stopped her by grabbing her wrist.”

Y/N watched him for a moment before nodding and looking at her desk.  Just then the door opened and Sam walked in with another man.  “Ah, thank you Sam,” Y/N stood, shaking the newcomer’s hand.  “Dr. Banner, thank you for coming.  I’d like you to check on Mrs. Rogers’ wrist,” she said, gesturing to Sarah.  Sarah’s eyes bulged as Dr. Banner turned to her.  

“Of course, could I just see..?” He reached for her wrist.

“No!” Sarah slapped his hand away.  

“Mrs. Rogers we must make sure that you are not more seriously injured than it looks,” Y/N insisted, leaning against her desk, her head tilting while looking at Sarah.  

Sarah lifted her chin defiantly.  “Please Mrs. Rogers, this is serious,” Ross interjected, his eyes flicking back to Steve repeatedly.  

Sarah hesitantly lifted her hand up to Dr. Banner who gently grasped her fingers and inspected her wrist, turning it slightly.  Sarah winced unconvincingly as his thumb rubbed against the bruise.  He pulled his thumb back and a smudge of purple was on his fingertip.  “Is this…makeup?”

Sarah ripped her hand away from him.  Y/N took a long breath then sighed and rubbed her temples with her fingers.  “Mrs. Rogers, may I ask why you chose to lie to the Crown and waste my time?”  Sarah’s jaw kept moving but no noise came out.  “Right, well, Sarah Rogers, you are hereby stripped of your title.”  

“Your Majesty!”

“You are to collect your things and leave Brooklyn House.”

“You can’t do this it’s my house—“

“You LOST the house the moment your pathetic husband died!”  Y/N exploded, standing to her full height and towering over Sarah who shriveled against the chair she was in.  “Your son is the Duke and inherited that house.  And if it wasn’t for him, you would have lost everything.  And now by your own idiotic actions, you have lost everything.”  Y/N glared at her.  “You will leave this kingdom, and never return.  Do I make myself abundantly clear?”  Sarah nodded as tears streamed down her face.  “Sam?”  Sam moved quickly, gathering up Sarah and bustling her and Dr. Banner out of the room.  “Thaddeus,” Y/N turned to the Prime Minister.  He looked terrified after watching her actually yell at someone.  “If I hear any talk, any whisper, any shadow of a doubt in my abilities, my judgment, my decisions, or of a Parliamentary mutiny again, I will show you and the rest of your decrepit cronies the full potential of my wrath and power in this government.  Do I make myself abundantly clear?”  He nodded.  “Good day.”  Ross stood, bowed, and left the room quickly.

“Steve,” Y/N turned to him, his name sounding more like a sigh.  She looked like she was physically deflating.  “I’m sorry.”

Steve stood and walked over to her, his hands reaching up and cupping her face.  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said, his thumbs caressing the skin along her cheekbones.

“I do,” Y/N kept her eyes closed and nuzzled her cheek into his palm.  “For sending your mother away.  For Ross being an ass.  For having to subject you to some bullshit investigation that I knew was false from the start—“

“And that’s why I love you,” Steve said, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.  “Because you knew I wouldn’t do that.  Because you believed me and stood up for me from the beginning.  And you threatened the second most powerful person in the kingdom just to keep me around.  Not gonna lie, that was pretty hot,” he chuckled as he kissed her forehead.  

“Oh really?” Y/N giggled.  “You like it when I’m being mean?”

“I wouldn’t say mean, but authoritative, no-nonsense, self-assured, confident, badass,” he scrunched his nose and nuzzled it against her nose.  “Okay, maybe a little mean.”

“Masochist,” Y/N teased him, smiling wider as her hands wrapped around his waist as he continued holding her face.  “Did you just say you love me?”

Steve stiffened, realizing what he’d said before.  “I…yes, I did.”

“Did you mean it?” Y/N asked, her tone becoming softer.

“Yes,” Steve breathed.  “And I know it’s too early for me to say that, and I don’t expect you to feel the same–”

“But I do,” she interrupted him, tightening her hold around him.  “I love you, Steve.”

He closed his eyes as he rested his head against her forehead again, exhaling the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  When he opened his eyes he saw her looking up at him with the fire in her eyes that he loved, a deep want that was screaming at him to do something.  “Y/N,” he whispered, his eyes moving from her eyes to her lips.  

Y/N gave him a slight nod, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.  She responded quickly, her lips pushing back against his firmly as her fingers gripped his shirt at his back.  Their breaths became heavier as they kissed, Steve’s hands roaming from her face down to her neck then her mid back, pressing her body against his.  He suddenly lifted her up and onto the desk, making her legs open for him to stand between them.  Y/N hands moved to his front, her fingers skimming from his stomach up to his chest.  Steve nipped at her bottom lip, making her open her mouth and giving him the opportunity to lick along her lip and taste her.  She whimpered as she tasted him back, sucking at his lower lip.

A knock came at the door, making them both stop and Steve stepped away from her.  Y/N closed her legs and patted down her hair.  “Yes?”

The door opened to reveal Sam.  “I apologize Your Majesty—“ he stopped, looking at them both fidgeting with their appearances and Y/N sat on top of the desk.  “Um, did I interrupt something?”

“What is it Sam?”  Y/N ignored his question, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Your lunch appointment is here,” Sam said.  

“Right.  I’ll be there shortly,” she nodded.  When he closed the door again Steve let out a little chuckle.  

“Duty calls,” he said before stepping toward her again.  He leaned down and kissed her nose.  “Go.  And I’ll text you about when I can see you again.”

Y/N hummed and gave him a smirk.  “You owe me more kisses, Your Grace.”

Steve smirked back at her. “As Your Majesty commands.”  

@jenniferpendragon

[coffeecat1983]

Mario Bros: Date Night pt 1

(caution, some of this story will have strong homophobia, mention of being drugged, drunken behavior)

Set about a year after the movie:

     "I donno Lu, maybe this is a bad idea."    Luigi raised an eyebrow at his older brother as he helped adjust his bow-tie.      "Hey, you already invited Peach, you can't back out now. I mean, c'mon, she's across the hall getting ready to go."    Mario groaned, tapping his foot. The dance shoe shone with the fresh polish Luigi had given it earlier. He and his twin were in their old bedroom at the Brooklyn apartment, now converted to a guest bedroom.      "But a family date night?" he groaned again.     "We've done it before with other dates, and Peach knows about the details." Luigi said, turning his attention to adjusting his own tie. "She could have refused, ya know. So quit bein' so nervous."    Mario sat on the edge of one of the beds, letting out a laugh. "Heh, usually I'm sayin' that to you."      "That's why it's good advice." Luigi said with a smile.

   Across the hall at Arthur and Marie's, in their room... Peach lifted the top off the dress box and gasped softly.      "I hope the fit is right." Marie said with a smile. She placed another box beside it. "There's this to go with it."    Carefully setting the first box aside Peach opened the other, her eyes wide at what it held.      "How can I thank you for this? They're beautiful."      "It's our way of welcoming you to the family." Marie replied. "We've been going to this club together for a long time, and when Mario said you liked reading about the 1920s' and 30s', we all agreed you should come with."    She opened the closet. "Now that doesn't mean we'll be in your hair all night, you two will get plenty of time alone, too." she said as she began looking through her own outfits. "I remember the first time Art took me on a date there. We had a wonderful time that night."      "Does everyone wear special outfits?" Peach asked. Marie hummed as she thought it over.      "Most do, especially on weekends but you'll see a few people in regular clothes. too."    There was a knock at the bedroom door and Arthur called out. "Ladies, it's almost showtime!"      "Give us a sec!" Marie called back.

   It was an interesting group that gathered outside the apartment building that night. Mario and Luigi were dressed in fine pressed white dress shirts with dark brown pants and black dress shoes. Dark brown suspenders and bow-ties of their signature colors completed the looks. Giovanni was waiting near the cars, dressed in a sleek black tux and pressed white shirt. Arthur was wearing an outfit similar to the bros only his had a silk, yellow pinstripe vest and black bow-tie, with a newsboy cap on his head. Tony was in black pants and dress shoes, his vest as black as his curled hair with thin tan stripes. A black fedora completed the look.    The men turned as the main door opened and the ladies of the group came out. Marianna was first, in a simple powder blue 1930s' dress with her hair wrapped in a white wrap. Darting up the steps, Giovanni took his wife's hand and walked down with her while Luigi slipped past to hold the door open.      "You ready for this, kid?" Arthur asked, nudging Mario.      "Y-Yeah, I think so." Mario blushed. "I- woah." Peach came out next. She was wearing a baby pink flapper dress with white fringe. Crystal beads were on the fringe, glittering in the light. A matching pink cloche hat with small white feathers finished the outfit with white dance shoes.      "Y-You look amazing." Mario breathed. Peach blushed and in the background Arthur and Tony were snickering, stopping with a sharp look from Giovanni.      "Thanks," she replied, more shy than he had ever seen her. "You look really handsome."    Marie was last out, dressed similar to Peach but in a lavender dress with silver trim and a silver headband. Offering his arm, Luigi led his aunt down the stairs.      "Everyone ready?" Giovanni asked. With agreement all around, the group separated into the two waiting cars and took off.

   The trip came to an end as they pulled in to the parking lot of a brick building. The orange neon sign read 'The Blind Tiger'. As the group gathered before going in, Arthur held an arm out to Marie before kissing her cheek.      "Can't wait to hit the dance floor with you, babe." he purred, making her laugh.      "Have fun! Gio and I are going to get a table." Marianna said as she and Giovanni went in.    Following, Peach gasped softly, gripping Mario's arm a little tighter as she looked around. The club had red carpeting spread out in the entrance, leading to a large polished wood dance floor. Tables draped in white cloth were set up along the edges, with a few enclosed booths for privacy. A long mahogany bar was along one wall, the dark wood 's lacquer shining beneath the lights.    While Arthur, Marie, Mario, and Peach went for the dance floor, Tony made a stop and spoke to the DJ before joining Luigi at the bar and the two ordered their drinks. Tony raised his glass to Luigi.      "Cin cin."    Luigi grinned and returned the cheer, tapping his glass to his uncle's. Both then turned to watch the dancers.      "So, what didja have to say to convince your bro to ask Peach out?"    A quick laugh. "Nothin' big, just threatened to show Peach more of his baby pictures if he didn't ask her." Tony snickered into his drink. "Kiddo, you are somethin' else."    He glanced up as a song began. "That's my tune." Tony slugged back the rest of the drink and strolled over to the table and held his hand out. Marianna laughed and accepted, joining him on the dance floor. The two moved sleekly and Peach was surprised at how Marianna was able to keep up, her feet gliding over the wood as though she were floating in the air. Both twirled and danced a bit until he danced her back towards the table. As the song continued, he went back out and Arthur stepped aside to give Marie a chance with his twin.      "Ladykiller." Arthur smirked.      "Jealous?" Tony grinned, sashaying a bit to show off his hips with a wink. He and Marie finished out the song with a sleek dance before she returned to Arthur's side.    As the song came to an end, the DJ came on.      "Ladies and gentlemen we have a special request tonight. Please clear the dance floor for our very own 'Boys from Brooklyn'!"    Tony and Arthur looked at each other before turning towards Giovanni. Their older brother gave a nod and a rarely seen sly smile as he walked past.      "Gotta show people what you two can do." he commented, returning to his seat. Mario and Peach glided off the floor and over to their table. The twins took their places on the dance floor, Marie hand-in-hand with Arthur as a song came on. Mario leaned over to Peach.      "They don't do this very often but it's so good."        What played out was like a scene from a movie. The lights focused on Arthur and a blue light, low and rich, covered Tony as he stood to the side. The light brightened to a yellow as Marie walked past, Tony giving her a glance as she went to Arthur's side. The couple began to dance, keeping pace with the piano and guitar of the song.    Gliding neatly around them, Tony kept his head down as he moved to the smooth saxophone that came into play. The beat picked up and he took Marie's hand, dancing her away from Arthur as the lights shifted to focus on them. Pulling off Tony's Fedora, Marie slipped it on her head.    The beat smoothed out then grew again as Arthur twirled on his toes, catching Marie's arm in a gentle hold. Taking the hat he play shoved it back at Tony before the couple fell into perfect step, the lights bright and following them as Tony was once again bathed in blue light. As Arthur and Marie finished their moves, Tony slipped the hat back on and with one last twirl, bowed his head as the light over him dimmed even further, leaving him alone as the couple struck a pose.

   Applause from the other patrons surrounded the trio, prompting them to take a bow. As they returned to the tables, Peach grew curious.      "How did you guys do that? It was incredible!"      "Heh, the twins have been doin' that routine for years." someone replied. A man that was about Giovanni's age had come up. His light brown hair held streaks of white, and he was dressed in basic black slacks and a white button-up top. He clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder.      "Gotta admit, you boys, and lady, still got it."      "We've been doin' that dance since we were teens," Tony explained to Peach. "Art and I came up with a version of it for a school talent show, and then Marie joined us."    Marie sighed as she took a seat. "My mama insisted I take dance lessons as a kid. Imagine my surprise when Art showed me he knew how to dance, too!"    Giovanni folded his arms as he thought back to the twins teen years. "Had to keep you two out of trouble somehow, and a few dance lessons during summer vacations helped."    Tony snort-laughed. "And Art's got me beat on the dance floor. He went and took tango lessons without me!"      "Eh, had to impress my gal at our wedding." Arthur purred, running a hand down Marie's thigh and kissing her neck. She squeaked and grabbing him by the collar, pulled him close.      "It worked, too." she said, kissing him.

To be continued....

(The song that Art, Tony, and Marie dance to is "Milla's Dream" by Parov Stelar)

Part two here

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 29

Draws and Defeats (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

We are officially at the halfway point of this book! Thank you to everyone who has read and commented; you guys are the best!

September 11, 1777

United States’ capital was in danger. The British had moved on from New Jersey and had traveled up the Chesapeake Bay, landed in Maryland before moving through Delaware to get to Pennsylvania. They needed to force them back now before they took the capital.

General Washington had only just restored faith in their ability to win this fight, and they didn’t need all that progress undone by losing the capital.

So when the battle began at Brandywine Creek, United States fought with everything he had, grateful that his father was not in attendance. James and a few of his states had found it weird, but United States hoped that it meant that his father was up in New York, assuming that United States would follow the fighting.

That, along with the fact that they had blocked all the fords of Brandywine Creek, made United States confident that they would win this battle and secure his capital.

“I hope so. If we can’t get your government out in time,” James muttered, prompting United States to scowl. As much as he appreciated them, their talking distracted him, and distracted was not what United States wanted to be.

His heart was in danger. He didn’t want to lose it.

However, the hope of a victory was crushed when United States was informed that another British force had arrived on their right flank. Somehow, the British had got past the Brandywine Creek, and now their forces were in trouble.

“It’s like the Battle of Brooklyn all over again,” New York commented, his voice haunted.

“Should I move to join the forces that are shoring up the right flank?” United States as General Washington as he issued commands meant to deal with the budding crisis. 

General Washington shook his head. “No, I want you to stay here with me to help rally troops,” 

United States nodded, trying to push aside the ever-building anxiety in his gut. It would be fine. This wouldn’t turn out like Brooklyn.

So United States did his best to take his mind off of the concerns he had regarding the British on their right flank and tried to return his attention to the fight.

But his worries plagued him. What if his father was with the new force that appeared? What if he really was coming for United States? What if they lost? What if the capture of Philadelphia ended the war?

What if, what if, what if.

“States, let me—” James began before United States cut him off, murmured whispers escaping his lips.

“Not unless we know he is here. This is for my capital.” United States felt James back away, but still nearby, ready and present in case his father really was here. Then, United States began to throw his whole being into his attacks, each one becoming more desperate before General Washington eventually called for a retreat.

United States began to fall back, shame building in his gut. He was going to lose his capital. It was going to be his fault. And if this really ended up being the end of things, United States feared the consequences of his father’s anger.

“General Greene, you and your forces will act as a rearguard to cover the army and prevent us from losing more than we already are,” General Washington ordered. United States cleared his throat.

“Can I help the rearguard, sir?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. We’re already close to losing the capital, and I am not going to lose you, either,” General Washington ordered. “You’re staying by my side until we are sure we are safe.”

United States bowed his head, feeling much like a scolded child. The shame was only building, and a part of him wanted to cry. With every battle lost at his hands, United States felt more like a failure. His people deserved a country that could protect them, and United States didn’t feel like that country.

“He’s looking out for you. If we’re losing the capital, having the country captured or injured would deal heavy damage to the morale of the people. He’s doing what’s best. It’s not your fault,” James said.

“I don’t blame you either. It’s okay, Vater,” Pennsylvania responded. Despite the continued whispered assurances of his states, the guilt and shame didn’t go away.

He failed. Nothing would change that.

• ───────────────── •

September 19, 1777

Vermont wasn’t sure if the American army trusted him. He had joined up officially after the Battle of Bennington, arguing that a British army invading New York threatened his national security and that he needed to fight to protect his country and establish diplomatic relations with the United States.

If the Battle of Bennington had taught him anything, it was that the British did not recognize his sovereignty as a country and would continue to impede on it as long as they were in the area. Sharing a border with them and in an active dispute with New York, he needed to do something big in order to ensure that he would have American backing in his future endeavors. 

So, he would fight for the Americans. He knew his bravery would have to impress the United States, and then they would be countries together and live in peace. Vermont had dreamed about it before, being with his father. One of the men in this camp, General Benedict Arnold, had spoken to his father, and Vermont will admit that he spent far too long interrogating General Arnold about what his father was like.

His father seemed kind and thoughtful. Vermont wished he was here so he could get to know him.

“Vermont!” 

Vermont’s head shot up as he heard General Arnold’s voice, the man walking over to him with quick strides.

“Yes? What is it?” Vermont asked. 

“General Gates has given myself and Colonel Morgan permission to engage the British troops that are nearing our camp. Would you like to come with us?” General Arnold asked. Vermont nodded, leaping up and grabbing his gun.

“Of course,” Vermont responded, following General Arnold over to his troops. Despite the fact that Vermont was young and not at all high ranking, he was close to General Arnold as he led the troops toward the British. Vermont didn’t know if General Arnold was doing this to try and get close to his father through Vermont, but it was a bit uncomfortable at times.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out from the front of the line as Vermont watched Colonel Morgan’s men begin to engage the British, pushing them back. A battle quickly began in the small field that they found themselves in.

As it ranged on, Vermont and the Americans began to be pushed back by the newly arrived British reinforcements, pushing them to the southern end of the field. Vermont tried not to let that phase him. They still seemed to have the advantage, and when American reinforcements arrived, Vermont felt even more confident.

The British fire seemed ineffective, but Vermont could see how devastating their fire was towards the British, and even though the British had artillery, due to their position at the end of the field and in the tree line, the artillery mowed down trees and not people.

The British tried a bayonet charge, and while he briefly pushed back Vermont and the other Americans, they were able to reform their lines.

The battle raged on, and neither side was able to force the other back for long. Vermont was dimly aware of General Arnold leaving at one point during the battle but didn’t pay much attention to it. More and more British troops had arrived, and Vermont’s focus was on them.

However, when night fell, Vermont and the others were ordered to fall back to their positions on Bemis Heights.

Looking back over the battlefield he was leaving behind, Vermont was sure that the battles were far from over.

[caltropspress]

DISPATCHES FROM 2ND ST. STUDIOS: Fatboi Sharif & DRIVEBY in session

I went to DRIVEBY’s apartment in Jersey City because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of documenting musical exxxprrrimentation, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I knew witnessing Fatboi Sharif in the studio would be morbidly rewarding—I felt it in my critik’s skull-and-crossbones (memento mori, pirate flag, poison pictogram). It was New Year’s Day in the year of our Lord Have Mercy 2024, and I had to pull myself away from a tree documentary that had, sadly, begun to disappoint. I had opened a stocking-stuffed box of Goobers and was reluctant when Sharif sent the invitational text. I had settled in for the night. But it was my idea to watch the man work his black magikal esoterika hammer-don’t-hurt-them-witches recording session, so I’d be a real punk to rebuff the offer. I got into the Toyota and headed down Route 3 toward Jersey City. I was on the 1&9 in no time—the truest highway to hell, if one ever existed. Ate de Jong could never scout such a location. AC/DC roadside appliance wasteland. Potholes pave the way, but in a De Nah Soul manner. I finished eating the Goobers in the car, by the palmful, and lost one to an erratic lane merge. I motherfucked and shitted at the thought of a chocolate stain on my upholstered driver’s seat, or worse, the seat of my pants. My dad delivered Blimpie’s for thirty-plus years in Jersey City, long before it became Brooklyn-of-the-West, so I know parking spots there are at a never-dream-of-’em premium. I parked several blocks away from DRIVEBY’s studio and cloven-hoofed it while huffing brick air. Texted from outside, but Sharif was already ushering me through a wrought-iron gate (suitable for guttings and impalements) and into the basement apartment: DRIVEBY’s 2nd St. Studios. That gate was like an entrance into a secret garden—overblown and overflowin’ with a riot of root rot, weeds, and (of course) crumbling-but-still-grumbling gargoyles, most with the medieval motif of mooning jutting out from the church buttresses. DRIVEBY’s had a William Shatner’s TekWorld comic next to his speaker. Dusty keyboards lined the floor. Sega Genesis cartridges, a Sharp boombox, and the requisite vinyl collection on bowing crates completed the scene. The space stored antiquated and dead media—ghost machines humming and haunting.

⤧

Sharif told me he’d be recording some tracks for his upcoming album with Blockhead, something for Bigg Jus, and several features. When I arrived, he was in the middle of recording one of the Blockhead tracks. The mic and the iso shield were directly inside the door of the apartment, and I sat on the couch to the left of that. Sharif would be spitting at me, beyond me, as he did his thing—an intimate setting, to say the very least. Beans of Antipop Consortium sat on this same cushion months earlier, I thought. They recorded “Sex With the Leopard Print Lady” here. While I pondered the legacy of stylist berzerkers of past and present, Key & Peele played on the television in front of me. I wanted to make myself scarce, invisible as possible, Brundlefly-on-the-wall, non-participatory, so I watched the “Laron Can’t Laugh” sketch on mute and registered how Laron’s noiseless convulsions and eventual shriek expertly pantomimed Sharif’s vocals. These layers of silence allowed me to hear some of what Sharif was spewing forth and commit it to memory. He spoke of avenging the death of Candyman. The words loom like Tony Todd—tall as a ponderosa pine in a Cabrini-Green courtyard. Caroline crossed eyelids…90 degree pressure… Closing in on 400 degreez, but we’re talking below zero. The winter of our disconnected selves. Sharif tells DRIVEBY he wants his voice to sound “fucked up.” He’s snorting, super sinusy. He wants to cultivate a specific sound—it coats the inner concavities of his skull. He just needs to externalize it into a self-portrait in a convex DAW interface. “The soul establishes itself,” John Ashbery writes. Sharif is shoeless, I should add. He’s black socked as he cuts the song’s first of three adlib tracks. The first is completely muddled, barely audible—a grumbly grumble grumb. The second is a helium-huffed high pitch mania. The third, a yell—“the banshee,” as DRIVEBY calls it. Sharif slackens the headphone wires and walks across the room. He does “the banshee” from as great a distance as possible. You’ve no doubt heard the banshee adlib track before (B.A.T. for short, as in, the hematophagic vampire bat). If you’ve heard a Fatboi Sharif recording, you’ve likely heard a hotly desperate and deranged voice coming from the depths of a hellmouth—sinners swallowed and still writhing, quasi-alive, anticipating rigor mortis. DRIVEBY captures the natural reverb. Sharif asks him to put distortion and echo on the last word of the verse. 

⤧

Fatboi Sharif was reading lyrics off his phone, but by then he was Loosifa loose—engaging me, inviting me to dialogue, reveling in the job.  His feet are light and nimble, like McCarthy’s Judge. He says that he will never die. And, you bet, he dances in light and in shadow. He’s a craftsman and possesses an engineer’s ear, an ant-infested and severed one he probably plucked from a manicured lawn in Scotch Plains, NJ, Jeffrey Beaumont style. For the second verse of the song, he makes an alteration and decides to end the verse earlier than he had written it, stopping at the phrase “role model” because he likes the “swing of it.” Okay, Nuke Hellington. I see you, Benny Badman. A natural performer, the recording session reflects both technical know-how and impassioned delivery. He doesn’t quite lose himself as he does on the stage (or the audience floor where he so often ends up), but he’s unequivocally locked in, as he kids say. Locked in a room with padded walls, more apropos. On the next, he requires a seemingly endless run of retakes. I begin to wonder if my presence is a burden, a distraction. But the session keeps its devil-may-care air intact. Still, Sharif has a sonic vision he yearns to achieve. He won’t settle for less. He eventually gets the take he desires and tells DRIVEBY he’s gonna do three adlibs. These two men work in harmony to develop their songs of disharmony. They’ve been boys, and so that keeps the chemistry alchemical for the duration. Open and honest, DRIVEBY tells Sharif that three tracks of adlibs is “too many.” FUCK THAT! Sharif shouts at him. Sharif wants the adlibs to sound beneath everything—six-feet deep, or “buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways” (unexpressed emotions, that is), as Freud or a Freud-fraud once wrote. Sharif wants echoes. He wants to sound like he’s a signal coming in and out of the radio as you drive through the night. These are the requests he makes, delicately selected from his mental doom board as DRIVEBY adjusts the mix, adds effects. “Do you do a lot of vocal mixing on the spot?” I ask. Sharif shakes his head, points to DRIVEBY slumped over his computer monitor, clicking and dragging, random access memory maybe lagging: “He’s on his Bob Power shit.” Listening to the playback, Sharif tells me he wants to be like Joker in the children’s hospital scene. What kinda clown carries a fuckin’ gun?! I’m waiting for the next Sharif release, crossing my fingers into an arthritic mass of flesh and bone in hopes of his cover of “If You’re Happy and You Know It” appearing on the tracklist. 

⤧

DRIVEBY puts Joker on the TV. It’s the bus scene; he can’t stop laughing. He hands a fellow passenger his card: Forgive my Laughter: I have a Condition. Sharif still sleeps to beats. He’s told this story numerous times to various media outlets, and so it’s beginning to take on the tone of lore. But it’s not. Even wilder, he’s not listening on headphones as he sleeps; he blasts the beats on speakers. Sharif prefers to record late, well into the wee hours of morning. DRIVEBY’s couch often becomes Sharif’s bed. “He’ll have the same beat on for five hours,” DRIVEBY explains. He’ll be in his bedroom, unable to sleep. Sharif grins and tells me, “That’s when I’m in the mindfuck.” Sharif reapproaches the mic. Another Blockhead track. “He told me he made this one especially for me,” Sharif says. The beat sounds like a Gregorian chant in a cavern. Beware of the Shroom Monster. Sharif has managed to amass an intimidating number of releases over the past several years while not indulging us to excess. He’s conservative with his run-times. Clocks ain’t shit to him. Many of his projects are EP-length, but categorizing them in any terms would seem to discredit his ingenuity. As the session unofficially ends and we settle into more casual conversation, Sharif implores DRIVEBY to play selections from their unreleased album, currently on ice like a corpse. I listen and hear of an exorcism of Antoinette, of Elvira and death resurrections, of Basquiat painting in Transylvania, crossroads, and plosive sonic samples from The Pagemaster—a film I have absolutely no recollection of but DRIVEBY speaks almost as highly of as his Fantastic Damage instrumental CD-R. OneShotOnce shows up, presumably for a session, but not before he and Sharif pillage DRIVEBY’s fridge. They feast on cold chicken while I gather myself to leave. 

Images: Astronomical table detail from the Almanach Purpetuum of Abraham Zacuto (c. 1500)

[spinningerster]

notes from last night (29/7 evening show)

fun random little things I wanna mention

• did matinee stage door and met so many cast members, they were all so lovely!

• mukeni was just casually walking around the foyer talking on the phone

• we got a bereal with him after the show

• also no joke I was sat next to mukeni's mum - she was lovely! we chatted a little before and after the show

• at stage door after the show archie went past on his scooter and everyone cheered

onto the show notes!!

• matthew gave me a cast pape 🥺

• was right up in the immersion (manhattan row P) and didn't know where to look at some points. like during WWK morgan was basically right in my face. damon was in front of me like twice. (fr would've worn my finch shirt instead if I would have known.) him, lucy & lillie were in front of me in once and for all and I didn't know where to look so just focused on michael on the stage 😂

• ryan went past me after kony but I didn't realise it was him until after nesim & bronte went past lol

• michael & matthew ran past me at one point (during carrying the banner iirc)

• three of them ran past me during seize the day (just before crutchie got arrested) but honestly I have no idea who it was 😂

• there was a bit (think it was just before jack, davey & les ran away from snyder) where matthew was just. laying on the floor?? like where the little banister is for the bronx

• morgan albert. LOVED him. he was brilliant. he killed it

• "that is not nice...morris."

• "and who wants brooklyn?" mark proceeded to spend 5 minutes putting a blindfold on. like the scene had moved on from that bit and he was still tying it

• "who's the big spender that ordered the seltzer?" morgan: starts drumming the table "OVA HERE"

• "two cents? for a glass o' seltzer??"

• bobbie was on vocal rest so no splint rip

• she was absolutely hilarious though. "have you seen this boss? these kids put out a pretty good...nope nevermind goodbye!"

• "and such language, which they should not be using -"

• "he doesn't do happiness, does he?" hannah chuckled which made the audience laugh

• hannah started a sing song when they were leaving pulitzers office

• HECAYNTTAWKHELLCALLYABAYCK

• during the fight scene someone jumped onto and then over the cart (think it was spencer but not sure)

• les: "buy a pape from a poor orphan boy." davey: "hey he ain't an orphan??"

• OH MY GOD RYAN. forgot how much I absolutely love his davey

• "your girl?" "YOU HEARD ME!"

• like act 2 davey was SO SASSY. "oooh, so what does that make you?"

• oh yes. above. flip. the. flip. fold. flip.

• him and jack were like a comedy duo in act 2

• "I'm told we once shared a carriage ride." "TOLD YA"

• damon finch my beloved <3 so happy I got to see him he was amazing

• josh blew some of his smoke into nun bobbie's face

• OH THE CUTEST MOMENT. at the end when jack is like 'we won!' specs immediately hugged ritz and then hugged a few other people it was adorable

• when jack told them to vote 'no' mack literally had to hold spot back it was so funny

• mike was the last person to leave after jack betrayed them at the rally and he gave jack such a dirty look

• matt threw the paper for bronte to catch in kony but she missed and it fell to the ground

• michael jack. my absolute beloved. he was so comedic like the way he said certain lines was so entertaining

• there were like two wolf whistles when jack & katherine kiased in stbi

• michael and bronte were so giggly in the start of the finale scene it was so cute

• final nesim performance. what a little star he is

• in the bit after carrying the banner when davey, les & jack are talking the delanceys (aka morris) was basically like just throwing the papers at the newsies

• officially in love with pips. she did a little star jump during brooklyns here it was so cute. AND HER OUTFIT?? obsessed

• background moments during the bows/curtain call: matthew didn't make the shot. morgan & owen did a funky lil dance. lindsay, lucy, sam, jamie and someone else (they were off to the side so couldn't see who it was) did the wave

[takaraphoenix]

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ for Magnus and Jace? 👀

So this was supposed to be a smutty prompt but it accidentally turned into just pure possessive/protective Magnus with no smut? Ooops

--

A few weeks after he'd started hooking up with Magnus, Jace started to notice subtle changes.

Downworlders he encountered treated him with… recognition, at first. A certain degree of respect even. Not in a 'bowing down before him' sense, but rather… treat him as an equal than just as another Shadowhunter nuisance. He didn't notice at first, it took him a couple weeks.

He only noticed when it became more apparent. When Downworlders, particularly warlocks, started to… there was no other way to put it; to protect him. Like he was one of their own. They had his back, stepped in when someone else was out of line toward him. Which was just bizarre.

It wasn't hard to guess that this was related to Magnus, especially since warlocks seemed the only ones to actively step up for him and that this particularly happened in Pandemonium. He was getting VIP treatment at the club these days, got waved in ahead of the line, the bartender knew his favorites and always served him first. And whenever someone was even a hint of inappropriate with him, someone stepped in like he was a damsel in need of a knight protecting his virtue. It would severely piss him off if he didn't find it somewhat funny, quite frankly.

It was a couple months into it, and into whatever he had with Magnus, that it gave him pause. One particular incident that really struck Jace and left him reeling. He'd been hanging out at the bar, bantering with the bartender, Timothy Jeong, with whom he'd grown closer over the past months, when a warlock sat down, very close next to him, interrupting their conversation.

"Hello, gorgeous," the warlock smelt like alpha and sounded like sleazebag. "What's a pretty omega like you doing here all alone? I think you should go back to my hotel with me."

Jace was used to people hitting on him. Back in the day, he used to relish in that and take pretty much everyone home with him, living a life of hook-ups. Nowadays, he did consider himself taken, even though him and Magnus had never quite put a label on it. Yet what had started out as drunk, convenient hook-ups between roommates felt much different now, three months into it. So while Jace still liked the ego-boost of being hit on, he also didn't hook up with them anymore. He turned toward the man with a pleasant enough smile on his lips – knowing that some alphas could react very testy when an omega didn't immediately fawn over them and Jace would like to avoid causing a scene at Magnus' club. Before he could say anything did Hal Armstrong step up to them – head of security, the biggest, bulkiest alpha Jace had ever seen, tall and bald and with arms the size of Jace's head. If Jace had to guess, he'd say that Timothy must have called for security.

"Is that alpha bothering you, Omega Bane?"

And that was it. That was the moment Jace realized that whatever was going on was definitely more than just a bit suspicious behavior from some Downworlders around him. Omega Bane. It actually took Jace a while to register that Hal was talking to him, and then another couple moments to digest that and try to formulate a reply. Too long for Hal, it seemed, because the alpha was already standing right behind Jace, a looming presence, glaring down the stranger.

"Out of every omega at the club, you really picked the wrong one, pal," Timothy chuckled, casually leaning against the bar. "That's not just the club owner's omega. That's the High Warlock of Brooklyn's omega. If I were you, I would… scram, before Magnus Bane sees you."

Jace blinked repeatedly, looking between the guy who had hit on him, Hal and Timothy. What. The name Magnus Bane did the trick though, because the warlock's eyes widened in recognition and fear, before the man simply ran off. Jace tilted his head and crossed his arms.

"What was that," Jace asked, voice sharp.

"We want you to have a good time here and be undisturbed," Hal smiled at him.

The man looked scary at first glance but really was just a gigantic puppy. Jace heaved a sigh.

"I don't need you to intimidate people who hit on me, Hal. I'm quite capable of shaking unwanted attention myself, you know. This… was not necessary."

Hal faltered, looking like a kicked puppy, and Jace nearly felt bad. Only nearly though, because he really did not appreciate being patronized by alphas. He'd had to fight for everything, every ounce of respect from alphas in the field. To prove that he didn't need saving.

"Look," Jace sighed. "Thank you for wanting to help, I appreciate that, but how about, from now on, you help me when I signal that I need your help?"

"Oh. Okay. Yeah," Hal nodded quickly. "Sure, I'm sorry. I just, Alpha Bane said-"

"I do not need any alpha to speak for me," Jace's voice was final. "Not even Magnus, not even in his own club. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Omega Bane," Hal ducked his head like a naughty child.

And there it was again. Omega Bane. There was a weird sense of pleasure, pride and giddiness bubbling in Jace's chest that he tried to squish. Couldn't think about that right now. Maybe couldn't think about that at all. Because if he thought about that too hard, he might have to confront his feelings for Magnus. And that was something he'd effectively avoided thinking about these past months. Mostly, he admitted, because there was always something else going on – between Valentine's return, Jocelyn's death, the loss of the Mortal Cup, the reveal that he was Clary's brother, the reveal that he wasn't Clary's brother. When was he supposed to reflect on the nature of his feelings for the alpha warlock who had taken him in, became a drinking buddy and then became a convenient hook-up, repeatedly, until it started feeling like more than hook-ups.

/break\

That had been the first time Jace really noticed, but it wasn't what pushed him into talking to Magnus about it. Feelings. He didn't do those, much less talking about those. No, that only happened about a month later, when he'd been on a mission with Clary and Izzy and things had gone awry. Alec was missing. Jace and Alec were a duo, they were so in-sync, they worked as one. Now that Alec was head of the Institute though, he went on far less missions and Jace was still adjusting to that, while Clary was still adjusting to being a Shadowhunter, missing years of training.

They'd been overrun by demons, overwhelmed, got separated. Jace was bleeding profoundly from a slash on his side where one of the four demons he was battling on his own had hit him with its claws. He'd managed to kill two of them at this point, but he didn't know where Izzy and Clary were and he was starting to feel dizzy from the blood-loss. One of the two demons left roared at him and slashed at him again, but Jace wouldn't be Jace if he didn't battle to the very last second of his life. He cut off the beast's hand, causing it to roar in distress. However, it was also distracted, just enough for Jace to try and run. A coward's move, his father would say. A means of survival, his parabatai would say. He made it out of the sewers and toward an alley.

"Oh shit, oh crap you are bleeding, like, a lot," stranger, female voice, panicked. "Wait. You're the. The High Warlock's omega. Oh shit. Hold on."

Jace squinted, trying to make the blurry person in front of him out. The blood loss was getting to him. Someone – this person – grabbing his arm was the last thing he noticed before blacking out.

/break\

When Jace next came to it, it was in a comfortable and known environment. Magnus' bed in the loft. He recognized the soft sheets and the safe scent of his alpha all around him. A hand reached out, brushing his hair out of his face. Magnus' hand. He'd recognize those fingers anywhere. Humming softly, he leaned into the comforting, gentle touch.

"You awake, Trouble?" Magnus' voice was soft. "Do you need anything?"

"Wa… Water," Jace coughed, blinking his eyes open.

The next moment, Magnus held a water-bottle against Jace's lips, helping him drink. Jace's heart was skipping a beat at the gentle care. He was so used to powering through any injury mostly alone, the only one who'd get close enough to take care of him for any extend of time was his parabatai.

"Alexander left about an hour ago. I had a hard time prying him from your bedside," Magnus smiled bemused. "But he was in need of a shower, a warm meal and his own bed. Andrew helped me lure his boyfriend back to the Institute to take care of himself for a change. I'll text him."

"Thank you," Jace heaved a sigh as he tried to sit up, but a stinging pain brought him down.

"Sh," Magnus rested a gentle hand on his chest to ease him back down. "You were seriously injured, you need to lay down and rest more, Trouble."

Slowly, bit by bit, the events that had brought him into this bed came back to him. "Clary and Izzy."

"They're fine," Magnus assured him with the smallest smile. "Couple bruises, broken arm in Isabelle's case, but other than that, no serious injuries."

A deep, relieved sigh as Jace settled into the bed more comfortably. Magnus' bed. It had been two months at least since Jace last slept in 'his' bed – his bed at the loft. Far longer since he'd been back to the Institute. Even after Aldertree had been removed as head, Jace never returned. By then, him and Magnus had already started sleeping with each other and Jace was so comfortable here.

"How did I get here?" Jace asked slowly. "I remember the sewers, but…"

"Phoebe Nightingale, one of my warlocks, came across you in an alley and portaled you here," Magnus looked utterly pleased by that. "It was greatly appreciated."

The High Warlock's omega. Jace remembered hearing those words in the alley. It made him think of the other instances he'd been referred to as such by warlocks. Omega Bane. Jace had ignored it for weeks now. Maybe because he… liked the sound of it. Maybe because he'd gone through yet another identity crisis, gone from being a Wayland to being a Morgenstern to Luke and Clary trying to make him a Fray to… not being anyone, really, because he didn't know who his parents were, just that Valentine and Jocelyn weren't it. He currently had no real last name, not really.

"Why do your warlocks think that I am your omega?"

"Because you are, honey," Magnus raised one eyebrow, his fingers gently tracing Jace's face. "You're mine, and I take care of what belongs to me."

Jace flushed, his head racing at Magnus' words. He'd never dared to ask what they were, but it seemed that Magnus had a pretty clear idea of what they were. Reaching out, Jace took Magnus' wrist to pull him down onto the bed with him and, slow and with a wince, Jace rolled over to snuggle up to his alpha. Magnus hummed pleased, wrapping an arm around his waist.

~*~ The End ~*~

[undescribed1mage]

I saw newsies at a local (ish) theatre & uhh here are my totally comprehensible notes !!

Crutchie tried their best 2 walk past Jack before santa fe (prologue) but they dropped their crutch while grabbing his bag, he also pointed at 2 themself in a kinda 'me?' motion when Jack said, 'soon your friends are more like family,'

This Crutchie was PHENOMENAL.

They like full on screamed the Strike line, & sobbed when they is were arrested it was devastating

Specs came onstage in his pajamas, in one of those blue sleeping gowns with that one type of hat — also a bunch of clotheslines were hung up & the newsies took them down & put some of them on

Mush was played by a girl !!

The bowery beauties were adorable

Medda helped one of them fix her feathers in her hair before the show

Also Medda was INCREDIBLE. she was on a swing during that's rich, & threw her gloves & one of the feathers in her hair at Davey & Les

The Bowery Beauties said thank you to the chains holding up the swing when they went back into the ceiling

One of the Bowery beauties had a ribbon routine, & when Medda yelled at Jack 2 pay attention, the bowery beauty started crying & said 'I worked so hard on this & he isn't even paying attention!'

Davey showed up 2 the circulation gate wearing a FULL SUIT.

Race had his feet on the table in Jacobi's, Jacobi yelled at him for it, then he proceeded to DANCE on the table (like any rational person)

Henry had Les on his shoulders 4 the photo & hugged Katherine after

Jack, freaking out because crutchie was just arrested:

The rest of the newsies doing flips around him: <3

Katherine was wearing pants that were made to look like a skirt

Also Hannah was chewing gum (not really, but yk) during her scenes (she also played the bowery beauty that cried)

All of the scabs were played by children

The Delancey brothers laughed SO HARD at the skull busting arm joke

Wiesel gestured 4 Race 2 come towards him when he (Race) said he'd tell him (Wiesel) himself

Jack put his head on Davey's shoulder while Les went & asked the lady 2 buy his last paper

Then before she walked off he said smth along the lines of the fact that their parents that don't exist will be so happy

'OYSTER. SAY IT. OYSTER. —' One of the newsies. This is not the first time this has happened.

THE PULITZER REVEAL WAS DEVASTATING

KATHERINE SLOWLY SHOOK HER HEAD AT PULITZER DURING THE 'TOO BAD YOU NO FAMILY, BUT YOU CAN'T HAVE MINE.' LINE

Brooklyn was all girls & they all had matching hats it was the CUTEST THING

Spot bowed when Medda walked in

Spot was also ABSOLUTELY PHENOMENAL I spoke 2 her after too she was lovely

She tried 2 hug Jack when he walked in then Jack ignored her how dare he, she also jumped on Davey's back when them winning was announced, picked Pulitzer's pocket, played with the phones that were off the line & was just overall AMAZING. she also hugged her girls before they walked off stage for the finale

Spot looked straight at me, winked, & did finger guns during the 'a new world is coming for you line & I'm so. I am SO.

Spot also hugged Race & Henry, & put Elmer's cap over his face

Crutchie was also crying (& very clearly in pain) during Letter From The Refuge.

Also. Katherine & Crutchie's faces when they saw Medda & Roosevelt together. They were so

Spot & Davey also smiled at Pulitzer when Roosevelt said 'Think of the happiness it'll bring those children!'

ROMEO HAD A GODDAMN UNICYCLE.

Also. Crutchie walking on during letter from the refuge mirrored him walking on during Santa Fe (Prologue)

He & Jack hugged for so long when they were reunited.

Jack pretended 2 leave 4 Santa Fe before very quickly turning back around

Everyone boo'd when Jack said Pulitzer during his Rally speech

ALSO. RACE WAS SHAKING DURING THE POST FIGHT JACOBI'S SCENE. LIKE SO MUCH.

Jack was sooo ready 2 leave 4 Santa Fe in the scene before Watch What Happens (Reprise) he had his cowboy hat & everything

OH ALSO LES TRIED 2 HIT ALBERT PRE KONY

Also the kids singing outside Pulitzer's office were kind enough 2 turn around while Pulitzer & Jack talked

[daggerzine]

Chanel Beads- Your Day Will Come (Jagjaguwar)

Chanel Beads is New York’s up-and-coming experimental artist Shane Lavers. His music is all over the place, which is probably why I like it. He’s been around since 2018, but he released a few singles in 2022 that really took off.  He’s new to my ears so I looked up his earlier stuff, and, well, he’s definitely experimental. It’s mostly him performing everything (acoustic guitar, electric guitars, bass, drums, drum programming, synths, keyboards, lead vocals) with additional musicians Maya McGrory (acoustic guitar, vocals) and Zachary Schwartz (violin) who also serve as part of his live band. He began this project quarantined in his Brooklyn apartment back in 2022. First up, “Dedicated To The World, ” is a beautiful introduction to the album. Imagine starting with Genesis' "Watcher Of The Skies" and then Alex G pops in. It’s filled with soaring strings, jamming acoustic guitars, and echoing vocals. Second is “Police Scanner,” another gem. This one comes with a booming bass line, a rockin’ beat, and an occasional “Yeah!” Maya shares the lead vocals here on a song with razor-sharp synths. I love the gradual mixing in of beautiful acoustic guitars. “Good people out of view. Soul to bare. Changes come. Something strange yeah something new. Police scanner.” Here’s the video:

On track 3, “Idea June,” Maya takes over with soft, gentle, whispered lead vocals. An acoustic song that actually finishes before it starts. It's just too short. Next is “Embarrassed Dog.” A strong hip-hop beatbox with beautiful synths and violin makes me think somebody is going to jump on this to remix it. Shane’s emotional vocals lash out about death again. “I was just a child. Peace symbol on your grave. Reckoning the past moves closer every day. Every day. I was just shouting out. Scratch it on your grave. It takes all of the meaning out your mouth.” Track 5, “Unifying Thought,” is another short, but upbeat song with synths resembling horns. However; the lyrics reveal more heartbreak. “Man up on the cross. Write up from your boss. Listen. Focus on the love in your heart. I had a unifying thought. But I missed.” Track 6, “Your Day Will Come, ” is the first instrumental on the album. It’s a beautiful, ambient track with a beat that gradually fades out and then the synths and strings take flight. It could easily fit on any movie soundtrack, just not a slasher film. “Urn” is a moving piece about the deceased. It’s filled with a frantic acoustic guitar, upbeat rhythms, and sorrowful lyrics. “Sometimes I wish that we buried you now. Assigned a location to my grief somehow. But I know that you would think the cemetery is silly. It’s dust to me. Yeah your birthday that kinda hurts me now. Like the day you died, the day you drank all that honey.” The song takes a complete turnaround with an all-out instrumental attack until it ends. This part definitely falls into the experimental side of his music. “Coffee Culture” is another instrumental and, by far, the longest track. Very spacy, dreamy strings, synths, and angelic choral vocals that build to an anxious finale. The album ends with “I Think I Saw.” Quickly bowing violins begin this beautiful song that builds and builds. Kind of reminds me of a long-lost Scarlet's Well track. More crazy lyrics dealing with death again. “Black dog coming. He won’t disobey. Show you something. I'm not really brave. Creeping feeling. Flowers on the grave. Do it for the state, now I visit when it’s grave.” So there you have it. Nine songs covering a wide variety in about 36 minutes. Was I right? I wonder if Shane will take these songs on the road. ERIC EGGLESON

Hey! If you want more, the vinyl version has this bonus track: “Idea June (alt version).”

https://jagjaguwar.com/artist/chanel-beads/

https://chanelbeads.bandcamp.com/

[asilverjackal]

[btsqualityy]

Hi Shay! This drabble day can we see when Dae meets Yoongi for the first time as Brooklyns boyfriend?

Brooklyn is 17 in this and Dae is 18

"Come here."

"No, let me go," Brooklyn giggled as she tried to pry Daesung's arms from around her waist. The two of them were in a hallway at the JWA building, where Daesung was supposed to be rehearsing but Brooklyn had come to distract him.

"Don't act like you didn't come down here because you missed me, Ji," he smirked, using his body to cage her against the wall.

"I didn't," she shrugged. "Besides, we've only been on like four dates."

"And you're all I can think about," he confessed honestly. "And you wouldn't be down here if the same wasn't true for you."

"You're a cocky asshole, you know?"

"I know, but you like it," Daesung smiled. Without saying anything else, Brooklyn leaned up and kissed him passionately, sighing as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. It seemed, to both of them, that time stopped as they became wrapped up in each other.

"Well, well, well," a deep voice suddenly said and Brooklyn hurriedly pulled away from Daesung, recognizing that voice anywhere.

"Hi Papa," she smiled awkwardly, pushing Daesung's hands away from her body. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to drop off a demo I made for your father and he suggested that I come down here and check out some of the trainees," Yoongi said. "But it looks like some of them are more interested in other things."

"Um, I'm Choi Daesung," Daesung introduced himself, bowing at a full 90. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I'm sure," Yoongi muttered before looking at his granddaughter. "Brook, don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Yeah," Brooklyn nodded before turning and looking at her boyfriend. "Call me tonight?"

"Absolutely," Daesung agreed, giving her a soft smile before she scurried away from him and past her grandfather. Yoongi gave him a stern glare before he turned and followed behind Brooklyn, making Daesung let out a huge sigh of relief.

[joheunsaram]

tracing one person’s lips with a finger before tilting their chin up for a kiss

any member :D

Simmer

word count- 547

pairing- Jimin x Reader

rating- PG

genre- fluff, brooklyn99!au (kinda)

an - so your request came in as I finished marathoning a season of Brooklyn 99 so a precinct setting it is haha I hope you like it E! 💕

s/o to the lovely @casuallyimagining for beta reading this!

-

“Wow, your lips are pretty,” you giggled, a little snort escaping you despite your best efforts, which only exacerbated your glee. You stared at the plush flesh, pink that faded into beige at the borders with a perfect cupid’s bow, and an idea popped into your head. “Can I put lipstick on you?”

Jimin laughed, exasperated but endeared, his arm tightening around your shoulders before he composed himself enough to pull away and roll his eyes at your request. “You’re drunk,” he pointed out, words a little slurred, betraying his hypocrisy.

“Oh come on! Just this one time, please?” You pouted, trying your best to impersonate that one Puss in Boots meme, and Jimin was weak. He pretended you didn’t affect him, much like he had done all year since you had arrived at the precinct. The fact that you were cutely pouting at him was enough to make his head spin. More than the fact that the two of you were here at all, on the old couch in the staff lounge, drunk on cheap tequila you found stashed under one of the desks.

After trying his best to evade your request, he relented, unable to help the smile lifting the lips you had called pretty as you searched your pockets for the tube that always kept your lips scarlet. Successfully locating it, you held it up with a flourish, kneeling on the couch next to him and getting to work. You were delicate, each stroke of the pastel barely tugging his lips, and he couldn’t help but focus on yours caught between your teeth as your brows furrowed in concentration. It was unfair how his heart sped up just a little.

“Oh oops!” you murmured as your hand trembled a little, spilling the red past the perfect outline of his lips. Your hand on his jaw, you tilted his chin higher, using a finger to lightly erase your mistake, slowly tracing his soft lower lip. It was odd seeing the usually stoic Jimin like this. He was always handsome with his bright eyes and symmetrical features, but with his unfairly beautiful lips painted, he looked almost ethereal even under the jarring fluorescent lights.

You didn’t know how long you stared at him, your eyes tracing his features from those crimson lips to his cheekbones shining in the light, but when your eyes met, your breath hitched. Because maybe, for the first time, Jimin wasn’t looking at you with his usual professional nonchalance. He seemed almost as lost in your gaze as you were in his, and with time almost halting, you were leaning in.

Matching lips against each other, passion was an afterthought as the two of you gently explored the unpredictable change in your relationship. You had spent your career chasing after criminals, but the thrill of a closed case never even came close to the adrenaline rushing through your veins at that moment.

His hands easily pulled you onto his lap, and with your arms around his neck, nothing felt better than losing yourself in the scent of his cologne and the taste of the cheap liquor on his tongue.

And when the two of you parted, lipstick smeared and faces flushed, you knew you could never go back to ignoring him again.

-

Check out my masterlist 💕

Send me a kiss prompt and a member for a drabble 😘

[heliads]

A Glance Across the Street

Based on this request: “a race oneshot where he realized he’s in love with the reader. she’s doing something (singing, playing with kids, whatever) and he’s awestruck and the boys are teasing him after”

masterlist

Race is mid-conversation with his friends, mid-way through his bag of papers still left unsold. He should be focusing on talking to Albert and Jojo, and he should definitely be trying to get the last few of his papes sold before the night grows too old and he’s out of customers to swindle. He knows all of this, yet his gaze keeps slipping from his fellow newsies or passing bankers to rest on one girl down the block.

Y/N is selling papes too, her grin contagious as she manages to talk even the most persnickety of passersby into purchasing the daily newspaper. Her newsie cap is slightly askew, and Race’s hand twitches by his side as if he longs to fix it, to look down and see her flash him a grateful smile. Honestly, Race is starting to think that he has a problem when it comes to Y/N L/N.

As it turns out, Race is not the only one to notice this: although he attempts to quickly jerk his attention back to the conversation at hand, Albert and Jojo notice the fact that he isn’t quite responding on time and try to figure out what’s got his focus hooked. Albert follows Race’s line of sight and a vicious grin appears on his face. Race tries to look away hurriedly, pretending he was just following the path of a potential customer, but it’s too late- they’ve both seen.

Jojo loops an arm around Race’s shoulders, clasping the other hand firmly over his heart. “Well, if my eyes don’t deceive me, I think Racer here has a little crush.” Race scoffs, pulling away from the boy. “As if. I’m just trying to sell my last papes.” Albert rolls his eyes. “Is that why you haven’t sold one in half an hour? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’se trying to lose money.”

This is a fierce accusation for a newsboy who prides himself on his ability to make any deal to even the most unlikely of customers, and Albert knows it. So, when Race snatches his cap from his mess of blond curls, ready to swat it most brutally into Albert’s head, the red-haired boy is able to easily dart away in time to avoid the killing blow. Race tries one last time, but his attacks fall short when he hears a voice from behind him.

“What’s going on here? Why are you trying to murder Albert?” Race’s eyes widen in spite of himself, and he straightens up hurriedly, slapping his hat back on his head as if he’d just been stretching. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just having a, uh, friendly conversation.” Albert looks positively gleeful over this, but he doesn’t say a word. Y/N raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know about that. I’d swear there was going to be bloodshed.”

Albert may be willing to save him from the fires this once, but Jojo is not so generous. Instead, he casually leans on Y/N’s shoulder, practically savoring the way Race’s shoulders stiffen. Race does his best to ignore this, forcing a casual smile. “Well, maybe Albert deserved it. You know him.” Y/N tilts her head to the side, considering this. “I do know him. What’s he done now?” Albert and Jojo look between Race and Y/N like they’re watching a sports match, curious as to what explanation Race can manage without telling her the true reason for the near beatdown.

Race mentally stumbles for a moment, then comes up with a scrap of something. “He insulted my brand of cigars. I couldn’t have that, could I?” Y/N’s eyes glint with barely contained amusement, and Race thanks everything holy that his excuse held up. “Oh, I get it now. I’m sorry to interrupt the carnage.” Race grabs Y/N’s hand, pulling her away from Albert, Jojo, and their twin mocking expressions to continue walking down the street.

“That’s alright. Now, come on- I think I saw a few tourists. Think we can scam ‘em?” Y/N laughs as she follows him down the block. “Without a doubt. Is that them?” She jerks her chin towards a cluster of families pausing by a florist, all of them in the newest fashions. They practically reek of wealth, which makes them the perfect targets for newsies in desperate need of unloading some papes. Race nods, and Y/N’s grin widens. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Race you there, Racer!”

She takes off down the street, spinning past cobblestones. The sound of her laugh, lighter than a summer breeze, lingers by Race’s side for a moment longer. Although Race knows he should follow her and at least try to sell some of his papes before all of the tourists are gone, he feels stuck in place, unable to do anything except watch her go. There’s a smile tugging at his lips before he realizes it. He tries to stow this a second later, except it’s a little hard to be serious when there’s a girl like Y/N right next to him.

He manages it in the end, as he always seems to do. Race isn’t sure what happened to make him turn into this stumbling mess whenever Y/N’s with him, but the habit keeps seeming to stick. He hasn’t always been like this, it’s only a recent incident, but no matter what he tries Race can’t go back to seeing Y/N as a friend and a friend alone. Sometimes, he wants to knock himself upside the head, hoping that a brief concussion might restore his thoughts, although Race is fairly certain that even this hit might make him even more of a grinning idiot where a certain newsgirl is concerned.

Later that week, Race is hit by that same bout of hopeless staring, although this time it’s even worse than before. It comes over him like a wave, threatening to pull him under entirely. He had been turning the street, walking from one block to another in the hopes of finding some idiot with a purse full of coins who’d be willing to shell out a little more than usual to a newsboy on the street. Maybe this is why his crush hits him so hard- he’d had no time to prepare, nothing to center himself around except this sudden sight of the girl before him.

All of a sudden, there she was, talking to a group of kids she’d met on the street. They stare at her with the same sort of loopy smile Race wears now, like they’d follow her anywhere so long as she gave the word. Honestly, Race may get a little jittery around the Brooklyn boys or the cops when there are too many of them, but the hold Y/N has on him scares him even more than that. He’d do anything she asked of him, no matter what or how. He can’t run from that kind of influence, just go along with it and hope he didn’t get worse.

Y/N crouches down now, the edges of her skirts rustling lightly over the uneven cobblestones. She reaches out a hand to a nearby girl, one who would barely come up to her ribs unless Y/N was kneeling as she is now. The little girl presses a careful coin into the awaiting hand, and Y/N hands her a newspaper in return. Race can see her pointing out the different pictures on the front, explaining them with that same slow voice she gets when the night is late and drowsiness slips through every syllable. This time, though, she’s not tired, just speaking in a way that kids who barely know anything can understand. Maybe that’s all Race is, too, a kid with half a brain and some stupid lovesick gaze he can’t seem to shake.

Y/N stands up, stretching, as the little girl leaves. A few more kids linger by her knees, and she talks to each of them in turn, patience coming eternal even by the point when Race would have started getting a little restless had it been him there instead of her. One of the kids hands her a flower he managed to find from somewhere, and Y/N tucks it behind her ear, smiling as if it’s a jeweled tiara instead of a little sprig of a plant that’s more leaf than petal.

She turns now, as if she can sense someone watching her, and finds Race from where he’s hidden by the crowd. She smiles at him, the simple expression almost enough to knock him over. There’s a soft slight in her face, as if she’s a little self-conscious to be caught talking so eagerly with the kids, but Race could never make fun of her for a second. Instead, he lets his own smile widen in return, and Y/N looks almost relieved. She mouths something about catching up to him in a second, then turns back to the kids when one of them tugs at her hand.

Now that he’s been caught, Race should probably keep moving down the block, at least doing something to keep up the pretense that he’s just selling papes instead of simply staring with that same jump in his heart. However, he can’t quite convince his feet to move, like his body is perfectly fine with just watching her there. It’s just the way the light washes golden over her hair, the sunbeam force of her smile, the twist of her hand and head as she speaks. Race has seen the way the rich neighbours stare at artworks, entranced by mere brushstrokes. If that’s what it looks like to fall in love with a mere painting, then Y/N might be an entire museum full of masterpieces.

That describes it, doesn’t it? He’s in love. Stupidly, crazily, whole-heartedly in love. There’s no way to describe it. Race has had crushes before, on rich girls with silken bows and laughing girls who talk to him as they leave the factories after work. None of those seem even remotely close to the hold Y/N has on him now, like all those kisses and offered flowers were just practice for this.

Maybe he’s too lost in his own thoughts, or the way Y/N seems to call an entire city to her like the star of a show, but Race doesn’t hear Albert and Jojo appearing behind him until it’s too late and they’re already upon him. Albert is crowing at him, face wrought over with victory. “It’s official. You’re completely hopeless for Y/N.” Race moves to deny this, but it’s too late- they have enough evidence to tease him for the rest of his life.

Jojo looks almost incredulous. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you was telling me about how you’d never spend too much of your time trippin’ over some goil? Look at you now! Albert, he’s practically thinking about marriage.” Albert pretends to be severely affected by this thought. “I can see it in his eyes. He might already be picking out the rings.”

Race rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what you’se talking about. Y/N’s a friend.” Albert and Jojo actually burst out laughing, and Race wants to hit them. “She’s a friend? Race, if you look at your friends like that I’m getting locks on the doors. You’se in love, and it’s hilarious.” Race fishes around for some excuse or retort, finds nothing, and resorts to the time-honored classic of trying to hit them. “Some friends you are. No wonder I like Y/N- she doesn’t do this to me.”

Jojo hoots with laughter. “He admits it! Truth at last!” Albert sighs dramatically. “Did you hear his voice? He’s overcome with emotion.” Race lets scorn drip into his every word. “Overcome with emotion? Where’d you pick that up- off a pape?” Albert scoffs. “No, I read it off the cover of a book in a shop window, like somebody respectable.”

A voice comes from behind them once more, and Race wonders silently why he has to keep finding himself in this exact situation. “Somebody respectable? Albert, no offense, but I have never once seen anyone do that.” Albert’s expression grows worryingly bright, as if he’s just had a terrible idea, and he turns to face a newly arrived Y/N with a grin. “I’d usually argue on that, but I want to make time for someone else. Racer here was just saying something about how he needed to talk to you.”

Jojo’s eyes glint, like he’s caught on to Albert’s plan. “Yeah, actually, he was. Said it was something very important.” Albert nods solemnly. “Very, very important. We’d better leave now, so he can say it.” The two boys exchange looks, then practically jog off, although Jojo makes sure to give Race a very obvious thumbs up before they go. Race is about to seriously consider murder, but then a hand lands on his arm and he’s brought back to reality once more.

Y/N considers him, one eyebrow raised. “Well, I do have to admit that I’m a little worried by how excited they looked about that, but I am a little curious. What do you have to talk about?” Race knows what he should say, what Jojo and Albert no doubt want him to do, but the words stick a little in his throat. He remains silent for a little too long, and Y/N crosses her arms across her chest. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Race searches desperately for something to say, anything, but he has no idea how to start. Y/N’s look of curiosity is starting to bleed away into boredom, and Race is gripped by the sudden terror that she’ll leave before he can say anything at all, despite how terrifying it is to even think about telling her how he feels. So, he leans forward and kisses her before he can talk himself out of anything else.

Now Y/N doesn’t speak, not at all, and Race can’t think about anything except the fact that he might have ruined everything, once and for all. Then her face splits into this incredible grin, and Race feels like the ground has broken up beneath him and he’s falling, falling, until he can’t feel anything at all. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Race doesn’t know what to say. Again. “Uh, yes.”

She laughs, and Race thinks that he could have gladly listened to that sound every morning. Let the sound of her laugh replace the church bells, and he would have happily attended every sermon. “You’re an idiot.” Race nods. “Yes.” He’s not sure that he’s supposed to be agreeing to this, but she’s got him caught in her gaze again and he feels as if he can’t move a muscle. “Kiss me again, and I might just forgive you for waiting this long.”

Race grins, his confidence finally starting to return to him again. “Well, I like the sound of that.” He’s not about to refuse her this time, so he reaches forward, gently guiding her face back to his once more. 

[cjsinkythoughts]

Ocean Eyes, Cherry Lips, Ivory Keys

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2747

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol, I think that’s all

A/N: This is a headcanon I’ve had for a while that I’ve been wanting to write about 40s!Bucky, pre-War. I kinda want to write a series about it, so that might happen. For now, enjoy this little tidbit I’ve written, with the prompt of Occasion for HBC’s Lucky in Love Day 18! (This isn’t beta’d so please excuse mistakes.)

He’s something of a celebrity. A living legend. A God amongst humans. Starting as a kid in Brooklyn, his fanbase rapidly grew, expanding to Queens, Manhattan, even parts of New Jersey, just in the past few years.

You don’t get it. So what if he’s got cool blue eyes, soft chocolate hair, and a charming smile? Who cares if he’s got smooth moves and even smoother words? He’s just a man - a human being - with flaws just like everyone else. A talented and gorgeous man, who has all of New York wanting to fall to her knees to please him, but still just a man.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Most everyone knew his name, but there was a lot of mystery surrounding the actual character. 

You just don’t see what all the fuss is about. You’ve never personally met him, or even seen him, but you know people who have. Your friend’s cousin even claims to have danced with him once. Not that that would be hard. You hear he’s never danced with the same bird twice, and, considering most start dancing in their teenage years, that’s a lot of dames.

It’s not that you’re not curious about him - if he’s actually as dashing as they say - but you’re not about to stop your life for him like some of your friends. They’re obsessed with getting his attention. With seeing if they’d be the one. The one to finally chain him down and tame him. The one he’d go steady with.

It feels like that’s all you ever talk about anymore. It was amusing at first, but now it’s just getting annoying. It’s been three years since that day in March of 1938, when your roommate ran into your room, plopping down onto your bed, before ranting and raving about the new ocean eyed piano player at her favorite bar. And since then, he’s been in your life without actually being in your life.

Speaking of, here you are. Listening to Lucy, MaryAnne, and Jean gushing over the man, trying to enjoy your milkshake.

“I heard from Sally that Thomas said that he knew the brother of one of his friend’s in high school!”

“That can’t be true! I heard from Billy, who heard from Martha, who was told by Ben, that he only had, like, one friend in high school.”

“You’re kidding, right? There’s no way a man like that had only one friend.”

“I hear he does boxing and that’s why he’s got a body sculpted like a Greek God.”

“Oh my God! MaryAnne!”

You rub your temples, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as the three burst into fits of giggles. If you have to hear one more word about-

“I heard he’s going to be playing at Georgie’s on Friday!”

Gasps echoed around the table. “No way! Georgie’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, this actually intriguing you. Georgie’s is a popular little hole in the wall, on the edge of being a speakeasy, which doubles as a pub and a dance hall in Brooklyn. It’s one of the best hang outs for kids like you and your girls, but it isn’t very high class. Maybe that’s why it’s one of the best. “Isn’t Georgie’s a little…cheap for him? He’s been playing at the best bars and restaurants for a while now.”

“It’s a classic in Brooklyn. Near his home, probably.”

“Do you think he lives near there?!”

“Ooo! Maybe we could find out!’

You scoff. “That,” gesturing to Lucy with your glass, you take a sip of your milkshake. “Is called stalking, my friend.”

Jean waves towards you dismissively. “I think he lives near Tin Pan Alley. That’s where he plays the most, after all. Georgie’s was probably just an old hang out for him and his pals.”

“Wait, wait,” you shake your head, a thought popping into your head. You turn to Lucy, confused. “How’d you find out he’s playing at Georgie’s anyways? Isn’t part of his whole act not telling anyone where he’s playing?”

Giving you a smirk and a wink, Lucy shrugs. “I’ve got my connections.”

You roll your eyes again, turning your attention back to your milkshake. “So?!” MaryAnne squealed. “We’re going on Friday, right?”

“Hell yes!”

“Absolutely!”

“Not.” You mumble, causing the other three to stare at you incredulously.

“Not?!”

“I’m not wasting my Friday night going to see some fella you all have a crush on. Especially when he might not even be there.”

Your friends groan, exchanging glances. “And what’re you gonna do?” Jean crossed her arms with a pointed look on her face. “Sit down and read a book like you always do?”

You huff. “I like reading, sue me. I don’t get a lot of time to myself. You know that new girl’s been gumming up the works and I’ve had to stay late to fix her mistakes all week.”

“This is exactly what you need, then! Come out, have a drink, jive a little-”

You look up at that, an amused kind of smirk on your lips. “Jive? Me and my clumsy ass?”

You all laugh. “Okay, so maybe not dance, but c’mon! It’ll be snazzy, you’ll see!”

“Fine, fine.” Standing up with a sigh, you collect your things, smoothing down your dress with your hands. “I’ve gotta scram.”

“We’ll see you on Friday, right?”

You give a small smile, shooting them a wink. “I guess I can make it.”

***************

Friday comes a lot faster than you anticipate. You dress up; a navy blue dress going to your knees with white, heart shaped buttons and a bow around the waist. The shoes you’re wearing are your nice black and white Mary Janes. Lips painted deep red, and hair pinned back in loose curls, you glance over yourself in a mirror. You’ll admit; you look damn good. You don’t wanna go, but you might as well try to have some fun since you are.

It’s a cool evening, early May meaning the summer humidity hasn’t hit just yet. You didn’t even think about bringing a coat, but you start to regret the decision as you start walking. MaryAnne, who you actually room with, already left, being way too excited to stay put.

It doesn’t take you long - you live on the border of Queens and Brooklyn - but your feet are more sore than you’d like when you arrive.

“I knew you’d come!” Lucy grins, coming up besides you and linking her arm in yours. MaryAnne comes up on your other side and does the same to your free arm.

“Where’s Jean?”

“Where do you think? She already found a Joe to swing with.”

You laugh. “Of course she has! So is your dreamboat here?”

The grins that are immediately on their faces answer your question and they quickly drag you inside.

It’s hot and crowded and dim. Skirts with their beaus, guys with their broads, swinging and dancing to the lively music of the band on stage. Smoke from cigarettes, pipes, and cigars is evident in the air as they neared the bar portion of the building, mixing with the boisterous sound of laughter and chatter.

“Everyone’s talking about it! He’s here, but he hasn’t played yet. We’ve been trying to catch a glimpse of him, but we think he’s in a back room.” The dramatic sigh MaryAnne gives makes you laugh a little.

“Okay, khaki whackies. Let’s get a drink.”

You, just as you thought would happen tonight, are left alone at the bar by your friends who quickly found partners to dance with. A few men asked you, but you have never been a good dancer.

You’re lost in thought, running a finger gently around the rim of your cup, when a voice sounded besides you, pulling you out of your thoughts, a slight rasp to the otherwise mellifluous voice.

“You gonna drink that, doll, or just stare at it all night?”

You raise an eyebrow at the jest, turning your head, only to have your breath hitch. What a specimen. Ocean blue eyes, fluffy brown curls, cherry pink lips. A white dress shirt is pulled over his broad chest, gray dress pants hugging thick thighs, matching suit jacket across wide shoulders. He has a blue, black, and white plaid tie around his neck and you can see the edges of his blue suspenders under his blazer. He’s put together, but it’s nothing special, a normal Sunday best suit, that much you can tell.

“Uh, not all night.” You look back to the drink, before looking at the clock with a hum, tilting your head playfully. “Maybe another hour.”

He chuckles, gesturing for the bartender. “Tell me this, sweetheart. What is a beautiful dame like yourself doin’ drinking alone?”

“I’m not very good on my feet, I’m afraid.” You laugh nervously, taking a sip of your drink.

“Don’t come here often, then?”

“Only for special occasions.”

“What’s the special occasion this evenin’, sugar?”

You shrug. “My friends dragged me here. They’re practically in love with this guy who’s supposedly playing the piano tonight. James Barnes. Have you ever heard of him?”

He chuckles, a grin pulling his lips upwards. “Yeah. Yeah I’ve heard of ‘im. Not a big fan yourself?”

“I’m sure he’s fine. I just don’t understand the fascination with him. Let the man be.”

“I agree.” He hums with a nod, grabbing the glass of whiskey the bartender set in front of him. “I actually know him.”

“Really?” You look at him in interest.

He tilts his head with a smile towards you that makes you melt. “Yeah. He feels the same. He just likes playin’. That’s all. He didn’t want all the attention. He gets enough without that.”

You raise an eyebrow, finishing off your drink. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m Bucky by the way.”

You eye his hand, grabbing it after a second, letting him bring your knuckles to his lips. “Y/N.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, mama.” He shifts his body more towards you, running a hand through his hair. “You said you ain’t fond of dancin’?”

Shaking your head, you quickly defend yourself, “no, no. I like dancing. I’m just not very good. Got two left feet.”

He smirks, tongue poking out to run over those plump lips of his. “Well, with the right partner, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you asking me to dance, Bucky?”

“Not if you’re gonna say no.” He responds with a toothy grin, leaning his elbows on his knees.

You sigh and shake your head. “I’m afraid tonight’s not your night, pal. I just can’t seem to get myself in the mood.”

He hums, leaning back. “Is it the music? Too fast for you?”

“I wouldn’t mind if they slowed it down some, I suppose.”

He smiles cheekily. “I can help with that. Hold on.”

You grin at him, nodding. “I’ll be here.”

Watching him stand and make his way over to the stage, you quirk an eyebrow. He seems to know the band well, if the handshakes and the claps on the back have anything to say about it. He says something to the lead, who nods with a grin, shooting him a wink. Bucky laughs, but you can see a tint of pink dusting his cheeks, making you wonder what they were saying.

He makes his way back over as the band shifts tones, the animated swing changing to a slow jazzy number. Bucky beams at you, holding out his hand as he approaches. “Care to dance?”

You purse your lips, narrowing your eyes, but taking his hand anyways. “How’d you do that? Do you work here?’

“Uh…somethin’ like that.” He states vaguely, leading you to the dance floor with the other swaying couples. Pulling you as close as appropriate, his hands resting politely on your waist, he starts moving you side to side. 

“That’s not ominous.” You place your hands on his shoulders, following his lead as you stare at your feet.

He chuckles, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your gaze. “I’ve gotcha, doll. I won’t let you fall.”

“I’m going to step on your feet.” You explain.

“Nah. You’re doin’ great. You just need to get outta your head. Relax a little. Tell me something about yourself.”

You hum. “Like what?”

“Anything.”

“Uh, okay…I have a roommate who is one of the girls who begged me to come, I’m a secretary - I know, boring - and…I dunno. I like reading.”

His eyes lighten at this. “Reading? Whaddya like to read?”

“Different things. Depends on my mood. I’m re-reading The Hobbit for, like, the twentieth time right now.”

“I love The Hobbit.” Bucky grins, making you smile back. “I read it almost as soon as it came out.”

“Me too! I was planning on reading it tonight but,” you gesture around. “Here I am.”

Bucky lips pull up softly, his hold on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he pulls you closer. “Well, as much as I love that book, I’m glad you came out tonight.”

Giving him a little tease, you tap your chin thoughtfully. “Eh…I think I’d rather be at home.”

He pinches your side gently, making you squeal and squirm. “That hurt, sugar. That physically hurt me. C’mon, mama, your gonna say you aren’t havin’ a good time?”

“I just met you ten minutes ago.”

“Well, sweetheart, if you think we’re movin’ too fast, I won’t introduce you to my folks just yet.”

You laugh, blinking up at him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Buck.”

The two of you rock for a little while longer, before the band stops, announcing they’re taking a break and a special guest is going to play a little something.

“Maybe James Barnes is here.” You say, a bit of intrigue lacing your tone, trying to see through the crowds of people who started gathering around the stage to catch a glimpse of the charming pianist. “I see why he would be over the attention.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs, almost sadly, giving you an apologetic look. “Listen, I’ve gotta go work for a bit, but I’ll be right back.”

You smirk. “So you do work here?”

“Um…kinda. You’ll see.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words, but he’s kissing your knuckles and walking away. You frown, but can’t think more on it when three young women are on you, babbling about their dates.

“Who were you dancing with, Y/N? He was cute!”

You roll your eyes, feeling yourself heat up, and not because of the many bodies in the vicinity. “Just…some guy.”

“C’mon, c’mon! We’ve gotta get a good spot to actually see him!”

You huff, letting the drag you through the crowd, shoving their way towards the front just as a familiar deep voice spoke. 

“Thanks for comin’ out, everyone. I hope your havin’ a good night. Let’s get this hop started, yeah?”

Your eyes widen when you finally catch sight of the man sitting at the piano with a polite smile on his features. He catches your eye and shoots you a wink, before his fingers start flying over the keys. The beam that he gets while tickling the gleaming ivories, his azure eyes lighting up, and you can’t fight the smile you get. He looks so relaxed, so invigorated, that it makes you happy just watching him.

“Oh my God! Weren’t you dancing with him?!” Lucy shook your shoulder obnoxiously, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, mesmerized with the way he played like it’s the only thing he wanted to do with his life. Which, as you remember his words, ‘he just likes playin’. That’s all.’ you figure it is the only thing he wanted to do with his life.

You just danced with James Barnes…and he’s just as perfect as everyone says.

You’re still trying to wrap your head around it, your friends jumping around you, trying to get every little detail of him from you, when your heart skips a beat and your brain malfunctions. Bucky had started up another song, slower and more intimate, and he’s looking right at you. 

You find yourself doing something you never thought you would; you’re swooning over James Barnes, smiling like an idiot, heat blooming up your neck and flaming your face. And yes, he’s just a man - a human being - with flaws just like everyone else. But he’s a talented and gorgeous man, who has all of New York wanting to fall to her knees to please him.

And now that includes you.

[rosileeduckie]

Sending Sensation

There’s nothing quite like the rain.

When it’s literally raining somewhere else. Magnus and Alec have creative ways of dealing with being apart.

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Mortal Instruments/Shadowhunters/Malec tickle fic

Word count: 4,337

~*~

Just because Magnus had cat eyes didn’t mean he was averse to water. He’d always rather liked water, actually. Especially rain. He hadn’t been young in centuries, but something about rain always lit a fire in him, made him feel energetic and playful like few things (really good liquor, a really good date, and both those things together, preferably) could. It was something he and his partner could agree on. They both loved the rain, though Magnus found it invigorating where Alec found it soothing. Magnus loved a day spent furiously cleaning or mixing powerful potions or dancing in the living room that lightning lit up like a disco ball to a beat like thunder. Alec preferred the rain as a softer soundtrack, echoing the ringing of Izzy and Jace’s weapons striking his or mimicking the featherlight kisses Magnus would plant upon the shadowhunter’s face and neck and chest to wake him. Swept up as he could get by the excitement of a rainy day, Magnus could admit that they were incomplete without sweet, slow starts.

Alec would be waking soon, alone in their Idris home save for their two cats (Chairman Meow, the rambunctious kitten from Magnus’ Brooklyn flat, and Church, the grumpy old long-hair from the New York Institute, much to Alec’s dismay). In the shadowhunter home country, the sun would have just risen, turning the sky from night-black into a hazy grey-green as its week’s worth of storms rumbled onward. Magnus longed for the sight. That of Idris, an oil painting of peaceful thunder sometimes featuring the distant high towers of Alicante when the rain lightened before doubling again, but, more so, of the man in the foreground of that painting. Alec, his dark hair mussed from sleep and his eyes heavy above the rim of his coffee mug. He’d be standing on the porch, under the shelter of the eaves with mere inches between him and the downpour. He’d watch the rain, and Magnus would watch him, eventually stepping forward to bridge the inches between them. The warlock’s arms would slip easily around Alec’s waist, his head bowed to kiss up from between Alec’s shoulder blades to the nape of his neck to the soft spot behind his ear. “Come back to bed with me,” Magnus would whisper, breathing in deeply the smell of wet earth and black coffee and Alec’s shampoo from their shower the night before. Alec would put up little of a fight, and they’d go back inside, falling back into their still-warm bed into a warmer embrace, to be broken only if Alec could muster enough energy to make his meetings in Alicante’s Institute. He sometimes did, but, so blissfully often, the stretching on of the beautiful rainy moment with his partner was just too good to resist.

“I wish you were here.”

Magnus smiled sadly. In New York, it was past midnight. He wasn’t waking softly beside his favorite person to the sound of quiet snores or insistent meows to be fed. He was sitting in his chair in his apartment in Brooklyn, exhausted from a day of meeting with shadowhunter and downworlder alike for a new annual tradition of peace. Magnus hadn’t found peace until all the small talk and not-quite-sincere smiles had ceased, when he could sit down and unbutton his shirt and call his partner. It had taken quite the resources to acquire communication rings for he and Alec, but they had been worth every magic molecule, as it meant that Magnus could now see his partner seated beside him, however incorporeally. In Idris, Alec would be seeing the opposite, Magnus’ image seated beside him by the fireplace. “I wish I was there, too,” said the warlock. “It is so dreadfully boring without you. Magnus yawned, both to emphasize his point and because he couldn’t help it. Tired as he was, though, he wouldn’t sleep yet. Besides, silly as it was, it made him happy that he and Alec were sharing the same “day,” even if only technically. The warlock shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other (as opposed to how they’d been crossed already) and resting his elbow on the armrest and his temple on his hand with a grin. “I assume the boys are keeping you entertained?”

With a chuckle, Alec nodded. His projection showed him and anything touching him within a few inches, so Magnus could plainly see his question answered. One hand, Alec was using to hold his coffee mug, and, the other, he had reserved for petting Church, whose perpetually scowling face could only look so sour when he was purring so loudly. Evidently summoned by the mention, Chairman Meow appeared as well, hopping from his usual perch on the mantel to nestle between the back of Alec’s neck and the plush back of his chair. “Just like you asked them to,” Alec replied, reaching back to give the Chairman a scritch before returning his hand to Church’s head when the older cat’s purring dipped toward a grumble.

“Very good,” said Magnus, heart warm at the sight. Early on, Alec had joked, in his dry way from back then, that cats were incessantly underfoot and in the way—at least, the Institute’s cat always had been. Despite his supposed dislike for them, Alec was very loving toward Magnus’ felines. Even if, deep down, he confessed he’d always wanted a dog. One day, maybe. When Church “finally died or grew so old that he didn’t notice things enough to get annoyed and hissy” at them. The Chairman, and most other cats, Alec would never wish poorly upon. But he was vocally certain Church was older than he was and, quite possibly, immortal, or, at least, on one of his last lives. According to Alec, that cat had been terrorizing the Institute halls and libraries for as long as Alec could remember. Church’s disappearance had been both confusing and relieving for all Institute occupants. His reappearance at Magnus’ house had been, perhaps, ironic. His moving with the couple to Idris had been a hard sell, but Alec had sighed and reasoned he’d already spent most of his teenage and adult life being woken up by Church batting his face, and he could hardly break tradition when Magnus was so enamored with the crotchety old thing.

“You should sleep,” Alec said, not unkindly, when Magnus yawned again.

The warlock shook his head, holding up a hand both to cover the yawn and wag a finger. “This dreadful summit had been boring me to sleep all day,” he joked with a roll of his eyes. “And I’ve been looking forward to your company all day; sleep will wait for me.”

Alec ducked his head with a smile, bashful at the sentiment. He was always more openly smiley or shy or receptive when he was on the edge of sleep or past the edge of tipsy, and Magnus adored every such moment. “It’s raining today,” Alec offered, trying futilely to hide his smile in the sip he took of his coffee.

“Is it?” Magnus asked, as though he hadn’t spent the particularly boring parts of his meetings glancing at his phone to just see the weather around Idris to entertain himself even a little by imagining what Alec would be doing during the day. Of course, weather reports surrounding a country that couldn’t be detected were only so accurate, and the magic rings didn’t allow Magnus to hear what Alec could—surely the beautiful sound of the rain tapping the windows and the cats purring around him—so it was nice to hear it confirmed. It was nice to know Alec would still get to have one of his favorite kinds of days even while Magnus was away. “The garden will appreciate that. I thought the moonflowers and wolfsbane looked a little sour when I left.” Even as he spoke, Magnus’ mind was dwelling on the image of his arms around Alec as the rain poured down on their little house. He sighed, letting his head fall back against his chair with a faraway smile. “I should file a complaint with the council for making me miss a rainy day with you. That’s downright criminal.”

The shadowhunter chuckled, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against his mug. For a moment, he was quiet, his eyes drifting to one side, toward, what Magnus inferred from where Alec was presumably sitting, the door. Before Magnus’ brow could furrow, Alec was smiling, his eyes bright, and he carefully set both his mug and the cat on his lap aside before he stood up. The rings offered a line of conversation over most any distance, albeit with the requirement that whoever was being contacted by the wearer remain projected within about five feet of them, so Magnus had to press his lips together on a laugh as Alec’s image moved in place, almost like he was on an invisible treadmill.

“Where are you going?” Magnus said with a chuckle of his own and a raised eyebrow. “You know cats take great offense when their throne is displaced.”

“Dance with me,” said Alec, glancing back at Magnus with a grin as he bent down to tug on his boots. “In the rain. Do you remember?”

Magnus was suddenly biting down on a smile that wanted to grow until his cheeks ached. “I remember,” he said, though the crease didn’t leave his brow. “But what—?”

“The sharing spell you worked on with Clary,” Alec explained, already backing toward the door once he’d laced his boots up. “And modified. Do you remember?”

The ache in Magnus’ cheeks turned to a flush. Clary had helped him with conception of but not the modifications to the spell; that had been more of a solo project. That had become a two-person experiment. Regardless, Magnus had had only good experiences with that spell, so he could only smile at what Alec was inferring. “Yes, I remember.”

Alec stepped back and, as Magnus watched, his emerald-green sleep shirt and sweatpants grew suddenly dark, his hair flattening to his head and down his forehead under dripping rivulets, like he’d suffered a sudden baptism via a bucket on the door. His already big smile only grew when Magnus laughed into his hand; Alec could hear the lovely sound even as his stepping out from under the eaves subjected him to the loud patter of the rain. “Dance in the rain with me,” said Alec, arms spread as wide as his smile.

Magnus almost declined, offering some flimsy excuse about it being late or the fact that Alec would almost certainly get sick being out in the rain with no coat, but his partner wore a smile so big and bright and happy that he simply didn’t have the heart to resist. Standing, Magnus began the incantation, smiling even as he closed his eyes. He sent his fingers into their usual dance, summoning blue, wispy magic before touching his rings and inner wrist, tying himself all the closer to Alec. Though he’d known what to expect after seeing Alec so suddenly drenched, Magnus still gasped as the spell activated and the sensation of a freezing deluge poured down on his body. Of course, his hair and makeup were still pristine; he just felt as cold as Alec did standing in the rain. The change in temperature was so sudden and so absolute—Magnus would have sworn he could feel his socks getting soggy—that it actually knocked the wind out of the warlock. For a moment, all he felt was chill and wet and the hairs on his neck standing up, and then the freezing feeling in his chest snapped, and he was laughing. And he could feel Alec’s arms, warm around him. When Magnus looked up, he couldn’t help but laugh more when he saw Alec standing with his own arms wrapped around himself in as tight a self-hug as he could manage, wrapping Magnus up in the feeling as well. Magnus held him, too, holding his own arms behind his back to make Alec feel just as happy and warm.

Of course, it was silly. Anyone who walked in on the Institute Head of Alicante and the High Warlock of Idris dancing together despite the thousands of miles between them would have thought so. But there was no one to impede or look down on the couple holding themselves and holding each other. Nothing to get in the way of the fun and tenderness that came with the rain, that fell from the sky and splashed between Alec and Magnus’ chests, that thundered within them. Magnus lifted his hand to kiss Alec’s palm, and Alec’s arms rose to bury themselves in Magnus’ hair. Alec held onto Magnus’ waist, and they both were spinning, laughing themselves sillier when the usually graceful shadowhunter nearly slipped on the wet grass, only to catch himself within seconds of them both sprawling. Alec’s hands touched his own neck to cradle Magnus’ jaw, and Magnus covered every inch of Alec’s face with fingertip kisses hopscotching over his own skin. How could the warlock sleep now, elated and elevated as he felt now? How could he not already be dreaming, sweet as this was?

A shiver shook Magnus’ chest, and he sighed in contentment and resignation. “You’re going to catch your death, Alexander,” he said, though he was still beaming, head tipped back blissfully as Alec’s thumbs rubbed the base of his scalp. He didn’t sound near as stern as he’d intended to.

Alec hummed, the image of the man across from him flickering in beautiful concert with the thunder bubbling overhead. “It would take more than this good of a day to kill me,” he smiled. “Though it would be the best death a shadowhunter could hope for.”

“Anyone could hope for,” Magnus breathed in reply. He tried to snap back to himself, to resist somehow against Alec’s familiar touch. “But not today. Come inside?”

The shadowhunter’s smile softened fondly, then sharpened mischievously. “Get over here and make me?” he teased.

That woke Magnus up. His eyes narrowed, and his hands slid down, coming to rest on Alec’s ribs with twitching fingers. “Oh, I will, as soon as I get back,” he promised, his voice low. He wished he had enough energy to portal to Alec right then and there, but he knew the pros of anticipation. “For now, though, I must insist you come in now.”

“Mags—” The exaggerated sigh Alec had just begun to loose was stolen from his lips as Magnus’ fingers curled between his ribs, making his breath hitch with an eager smile. “Okay, okay, I’m going!”

“Thank you,” Magnus grinned, giving the sensitive spot a departing pinch that made Alec jump as he hastened back to the porch. The throw blanket Magnus grabbed from his parlor couch to drape around his shoulders was half to rid the phantom sensation of cold from his body and half to make sure Alec felt warm, too.

“I’m sorry, your eminences,” said Alec, presumably returning to the living room and shutting the door behind him. Magnus couldn’t see either of the cats, but he could perfectly picture their offended pouts at their throne not only moving but also getting wet, thus being an unsuitable throne for the time being. “I’ll be back to your optimal perch shortly.”

“Preferably after changing into warm clothes and sitting by the fire,” Magnus said, reclaiming his earlier seat and crossing his legs comfortably once more. A smile crept across his face. “Well,” he teased, “not changing too fast, though.”

The flush Alec’s cheeks had developed from the cold rain paled in comparison to their dark heat at that comment. “Magnus Lightwood-Bane,” he shook his head.

“Mm?” Magnus hummed, unabashedly grinning as he tipped his head to one side.

Alec’s jaw flapped soundlessly for a few seconds, and his gaze was turned stubbornly away from Magnus, as though that would keep his partner from seeing the smile he was trying to bite back. He sat by the fire and set his eyes on the laces that suddenly required all his focus to undo. “That’s hardly professional.”

Magnus chuckled. “Our relationship hasn’t moved past ‘professional’ in the years we’ve known each other? I was sure marriage would tip us over the edge.”

“Not if I demote you,” Alec said, standing and going to the bedroom to change at whatever speed he liked, undeterred by (or, perhaps, just ‘used to’) Magnus’ presence, however incorporeal, behind him.  

“All that ‘Head of the Institute’ power is going to your head,” Magnus shook his head, obligingly examining his nails rather than ogle. The point was putting on new clothes for warmth, not taking them off for pleasure. There was a necessary hierarchy. “Is this demotion based on my performance or for the fact that I’m too far away to do more than tease at the moment?”

Pants sorted, Alec pulled a dry shirt over his head and sat down on the bed to replace his socks. “Definitely performance.”

“Really?” Magnus said, pursing his lips. “Well, that’s something of a relief. I’d hate for you to miss me too much while I’m away, but if my overall performance could be better, I can work on that while we’re apart.” His fingers drifted to his sleeve, rolling it up his arm until it was cuffed above his elbow. He traced his thumb lightly along the thin skin there, watching with a smile as Alec’s poorly hidden smile twitched wider as the sensation traveled to his own arm. “How about now? Has my score improved any?”

A minute ago, both parties had been lamenting how distance prevented them from actually touching one another. At present, one party was very interested in how flustered he could get his partner without touching him. The other… would not have been opposed to such a test. Still, said other had just woken up; he wouldn’t give in so easily. “I’m still demoting you, and to a phone call instead of a ring call so that this,” he clapped a hand over his tingling inner elbow, “doesn’t… isn’t…” He nodded, letting the threat hang like he’d said anything to dissuade Magnus from teasing with words or magic. He’d only gotten one sock on, the poor thing.

Magnus only smiled, his fingers crawling upward. The touch on his own arm reflexively didn’t tickle, but he could see Alec squirming, which only made him smile more. “Do you remember our last day in the rain?” Alec nodded, pretending to ignore the touch ascending closer to his armpit like Magnus was pretending not to notice Alec’s breath getting shallow and his grin getting bigger. His arms were even clenched to his sides, as though that would protect him from the ghostly sensations. “I love that day. The rain in Idris was so cold, but you held me, and you were so warm. Half for the fact that you’re always pleasantly warm, and half for the fact that your cheeks were still red from me catching you trying to steal my rings.”

“I wasn’t stealing—” Alec said, stifling a gasp as Magnus’ fingers traipsed from his shoulder to his collarbone, scratching there lightly with one of his aforementioned rings, the jointed silver one with the clawed tip. A beautiful piece of jewelry, and one that made Alec go a beautiful shade of red when it was pointed at him with any sort of mischievous intent.

“And you wouldn’t be. “What’s mine is yours.” I should have left this one with you, though; I know how much you like it,” said Magnus, genuinely curious if Alec could have even looked at the ring without feeling butterflies, let alone wear it. Another test for another day. “Let’s circle back, Alexander. Negotiate. Just a phone call? Not even a video call?”

Alec’s hands were white-knuckling the fabric of his pants, his eyes shut tight and his chest heaving as he tried not to so much as giggle. He kept trying to gather his breath to reply only to falter and retreat, knowing, as Magnus was counting on, that Alec opening his mouth for more than a second would have allowed an escape for the laughter bubbling in his chest, and, after that, there would be no holding it back. Magnus’ claw traced a winding, slow, featherlight path down, skating a familiar path down Alec’s chest and to his right side, drawing figure eights over and between his ribs. The touch was light, but the spot was evil, and Alec couldn’t hold back any longer. First a snicker, then open-mouthed giggles leapt from his lips. His arms flapped fruitlessly to protect the spot, but the sensation that lit up his nerves endings remained unfairly there, leaving him only the option to cover his face with his hands and wait for Magnus to have mercy. The uncertainty of when mercy would come was unfairly thrilling.

“Though, you know,” Magnus smiled, talking on as though his partner hadn’t tittered himself into falling backwards onto the bed across from him, “I suppose I don’t need a video call to see how handsome you look when you’re laughing like this. I like to see you, of course. But I’ve seen your giggled-silly face so wonderfully often that I know exactly what you’d look like if I did this without getting the pleasure of seeing you. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? If I just cast this spell any time and tickled you softly, knowing just how hot your ears would get, how your feet would kick, how you’d bite your lip until you can’t stand it anymore—that’s when your smile gets so big that your eyes won’t stay open even if you could bear to look at me. Aw, Alexander, you wouldn’t see me either. You wouldn’t prefer that, would you?”

After a moment trying to clench his jaw through his giggles, Alec shook his head. And Magnus couldn’t long more for the ability to pull Alec close, to climb on top of him in bed and chase his laughter with both hands—something a phone call wouldn’t allow, which was why he was far from done negotiating—to lean in to whisper more teases and kisses of how they could spend the rainy day. Magnus knew he’d be looking forward to such a day, a more intimate version of that morning/night’s activities. But it was getting late; if Alec wasn’t so busy smiling so big and giggling so adorably, he’d probably be insisting Magnus get some good sleep before his next round of meetings in the morning. But, certainly, they could both do well with a few more silly minutes, something to give Magnus sweet dreams and something for Alec to smile about all day.

“Thought so,” Magnus smiled, withdrawing his tormenting fingertip in favor of his palms, which rubbed soothing circles over the spot that had kept his beloved in tittering stitches. He so wished he could kiss him. Soon. All their days could begin and end so sweetly. As for the one at present… “I almost think I shouldn’t play with you so nicely while I’m away, or you’ll prefer that as opposed to my actually being there,” Magnus teased.

Alec shook his head again, breathing slowing but a smile still wide on his flushed cheeks.

The shadowhunter’s eyes were closed, but Magnus couldn’t keep from pressing a finger to his own mouth at the sentiment, as if his touched smile could be hidden by it. Magnus did see Alec’s own smile widen a little, and he realized Alec could most certainly feel that as he had felt the warlock’s more purposeful touches. Such as: Magnus clawed finger touching down on his left side, making Alec jackknife before collapsing back on the bed in merry cackles as it and four other manicured nails scratched vindictively at the sensitive spot. “But I also think,” Magnus said, tugging his collar open with his free hand and swinging his head from side to side in a slow U. Again, the feeling of his own stubble brushing his collarbone wasn’t a ticklish one—moreso an awkward motion for his neck that Alec had better have appreciated—but it got Alec to howl in laughter, so it was effective for someone. “I also think that you deserve things you love that you can look forward to. I know I’ll be looking forward to doing this again when I’m home.”

Part of Magnus’ wish for physical contact right then was due to Alec’s expression of enjoyment often came from him leaning into Magnus’ touch or wordlessly guiding him to a new place if he didn’t (as well as for his own happiness at being close to Alec, but that wasn’t so relevant). But Magnus hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he didn’t need to see Alec to know he was enjoying himself. It was a bonus, of course, but Magnus didn’t need it to know and feel Alec’s head thrown back into the pillow, his arms no longer clenching to his sides but out just far enough to grip the blankets. He was kicking quite a bit more than usual, but Magnus assumed, rightly, that that was because Alec was making the most of not being pinned, trying in his giggle-high mind to decide if he liked more the helplessness of being pinned or not being pinned but still being fully subjected to every sensation he loved. Magnus would have to bring it up when he was awake enough to effectively negotiate. For that moment, he would lighten his touch and draw swirls over Alec’s ribs until the spell wore off or he fell asleep, looking forward every moment to when he could wake to Alec’s smile and touch him, really touch him, pull him close with cuddles and kisses and tickles and have nothing in the day waiting to interrupt them. Until the cats came to be fed, of course.