#The request list story will be posted tomorrow I thought this was better than nothing

[formula1fanfiction]

Charles Leclerc / George Russell

Title: Wasted times and lost tears

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / George Russell

Characters: Charles Leclerc, George Russell

Prompt: George's crash sends him spiraling, Charles helps him feel better. George and Charles are both omega's in this

At long last, George is finally back in his hotel room after a horrible day. Nothing seems to be going right for him, at the moment. Two crashes in the space of a week is not ideal. He's no idea if it's a car problem, a skill issue or the overwhelming cloud of sadness he's been stuck in for forever. His distressed scent must have been flying off him in waves, all the mechanics were quick to tell him, no one was mad at him and as nice as it is to hear, he's not sure he believes them. He's been nothing but a horrible inconvenience recently, they deserve better than him.

He's in a horrible amount of pain as well, his chest hurts and he's bruised all over from the stupid crash. All he wants to do is snuggle down into his nest and pretend today never happened, but he never had the time to make one before practice and now he's on his knees in tears, nothing in this shitty nest will sit right and horrible waves of pain keep shooting up his ribs. In the end he gives it up as a bad job, he's about to climb in bed and cry some more underneath the covers when there's a knock at the door.

"George, are you okay?" It's Charles, at this point he's relived it's a fellow omega, he can't deal with an alpha right now. "Yeah, i'm good." He can't help but wince and rub a hand over his aching body. Charles looks like doesn't believe George at all. "I could smell your stressed scent in the media pen and thought it could only be one of three things. You're coming into heat, but I don't smell slick so i'm going to rule out that one, you're in a horrible amount of pain physically and mentally from the crash or you're touch starved. I think the crash has upset you, but I can tell how touched starved you are George."

"Please, from one omega to another let me take care of you, you look like you need it." George honestly doesn't have the energy to argue, he steps to one side and let's Charles into the room, without another word. "I really don't understand you, George, you are so friendly, you get along with everyone but you never come into the pack room, why is that?" George shrugs. "Not like anyone would want me there is it? I'm not very desirable."

"Not desirable? What are you talking about?" Charles makes a distressed sound, at the sight of George's disastrous nest and starts fixing it. "I hate being an omega, i'm to tall, too ugly. I'm not like you Charles, you are beautiful anyone would be lucky to have you." Charles flushes, running his finger over the mating mark on his neck. "I am mated George, but you're gorgeous, you're slender, so pretty, your eyelashes are everything and I know a few alpha's who are interested."

"Please don't lie to my face Charles, it's hurts enough being a dorky omega." Charles picks up a black sweater of Lewis and places it into the nest, a small smile on his face. "One of this alpha's is my future teammate." Charles picks up Alex's Williams hoodie and places it next to the sweater. "And another is your so called best friend." The nest looks so neat and beautiful, better than anything George could have made, see he can't even do nests right.

"I'm sorry you're hurting George, but if only you came down to the pack room, then you would see for yourself, but for now get in your nest, I want to help you feel better." Charles is very bossy for an omega, in a very endearing kind of way. So George does as he's told and climbs inside, already feeling a little bit better. It's all his things, all the scents and smells he enjoys just arranged much better.

"Poor Georgie, you smell so sad, I just want you to be happy." George just stares at him dumbfounded, he doesn't really know what to do. He's never nested with anyone before. "Can I touch you, George?" He just nods, not really sure what Charles wants to do with him.

Charles settles himself into the mess of blankets and team wear, it's only a small nest, just big enough for Charles and George's long legs. Charles pulls at George until he's sat on the Monegasque's lap. "I'm too big, stop it." Charles hisses and presses, George's face into his scent gland. "You weigh nothing, stop being silly and sit still" George relaxes, taking in scent of Charles, it does help a little bit, ok a lot.

"I told you, you smell less distressed already." Charles lifts George's face from where it's buried in his neck and rubs their cheeks together. It feels so good, it feels so right, it makes him feel wanted.

"It's good isn't it? Lando has said many times he wishes you would nest with him in the pack room, it's good for omega's to nest together." George pulls away from Charles to look him in the eye. "Lando?"

"Yes, he's your friend" Charles pulls George in for another cuddle and runs soothing circles on his scent gland. He can't quite stop the pleased little purrs escaping his mouth, but they seem to make Charles happy, the  Monegasque's own scent fills George's nostrils it's sweet and vanilla."You smell good, Charles." He chuckles, i'm happy George, nesting with omega's makes me happy. I want you to feel like this too, i'm glad it's helping you, there's a difference in your scent already."

"You're so touched starved George, if you won't come to the pack room, then at least nest with me from time to time." The pack room sounds nice, especially if it feels anything like nesting with Charles, but the pack room is just so scary, there's alpha's and nobody there likes him. "Nobody wants me in the pack room, this is nice with you though."

"Mr Russell, do I need to shake your head? You are one of the nicest guys on the grid, no one dislikes you, even Fernando likes you and he hates everyone." George giggles into Charles' neck, he can already feel his eyes starting to get heavy, it's been ages since he felt this peaceful.

"What's it like in the pack room?" Charles must recognise he's getting sleepy and softly starts running his fingers through George's hair. "You will love it, we're all one big family, we just nest and cuddle together, all the track drama stays at the door." George hums, that sounds nice.

"I'm going to take you with me next time, okay?" George thinks he nods, but sleep over comes him really quickly, the last thing he registers is Charles' lips on his forehead, before sleep finally over takes him. It's the most happy and peaceful he's felt for a long time, maybe he is wanted after all.  

[docholligay]

Doc's Very Best Of Death playlist official request.

These are pretty much all comfortably in the folk/countryish vein, because, well, that's what I listen to. ALSO THIS IS NOT A VERY BEST OF. It's a 'very best of I could think of while juggling my toddler and doing laundry and baking a cake for shabbat so it sucks probably' but if I don't take the pressure off I won't do it at all.

Kate and the Ghost of Lost Love, Dave Carter and Tracey Grammar -- I chose this over When i Go because I just posted that song, and also this has the line, "I count the days in cups of wine and candles I have burned" which haunts my thoughts constantly.

What Sarah Said, Death Cab for Cutie --Everyone creams themselves for I will Follow You Into the Dark (And, me too , babygirl) but What Sarah Said is so much more evocative for me. It's more REAL to me. It's just straight up about losing someone. Like, in the process of.

This time tomorrow Brandi Carlisle -- I have an endless fondness for things that are sad, but done with a cheerfulness. This fits that bill.

When I'm Gone, Phil Ochs -- I have a long post reply to verb that she most assuredly does not care about, and neither do you, about the finest Phil Ochs songs, but this is one of them. I suppose one could argue that it's not about dying, it's about the necessity of living as much as you can because nothing comes after, but I think that tracks. Love this song. Play it at my funeral.

The Dance, Garth Brooks -- this is the most traditionally popular song on this list, i think. Most contemporary, at least. You will find very few country fans who don't know this song. It's a banger. It kills. More than anything, it's about loving someone who dies, and how you would do the whole thing all over again. I like it live better than in studio, but that's just me.

Memories, Eisley -- I don't even know how I know this song ahahah. I think i heard it at a party once? It's not that this isn't the type of usic i listen to--I've kept the song forever--but i don't think i've listened to anything else by them.

Poison Oak, Bright Eyes -- If you've ever lost someone due to things I'm just gonna call "Kinda their fault" this mix of nostalgia and fucking RAGE and sadness just kills, and gets it completely. It's not very easy to find any song about death or grief that contains any anger. But i assure you it does happen in real life.

Each Coming Night, Iron and Wine-- You know, I saw iron and Wine back years ago at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass in San Francisco, which I went to pretty regularly when I was young. I heard this song there for the first time, hadn't heard the album this was on, actually sat there because I liked the last album. Anyway, this is another song that feels wistful rather than straight up sad.

Seasons in the Sun, Terry Jacks -- I almost didn't include this song because I was like, 'Fucking everyone knows this song it was a huge hit" but given the demographics of tumblr maybe you don't?

Whiskey Lullaby, Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss -- I can't hang this up without including a tragic story song (Gotta be one of my favorite genders). Maybe this was a bigger hit than The Dance? I don't think so though. I saw Allison Krauss when she came here, she played in a park it was great. I sat on the grass and drank a beer.

IF YOU LIKED ANY OF THESE OR ANY OF THESE SONGS MAKE YOU THINK "Oh I know a song doc would love" PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

[hxnmantii]

Draken and Naoto comforting their s/o

tw: fluff

Requested by: @cryingblueogre

A/n: I’m really nervous posting this ngl since this is my first time actually posting for Tokyo Revengers as well writing a drabble so creative criticism would be very much appreciated! Reblogs are appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

tagging: @kazutoraholic

Draken (Ken Ryuguji)

Rain was a natural indication, encouragement to stay and cuddle with the person you love but it had the opposite effect on you, seemingly pushing you further into your unforgiving head. You stare at your computer in a daze, a mass of considerable useless information flowing past your eyes and ears as your attention is really focused on your cruel thoughts. Of course Draken noticed, he always did. He noticed the little sighs, and the dark circles, the new over/under sleeping schedule and the constant “I’m fine” s. He noticed all of that and trusted that with time and patience, you would come talk to him. But today, right now, It was very apparent that you were not going to, so Draken had taken initiative to “ask” about it. He treads lightly to your sitting figure, draping himself along your back like a cover before kissing your forehead softly. His arms tighten around your waist essentially pulling you closer to his chest so he can put his head in the crook of your shoulder and rub your tummy. You hum, acknowledging his presence but other than that you sit in silence, a comfortable norm for you guys. He sighs softly. “Whatever’s happening right now, whatever you’re going through, just know you’re not alone. I'm here with you so let me help you.” He says softly. One hand interlaces with yours, the other grabbing your chin so he can place a sweet kiss on your lips, hoping that it conveys how much he loves you.

The kiss took your breath as does all of Draken’s kisses and with the pitter patter of the rain, it felt as if you were melting in his embrace, fully soaking in his abundance of love and trust for you. But as soon as he pulled away, the day dreamlike state disappeared and you were brought back to reality of your current problems on this dumb computer. “Thank you for worrying about me but honestly i’m okay, Ken so don’t worry about me.” He stays silent for a couple of minutes before moving back and standing up, walking away to whatever. The lack of warmth really makes you realize that even the love of your life couldn't possibly understand what you were going through, a fact that only made you feel more alone. You wrap your arms around yourself and continue to look at the computer screen when a cup slams down next to you. You look up to see Draken holding his old cardigan and a cover, dropping it on the couch behind you and crouching to your level.

“Is everything on this computer backed up?” he asked

“Yea why-”

He slams the screen shut before you can even finish your sentence, chucking it into you guys’ bedroom.You look at him with a frown on your face. “Can you not? Break my laptop please?” He ignores you, placing his cardigan on you. His smell fills your nose and makes you at ease. Draken picks you up before flopping on the couch, setting you up comfortably on his chest before he once again wraps his arms around you, dragging a cover over your body. His smell, his warmth, his strength, the effort he puts in to make you comfortable, you can't help the smile that adorns your face as you snuggle closer to this chest.“You had that same expression,,,,,you don’t think I would understand what you’re going through. I might not but how do you know if you wont tell me? We’re supposed to be in this together, aren’t we? Let me help you.”

“Thank you Kenny. I will tomorrow, okay?”

“Yea, that’s fine but for now relax, sleep, play on your phone, I don't really care what you do but you’re not leaving until you feel better.” he says, not knowing that you were already feeling x10 better thanks to him.

Naoto Tachibana

Y/n, I’m home”

Naoto walks through the door, briefcase in one hand and cup of barely warm coffee. He looks around, expecting a vibrant you to be mobing him at the door with a smile brighter than the sun like you usually do. He sets down his belongings and walks briskly to the bedroom, a strong sense of worry feeling his chest. It only gets stronger when he sees that you haven’t moved from the curled up position he left you in, 7 hours ago. He sits down by your side and gently rubs up and down your arm. “Y/n, love what’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?” You groan and roll over, away from him. He was too loud and you didn’t need him judging you over your problems, not that he ever actually did so but your thoughts were cruel.

“I’m fine, baby. Don’t worry about it.” You can feel him get off of the bed so you close your eyes and pull the cover over your head to fall deeper into your thoughts. Except he doesn’t accept this answer and walks around the bed to face you again. You feel his presence without him having to say anything and peek from the comforter to see your boyfriend hovering over you, arms crossed and a frown on his face. “Naoto what’s wrong? I said I was okay?”

“You can’t fool me y/n, you’ve been in the same spot since I left for work. C’mon get up.”

“No” you say, throwing the comforter back over your head. Your dark, warm coven suddenly gets a lot brighter when Naoto rips the blanket off your body. “You play too much, give it back.

“I’m serious. Let’s go take a walk, it’s nice outside and i've doubt you’ve eaten so we can just get something while we’re out.” You groan again but nonetheless get up, swinging your legs over the bed and putting on the first clean pair of clothes you can find. He’s already by the door with his hand held out, an invitation to hold hands. As soon as your hands connect, you guys are out the door and into the fresh air. At first you guys walk in silence, the first goal on his mind is to find you something to eat and when that’s checked off the list, he’s finding a bench right in front of the sunset. He’s not the funniest person, he knows this but he tries to tell you stories of this little blonde kid who used to be obsessed with handshakes to the point where he had accidentally held his hand, reaching for his sisters. His objective wasn’t necessary to divert from the main subject at hand but to make you more relaxed to talk about what’s been bothering you although his heart still soars with pride when he sees you let out a little smile.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” he says, his eyes filled with uncensored adoration and a slight tint on his cheeks. He turns his attention to the sunset although he’s very conscious of your reactions and movements. “I’m worried about you. I know lately, it seems as if life, itself, has been against you but it gets better, I promise. There’ll be a time in the future where you’ll be happy and successful and you’ll look back at this stage of your life and realize you were worrying for nothing. So trust the process and focus on your goal, love. It will work out, it always does.” he places a soft kiss against your hand before interlacing them once again before sitting in silence, a comfortable silence. In that moment, you were not only able to soak in the sun’s ray but his unconditional love and respect for you. “Thank you, Naoto.” you whisper. He doesn't respond but you see the little smile on his.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Winning the Championship Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 夺冠之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ Released on 28 September 2021 ]

The vibrations of my phone rouse me from the tediously long document. After looking at the caller, I answer it hurriedly.

MC: Gavin? Has your mission ended?

Gavin (on the phone): Soon. I’ll be back before the weekend. I should be able to make it in time for that café event you mentioned.

I suddenly recall how I had mentioned this event to Gavin before he left for the mission last month, but...

MC: Sob sob. I can’t go this weekend. I’m producing a new show, so I’ve been busier lately.

Gavin (on the phone): Is it a difficult show?

MC: A little bit... Come to think of it, Gavin, what type of sports shows appeal to you?

Gavin (on the phone): ...appeal to me? Competitive sports with commentators.

Just as I’m hesitating on whether to tell him about the problems I’m facing, someone on the other end of the line seems to be calling for him.

MC: Go and do your thing. I’m not facing any issues.

Gavin (on the phone): Okay. Contact me anytime if needed.

Right after hanging up, Minor knocks on the door and comes in.

Minor: Boss, I’ve made the arrangements for the collaborative filming of “Life’s Limits” with the City Sports and Culture Bureau. As per your request, I’ve selected a group of amateur racing hobbyists. The name list and materials have been sent to your e-mail.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Minor: Boss, why don’t you take a break? Your dark circles have appeared.

MC: The company competing with us for this project is Light Media, and it’s much more experienced in producing sports shows as compared to us. We can’t let our guard down.

After more than half a month of research, I locked in my decision regarding the filming site - Hurricane Club.

This club is very well-known amongst motorcycle enthusiasts, and often organises competitions for amateurs.

This weekend, the club will be conducting a three-day training, and participants will be guided by professional coaches. There will even be a friendly race at the end.

The competition has a very novel format - it’s a three-person relay.

I intend to search for three photogenic motorists to form a small team. By following their daily experiences throughout the entire process, including their training sessions and the race, I’d produce a story about the team.

Minor: Boss, according to your request, isn’t the best choice Bro Gavin?

MC: That’s true...

During the initial planning stage, the first person I thought of was actually Gavin.

However, he doesn’t like appearing on shows, and was only willing to appear in previous shows because of me.

Moreover, he’s been away for a mission which lasted close to a month, and should get a proper rest over the weekend.

MC: In short, he... doesn’t quite fit the standard. You can leave work for now.

After sending Minor away, I re-focus on the thick stack of materials in front of me.

-

Before the peak hour on Friday, I head towards Hurricane Club in a rental car. While doing pre-filming checks, I answer the phone.

Minor: Boss, the three people we agreed on have set out. I’ve also found a suitable substitute. After careful selection, he’s definitely a top quality choice. I can guarantee that nothing will go wrong! You’ll get to see him once you reach the club! Boss, thanks for your hard work!

Before I have a chance to probe further, the dial tone sounds in the next second.

MC: This fellow is once again acting first before reporting afterwards... there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Upon reaching the club, I meet up with the three team members we had contacted earlier.

Based on background research conducted by the company, they are generally outstanding, and are very enthusiastic when it comes to racing.

One of them is a young participant called Kelly, who obtained an amateur championship title in the past.

I quickly introduce the details of the shoot to them.

MC: Bro Liu, Xiao Yu, Kelly, thank you all for participating in this shoot. Afterwards, the club will be allocating you to your coaches for guidance. Even though this team was put together at short notice, I hope everyone can have faith in each other, and motivate each other. We also prepared a substitute team member...

??: Sorry I’m late.

A familiar voice drifts from behind me, and I immediately turn around.

Sunlight falls on every step Gavin takes towards me. The pair of eyes looking at me are bright and clear.

Gavin: I’m the substitute team member, Gavin. I’ve kept you waiting, Producer.

-

After the club assigns the coaches and enters the test run phase, I finally digest the “unexpected surprise” of Gavin’s sudden appearance.

I initially think of finding a chance to talk to him privately, but the coaches who arrive one after another leave me with no choice but to retract the gaze which keeps straying towards that figure.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on my current task. By the time all the filming angles are checked, most of the morning has already gone by.

Scanning my surroundings, I don’t see Gavin anywhere.

MC: ...where is he?

-

Walking along the racetrack and towards the vending machine, I decide to get a bottle of coffee to fill myself up before looking for Gavin.

Perhaps because I didn’t have breakfast, I suddenly feel dizzy after taking a few sips.

By the time I regain my senses, I’m carried over to a long bench by a familiar force. Meeting Gavin’s evidently frantic gaze, I quickly tug the corners of my lips upwards into a smile.

MC: Gavin, I was just about to look for you. Turns out you were here.

He doesn’t speak. Lifting his hand, he wipes away the thin sheen of sweat on my forehead lightly. Then, a breeze envelops me gently, warm and comforting.

He takes the coffee in my hand smoothly, then retrieves soya milk and a sandwich from the bag in his hand.

Gavin: Eat your breakfast.

MC: ...okay, I’ll listen to Sir Gavin.

I munch on the sandwich obediently, occasionally blinking at Gavin to convey a message which says, “I feel much better, so there’s no need to worry”.

Gavin’s slightly furrowed brows finally arch subconsciously.

Gavin: I heard from Minor that you’ve been working overnight to prepare for this show.

MC: Haha, don’t listen to his nonsense. It isn’t that exaggerated...

Gavin: I also heard that I didn’t fit the standard. What standard did you set?

MC: ...

I clench my fists in secret, condemning Minor from the bottom of my heart for his “heinous act” of betraying me.

MC: I can explain! You don’t like appearing on camera, and your identity in STF is a pretty sensitive topic...

Gavin: Mm, you’re right.

Gavin deliberately elongates his words, as though he doesn’t plan to let the matter go just like this.

Gavin: So what’s your standard?

MC: ...we hope for the motorists to have a certain level of professional competence, to be sufficiently photogenic, and most importantly, to have an enthusiastic heart. But I really didn’t mean to say that you didn’t fit this standard!

Gavin is finally unable to suppress the upward turn of his lips.

Gavin: Once you’re done today, sleep early tonight.

-

The training proceeds methodically, and filming goes very smoothly.

The roar of motors drift from the club’s racetrack, and motorcycles of every hue speed freely along the racetrack.

In the camera lens, two blue and white motorcycles seem to be speeding at the same pace, as though they’d break through the finish line at the same time.

Kelly: Have you ever participated in professional racing?

Gavin: Nope.

Kelly: The way you cornered the motorcycle a few times - you can’t do that with ease without a few years of experience. How did you do it?

Gavin: I just drive often.

Kelly: Let’s find a chance to ride together some time.

Kelly pats him on the shoulder before continuing the training. Gavin walks over to me, twisting open a bottle of water before taking a sip.

Gavin: Is filming going well?

MC: There’s too much footage from the training sessions. I might consider adding a special segment for interviews.

While speaking, I’m struck with an idea.

MC: Mr Gavin, why don’t you have a pre-interview with me to test out the effects?

I lift a bottle of water towards Gavin. 

MC: What made you like motorcycles?

Gavin: I don’t have a precise answer. By the time I realised it, I already liked them.

MC: In that case, are there any motorcycle-related experiences which left a deep impression on you?

Gavin is silent for a moment. He seems to think of something, then chuckles softly.

Gavin: The time it overturned.

MC: Overturned? When did that happen? You can tell me in secret - this will definitely not be disclosed to the public.

Gavin looks at me, and he speaks in a volume only the both of us can hear -

Gavin: [whispers] The time when I rode on a snowmobile with the girl I like.

The snow field in my memories is cold, but the breath at my ear causes the temperature of my ear to rise.

[Note] This is a reference to Snow Mountain Date

MC: [blushing] Cough, that was...

All of a sudden, a clamour from the racetrack interrupts my words. The both of us stand up, only to discover that a motorcycle has overturned on the track.

Many people are standing at the side, and some call out for the medical staff.

Gavin: That seems to be Old Liu. Let’s go over to have a look.

-

Doctor: There are soft tissue injuries to your wrist and leg. Recuperate properly over this duration, and don’t engage in any intense activities.

Bro Liu: What about the competition tomorrow...

MC: Bro Liu, just recuperate. The doctor said that once your injuries are healed, you can still ride motorcycles in the future.

Bro Liu glances at Gavin.

Bro Liu: I guess I must admit that I’m getting old. It’s time to hand the baton to the young.

After contacting Minor and telling him about what happened, Gavin and I leave the hospital.

MC: Bro Liu worked so hard over the past two days. He must have really wanted to participate in tomorrow’s competition...

Gavin: In that case, we’ll work hard together with his effort. This is when the substitute steps in.

-

It’s the night before the competition, and I’m looking through the contents of the edited shoot over the past two days in my room.

After cutting the cornering training, I modify it into a slow-motion feature, then insert a few casual interactions between the team members as embellishments.

But no matter how I edit it, the clip is unable to convey the feelings I hoped it would.

I grab my hair in frustration, unwilling to accept my defeat. I locate the original video, watching it from the start.

The sound of the doorbell interrupts my slightly muddy train of thoughts. Opening the door, I see Gavin standing outside.

Gavin: I saw that the lights were still on in your room, so I came over to take a look. Why aren’t you sleeping?

MC: Gavin...

Hearing the gloominess in my tone, he takes my hand and pulls me over to sit down on the sofa.

Gavin: Filming didn’t go well?

Placing the notebook laptop between us, I play the recording.

MC: For this shoot, I wanted to edit it into a small unscripted story to showcase the competitiveness and fun of being a racer. As of now, the story aspect is going smoothly, and the interactions between people are interesting too. But I think it’s missing something which can grab one’s attention immediately...

Gavin looks at the screen and ponders for a moment. Then, he suddenly asks me a question.

Gavin: Want to go for a stroll? It’s too stuffy in the room. Getting some fresh air might give you new inspiration.

-

Likely to conserve energy for the competition tomorrow, everyone has returned to rest very early, and the racetrack is completely empty.

Gavin leaps onto the bleachers, then reaches out to me.

Gavin: Let’s go for a spin.

He takes my hand, guiding me onto the vehicle. Then, he puts on a helmet for me, teaching me how to grab the throttle and brakes.

MC: Gavin, are you sure this is okay?

Gavin: You can’t go onto the road, but we’re still within the venue. After filming for days, don’t you want to experience it yourself?

MC: I want to!

Gavin sits behind me, two arms securing me steadily in his arms.

Along with the familiar sound of the engine, the motorcycle moves. The speed is incredibly steady, and is just right for enjoying the pleasant evening breeze.

MC: Gavin, can we go a little faster?

Gavin: We can. Sit tight.

A loud roar drifts to my ears, and the motorcycle flies forward like an arrow leaving a bow.

Very soon, the most difficult part of the racetrack appears, comprising of consecutive bends. During the training sessions, many motorists faced many trials at this area.

Gavin grips my hand, loosening the throttle, causing the the motorcycle to slow down.

MC: There’s no need to step on the brakes?

Gavin: No need. Engine braking is enough to reduce the speed.

While speaking, the motorcycle tilts at an unbelievable angle at a turn. Gavin controls the direction with composure, air currents at the side keeping the motorcycle steady.

The motorcycle dangerously yet steadily completes the curved track, returning onto a straight track and picking up speed once again.

Gavin: MC, can you see where the cameras are? That’s the goal. On the racetrack, that’s the only thing in a racer’s eyes.

The sound of wind at my ears seems to quieten down. The moment we charge past the finishing line, I suddenly have a feeling that a full stop has been drawn on the racetrack.

Even after the motorcycle makes its gradual halt, I’m unable to return to my senses.

Seeming to understand my silence, Gavin doesn’t speak. He simply pushes the motorcycle that I'm on patiently, walking slowly.

MC: Gavin, I know what this story is missing. Stirring the emotions of viewers requires the most important thing which can make them seethe with excitement -

Gavin: Winning the championship.

MC: That’s right. All the effort from before is meant for the final sprint towards the goal. Winning the championship is the core of a competitive spirit, and is also what the show’s theme of “limit” is seeking after. But... Gavin, do you think we have a chance at winning the championship tomorrow?

Gavin: Yes. But while we’re improving, others are improving as well. Everyone on the racetrack will be aiming towards victory. The people you selected are very outstanding. Believe in them, and believe in yourself.

MC: Mm, everyone has already worked very hard. When it comes to winning, it’s good enough if they try their best.

Gavin parks the motorcycle properly, then carries me down from it.

Gavin: Go back and have a good sleep. You don’t have to worry too much about the competition tomorrow.

-

It’s finally time for the competition. Seeing the filled audience seats, I feel incredibly nervous.

Kelly: I didn't expect to see so many people.

MC: It’s a Sunday, and the club decided to open the venue to the public as publicity.

I take a deep breath to calm my emotions.

MC: Let’s enjoy the fun of racing to our heart’s content! Shall we do a pre-competition ceremony?

While speaking, I stretch out my hand. Gavin cooperates, placing his palm over the back of my hand. He gives it a gentle pinch, and it feels as though an endless stream of strength is being transmitted.

It’s a sense of security belonging only to Gavin.

MC: Safety first, the competition second. Everyone, all the best!

All the motorists have taken their places at the starting line. Based on prior suggestions by the club, I’ve arranged Kelly to take on the first battle, and Gavin will be the finale.

With the green light signalling the start of the competition, twenty motorcycles which have been waiting for action seem to sprint forward at the same time.

The sound of motor engines causes everyone’s adrenaline to spike, and the crowd becomes immersed in the competition.

I’m positioned closest to the audience seats. This is the first time I’m viewing a competition from such a close distance. Even though it’s an amateur competition, it’s sufficiently astounding.

Xiao Yu makes a few minor mistakes at the bends, causing the team to lag behind temporarily.

Carefully observing the changes on the racetrack, I don’t feel overly anxious.

Because it’d be Gavin’s turn next. With him around, I always feel exceptionally at ease.

I look at Gavin as he waits at the handover area with a helmet over his head. He seems to sense my gaze, and turns around to see my thumbs up.

In the next second, his motorcycle charges into the racetrack.

The blue and white motorcycle courses past the bends nimbly in almost “L” shape movements.

As compared to my experience last night, I can see Gavin’s cornering techniques even more clearly from the audience seats.

Although the camera is unable to capture his expression, it isn’t difficult to imagine his focused and bright eyes from underneath the helmet.

When the competition enters its final round, Gavin has already reached the second place, and there’s hardly any difference between him and the first competitor.

The audience’s emotions are stirred by this intense competition, and the sound of cheers surge forward like a tide.

I find myself being influenced as well, staring fixedly at that sprinting figure.

After the upcoming bend, the goal will not be far.

Unexpectedly, a motorcycle behind suddenly accelerates towards the bend, using its full strength to make a last effort.

However, the motorcycle tilts too much. It’s clear that the centre of gravity was not controlled properly, sending the motorist collapsing onto the track.

At this point, Gavin’s motorcycle is already over half of the bend. He controls the dip of the motorcycle, barely avoiding the fallen vehicle.

Because of this incident, some distance is pulled between himself and the motorist in first place.

On the straight road, Gavin’s motorcycle suddenly accelerates, keeping pace with the motorist in front.

In this moment, time seems to slow down. I hold my breath, feeling as though my spirit has become one with that sprinting figure.

The rustling of leaves, the flapping wings of birds, the yelling of the audience, the checkered flag waving mid-air... all of them gather into one voice-

Announcer: The first place goes to No. 07!

On the big screen, Gavin’s name is listed impressively at the top.

At the final moment, he attained first place with a 0.06 second difference, winning the championship.

Gavin did it!

The motorcycle comes to a gradual halt. Gavin removes his helmet, droplets of sweat reflecting bright rays of light beneath the sunlight.

The smile on his face is sparkling and dazzling, bringing with it the confidence belonging to a victor.

Such a result is both unexpected yet within my expectations.

Gavin turns around, looking squarely in my direction.

He shakes his head casually, which has gotten messy from his helmet, and says two words.

Gavin: We won.

-

The employees push the motorcycles back to the venue. Gavin heads over to the referee’s seat, lowers his head and says a few things before walking to me.

The gold medal in his hand dangles slightly, reflecting a dazzling light.

Cheers from the surroundings grow brighter as he draws closer. Separated by the bleachers, he stretches out his hand towards me -

He leans over the bleachers slightly. As he draws closer, I can detect the scent belonging only to Gavin.

Gavin hangs the medal around my neck, announcing our victory.

Gavin: The champion title - we’ve got it.

My mouth opens, but I have no idea what to say. My body reacts faster than my brain. I stretch out both arms, hugging him with all the strength in my body.

Scorching warmth and the dampness of sweat from the competition linger on him.

Gavin returns the embrace. It’s as though this hug is enough for us to understand each other’s sentiments.

Gavin: I think I heard you cheering me on.

MC: I did it so softly, but you could hear it?

Gavin: Mm, the wind told me. Everything you say - I can hear them.

MC: There’s still one thing the wind hasn’t had the time to tell you. I’ll say it myself right now.

Turning my face to the side, I bring it close to his ear.

MC: Gavin, you’ll always be the only champion in my heart.

🏍 Call and Moments: here

🏍 Art based on this date: here

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[animeyanderelover]

Omg it's been so long since I've gotten here in time when requests are open but here I am anyway I hope your doing ok and things went well with your visit with friends &Grandparents anyways I feel weird asking it but after reading your intepretation you caught my intrigue I'd like to request yandere Ging hc of him with a s/o who always tries to move b/c he annoys her but he keeps coming back !!! Feel free to make it soft 😊

It's been a while indeed since I've seen you so I'm happy you made it. Sorry that it took so long, but school enables me to only write one post per day😞. Buuut...I have only one week left before holidays and the last week we won't do much anything so I hope that by tomorrow I'll be able to write more again!

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, stalking, Ging annoying the s/o, meltdown of the s/o

Annoying

🍎I feel you, darling. It has to be exhausting to never know when exactly this man comes back or not, the times he just pops up in front of your house or has already somehow broken in and acting like he is at home. Ging simply can't help making bad impressions on his darling due to his constant absence and the indifference he seems to possess whenever they're pissed and want to scold him for his behavior. As someone who would like avoiding such arguments, he either disappears yet again or at least tries to calm you down in a way that doesn't help in most cases.

🍎You think moving away will work, hmm? Sorry to tell you, but it won't. Despite the impression that Ging doesn't look like he cares much and is a rather messy person, he is a respected Hunter. Connections, the possibilities he has with the status of being a Hunter and his very own skills are nothing to be forgotten and so he will have the new location of his darling found out the moment he finds out that they've moved. It's not like he pushes you into a corner for it the next time he just appears in front of the darling's door, ignoring their flabbergasted impression and going inside.

🍎The Hunter has already figured out from the very first incident why exactly you wanted to move, you were happy in your old home with the only thing annoying you being him. Ging is aware of his behavior and that it often has you feel like you want to rip your hair out yet he never really considered it too deeply. That is the kind of guy Ging is and it makes him a horrible person in more than just one pair of eyes. It just feels like he is not taking his darling seriously and ridicules them and that hurts, not to mention that he is so often away.

🍎So maybe now is the time to start recalling his actions and that he's made you go livid to the point where you do not want to be with him anymore. It becomes more and more visible every time you move away, slam the door shut as soon as he knocks on it or just refuses to open it at all. Something he would call "overreacting" at first seems to only turn more and more turbulent until the very first time his darling has a complete meltdown in front of him whilst he was telling them to chill out. Hysterical screaming and yelling whilst starting to burst out in tears before pushing him with violence out, slamming the door shut behind him.

🍎That was the first time Ging shut up when witnessing all of this, freezing and not knowing what to do. Even after he has been kicked down he doesn't know how to act, only the cries inside the house accompanying his thoughts for a while until you seem to calm down a bit. Overwhelmed would be the word to use for him, the feeling of helplessness and confusion, the feeling of having no idea what exactly to do now. It is the very first time his darling has given him such a emotional reaction, a highly negative one. The turning point where Ging has to ask himself if things can really stay the way they are or if he has to do something.

🍎Obviously he acts like a horrible person, but maybe he just happened to hit the wrong nerve after pocking for so long at you, maybe you just had enough. And as much as he hates troubles like those, even he is not too dumb or lazy to think that he can just act like he always did. Not this time, you clearly despise him by now. And that is not the kind of relationship he wishes to have when with the s/o. But the biggest problem for him now is what he is even suppose to do. He's no expert and will never be. How does someone apologize to their loved one without ruining things even more?

🍎The sudden disappearance from this man is something you're used to and wish for and that is what happens after. But not exactly for the reason you think. Ging believes that what you need now most is time to calm down, visiting you right after your outburst is not a wise option. Additionally he himself needs time to think now on what he should do, how he can make things right again. Well, as right as possible at least. It's written all over his face that something is bothering him and some people actually speak to him because of it. And Ging...well, after some time he tells them in vague details what is on his mind.

🍎Such talks are what turns out to be a big help because some people are surprisingly helpful. Especially all those married people who somewhat sympathize with the Hunter tell him in return their stories and what they did to make up with their partners and lovers. Lots of different advices and stories and yet Ging finds himself still having troubles. He's never done anything like this before so he is more nervous than he would like to admit after he has been away for a bit, tracking down the new home of yours again. Something really has to change.

🍎Blocking the door with his foot as you try to slam it shut right in front of his nose again is within his expectations as well as the yelling and he endures it with the same angering calmness as he always does. It's all the same in his darling's opinion. Until the very moment where he actually pulls out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, handing them in a somewhat shy manner over. The man is highly embarrassed about it, not able to look his darling straight into their confused face as he stutters out an apology he has practiced beforehand. The practice was useless though, in front of the s/o this is a completely different thing.

🍎Instant forgiveness is not what you give him nor does he expect this. He did go too far about this time and he knows that he should stay to fix this. And he does. Somewhere else of course but it is the very first time he stays for a really long time since the grudge you have against him is not easy. During this time he comes to realize something uite importantt himself, how much of your life he actually missed whilst being constantly away. There are new hobbies and new friends you didn't know you had before and some of those friends are people he doesn't like. Because they're too close and you ignore him for them.

🍎It's rather silly since they're the only ones who kept you company whilst he was always away and he deserves this, but karma is a bitter bitch as he experiences himself. The relationship you two once had is in your eyes probably no more, increasing the danger of you falling in love with someone else, someone who will actually stay with you. Maybe that is why Ging turns unusually petty, following his darling around and biting his tongue when he catches them with one of those people he has officially recognized as love rivals. What a nasty feeling jealousy is and how frustrating your grin is when you caught him jealous for the very first time in a long while. Seems like the roles have reversed, haven't they?

🍎Using his connections is an option, but by now Ging is far too much provoked to do this himself. Not like he was planning before to use it, another drama with you is the last thing on his list he wants. His darling is letting him dance around here for quite a bit to the point where he accuses them mentally for being a sadist since he is pushed to do so many things he never did before and for that feels extremely awkward. Yet he goes through everything with embarrassment burning his skin, the desire to want the relationship far greater.

🍎The s/o comes to realize that he is serious as well, though doubting it at first. But the constant small gifts and the fact that he apologizes whenever he sees themplus tehe valuable fact that he stays around for a very long time convince them after some time. But forgiving him sweetly right after isn't what you would want after all the emotional roller coaster. You'll get back at him for everything before you shall grant him the relationship back. It takes a very long time and by the end of it Ging has probably the most frustrating months of his entire life behind him so it's safe to assume that now he knows how you must feel. Believe me, he has learned his lesson of a lifetime to treat his darling better from now on.

[myrandomfandomramblings]

Making memories - a Chenford fanfic

For Chenfordficweek2021 - as described by @therookiebook

Instead of a fic a day for chenford fic week I decided to just write one incorporating as many prompts as possible. This is because when I read them a few just connected in my head and then I had way to much fun seeing how many I could kinda incorporate. Some of the quotes aren’t word for word but the lines are inspired by the original prompt.

*Note: my beach fic was also inspired by this prompt list but I got antsy and posted it early so if you haven’t read it, you can check it out.

Main prompt: Road Trip

Other prompts:

July 11th- 

"Is that you...singing? Since when can you sing?" 

"I wish we could stay like this forever." 

Fight 

"You're comfier than a pillow." 

July 12th- 

With Child(ren)- theirs or not

"I fucked up."

"Where have you been?" 

July 13th- 

"You're crushing me." "I can't breathe with you on me." 

"Stay here." 

"What do you want?" 

July 14th- 

"I'm calling the police." "We are the police." 

"Don't move." 

"That a new dress?" 

Sweet tooth

July 15th- 

Locked out (Car/house/station) 

"Stop hogging all the blankets." 

"Why are you bleeding?" 

"Make me." 

July 16th- 

Shopping together or for the other 

Getting lost

"Is that my shirt?" 

Under the stars

July 17th- 

Competition 

Tears 

"Why are you so late?" 

When Lucy arrives in role call and hears she’s partnered with Tim for the day, she’s excited. When she hears they are to wear civvies and take Tim’s truck to surveil a suspect, she’s confused. And when said suspect drives further and further out of LA and they are instructed to keep on his tail, she’s annoyed. If she didn’t know better she’d think some writer designed the assignment purely because it was convenient for their story. Nevertheless, this is her life: crashing at a random hotel nearly nine hours from LA, after finally being relieved of surveillance detail, by the local sheriffs department, at 2:30am. The plus side is she’s being paid overtime, not only for the late night but also for the commute back to the city tomorrow. The down side is despite being exhausted she twists and turns all night unable to get comfortable in the strange environment. So when Tim knocks on the adjoining door between their rooms at 10am she’s already been up for a few hours. She has written a journal entry in her notes, preordered drinks for them to pick up at Starbucks and spent more time than she’d like to admit on google maps and various travel sites researching their trip home. She has also found time to plunder the continental breakfast and is currently demolishing a strawberry danish and a cinnamon bun. This earns criticism from Tim, whose plate carries sausage, eggs and an orange.

By 11am they’re on the open road again, coffees in the console between them. The small talk they had been making since they left the hotel had slowly died out so now they sit in comfortable silence. That is until Lucy reaches over to turn on the radio. 

“You know how I feel about car radios Chen,” Tim warns in his best TO voice. 

“Even off shift?” Lucy scoffs, and continues to press the on button and turn the volume dial up. Nevertheless, nothing happens.

“Looks like it doesn’t work anyway,” Tim states as he continues to hold the volume down button on the steering wheel, unbeknownst to Lucy.

“Fine then I’ll be the radio.” “You like Lady Marmalade, right?” She’s referencing Tim’s LA CLEAR security answer but she doesn’t wait for his reaction or reply before beginning to belt out the opening lyrics.

As she sings his initially surprised expression, morphs to shock and then awe. 

“Since when can you sing?” he asks when she finishes.

She just shrugs, looking down at her hands as they begin to fiddle in her lap.  

“Now I wish the radio really was broken,” Tim states as he turns it on and music starts playing.

Lucy shoots him a quick death glare before turning her attention back out the window.

---

By noon Lucy’s singing quietly along to the music (causing Tim to reevaluate his opinion on car radios) when she suddenly sneezes then freezes as her eyes go wide.

“Ah, can you stop at the next place with a bathroom?” she asks bashfully.

“We haven’t even been driving that long can you hold it?”

“Find me a bathroom or your truck will be covered in blood,” Lucy says, her tone conveying urgency.

“What? Why are you bleeding?” Tim asks, confused.

“If you don’t know why I, a woman, would be bleeding and thus need a bathroom then the public school system failed you.”

 “Oh, ah, right, sorry,” Tim stutters, “I think there’s a small town at the next exit.”

“Thank-you,” Lucy replies clearly relieved.

“Do we need to find a drug store or do you have what you need?’

“Ya, if you could find a drug store.” She’s fiddling again, unable to shake the feeling of embarrassment even though she knows, rationally, she has nothing to be embarrassed about.

Several minutes later Tim’s pulling into the drug store parking lot and Lucy’s unbuckling her seat belt to run in. But as soon as she stands up Tim’s voice stops her.

“Wait Luce.” There’s a tenderness to his voice especially when he uses the new nickname that stops her more than the instruction itself. “I think we’re too late.” 

Lucy looks down at the seat she just vacated to see its center now decorated with a dark red stain. A matching stain is present on the butt of the long yellow dress she’s wearing. 

“Of course,” she spits as she tries to fight back tears that are already running down her cheeks.

“That a new dress?” Tim questions awkwardly, caught off guard by the sudden display of emotion.

Lucy lets out a choked laugh as Tim flounders to find something helpful to say.

“I ruined your truck, I ruined my dress and now I have to walk around the drug store with a giant stain on my ass,” Lucy sniffs.

“Hey Lucy, everything’s going to be okay.” He reaches across the console to put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll go in and get what you need.”

She stares at him surprised and unsure. The idea of him buying her tampons and pads and, she realizes, new underwear seems uncomfortably intimate.

“So, ah, what do you want?”  

Because she has no desire to walk around the store with a giant blood stain on her butt she gives him her order, eyes down, face turning redder by the second.

He just nods and returns a few minutes later with three grocery bags and immediately hands them to her.

Inside she finds much more than she requested. The first bag contains two chocolate bars, two bags of candy, and two bottles of water. The second holds 6 different packages of assorted pads and tampons.

“How much blood do you think someone loses on their period,” Lucy teases.

Tim gives a small shrug. “I didn’t know which kind you wanted.” 

Inside the third bag Lucy finds a bottle of Advil, a package of wet-wipes, a spray bottle of stain remover, a new package of underwear (simple white cotton), a pair of black tights and a box of black garbage bags. 

“What are these for?” she asks holding up the garbage bags.

“They didn’t have any shirts so I thought we could make some head and arm holes and-“ he stops talking when he sees Lucy’s unimpressed expression. ��I know it’s not ideal.” 

“Good thing I already have that figured out,” she says holding up a plaid button up. 

“Is that my shirt?” He had taken it off as soon as he got in the car, since like usual he had a henley underneath, and thrown it into the back. Lucy must of retrieved it while he was in the store. 

“Please,” she says fixing him with those puppy dog eyes. “I promise I won’t get blood on it. Well, I’ll do my best. Please don’t make me wear a garbage bag.” 

He laughs. “I forgot I had that. I guess I didn’t need these.” He takes the garbage bags from her and is about to throw them in the back when Lucy speaks up.

“Actually I’ll take one,” she says ripping the cardboard and freeing a single bag. She proceeds to rip a hole in the top of the garbage bag and pulls it over her legs like a skirt. Then she puts Tim’s plaid shirt on overtop. Tim is watching her with raised eyebrows.

“What? It’s just temporary. I promised I wouldn’t get blood on your shirt.” She puts everything she needs in her bag and goes into the bathroom to clean herself up. When she returns Tim is just finishing cleaning the blood off the passenger seat. 

“I would have done that.”

 “It was no trouble.” “Here spray some of this on your dress before the stain sets,” Tim offers as he hands her the stain remover.

Lucy does then drapes her dress over the backseat.

“Ready to go,” Tim asks.

 Lucy nods and by 1pm they’re back on the road.

 ---

By 2pm they’re both hungry and decide to stop for lunch. The place they choose is a fast food joint connected to a gas station. It’s busy. Probably because it’s the only place to eat for miles around. While they wait in line to order, Lucy goes to use the bathroom, only to find another line just as long. She decides to try the gas station bathroom instead, telling Tim that she’ll be right back but if he gets to the front first he knows her order. He goes to argue but she’s already gone, which is probably a good thing since he has no rebuttal, considering it’s the truth. 

A few minutes later Tim has their food: a veggie burger with extra pickles and fries for her and a burger and fries for him, but she still isn’t back. He wanders over to the gas station to find her standing in line at the register. 

“Put the candy back Chen.”

“Make me,” she says shaking the bags as she holds them by her shoulders.

Tim reaches for them but Lucy moves to evade his grasp. “Too slow,” she teases.

“You’ve already had two pastries, one bag of candy, a chocolate bar and a frappa-cappa-crapacciuno or whatever.”

“It was a chai tea latte and you know it.”  

“It was more sugar than anything and we still have more candy in the car. You’re going to give yourself diabetes.” 

She shrugs. “It’s not a road trip without excessive amounts of junk food.” 

“It’s not a road trip. It’s a commute home.” 

“It’s whatever we make it,” she says as she taps her card to pay for the candy. 

They find a state park a few minutes up the road and unpack their lunch at one of the picnic tables. They talk as they eat, familiar banter flying across the table. As they near the end of their food Lucy is animatedly telling a story about a recent arrest. She has a french fry in one hand and as she gestures, a little too aggressively, a glob of ketchup flies off the end of the fry and right into Tim’s face. 

She sinks down a little in her seat and covers her mouth to try to suppress a laugh.

“Did you just throw ketchup at me Chen?” he glares as he slowly removes the offending condiment.

“Not on purpose,” she giggles.

“If you start a fight you better be prepared to finish it,” he says as he rips open a package of mustard and squirts it at her.

Although it has poor projectile power a small amount lands in Lucy’s hair. She looks back at him mouth wide. “That was on purpose. That’s assault. I’m calling the police.”

“We are the police,” Tim deadpans as he rips the top off another mustard package.

“You wouldn’t” Lucy warns as she opens a mayo.

Then words are abandoned as condiments fly. They go through 5 ketchup, 3 mustard, 2 mayo, 1 bbq sauce, 1 ranch dressing, 1 aioli and 1 pepper packet before they both surrender. In fact the only packets left untouched are the hot sauce and salt. Both their faces are covered in assorted condiments. Most that had been scooped off the picnic table and smeared directly onto their target when it became clear the packets could barely project their contents a foot. The only one that was truly an effective weapon was the pepper which successfully gave Tim a sneezing fit. 

As they sit back down to finish the last bit of their lunch Lucy picks up a fry and runs it along Tim’s cheek then throws it in her mouth. 

“Not bad,” she says as Tim makes a face of disgust.

When the last fries are gone they throw out their garbage, wipe down the picnic table, then turn their attention to themselves.

“It’s a good thing I bought these wipes,” Tim says as he passes one to Lucy. 

She laughs as she takes it and begins to wash her face. 

“Did I get it all?” she asks when she thinks she’s done. “Because you didn’t,” she adds as she reaches up to wipe the side of his mouth.

He’s startled at first then his expression morphs into something she can’t quite read but something that makes her linger just a little longer than strictly necessary. Then she steps away and climbs into the drivers seat and by 3pm they’re back on their way.

---  

By 4pm Lucy’s in the middle of a seemingly endless monologue about the bachelor franchise when she looks over to realize that Tim is fast asleep. She would be insulted but instead she sees it as an opportunity. She starts to take every turn she can. Whenever she comes to an intersection she turns on to the smallest street. By the time Tim wakes up, about half an hour later (of course he would have is body trained to nap the ideal more than 20, less than 40 minutes), they are in the middle of nowhere. She waits until he’s fully awake then slams on the brakes.

“I’ve been shot. Where are we, Tim?” she demands in her best Tim Bradford voice. He looks out all the windows to see nothing but ranches then back at her, confusion clear on his face.

“Did you get us lost just so you could prove a point?” His tone an odd combination of annoyance and amusement.

“We’re not lost I’m taking the scenic route.” 

 “I’m pretty sure the scenic route is supposed to run along the ocean not through the desert in the middle of no where.” 

“We’re not in the middle of no where we are North of Martinus Corner at the intersection of Cross Rd and and Lockwood Jolon Rd,” she brags. 

“Great you know where we are. Do you know how to get us back onto the main road?”

“It’s not all about the destination, you know, It’s about the journey,” Lucy offers. “When’s the last time you did something just for the fun of it.”

“We go for a hike or a walk along the beach with Kojo every weekend.”

“I know I’m fun to be around,” she teases, “but that’s an errand, Tim, the dog needs exercise.” 

“I see your point but what are we supposed to do in the middle of ranch land? You want to go cow tipping?”

“We won’t be in ranch land for long,” Lucy replies, but half an hour and at least twenty turns later they’re still surrounded by fields and livestock.

“Will you admit you’re lost now?” Tim asks.

Lucy sighs, “Fine, can you please google map how to get to Route 1”

“We were on 5.”

“5’s the freeway. 1’s the scenic route,” Lucy explains. “the one that runs along the ocean.”

Before Tim can bring up the app they’re emerging into a small city centre. As Lucy continues down the main street she excitedly points ahead. 

“Let’s go bowling,” she says indicating the bowling alley sign.

“I thought you wanted to go to the ocean.”

“We can still take the scenic route home, after we go bowling.”

Tim sighs.

“Come on let’s have some fun, make some memories,” Lucy encourages.

“You’re not going to take no for an answer.”

Lucy shakes her head and happily pulls into the bowling alley parking lot.

Several minutes later they have their bowling shoes on and their names entered in the computer on lane 4. Tim goes first and immediately gets a strike.

“You want to put money on this game Chen?” he asks cockily.

“Lucky shot,” Lucy replies. “I’m not betting money but if you win I’ll let you pick the route home but if I win you can’t complain when we take the scenic route.

“Deal,” he says shaking her hand.

Lucy goes next and gets two gutter balls in a row. “Why didn’t we get the bumpers?”

“The bumpers are for kids.”

On her third throw she throws the bowl with two-hands after swinging it between her legs.

“Speaking of for kids,” Tim teases.

“Don’t argue with results,” she counters as her ball connects with the pins.

They continue going back and forth, Tim using the classic one-handed bowling throw and Lucy trying a different technique each time. She tries sitting down and pushing it down the lane, pulling out the ball slide meant for toddlers, standing backwards and throwing the ball between her legs but eventually settles on the two-handed granny throw. 

By half-way through the game Tim’s score is double Lucy’s and he starts to get cocky. He throws with his eyes closed, on one-foot and after spinning in a circle 10 times. 

3 quarters through the game the black lights come on and they laugh at each others teeth glowing in the dark. The disco lights and music follow. Then Lucy who had been giggling and joking around all game suddenly becomes serious. 

“I have two more turns and I really want a strike,” she states. She has a couple spares on the board but strikes remain elusive. Tim on the other hand has three.

“Can I show you? he questions handing her a ball.

He initially tries to coach her through the throw but she isn’t catching on so he steps behind her, puts his hand over hers and leans into her back as he guides her through the motion. The ball knocks over all but one pin but Lucy almost misses it because she’s looking up at Tim. He lets go and steps back.

“You think you can do that on your own next turn?” he asks shaking the huskiness from his voice.

She nods. Tim bowls, then it’s the moment of truth as Lucy throws her ball imaging Tim’s arm along hers, guiding it. The bowl rolls straight down the alley where it connects with the pins and knocks them all down. STRIKE flashes on the computer screen as Lucy jumps for joy then right into Tim for a celebratory hug. He’s initially surprised but is able to catch her and himself before they fall over. He spins them around as she laughs and he’s suddenly really glad Lucy made him stop.

With that the game is over. Tim’s still ahead but the margin had narrowed. They return their bowling shoes and head out to the truck.

“Fine you win this time, we can go back to the interstate but I want a rematch. I’m thinking mini-golf or the arcade,” Lucy says as she pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Nah, go to the 1,” Tim says as he starts to read the directions off his phone.

Lucy looks at him quizzically but doesn’t push her luck. By 6pm they’re driving along the ocean.

---

By 7pm, although it’s not that late, it’s already dark. That combined with her lack of sleep the night before is making Lucy sleepy. When she yawns for the third time in less than 20 minutes Tim suggests they switch drivers. Lucy happily obliges pulling into the next rest stop. During the day it would have a beautiful view of the ocean but now all one can see is darkness. The only evidence of the ocean’s presence being the rhythmic, crashing of waves against the base of the cliff below.

They pull into the abandoned lot; Lucy takes her time backing into a spot, mostly just to annoy Tim and they both get out, reflexively closing their doors behind them. As they pass each other Tim holds his hand out for the keys. 

“I just left them in the ignition,” Lucy explains. Tim looks over to the truck then back to her a look of defeat on his face.

“Your doors lock automatically, don’t they?” Lucy asks rhetorically, “I fucked up.” 

They try the doors just in case but sure enough they’re locked. 

“Well it could be worse,” Tim offers much to Lucy’s surprise, “at least it’s not running.” “I’ll call Angela and see if I can convince her to grab the extra set of keys from my house and come meet us but its going to be a couple hours.” 

Lucy nods. “Thank-you and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tim shrugs, “we’re making memories remember.” Then without another word we walks away from her as he hits a button on his phone and puts it to his ear. The conversation doesn’t last long. Angela obliges but insists that Tim now owes her one. He thinks she still owes him a couple from everything he did as her man of honour but decides now isn’t the time to bring that up. When he hangs up he finds Lucy has lowered the tailgate of his truck, where she now sits. She’s shivering, arms wrapped around herself, but she’s smiling as she looks up at the sky. 

“You can see the stars here,” she explains hearing him approach, “away from the lights and smog of the city.” 

Tim climbs up into the bed of his truck and removes a stack of old moving blankets from the storage box he keeps in the back. 

“Angela’s on her way but in the meantime we should stay warm.” He wraps one around Lucy’s shoulders. Then lays the rest on the floor of the truck bed. 

“Good thing I left these in after helping Tamara move last weekend.” He shimmies his way in-between two layers then taps the spot beside him, inviting Lucy to join. She climbs in beside him eager for more warmth. With the sun gone the temperature had dropped fast. 

Lucy pulls up an app on her phone and hands it to Tim so he can identify constellations for them while her hands and arms stay hidden under the blankets. Then they lay down and look-up at the stars. Tim uses the app to find constellations, points them out to Lucy, then reads the story about them provided by the app. Meanwhile Lucy snuggles deeper and deeper into the blankets. Tim stops in the middle of the story he’s reading about the the swan constellation as the blankets are pulled off his torso. 

"Stop hogging all the blankets,” he complains pulling them back.

“Sorry, I’m freezing,” she confesses. 

He pauses for a second clearly debating something internally before opening his arm out to the side. “Then come closer,” he finally says. 

She hesitates for a second before slowly moving to snuggle against his side. The possibility of warmth far outweighing any awkwardness she’s feeling. She rests her head on his chest. She can feel his heart racing to match her own and can’t help but smile to herself.

“Better?” he asks once she’s finished squirming around trying to maximize her view of the stars and the amount of body heat she’s receiving from him.

”You're comfier than a pillow,” she confirms, nodding. 

Tim doesn’t respond just wraps his arm around her shoulders. He continues to point out constellations and read the stories in Lucy’s app. 

“None of the constellations actually look like their name sakes,” Lucy says after a while.   

“You have to use your imagination.” 

“I could use my imagination to name my own constellations.” 

He shrugs. “Go for it.” 

She finds a cluster of stars that vaguely resembles a duck. She points it out to Tim then makes up a story about a duck that joined the LAPD and saved the city from a gang of geese. When she’s finished she turns to Tim,. “Your turn.”

He gives her his best ‘not happening’ look but he’s met with those pleading brown eyes that hold more power over him than he’ll ever admit and caves almost instantly.

He points out an X made of stars. “That is where the space pirates buried their treasure.” Lucy looks up at him expectantly. “The end,” he finishes.

“That’s your whole story? One sentence.”

“I’m not as creative as you.”

“Then tell a real story,” she says, “here I’ll go first.”

She points to a jumble of stars. “That is Caligula’s toy chest,” she says then proceeds to describe in great detail all the filthy, horrid things she had seen the day he taught her the DEAR method.

“Why would you tell me that?” he asks when she is done.

“Now you share my pain.”

Tim laughs and points at four stars arranged in a rectangle. “That is the phone that was used too much at work.” He spends his entire story essentially mocking her for always being on her phone. Lucy would be annoyed or insulted but the amount of detail he remembers about the completely benign things she has done is kind of sweet and a little exhilarating.

She next finds a ’surf board’ and tells the story of a weekend getaway with some collage friends that ended with a black eye, a broken board and a lot of great memories. 

Tim follows suit finding a ‘football’ and telling the story of a particularly memorable championship game during his high school career. He’s half-way through his story when he interrupts himself. “You're crushing me,” he tells Lucy who is draped over his torso. “What are you even doing?” I can't breathe with you on me."

“I’m tucking in the blanket so our heat doesn’t escape,” she says as she pushes the edge of the blanket under Tim’s side along the length of his body. When she’s done she rolls off of him, cuddles back into his side then tucks the opposite blanket edge under herself. 

When Tim finishes his story they continue to go back and forth, learning more and more about each other each turn. Lucy tells stories from the time she spent travelling and working odd jobs, from her time as a psych major and her time in the academy. Tim talks about his family, his time in the army, and his early years on the force and with Isabel. 

He tells her about a colleague who despite being a great cop made the mistake of using his radio near an explosive and paid for it with his life. He is the reason Tim baby powder bombs every Rookie: so no other good officers will be lost because a critical piece of information was taught so dryly that it couldn’t possibly be recalled under pressure. 

She tells him about her ring as she twirls it around her finger. About how she found it in her grandma’s dress-up chest when she was six and it immediately became her favourite item. How every time she played dress-up the ring was part of the costume, whether she was a princess or a ninja, a cat or a witch, a clown or a police officer. How unlike her parents, who always thought she’d follow their career paths, her grandma always told her she could be anything she wanted. How when her grandma passed away she had found the ring again as she helped her parents pack up her things. How she had started wearing it to feel closer to her. How as she looked at the ring day after day she heard her grandma’s voice in her head:  “You can do anything you put your mind too,”  “the sky’s the limit,” “do what makes you happy.” How that made her realize she was not where she wanted to be and led to her decision to quit her Master’s program.  How her parents had chalked it up to grief and tried to use psychoanalysis to convince her to return. How that had pissed Lucy off and led to her applying to the LAPD. How she had continued to wear the ring as a reminder and motivator during her training. How much it had meant to her to have it returned. How now it not only symbolizes her grandma’s belief in her, but also Tim’s and her own. How it continues to give her strength.

As Lucy talks Tim rubs circles on her back as if connecting the stars that constitute Lucy’s ‘ring’ constellation. 

Just as she finishes she excitedly points up. “Look a shooting star!”

“Make a wish,” Tim advises.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” She surprises herself by how quick and confident that comes out. She hadn’t even thought about it, but it is true. In this moment everything is perfect. She is no longer cold. She is warm and happy in her little burrito with Tim: wearing his shirt, listening to the ocean, surrounded by stars. 

Lucy half hears Tim name a constellation “the best boot I ever trained” and start to tell a Coles notes version of their story but she’s already falling asleep.

She wakes up some time later to Tim shifting beside her. 

“Don’t move,” she groans still half-asleep.“

“Ange is here Luce. It’s time to go home.” 

“Am home,” she mumbles before falling back asleep.

Tim manages to free himself from Lucy and the blankets. He shuffles out of the back of the truck and walks around it to meet Angela who is just getting out of her car.

“Where have you been,” Tim asks. 

“Driving.” 

“I mean, what took you so long?” 

“I thought you might be enjoying your alone time with Lucy more than you’d admit, so I didn’t rush.” 

He wanted to argue but he couldn’t. “Thank-you for coming.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, when your baby refuses to sleep anywhere but a moving car a 4 hour drive is not as inconvenient as it sounds.”

As if to prove her point the infant starts wailing from inside the vehicle.

Before Angela can move Tim’s opening her car door and removing his god child from the car seat. He holds the baby to his chest and starts rocking him. As the baby continues to scream and Tim continues to rock, sway and bounce, Lucy emerges from behind Tim’s truck seemingly woken by the crying.

“There’s my favourite little guy,” she coos as she approaches. “You’ve gotten so big. Next time I see you you’ll be taller than your Uncle Tim,” she continues as she rubs the baby’s back. Despite all the attention the baby continues to fuss.

“He’s hungry,” Angela explains. “Give him this,” she continues handing him a full bottle, “I pumped on the way here.”

“You pumped while driving?”

“It’s called multitasking.”

Tim takes the bottle and offers it to the baby who immediately begins suckling. While the baby drinks Lucy goes back to Tim’s truck and grabs some blankets. She gives one to Angela, drapes another over Tim and the little boy and wraps herself in the last. 

Over the next half an hour Tim and Lucy work together to feed, burp, and change the baby before putting him back in his carseat, all while his mother watches with a very amused expression. When he’s buckled in they say their goodbyes, thank Angela again, then head back to Tim’s truck, which is now unlocked.

By 10pm they are back on the road. They spend the rest of the drive cooing over baby Evers and talking about their own theoretical future kids. While conveniently avoiding any mention of theoretical future spouses or co-parents.

By midnight Lucy is just getting home. As she walks through the door she sees Jackson on the couch watching TV. 

“Why are you so late?” he asks turning towards her.

“Long story.” 

“Is that Tim’s shirt?” 

“Longer story.” 

“Aha,” Jackson says giving her a knowing look.

She just rolls her eyes and goes to get ready for bed. She falls asleep almost immediately and dreams of sweets and stars, babies and bowling and a life with Tim.

[drabbles-mc]

I Like Me Better

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Request from Anon: Hi! If you’re doing requests can I get a short fic based on the song I like me better by Lauv with Nestor🥺

Part 2 can be found Here

Warnings: language, lots of softness and pining

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: (I know I’ve posted this story like 5 times today alone. So sorry to everyone who has been getting bombarded with it while I figure out my posting/tagging issues. Love y’all and I owe you xo) This story definitely took on a life of its own once I sat down and started writing it. I love me some Soft Nestor and the whole “almost relationship” type of deal. Hope you enjoy!

General Mayans Taglist: @mayans-sauce​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @paintballkid711​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @queenbeered​ @sillygoose6969​ @sesamepancakes​ @yourwonkywriter​ @chibsytelford​ @gemini0410​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​  @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @garbinge​ @themoonandthewicked​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @encounterthepast​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​

You were laughing as you watched snowflakes get stuck in Nestor’s facial hair and braids as he talked to you on the phone. Ever since you moved, the two of you had one weekly scheduled phone call, and one video chat. No matter what either of you were doing, you always made time for those two things. Even if for the rest of the week you didn’t really get to talk to each other, you always had those two things.

When Nestor said he was going to have to talk to you on the go before he called, you didn’t expect it to be quite so literal. You figured maybe he’d be driving, but wherever he was, he was walking, and it was snowing. He didn’t look thrilled about either of those things.

“I’m not made for the fucking snow,” he was trying to sound annoyed but you could see the laughter building up inside him.

“Good thing you didn’t move with me to New York then,” you laughed as you watched him brush snowflakes off of his eyelashes, “You’d never last out here.”

“Why would you voluntarily put up with this every year?”

“It’s pretty when you’re not being a baby about it,” you laughed, “Where did Miguel send you anyway?”

“Into the cold, that’s where,” he kept a serious expression for a moment before laughing.

“Next time you wanna experience the cold, come do it with me! My door is always open.”

“You’re the only person worth braving this shit for, Y/N,” he chuckled.

“Well,” you smiled at him from the warmth and comfort of your couch, “me and Miguel, apparently.” There was a knock at your door and you sighed, “Hold on a sec, I gotta grab that,” you got up and walked over to the door.

When you unlocked and pulled the door open, the phone dropped from your hands as you took in the sight of Nestor standing on your front step. You squealed, throwing your arms around him in a hug that swept you off the ground. He laughed as he held you tight against him.

He gently set you back down, making sure that your feet didn’t land in the snow on your steps, or on top of your discarded phone, “I told you, you’re the only one worth braving this shit for.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here!” without thinking better of it, you reached and cupped his face in your hands, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he was actually standing right there in front of you. He let out a slight shiver and it snapped you back to the situation at hand. You laughed as you waved him inside, “Shit, come inside. Get out of the cold.”

You grabbed your phone off the ground before you shut and locked the door behind the both of you, mind reeling from the fact that Nestor was at your house. You’d been back home to visit a couple times since you moved away, but he’d never made the trek to New York. You couldn’t blame him—you knew what his life with Galindo was like. You were surprised that he was able to be that far away from the family without it causing some kind of issue.

“What brings you out my way?” you took his coat from him and hung it up, chuckling as the snow fell off of it onto the floor.

“You,” he replied, looking up at you with a smile as he took his shoes off, “I wanted to see you, and not just through a phone screen.”

His words made your entire body feel warm. You motioned for him to follow you into the kitchen, nodding towards the counter for him to sit while you got the both of you a cup of coffee. He needed it more to warm up than anything else. He looked around your house with an approving smile. You’d given him the video tour after you had moved all of your stuff in, but it looked so much better in person. It felt so homey. Your walls were covered with photographs and artwork that you’d brought from home. Nestor smiled to himself when he saw that he’d made it up on the wall in a few pictures, along with the rest of your family and friends back in California.

You set the hug down in front of him, and he chuckled when he saw I ❤ NY printed on the side of it. He cupped his hands around it, letting the warmth seep into his fingers from the ceramic, “Fitting.”

You sipped from your own mug with a smile, “Gotta manifest it, Nes.”

The two of you existed in silence for a minute while he thawed out. You watched him as he looked around your small home. It wasn’t much, especially compared to the homes of all the people in his circles back in California, but it was yours and you loved it. You had never been someone who needed much. You just needed to feel comfortable and safe, and this house did more than just that for you.

You noticed him staring at the photos on the walls and the fridge, and you smiled. A little bit of weight settled over your heart as you watched him study them, knowing that he was looking at the ones of the two of you. It was all bittersweet to look back on. The two of you hadn’t ever dated, but you danced around the outskirts of it for a long time. There were times when the lines felt a little fuzzy, but nothing ever really happened. You were best friends, and you knew that he’d do anything for you, and you for him. But the timing was just never quite right, life was just never quite calm enough to try and make it work.

When you had told him that you had accepted a job offer on the other side of the country, he was trying so hard to be happy for you, but it wasn’t easy. You were a port in the storm for him, and he had no idea what he was going to do without you around. But he was supportive. He helped you pack, scrolled through apartment and housing listings with you, and found the best deal on a plane ticket. He never let you see how much it had hurt him—those were feelings that he processed in private. He’d thought about coming out to visit you every day since you left, but he worried that if he did, he wouldn’t come back home.

Before either of you could spiral too far into the past, you spoke up with a smile, “So, how long are you in town for?” he didn’t have any bags, so you assumed that he couldn’t be in town for long.

“I’m not sure,” he rested a hand on the back of his neck, “Told Mikey I needed to take some time. And this was the first place I thought to come to.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise—work had always been a priority for Nestor. Miguel was at the forefront of his decisions, always. “Really?” you raised your eyebrows, “You…you can take a leave of absence with…what you do?” you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it.

He shrugged, “Apparently,” he chuckled, “He said alright. So, here I am.”

You could feel that it wasn’t what he wanted to talk about, so you let the topic drop, “Well, you know you’re more than welcome to stay for however long you want to. Although your lack of luggage is a little concerning.”

He laughed, “Got lost in the shuffle. Airline said they’ll mail it here.”

You shook your head, unable to contain your laughter, “Damn, that sucks. Welcome to New York.”

You were on the opposite side of the counter from him, leaning forward onto it, propped up by your elbows. The two of you started to catch up about things that slipped from your minds when you called each other. He told you about some of the chaos that he wasn’t allowed to say over an unsecure phoneline. You listened intently, fighting the urge to reach out and entwine your fingers with his. Everything felt so right with him there with you.

“Sorry,” he chuckled as he took another sip of his coffee, “I don’t mean to do all the talking. I’ve just…I’ve missed having you to talk to.”

You nodded, “I know the feeling,” you drummed your fingers on the surface of the counter, “Well, now that you’re here, normally I’d say we should go do touristy things. But something tells me you’ve had your required dose of snow for the day?”

He laughed, “What’ve you got in mind?”

You shook your head, “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve had a long enough day. We can camp out at least until your luggage gets here. Or I can take you shopping, whichever you prefer.”

He smiled at you, “I think I’m alright with staying in.”

“That’s what I figured,” you chuckled, “Well, I was not expecting company. I’m assuming you’ll be alright with ordering in?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I know this really great Chinese place. Their wonton soup is…perfection.”

The two of you made your way to your living room and sprawled onto the couch. You leaned up against Nestor’s side as you got your phone out to place the order. You picked a few things that you wanted to eat before handing it to him so he could pick stuff as well. While he was looking through the menu, you turned on the television and pulled the blanket off the back of your couch so it covered the both of you.

Nestor handed your phone back to you so you could place the order. He’d hardly noticed how you tucked the both of you in. He smiled as he rested his arm against your side, hand brushing lightly against your stomach.

“Is this…”

“I decided last week that I was going to rewatch all of Law & Order SVU from the very beginning,” you laughed.

He shook his head with a laugh, “Do you have a moral objection to happy shows or…?”

“It’s a good show!” you snuggled into him a little more.

“What has New York done to you?”

You smiled and shook your head, “Given me time to do shit like this.”

“You like it here though?” his eyes were watching the television, but one hand was gently massaging circles into the side of your neck.

“Yea, I do. It’s a nice change of pace—I think it was the right move for me,” you glanced up at him and smiled, unbelievably happy about the fact that he was really laying on your couch in New York with you. Never in a million years did you think that would happen.

Once the food got there the two of you switched up your positions a little bit. The TV was still on but neither of you were paying attention to it. You were each sitting cross-legged facing each other on the couch. You were laughing as you watched him fumble with his chopsticks. You had forks, obviously, but it was a matter of pride whenever you two ate together because he knew that you were extremely good at using them and he didn’t want to be left out.

“Almost two years since we got Chinese together and you didn’t use any of that time to teach yourself how to use chopsticks?”

He chuckled as he struggled with his noodles, “Didn’t make it to the top of my priority list, I apologize.”

“I’ll teach you before you leave. Way better than taking back a cheesy souvenir,” you smiled at him as you picked up a piece of chicken.

As the night wore on, your coffee table became covered in takeout food boxes, and a couple empty bottles of wine that the two of you had managed to drink your way through. You were sprawled across his lap, wine glass lightly hanging from your fingertips as you rambled on about what you had been up to since you moved. Nestor couldn’t take his eyes off of you, soaking up the fact that he was able to be so close to you.

“I’ve missed you,” you veered off your current story completely as you felt the warmth from his hand soak into your leg.

He looked at you, laughing quietly at the sudden admission, “I’ve missed you too.”

“Were you ever mad at me for leaving?”

He shook his head, no hesitation in his answer at all, “Of course not,” he studied your face, the way your skin glowed whenever you drank, the way your eyes got a little glassy when you had more than just one glass of wine, “Doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you, though.”

You hummed in quiet contentment as he reassuringly rubbed his hand up and down your leg, “I think about you all the time.”

His hand stilled for a moment and you were afraid that maybe you were saying too much. Maybe the reason that things worked so well was because everything was in limbo. Before you could worry too much he gave your leg a light squeeze, “I think about you too.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, resituating yourself so that your head was resting against his chest. It was hard to focus on much of anything when all you could think about was the way your body was pressed up against his. The steadiness of his breathing felt like the only thing that was still grounding you. Your entire body felt warm from the wine, but deep down you knew it was more than just that.

“If you’re tired,” he spoke up after a few minutes of silence, “you can go to bed. Don’t exhaust yourself on my account,” there was a smile on his face.

You stretched, fighting back a yawn, “Come with me,” you sat upright and looked over at him, “I won’t lie to you, my guest room is empty because I have been putting off buying furniture for it,” you chuckled, “And my bed is way more comfortable than the couch, believe me.”

“Yea,” he nodded, his voice soft as he bit back a laugh, “okay.”

He followed you up the stairs and into your room, looking around the house as he did. It was hard for him to wrap his head around what your life was like now that you were so far away from everything that you had grown up with, everyone you had grown up with. It seemed like you had created such a cozy little life for yourself, and it couldn’t help but to think that you might never have had that if you hadn’t taken the plunge to move across the country.

“Don’t mind the clothes,” you apologized as you flicked on the light to your bedroom, “I promise they’re clean—I just hate folding laundry.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “It’s fine.”

You changed into a baggy long-sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts, immediately crawling underneath your blankets. You nestled back against your pillow and looked over at Nestor, who was unbuttoning his shirt, eyes cast down at the floor.

You were lying on your side, scrolling on your phone when you felt the mattress dip as Nestor climbed into bed beside you. He pulled the blanket up over himself and rolled onto his side so he could look over at you. You looked up from your phone, a smile starting to take over your features as you took in how close he was to you. You set your phone off to the side and rested your cheek against the palm of your hand.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you said with a laugh.

“Give it a couple days,” he joked, “Soon you’ll be begging for me to go back home.”

You snuggled closer to him, resting your face against his chest, “I doubt it.”

You woke up the next morning to the feeling of Nestor’s arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you snug against his chest. Taking a slow, deep bre ath you took in the fact that this was really happening. He shifted slightly, arms squeezing you for a moment before he settled back into his sleep. The selfish part of you never wanted him to go home because you would love to wake up like this every morning. The warmth trapped underneath the blanket made you forget about the fact that there was a considerable amount of snow covering the ground outside.

You let your eyes close again as you focused on the steady beat of his heart. You slowly slid your legs and tangled them up with his. A few moments later you felt his fingers sliding lightly up and down your back. You glanced up at him and smiled when you saw that his eyes were still closed, but there was a peaceful smile on his face. You don’t ever remember seeing him so calm, so relaxed.

“Good morning,” he mumbled as he pressed his hand flat against your back, pushing you against him.

You chuckled as you rested your hands against his chest, “Good morning. You sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” he finally opened his eyes, “like a fucking rock,” he laughed.

You smiled up at him, “Good.”

The two of you laid there, soaking up the quiet peacefulness of the morning. You hadn’t woken up wrapped up in someone’s arms in a very long time, and there was something about the clinginess of Nestor’s grasp that told you he was in the same boat. You smiled to yourself as you felt his fingers lazily massaging between your shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come visit sooner,” he said.

You pulled back away from him so you could get a better look at his face, “You don’t have to be sorry—I know your life doesn’t make it easy. It’s hard to find the time.”

“I should’ve made the time.”

“Nes, don’t—”

He cut you off as he shook his head, “I’m not trying to make excuses. I know that I should’ve come out to see you. I just, I knew that it was going to be hard to convince myself to go back home once I did. I like me so much better when I’m with you,” he gently cupped your face in his hand.

You rested your hand over his, “Well, I like you all the time,” you smiled, “And no matter what, I’ll always be here whenever you need a break to recharge and get away from everything for a little while. But listen,” you waited for him to look at you, “don’t spend all of your time here thinking about the fact that you think you should’ve made it out here sooner. None of that matters. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

He rested his forehead against yours, “See? That’s what I mean—how am I supposed to go back home after that?” you could see the hint of a smile on his face.

You laughed, “Just remember how much you hate the snow. Short vacations out this way will be just right for you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Yea, maybe.”

You gave his hand a light squeeze, “C’mon, let’s go make breakfast and see if your luggage will come in today or if I get to take you shopping.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes, “Can’t wait for that.”

You flung the blanket off the both of you and hopped out of bed. Walking around to Nestor’s side, you held out your hands and pulled him up, laughing as he exaggeratedly stumbled into you and wrapped you in a hug. Your laughter was muffled against his chest but he reveled in the way it all felt.

While you were measuring out grounds into the coffee maker, you saw Nestor out of the corner of your eye looking through your fridge, trying to see what he could salvage to make breakfast with. You smiled to yourself as you set the pot to brew. You leaned back against the counter and watched him pulling things out from the drawers of your refrigerator.

“Playing chef today?” you asked with a smile.

“Better me than you,” he laughed.

You feigned offence, “Excuse you, I am an amazing cook.”

He smiled as he set everything out on the counter, “You are, but I’m better.”

“But I’m better,” you mocked with a laugh, “Cocky.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“How long did you say you were staying again?” you laughed.

“At least until I learn how to use chopsticks,” he chuckled as he looked through your cabinets for a frying pan, “So it might be a while.”

You couldn’t make yourself take your eyes off him, “Good.”

He heard the softness in your tone and looked over at you from his food prep on the counter. He smiled, tilting his head slightly as if to ask if there was something that you wanted to say. You shook your head with a small smile before walking over and wrapping your arms around his middle, the side of your face resting against his back. You didn’t know how long he was going to be staying, but you knew that regardless you were going to be making the most of it.

[morizoras-cave]

Bullies (Request)

Tom Holland x teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Request Description: Tom holland x teen!reader,reader is having a rough time in school but doesn't want anyone to know,until one day they were looking at their social media while sitting next to tom,in one of the post someone was mocking or bullying the reader,and to that they cried,tom was quick to comfort them and ask what's wrong and the reader told him,and he's like i am gunna talk to the school and tell them what they are doing. Hope is okay❤❤❤❤❤

Warnings: bullying, general sadness, MEAN comments, language probably

(A/N): man, i only do requests these days (lol ive had my blog for like a week) maybe ill do one of my own tonight or tomorrow along with a request :) ALTHOUGH, i really like doing your guys’ requests you have amazing ideas that i honestly would never come up with by myself :DDD <3

When you decided to do a movie, there were a lot of things that you didn’t sign up for, that came along with it. Some good, some bad. Like meeting all your favorite celebrities, the overwhelming fanbase that grew around you, the countless haters, and the 24/7 plane rides across countries.

You were now on one of said planes, your co-star and brother from another mother, Tom Holland sitting beside you. You had been intimidated to meet him at first, but he had been nothing but nice to you, and you always appreciated his presence.

He’d helped you a lot with fame and how to handle it, because in truth all you really wanted was to act. You could’ve never imagined what would come from it though, and you were eternally grateful to Tom.

However, you were hiding something. It was embarrassing and childish and it could never compare to Tom and his fame-problems. You were being bullied. And how could you let them bring you down when you had so many fans? It bothered you so much, and you couldn’t understand why, and the inability to understand only enhanced your misery. 

It was at school, at least that’s where it was first. Some girls had started saying that you “thought you were too good for your school,” and that, “you were just a snobby celebrity now,”. 

Then, when the trailer was released it’d had gotten worse and they’d pranked you and followed you around and even beat you up once. You couldn’t stand it. Now the press tour had started, and they’d settled for online harassment. 

You’d tried to tell them to stop, but they just wouldn’t. You felt horrible inside, and had tried to avoid using your phone. But it was everywhere, everywhere that you needed to see, every website that you used. And at some point it had become an addiction.

You sought it out, even when you knew that it would hurt you. You just needed to see. You had to. And they’d started a page on instagram dedicated to it, so it was easy to find. 

It was called Y/n-L/N-is-gross, and it consisted of pictures they’d taken of you in school, and then they captioned it making fun of your appearance, performance, personality, anything they could. 

And it hurt. It hurt no less than the first time you read it. You didn’t want to go back to school again. You cried so much at night, and the broken and unhappy you had slowly crept into the daytime.

You were on your phone, biting your nail nervously, as you clicked on to their account. The many unpleasant and unflattering photos of you popped up, and there was the new post. You inhaled, looking to your side. Tom was also on his phone, not looking at you, so you cautiously clicked it.

You frowned. 

‘y/n is fucking disgusting. she has no talent and all her photos are edited to shit. look at her. she is ugly. shes also just selfish and manipulative, an absolute whore��

Your breath hitched and unexpectedly you felt tears in your eyes. You tried to blink them away, but the tear simply fell. It hurt so much. They were right. Of course they were. I mean, look at you. You’re a disgusting whale, you’re untalented, you’re nothing, you’re-

“Y/n?” 

You flinched, instinctively turning your phone off, and aggressively wiping your eyes. Tom was looking at you, his expression both confused and serious. 

“Mhmm?”

“Were you crying just now?” he asked, and he seemed out of place. So did you. You didn’t like the situation, Tom didn’t seem to understand it.

“Uh,” was all you said, and that seemed to be enough of an answer for Tom.

“What-what, why were you crying just now? Are you okay? Did something happen?” he asked and immediately got closer to you to put his hand on your shoulder. 

“Nothing happened, okay? I’m fine.” 

“Y/n, I know you’re not.” 

You hesitated. 

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is!” 

Tom paused. He could see tears forming in your eyes again. You’d always been a very private person, but Tom couldn’t stand to see you unhappy like this.

“Is someone writing something mean about you?” Tom asked quietly, close enough so you could hear it. At his words, you broke eye contact and let another tear fall.

“Y/n.. You can’t let these things get to you,” Tom mumbled, and you immediately pulled away from him in embarrassment. It was stupid. 

“I told you it was stupid,” you sniffled, looking out the plane window. Tom’s mind was racing, trying to think of the best way to console you.

“It’s not stupid, it’s just hard to get used to the hate comments. I know that, I’ve been there!”

“It’s not-..” you sighed, making the final decision to just tell him, “It’s not about hate comments. There are these two girls at my school. They just really like to bully me for some reason. They’ve made a page about me,” you cheeks were burning. Finally, Tom understood. He now felt an anger arising within him. 

“What have they been doing?” he asked, and the switch in his attitude was clear. He was trying to sound sympathetic, when in reality he was pissed. You saw it too, his jaw clenched and fists gripping the arm rests.

“Don’t worry about it, Tom. I can deal with it,” you words made him. It took every ounce of self control within him to not yell out in frustration.

“Clearly not, Y/n. Clearly you can’t. It hurts me when you’re sad, it’s not just something I can ignore. You’re my little sister, N/n. Just tell me what they’ve been doing.. Please,” his hiss turned into a plead, one hand gripping the side of your face, the other on your upper arm. 

“They’ve just been calling me names and.. I don’t know some stupid pranks and mean words online. And then once..” you trailed off, and Tom searched your eyes intently. You had to tell him, you knew. “They.. I guess they.. Hit me once.” 

“They- They hit you?” Tom was outraged, pulling away from you, to see you better. 

“I mean- yeah, they.. They both hit me.. A lot.” 

Tom was seething. You felt lighter though, as the words escaped you, like a burden was lifted from your shoulders. Tom gripped your hand with both his, squeezing it. 

“God, Y/n. I don’t know what to say. This isn’t stupid. This is serious! You can’t hide these things, they’ll hurt you. Promise me you won’t hide it again,” you watched him hold your hand into his chest, as he spoke. You knew he was right. And I guess it was serious. It made you feel better than Tom didn’t brush off your problems like you had thought he would. 

“I promise,” you nodded. Tom brought you into a hug. You could hear his heart beating out of his chest. 

“Alright, now if you give me their names, I’m gonna call the school and get them expelled. You won’t be seeing them again. And if they try to bother you online, we’ll send the fans after them” he spoke into your hair. You giggled at the thought. 

You gave Tom their names, and sure enough they were expelled. They did try to bother you online, but this time you told Tom, and just one instagram story was enough to send thousands of angry fans over there. The account was taken down after just a couple of hours. Tom kept an eye on you since then, but after that you told him when you were sad. Because you knew nothing good came out of hiding it. Tom truly was like your protective brother, and he would never stop that. You guys had something truly special. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer​ @marvel-madness​ @40srogcrs​ @whatthefuckimbisexual​ @ireadfanficforfun

[blackjack-15]

The Weight of Living — Thoughts on: The Deadly Device (DED)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC, TOT, SAW, CAP, ASH, TMB

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. For this meta, like TMB, there will be an extra section entitled “The Theme” between The Mystery and The Suspects.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with my list of previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: DED, TMB; brief mentions of FIN, SSH, and ICE; brief mention of Iron Man (2008).

The Intro:

First off, this meta was supposed to be uploaded well over a week ago, and I apologize; life and health kind of got in the way, but it should be more constant for these last 3 metas.

I hope.

Like I mentioned with the last meta, this will be kind of a companion/two-piece meta with TMB. Where TMB focused on the effects of the dead on the living, DED instead focuses on the living’s effects on the dead — the dead in this case being Niko Jovic, of course. Let’s dive into that, shall we?

Just like how everything in TMB was dead, everything (other than Niko, rest in peace) in the lab is alive. The lab is full of people, of research — “living knowledge” in other words — of live wires and electricity, and is constantly growing and changing, just like a living organism does. With all this life present, the game is mostly concerned with how the living affect Niko.

What’s left of Niko after his death is his legacy — his work, his personality, his relationships (or lack thereof) with others, and it’s fascinating to see how our characters deal with and affect that. Grey is dedicating to curating Niko’s legacy (at Niko’s request, it should be noted), Ryan lives in awe of it, and Mason and Ellie are more pragmatic, wanting to use his legacy and work to improve their own lives. Victor, on the other hand, wants Niko’s legacy all to himself — to effectively erase it, in other words, which is another marker of him being our out-and-out villain.

Niko was divisive in life, and is even more so in death — no one can quite say exactly who he was. A jerk, a total scientist, someone who needed caring for, naïve, a useful tool — all of these were how people thought of him, and all of these were a part of who he was. In the end, it’s the efforts of the living that kill Niko — Ryan’s engineering, Ellie and Mason’s lack of concern, Grey’s reticence to get involved, and Victor’s machinations – along with his own secrecy and feeling of being apart from the world — or dead to it, more appropriately.

Stepping back from our characters and the weight of the living for a bit, let’s talk about the other thing that really makes DED stand out not only as a game but specifically as a Nancy Drew game — that is, its design in being a game that subverts the Nancy Drew formula at every turn.

There are a few obvious ones, like a phone character turning to a real-life suspect (rather than the other way around, like in TMB and ICE, or in any other game, where phone characters are Above Suspicion), the person hiring Nancy actually being the baddie, and Nancy having her safe places removed throughout the game, rather than crossing off locations where Bad Things can happen, but the more interesting ones are a little more subtle.

Our suspects provide a few more subversions — for example, our ‘meanest’ characters (Mason and Gray) are neither our explicit Good Guys or our definite Bad Guys, as often tends to be the case in Nancy Drew games. We also have suspects who hate each other openly revealed to be working together towards a common goal, which is a nice twist on the Warring Suspects trope that we see in quite a few games (ICE, FIN, SSH, etc.).

Finally, the structure of the mystery gives us our last two subversions. Instead of our normal Nancy Drew status quo where the characters are simple but their motivations end up being surprising/hidden/secret, we here have a straightforward motive — remove Niko to get his stuff — and our characters are the part that’s not straightforward, with each of them having warring traits within themselves that contribute to the fog surrounding the mystery.

Our villain also fails in this game through the cover-up, not through the crime. Normally, there’s a mistake that the culprit makes during the committing of a crime that Nancy finds evidence of later — a dropped business card, etc. — but in this case, it’s really only the cover up that implicates Victor at all, and he would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for, well, himself.

These subversions wouldn’t have been possible 10 or 15 games ago, and it’s a mark of how far the games have come that a game can be dedicated to subverting the usual formula and do it with such panache — and make a great game out of it, besides.

The Title:

 As a title, The Deadly Device is pretty solid, if lacking a bit of flash. It gives us our method of murder and the academic ‘scope’ (i.e., science/engineering) that we’re playing in for this game, and tells us our crime — can’t be a deadly device without someone ending up, you know, dead — but doesn’t do a lot outside of that and hinting that the dead as a thematic element will have some role to play.

The reason the title is solid, however, rather than lacking, is that there’s not much else to call it that’s quite as well-fit to the game. It pulls (in a matter of speaking) from two Nancy Drew stories, The Crime Lab Case — which, as a title, yawn — and In and Out of Love, a story from the Nancy-at-college era that tried to be Hotter and Sexier than the previous books, but just ended up being a bit ridiculous. Neither one of those titles would have been any better — they would have been significantly worse, honestly, so The Deadly Device will stand as a good, solid effort for a great game.

The Mystery:

Disaster has struck at Technology of Tomorrow Today, a research lab in snowy Colorado: the lead scientist, a man named Niko Jovic, has been discovered dead in the Tesla Coil lab of electrocution. Months later, the case has gone cold, so owner Victor Losset decides to take matters into his own hands and hires Nancy to find his employee’s killer — not that there’s any doubt in his mind that Ryan Kilpatrick, the engineer who built the coil that killed Niko, is responsible.

When Nancy arrives on-scene and undercover, however, things aren’t quite as cut and dry as Victor would have her believe. It seems that everyone at the lab has means, motive, and opportunity — and whoever killed Niko doesn’t have any qualms about killing a nosy detective to cover up their crime…

Like with TMB, DED isn’t that interested in obscuring its bad guy to a “gotcha!” moment at the very end of the game. Instead, it’s largely concerned with putting disparate personalities under a huge amount of pressure and seeing what results. No one at the lab is super fond of anyone else who works there, nor of their superiors or employer(s), and all have the equipment and the intelligence to make use of the equipment to deadly ends.

Also like TMB, the crime has already been committed or begun, and it’s not Nancy’s job to prevent it — nothing is going to bring Niko back, after all — but to put together the post-mortem pieces and discover what really happened in the past, and the effect that the living have on the dead. It’s a thematic sort of conflict, and it really helps to elevate the game past “fun science mystery”. And speaking of thematic resonance in this game…

The Theme:

As we discussed last time, TMB was a game about fear — fear of death, of responsibility, of ignominy, of failure, etc. Being its sister game, DED is focused on the opposite of fear: acceptance. Instead of failure, responsibility, and other ever-present fears, DED is about the acceptance of the good, the bad, of yourself, and what others will do with your work and legacy once you’re gone.

In other words, DED is a game most concerned, thematically speaking, with certainty and resolve, rather than fear.

One of the biggest thematic elements in the game that proves this point is the presence of Niko’s recorded diaries. Not only does this feature some excellent voice acting by Josh Crandall, but it also gives a dead character the chance to discuss his motivations, his considerations, and — importantly — his sense of his impending death.

At no point does Niko dissolve into hysterics or even palpable fear; he simply accepts that there are consequences for both his and others’ actions, and that there are people in the world who believe the opposite of what he believes in — and are willing to kill for it.

Niko was a man who personified resolve and acceptance to a fault — had he informed others that his life was in danger, Victor would have had a much harder time killing him — but was also jealous of those who didn’t have to or have the capacity to have that kind of acceptance:

“I see why Tesla liked his pigeons. They fly only where they’re directed, and never question the effect the beating of their wings will have on the skies and the world below.”

The lack of acceptance in our villain is actually what leads to his downfall. The case has gone cold, and Victor is, legally speaking, off the hook — but he can’t accept that he’s gotten away with it, and instead decides to push it one step too far by hiring a detective. Had he not hired anyone, he would have been free and clear for the rest of his life — if the police weren’t able to find anything, the chances of them reopening the cold case are extremely slim — but instead Victor couldn’t accept it, and so hired the instrument of his own demise.

Every suspect has their own resolve in this game, and it’s that facet of their personalities that gives Nancy such a hard time at first, because none of that resolve includes answering the questions of a pesky investigator.

The Suspects:

First off is Obadiah Stane Victor Lossett, Nancy’s boss, owner of Technology of Tomorrow Today, and super evil killer of scientists who piss him off and prevent him from making oodles of money.

Like I mentioned above in “The Mystery”, the game isn’t so much concerned with obscuring Victor’s role as the bad guy. It’s a lovely moment when he shows up, changing from phone to real-life character (and suspect) — it’s in fact one of my favorite moments in the series, and I’ve spoken about it before in my list of the top 5 twists/surprising moments in the series — but it’s not a surprise that he’s involved in Niko’s death.

Victor fulfills the subversion of the formula that DED plays with a while also telling the correct story and theme for the game: he’s a man who took advantage of others for his own personal gain, and so everything he has is taken from him — including his notoriety — because of his lack of acceptance of the world.

“The world fondly remembers those who always give, and soon forgets those who only take.”

Next on the list is Ryan Kilpatrick, Victor’s favored patsy suspect and technical engineer at TTT. Energetic and quirky to (in my opinion) a fault, Ryan warned Niko several times that the Tesla coil would kill him, and then did exactly what he wanted her to do anyway.

To be fair to the girl, she was definitely in love with him, albeit a love more based on pity than on straight-out affection. “He had no one else in the world looking after him”, anyone?

Ryan only makes sense in a world where Niko was killed in the way that it appears first: by a simple malfunction in the Tesla Coil. Because Ryan built it, she would be legally responsible for his death, even though he was her boss when he told her to build it that way. It would be a simple, easy answer, and one that would have been totally thematically opposite of the story the game was telling, which makes her the perfect “preferred” suspect for Victor’s ruse.

Our two research assistants are next for consideration, so let’s start with Ellie York, our night-shift assistant who switched in order to avoid her coworker. A Good Southern Girl, Ellie is not above talking smack with a pretense of politeness and has a rather sinister motive up her sleeve.

Despite the fact that all research done at a lab is property of the lab, she (and Mason) decides that Isn’t Fair and tries to shop around their research to the highest bidder in an attempt to make enough money to pay off her debts.

The fact that she’s selling research that isn’t wholly done by her or Mason when she’s mad that her research is being (contractually and legally) used by someone else does rather put a damper on her ‘righteous anger’, doesn’t it.

As a villain, Ellie would have had to be a pair with Mason, which would have been interesting and a parallel to TMB, but just wouldn’t have told the story that DED wanted to tell. It would have been a story about backbiting and jealousy within a workplace, and thus would have lost its resonance with the historical backstory and with who Niko was as a person. As the victim makes the murder, Ellie (or Mason, or and Mason) would have been a poor choice.

Mason Quinto works the day shift and is far more neurotic than his night-shift companion, though just as guilty of attempting to sell research. He prefers his space neat and orderly, and gets quite steamed when Ellie messes it up to piss him off.

Yeah, there’s no way those two don’t end up in bed when they’re drunk. Honestly.

While the more ‘scientist’-like and nerdy of the two assistants, Mason is, in a refreshing change from normal tropes, also the more maverick of the two, running away with Niko’s work after the murder is solved and is only found at an expo by Gray a bit later, where a fight erupts until Mason comes back to work with Gray and Ellie.

He can also turn into a supervillain in a second chance, which is awesome.

Like I said above with Ellie, the only way Mason makes sense as the villain is to be a pair with Ellie, but it just isn’t the right story, thematically speaking. Mason (and Ellie) are a great example of how everyone in DED is guilty of something, whether they think they’re justified or not, and how putting these kind of people in a pressure cooker and turning it on only leads to disaster, sooner or later.

The last still-living member of our cast is Gray Cortright, security guard and ex-theoretical physicist, along with being probably Niko’s only friend — for a certain value of ‘friend’, it should be noted. Gray used to be the “smart one” until he went through what is basically a nervous breakdown due to his knowledge of theoretical physics and never quite recovered.

I’ll note that Gray would have been a more obvious choice for the early Nancy Drew games; a friendship gone wrong, a slightly “crazy” villain — the pieces are there. But because DED subverts the Classic Formula, Gray is instead probably the only person fully on Niko’s side — no tricks, no ulterior motives, no nothing. He’s exactly what he presents himself to be: gruff, grumpy, unkind, and not even close to a murderer (except, perhaps, where Mason is involved).

Let’s finish off our roll call with Niko Jovic, our murder victim and one of two foils for Nancy in this game. Niko was “100% a scientist”, interested most in the free use and free sharing of technological and scientific advancement, and less interested in developing technology to harm others.

This didn’t make him very popular with those who wanted to harm others, funnily enough.

It’s important that our victim in this case foils Nancy, because this is a game about (as we’ve discussed) acceptance and consequences. The consequence of Niko not paying attention to the fact that other people in the world are not like him was that there was an opening for a bad man to kill him. It’s not Niko’s fault that he was killed, but neither was he unaware that it was coming. He’s described as a ‘dead brilliant jerk madman’, and there’s a lot of truth in that; those who ultimately do good things and work hard are not always good or kind or nice themselves.

And yes, this is how he relates to Nancy. Nancy, like Niko, is a person who rather thinks what most of us would call “people skills” or “kindness” get in the way of the most important thing: solving puzzles and figuring things out. Both of them make the world better through their work, but honestly speaking, that’s not their ultimate aim. They’re not working directly to improve the world, they’re working for knowledge and to solve the puzzle.

In other words, they’re investigators, not philanthropists. And often (ultimately, for Niko), that’s what puts them in danger.

Over on Team Nancy, we have some familiar faces, beginning with our most unfamiliar familiar face, Nancy herself.

Hired as a professional detective undercover, Nancy Drew arrives at the lab to ferret out the murderer — and the truth behind Niko’s death — before anyone figures out that she’s not actually there on behalf of a new owner.

We learn a lot about Nancy in this game, not the least of which because she’s in what we can cheerfully call the opposite of her element (contrasting with TMB). Closely observed, surrounded by a subject that’s not quite in her normal wheelhouse, and where everyone around her is hell-bent on hiding everything they can from her — it’s a recipe for a frustrated detective, and that’s part of the reason that we see the return of not one but two (three? technically) detective (or detective-adjacent) phone friends, rather than Bess/George/Ned.

(Side Note: George, for all her specialty with science and technology, wouldn’t have been a good phone friend for this game, as she would have focused on the science, which isn’t really the point of Nancy’s investigation, and not enough on the case. Just putting that out there.)

This game features Nancy as a sort of patsy, rather than an unexpected observer or the target of revenge, and it should be no surprise that she outgrows that role fairly quickly. Her reluctance to search for evidence against someone, rather than evidence for the crime, clears the hurdle of Ryan’s Suspected Involvement pretty quickly while being the opposite of what Victor wanted out of her assistance.

On display here is Nancy’s fairness and her ability to ignore what others say about a case if it doesn’t suit her. Sure, she’s been told to watch Ryan and find her guilty, but Nancy’s pretty uninterested in that, instead centering her search around Niko rather than Ryan. Ellie makes a comment about Mason being about 60% scientist (and Niko being 100%), and it’s fair to say that Nancy’s about 60% a detective; she has other interests and motivations, but when she’s ‘at work’, she’s focused on doing her job to the greatest extent that she can — which is what makes her such a problem for Victor in the long run. And speaking of problems for Victor…

Returning from her role as the gloriously catty mean girl in ASH is Deirdre Shannon, criminology student and absolute sass master. Busted for hiring someone to write an essay for her in college, Deirdre’s clever enough to suggest making up the credit by assisting in a real-life murder investigation — albeit with a heavy dose of sarcasm for her frenemy.

Besides having the best lines in the game (her “did you forget that I don’t like you?” and voicemail message are incredible, along with her assertion that Nancy should get her head checked out due to her repeated hits on the head), Deirdre is there to help Nancy see things from a different perspective and to clue her in on information that she has no way to get — backing up alibis, old publications, and the like. She’s less concerned with the background of the case — the Hardy Boys (!!) have that covered — and is more here to figure out exactly who can be taken off of Nancy’s suspect list and why.

She also, in a rather glorious twist of fate, is the reason that Nancy is hired, having told Victor that Nancy suffers from “chronic wrongness”, among other things. I can just imagine how pissed Victor must have been in jail with her — more than with Nancy, certainly — and can easily see a future where, upon his release/escape, Victor goes after Deirdre — it was after all Deirdre, not Nancy, who cleared Ryan.

But enough about games that would have been better than MID. That’s a nigh-unquenchable topic.

Deirdre’s there as the more prominent foil to Nancy within the game — and the game isn’t shy about foiling the two women. Both are bright, both come from River Heights, both are interested in/involved with the same boy, both are involved in crimes/criminology to some extent…the list goes on.

The thing that Deirdre-as-foil shows us about Nancy is that Nancy isn’t unique in what she does. Sure, the way she got into the mystery business and her credentials are unusual, but she’s far from the only girl in her late teens that’s interested in crime and mysteries, and far from the only one who can solve these types of mysteries.

Deirdre is often referred to as “the girl who could have been Nancy Drew” had things worked out differently for her — different parents, different friends, different connections, etc. — and we see that play out here. She’s not lacking for smarts, intuitive thinking, or creative problem solving — just in opportunity.

The Hardy Boys are here for their only appearance in the Nancy Games, and boy do they do The Most.

When last we saw him, Frank Hardy was helping Nancy out with a ‘relationship talk’, but here he’s interested in two things: talking to Nancy and researching to help Nancy. He’s quite proud of Nancy and her reputation, and is more than willing to help her on the case — though his first priority is her safety, as demonstrated by the voicemail.

That really should be capitalized, huh. “The Voicemail”.

I first wanna say kudos to DED for actually making progress in Frank’s character arc and relationship with Nancy, and giving context to his sulking in the next game. So often in games like the Nancy Drew games — and indeed, in the earlier games in this series — there’s an addiction to the status quo that doesn’t really allow for anyone to learn anything permanent, much less something that changes their behavior, so I’m pretty thrilled with this development even outside of shipping.

Second, I love that this is a topic that both boys are interested in, albeit for different reasons. Too often we have either Frank or Joe being enthusiastic about the context of Nancy’s investigation, and it’s nice here to see that the boys can agree on something — even if their answers are different as to why.

Speaking of different reasons for interest, Joe Hardy is back (we haven’t seen him for quite a few games!) and is better than ever. I’ve said it before (and I’ll say it again), but really Rob Jones does a phenomenal job with Joe, especially as the games progress, and DED is a perfect example. Joe’s dialogue is pitch-perfect and his excitement about Tesla is adorable.

I’m also going to point out that Joe’s identity as a very proficient tactician is in play in this game, as he is the one to point out how very strange it is that a man of means and importance would hire Nancy — not that, as Frank points out, Nancy doesn’t have a great reputation, but just that Victor should be able to hire a world-class detective rather than a girl in her late teens to investigate this murder.

The thing that the Hardy Boys are here to represent is Nancy’s fledgling footing into the professional world. Sure, she’s been a detective for hire for a while now, and TOT sort of ushered her into that world for good, but the Boys have been doing this for much, much longer, and have the sort of resources that make a huge difference when investigating crimes like murder versus circumstances like “my daughter is unhappy go help her”.

For all of Nancy’s natural inclinations, talents, and drive that make her a good detective, the Hardy Boys (along with Deirdre) show the downside of being an autodidact: the breadth of your resources isn’t anywhere near what others’ might be. The things she needs to solve this mystery are privy to those with better resources — colleges and agencies — and she has to rely on them to get the job done.

The Favorite:

DED is a game that I didn’t expect to like, but ended up really loving, so there’s quite a few things in this section that stand out.

The first thing I want to mention is I love Ellie and Mason’s interactions. In a lot of Nancy Drew games, we get the characters interacting with Nancy, but not so much interacting with each other, so it’s always a pleasure for me when it happens.

Deirdre holds her title as one of my favorite characters in this series, so of course she’s going to get a mention here. The “TDPD” segment has me rolling on the floor, her comment about Nancy volunteering for a neurological study sounds exactly like what a lot of fans joke about, and her voice acting (major props to Meaghan Halverson) is equal parts snide and earnest, all without ever losing her edge or likability.

As anyone who’s been in the vicinity of these metas knows, I’m a huge fan of the Hardy Boys, and I love their inclusion here. The geeking out over Tesla, the brotherly camaraderie, the hints at Frank’s feelings, Joe teasing Frank about said feelings — it’s all here, and it’s all wonderful.

My favorite puzzle would probably have to be the whole fingerprint-melting-gummy-bear puzzle, just because — I mean, at the end of the day, that’s just cool. I did a forensic-science-style unit in my elementary years where we printed fingerprints and distinguished between whorls and such and this made me exactly as excited as I had been all those years ago. It’s fun, fitting with the story, and involves gummy candies — what’s not to like?

My favorite moment — and I’ve mentioned this once already in this meta, and in a different meta — is the moment that Victor shows up. Savvy players of this series would know that there’s no way HER would include a model of Victor just for a video call, so it’s not exactly a surprise, but it’s such a wonderfully scary moment without being a jump scare or a startle.

Victor’s appearance closes down Nancy’s snooping spots, removes a safe place for her, turns the last bit of the game into a sort of mix of detective and stealth game, and is a huge subversion of the usual “phone-client” formula, and I absolutely love it.

My last favorite thing about this game is when you realize that Victor hired Nancy due to her supposed incompetence, rather than her being, in Frank’s words, one of the best that there is. It chills you down to the bone and makes the whole game feel more antagonistic as a result, and is just a really nice writing moment.

The Un-Favorite:

There are, however, a few things that maybe aren’t so grand in this game, even with all its good points.

My least favorite puzzle is probably the chemical puzzle — with the beakers and the exploding water and such — just because it’s quite finicky, and it takes up time that I’d rather be doing other things with. I thought about the printing puzzle, but honestly even though it takes time within the game to do it, there’s plenty of other things to do with Nancy’s time that makes the time spent there not so big a deal.

My least favorite moment in the game is, quite frankly, the time spent talking to Ryan. I find all the characters interesting as characters, but Ryan is exactly the kind of Quirk that I don’t handle well, in real life and in video games.

Honestly, her remark of “I less-than-three them!” was enough to get me to stand up and walk away from the game for a minute the first time I played through it.

Had this game come out a few decades earlier, she would have referred to Niko as “totally tubular” and stuff like that, and it’s…it’s just a lot to handle for me personally.        

The Fix:

So how would I fix The Deadly Device?

Honestly speaking, this is a game where there’s not a lot to do. I’d probably tweak Ryan to be a little less annoying and smooth out the chemicals puzzle, but those are more personal grievances than they are actual issues with the plot and writing.

Probably the only substantial thing I’d do is tie in the robotic cat plotline a little more. As it is, it’s easy to ignore and doesn’t have a lot of plot or thematic resonance, so I’d make it a little more important and noteworthy. And less scary looking.

DED is a game that sets out to tell a good story while subverting the usual Nancy Drew formula in big and small ways, and honestly it succeeds at both of those things with flying colors. It really feels like a setting where life went on before and will go on after Nancy leaves it, which is Valuable to me all by itself, and features some of the more colorful moments in the series — all while solving an actual murder for the first time since a Florida high school in the 90s.

[unbridgeabledistances]

here is a part 2 of my valentine’s day one-shot from the other day!! part 3 of them actually celebrating is coming fri, but wanted to make it a lil countdown:) also big creds to @udontfuckangie for their post about ian getting mickey stargazer lilies for valentines bc it… truly made me feel so many things and i had to write this

--

Ian didn’t really remember ever celebrating Valentine’s Day for real— not like everyone else in middle school or high school, like when Lip was off buying flowers for girls or Mandy was trying to get the guy she liked to ask her out— but he definitely remembered celebrating it as a kid, when he’d have to scrounge up some shoebox from under his bed and bring it to his overcrowded classroom to cover with colorful construction paper and make shitty valentines to swap with his friends. Those were the days when Frank was around some, and so was Monica— he remembered one year, when he was maybe 5 or 6, when Monica was there and he had come home with a thin pink slip of paper from his teacher saying that he needed to bring in valentines for his class. Monica had whisked him down the street to the dollar store where they’d ransacked the rickety shelves of all the art supplies they could carry, and then they sat at the kitchen table for hours gluing glitter to cut-out hearts.

So maybe that’s why Ian’s heart had melted last Sunday, when Franny had mentioned that she needed to buy valentines for her class at school— Ian knew it was stupid, or whatever, but he knew how far a few solid childhood memories could go in this neighborhood, how those types of moments were the stuff you lived on for years afterwards when things got harder and darker. So while he’d been caught up in so much shit lately, for a couple of hours on that Sunday afternoon all Ian wanted was for Franny to soak up that feeling like a sponge—to make memories with her like the good ones that he’d had with Monica, the ones that stood out and burned in his chest like a hot branding iron when he remembered them.

And then a yawning, sleep-soft Mickey had stumbled into the kitchen, and the three of them were nestled beside each other at the table doing fucking arts and crafts; and for some reason it made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and got him thinking about how fuck it, he wanted to give Mickey a Valentine’s Day this year— not in the weird, heteronormative bullshit way, but in the way that he could just kind of… show Mickey how much he meant to him, how Mickey still made his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his ribcage even after the years they’d been together. This was the longest time that he and Mickey had ever been together consecutively, the longest time they’d slept side by side before something dark curled its fingers around them and pulled them apart, and he wanted to do something to acknowledge that— something to start their forever, as fucking cheesy as that sounded.

Of course, Mickey had no concept of Valentine’s Day or any of that shit, which made the whole thing all the more perfect— Ian wanted to catch him off guard, wanted to pull them both out of the funk that had been hovering over them for the months after the wedding, when everything turned brittle and stale once the bills started to pile up. They were better now—or at least they were trying to be— but it still meant something that half of their time being married had been spent navigating a fucking global pandemic and squabbling with each other and barely making ends meet.

So now it was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Ian was standing on a busy Chicago street corner in the bitter cold, watching the bundled passersby briskly walk by to scramble inside and stave off the chill. Ian hadn’t been to this neighborhood since his days working at the club, or maybe once or twice when he was hanging out with people from the youth center; the pristine glass storefronts with minimalist displays nearly blinded Ian’s eyes after the past ten months of being accustomed to the crumbling paint-chipped architecture of the South Side. But he was here on a mission; in front of him stood the high-end, boujee as fuck florist’s shop, one of the top-rated ones in the city according to the quick search he’d plugged into his phone.

Ian normally didn’t give a shit about stuff like this— to him, a flower was a flower, and a chair for a wedding was just a goddamn chair— but he knew Mickey, for some reason this sappy shit was a whole lot more important to him, no matter how hard Mickey tried to hide it. All the symbols and the fanfare meant something to Mickey—it meant that they’d made it, that they got to have a normal fucking life together, beyond both of their wildest dreams. So if Ian had to brave a stupid, gentrifying flower shop on a chilly Friday afternoon to make Mickey happy, then that was what he was going to do.

A soft bell tinkled as Ian entered the shop, immediately surrounded by the nearly-bare shelves of minimalist bouquets. The store was incredibly cramped and narrow, with overly-peppy music playing low, and was packed tight with wire-rimmed glasses wearing, re-usable bag toting hipsters standing in a line all the way to the counter. Shit. This line was going to take all day—and who the fuck knew if they even had what Ian was looking for? A looming pang of desperation started to churn in the pit of his stomach as he lurked by the doorway. Fuck it, he had to do this.

Before Ian really processed what he was doing he was quickly darting past the line, getting a series of dirty looks from everyone he shuffled by.

“S’cuse me, coming through, floral emergency.”

Finally, he reached the counter, sliding in beside some girl in her mid-twenties with a punk haircut. “Uh, sorry, can I just ask if they have what I’m looking for real quick?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “If you’re desperate enough to cut the fucking line, I’d say you’re worse off than I am. Men are fucking clueless.”

Ian nearly grimaced, but tried to twist his face into a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.” He turned to the cashier at the counter, a dude with a man bun and a floral button-up shirt who looked pretty amused by this whole situation.

“It’s the day before Valentine’s Day, honey. Everyone here is in a floral emergency.” The cashier sighed, looking Ian up and down appraisingly. “What’re you looking for?”

“Uh. I think they’re called… stargazer lilies? The ones that bloom at a specific time, or something? We were supposed to have them at my wedding, but then the venue got burnt down by my husband’s homophobic father, so we kind of had to pull the whole wedding thing together on short notice— it’s kind of a long story, but I really, really need to get these flowers for Valentine’s Day.” Ian leaned in close over the counter, hoping he didn’t look too desperate. “It’s our first one together and it’s been a fucking shitty year and it would just— it would mean a lot.”

Ian finally exhaled, and hoped by some miracle that this cashier, or someone in the fucking universe, would take pity on him.

The cashier pulled his glasses down to the bridge of his nose, tapping away at the iPad on the counter before glancing up. “Hmm. I’m sorry honey, you’re fresh out of luck. Those lilies bloom in the summer mostly, and no one around here really has them. You could maybe check one of the little flower shops down the street, they do special orders and stuff this time of year—but I’ll be honest, I don’t know if you’re gonna get these flowers by tomorrow.”

Ian felt disappointment bubble up inside him. Of fucking course there were none of these obscure flowers in Chicago the day before Valentine’s Day— he’d had this grand idea of giving Mickey a perfect Valentine’s Day, of starting off on the right foot, and he still put this shit off until the last minute and couldn’t give Mickey what he deserved. Mickey would’ve never made this mistake.

Ian cleared his throat. “Shit. Well, uh, thanks anyways.”

He turned, heading for the door and getting ready to be assaulted by the bitter cold again. Okay, there were a couple flower marts down the street, he could try that— but he had a sinking feeling that the results would be the same, that he’d be left empty-handed tomorrow with nothing to give.

Okay. Focus. I’ve gotta plan a bunch of shit for Valentine’s Day by tomorrow.

What would Mickey do?

**

The flat drone of the dial tone made Mickey’s head buzz, the same dull vibration he’d heard dozens of times that week. Finally, he heard the click of someone answering.

“Hello, this is Sizzlers, how may I help you?”

“Hi, it’s, uh, it’s Mickey Milkovich. Again. I’m just checking in one more time to make sure we’re all good for tomorrow?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, like the hostess was taking a moment to compose herself. “Yes, Mr. Milkovich. Since this is the… seventh time you’ve checked in in the past week, I believe, everything has definitely been arranged as you requested.”

Mickey cleared his throat. “Uh, good. Thanks. We’ll be there for our reservation at 8.”

He clicked his phone off and flung it down onto the bed. It had been nearly a week since he’d decided he was going to try to give Ian some kind of Valentine’s Day like the normal fucking couple Ian wanted to be, but he had to admit, this shit was hard work; he had to think of the perfect place he wanted them to go, had to call and make a reservation and arrange everything perfectly— and then there was the matter of deciding what to get Ian, because apparently married people also got each other fucking gifts on Valentine’s Day, which sounded like overkill to him. He’d been scrolling through Buzzfeed “Valentine’s Day Gift” lists for the better part of the afternoon, and even snuck some of Debbie’s chick magazines into the bathroom to sift through articles like “Ten Things to Get Your Man for Valentine’s Day” or “Best V-Day Gifts for Newlyweds.” Finally, after fucking days of plans stirring in the back of his mind, Mickey finally thought he had all of the pieces together; the reservation was made, the timing was set, and he’d even stopped by some fancy fucking chocolate shop on the other side of town on the way home from the Alibi earlier that afternoon.

Everything was planned—now there was just one thing left to do.

Mickey grabbed the crumpled piece of paper he’d set on the bedside table, the one he’d been staring at all week. Fuck it. He grabbed a discarded pen from the windowsill, from the collection of pencils that Ian kept next to his notebooks.

Mickey sighed as he put the pen to the paper. Now comes the hard part.

part 1 is here! and part 3 is here!

[buckyswinterbaby]

Always By My Side — Chapter 1

Click here to read the Prologue.

Synopsis: The fates have spent millenniums correcting the daily mishaps that interfere with soulmates ever meeting. Will they find a way to bring together Bucky and Zara, two people separated by time and circumstance, just as they’ve done a thousand times before?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Black!OFC Ziarah Heartwell

Warnings (will change with each chapter): flashbacks, PTSD, mentions of past sexual assault, angst, bits of fluff

Word Count: 3,791

Acknowledgement: I’ve created this AU alongside my best friend Taylor in roleplays, along with many of the plots and scenes that will be featured. I’m posting this with his expressed permission as we both continue to work on the story in our chat. Credit for its creation goes to both of us.

Please like, comment, and reblog (I love that shit). The divider was created by me, please credit me if you use it. The gifs are not mine. Click here to fill out the form to be added to my tag list!

Note: Here’s chapter one of my new series “Always By My Side”. It takes place in a soulmate AU where a bond is triggered when one or both halves experience a life threatening level of distress. The bond allows them to see imaginary versions of their soulmates to help support them while they wait to meet their other half. Just a warning, up until we reach the current time in the story, there will be significant time skips for plot progression’s sake. The time changes will always be labeled.

Addition: I said I’d tag you when I posted my WOC OFC story so here’s chapter one, @bucky-the-thigh-slayer !

[Bucharest, Romania -- 2016]

The Romanian streets were bustling with early morning energy as Bucky took the final steps outside of the clearly worn apartment complex that he had been calling home for sometime. He seemed unfazed by the sixteen year old girl practically jogging to keep up in step with his longer strides. He had grown rather accustomed to her presence and her commentary since she first appeared to him in 2014. It had been during his final brainwashing session with Hydra before they fell. He couldn’t help but view her as a banshee of sorts, harkening the end of what remained of his mental stability. He couldn’t fathom another reason as to why he would hallucinate an opinionated teenage girl.

Even so, he found comfort in their conversations and how at ease she seemed around him. Almost as if she had always been with him, a piece of himself that still saw the good that was left. Never addressing him with fear or apprehension, never as the monster and killer he was forced to become.

Her features were young and innocent, seemingly unscarred by life despite the bruises that graced her skin--which he was never sure why they existed. At first, he feared that she had been one of his countless victims who had returned to haunt him in her afterlife, though the theory became less likely to him as more time passed.

The defined coils of her hair were pushed up into a messy bun, edges laid smoothly to her forehead in defined loops. When she first started showing up, Bucky had attempted to make sense of the witty phrases and references that so frequently adorned her clothes but he had long since given up on ever understanding them. He had to admit that the shirt she wore that day, a middle finger painted with pink, yellow, and blue, was quite the fashion choice. Not that he could particularly judge with his similar pieces of clothing that were practically identical besides in color.

The pair made their way down the familiar stretch of pavement on their way to the outdoor market that Bucky had made a habit of visiting. He had found that a reliable schedule throughout his week helped him better grasp the passing of time, a fact that his companion had been informing him of for weeks before it finally seemed to click.

The girl’s nose clinked as they neared the fresh fish stand, just as it did every week. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle at her childish antics as they were so few and far between for someone who seemed quite mature despite her appearance.

“It smells like cat food,” she whined, making a clear act of breathing primarily through her mouth as she jogged to keep up. “How are you not gagging?”

“Not all of us have the luxury of being a figment of someone’s imagination, Zara. If I start gagging, I have a feeling a few people will start to notice.” The man gave her a knowing look. Drawing attention to himself was the exact opposite of what he wanted during his brief outings. “Besides, I can’t say I’ve smelt cat food or have any intention to. So I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

Zara rolled her eyes as the smell began to dissipate the further they moved past the stand, her trademark smile working its way onto her features. “Could’ve had me fooled, I thought that was your guilty pleasure. I can’t say I’ve ever intentionally gotten a whiff, but when I feed the outdoor cats at my house, it’s kinda unavoidable.” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as if it was the most natural thing in the world for an imaginary person to have their own home and animals.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes down to her smaller form beside him. “You don’t have a cat because you aren’t even real,” he retorted. Somehow the idea that she could be real made her presence in his life even harder. The idea that she was just some girl he had passed by in the street or on a mission and his brain decided she’d make the ideal emotional support apparition.

“Who are you to declare that?”

“The creepy hundred year old man who hallucinates a sixteen year old girl, occasionally in her pajamas, for one.” His voice raised a bit louder than he intended, drawing the attention of a few nearby pedestrians. Bucky offered them an awkward smile before ducking back down under the bill of his hat and picking up his pace a bit. She couldn’t argue with his logic so she focused on keeping up until they reached their destination, the produce stand that had the best plums in the city, or so Bucky described.

Zara watched as he spoke Romanian with the merchant, only catching a few words she had learnt over the past few months from their conversations. She couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly Bucky seemed to interact with the man and how it contrasted so starkly to how he acted when he first arrived in the city. Decades of next to no positive human interaction left the soldier awkward and clunky in his exchanges, often stumbling through questions and requests, or simply forgetting them altogether. It had taken a great deal of patience and metaphorical hand holding to build up his confidence and ease his anxiety on the matter.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to blend in, in fact he was almost too good at it at times. Over their conversations, she had managed to show him that yes, blending in made him go through the motions of life, which was better than nothing. Yet, the beauty of his life now and the freedom that came with it was that he no longer had to settle for simply surviving and he could instead use it as a chance to learn to live again. It started small, like convincing him to get a pillow and blanket for the mattress on the floor, to which they compromised with a sleeping bag. Soon came two pillows for the couch and a lone floor lamp that he shoved in the corner near his bed for the late nights when night terrors had him scribbling away in his journals. They were minor improvements, in truth, but the progress spoke volumes as Bucky worked on building a place that felt a bit more permanent than his last few hideouts.

Zara had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even registered that Bucky completed his purchase and had moved to stand at the edge of the sidewalk. She approached him curiously, watching the way he hesitantly analyzed the seemingly anxious newspaper peddler from across the street. It was very clear something was wrong from the way his demeanor had changed.

“Buchanan?” Her voice raised a bit at the end of his name, concern now replacing her curiosity as he began to make his way to the stand. He either didn’t hear her--which she found unlikely--or he simply opted to ignore her as he picked up the paper, ocean blue eyes scanning over the headline. The color seemed to drain from both of their faces as they took the accusation in, not having to speak to know what it meant.

Bucky would have to pick up his life, yet again, and run. Find a new country, new home, and start the process all over again. The ex-assassin hardly seemed surprised at the realization, as there is no rest for the wicked.

[Boston, Massachusetts -- 2016]

Zara made her way down the hallway to her bedroom, an imaginary version of Bucky trailing along behind her. She let her book bag drop to the floor once she entered the room, stepping out of her shoes before flopping down onto the soft, sunflower themed duvet of her bed. A look of weightlessness overtook her features as she let the events of the day settle in. Today she would graduate with a PhD in Biomedical Engineering from MIT, top of her class. It was the culmination of years of pouring herself over every textbook her parent’s provided, testing out and early graduations. At only sixteen, Zara would join the ranks of some of the youngest individuals to ever receive a doctoral degree. It truly seemed unreal to her.

Emerald eyes drifted to where Bucky sat at her desk, his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest.

“I wish you could be there tomorrow,” Zara commented, propping herself up on her elbows as her fingers pulled at the frayed threads on the yellow quilt folded at the end of her bed.

A smile teased the corner of Bucky’s lips as he leaned back against her swivel chair, long hair swaying as he tilted his head to the left to look at her. “I will be there, maybe not in person, but I’ll be there cheering right along with everyone else,’ he assured.

“It’s not the same and you know it, Buchanan.”

“I know. Just try to focus on the positives. Tomorrow is your day, you’ve more than earned it.”

Zara nodded, though her disappointment was still evident. On the average day, Bucky’s seemingly invisible presence to everyone else but her came in handy. As she was willing to bet her parents wouldn’t be too keen on the amount of time she spent alone with the grown man, let alone if they knew who he was. The public’s perception of James Buchanan Barnes, who she had quickly identified him as, was low to say the very least. Though it was days like this that she found herself wishing the most that he could truly exist in her life outside of her mind.

She could never quite pinpoint why she began hallucinating him two years prior. Though, the time before and after her fourteenth birthday had flown by in a post traumatic daze so it was even more difficult to analyze. The aftermath of four older boys assaulting her in her own bedroom left her wishing to repress that portion of her life altogether. Zara squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the ghost of their hands on her body. Grabbing, groping, pulling and tearing at clothes. She had hardly seen them since their attack but her mind was still trapped in the room with them.The feeling took her back to meeting Bucky that night, or more so the Winter Soldier, as he appeared at that time.

Upon entering her room, Zara failed to notice the masked man sitting silently in the corner of the room, illuminated only by the small lamp on her bedside stand. When she caught a glimpse of the figure, her body jumped to it’s fight response, just as it had an hour or so before. The young girl grabbed the closest thing she could find, a textbook on advanced chemistry, and held onto it tightly before turning to face the intruder.

“You need to leave,” she ordered, her voice wavering at the end of the demand. Her green eyes only met a pair of dark glasses securely strapped to his face. She couldn’t make out any facial features to identify him by, as all but his forehead and hair was covered.

It wasn’t just his silence that sent an unnerved shiver down her spine. It was his demeanor, cold and nearly unresponsive to her presence and defensive stance. Had his head not briefly turned her way when she started to speak, she’d question if he even heard her at all.

A large gun, likely a rifle from what she could tell, was resting across his lap. His hands weren’t actively gripping it, but something told her he could take aim in the time it took her to breathe her next breath. A variety of handguns and knives were also visible from the holsters adorning his thighs. If he had this many weapons visible, Zara could only imagine how many he had stashed under his tactical vest and heavy boots.

Her green eyes followed where she believed his gaze had drifted. He seemed laser focused on the strip of light just barely visible from under her door as a roar of laughter could be heard from just outside. His hand moved to rest just over the barrel of his gun. The young girl analyzed him for another moment before lowering the textbook, while still keeping it tightly in her hands.

“Will you at least tell me why you’re here?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice, one that vocalized all of the fear she had been trying to hide. She was met with more silence, which quickly became deafening to her. She was afraid to make a move to get his attention again, naturally unsure of how he would react. Yet, at the same time she couldn’t relax, not with him in her space.

After another few moments of no response, she allowed herself to consider the possibility that he wasn’t actually there. She had just been through something horribly traumatic and it was entirely possible that this was her brain's way of coping with the stress and fear. That it had conjured some masked figure to sit at her bedroom door and keep all the bad away.

She knew how best to test her theory, but she recognized the risk that came with it as she picked up a neon pink highlighter that she had been using earlier that night. She gripped it for a moment while weighing her options, throwing it across the room only seconds later. She didn’t put too much force behind it, hoping that if it gently came into contact, he’d be less likely to be angry. The consideration meant very little as the marker passed straight through the man and knocked against the wall before falling to the floor. She watched as it rolled across the floor and disappeared underneath her nearby dresser, a bittersweet feeling washing over her. On one hand, he wasn’t real and couldn’t hurt her. On the other, she was truly alone and definitely going crazy.

“This is fine,” Zara tried to reassure herself with very little luck.

She was pulled back from her thoughts as Bucky called her name for the third time, snapping her back to reality. Their eyes connected for a moment as she attempted to ground herself again, focusing on the small changes between how he was now versus then.

He had since lost the mask and goggles, she remembered him removing them a month or so after he first appeared. His current casual attire contrasted starkly with the hard kevlar of the tactical vest she first met him in. His features were more at ease now, no longer reflecting the fear that she could only compare to an animal in captivity. While she wasn’t fond of the comparison, following what she had learned of the real James Barnes, it wasn’t entirely far off.

As if the world was reading her mind, she faintly heard the voice of the local news anchor from the living room directly below her bedroom. Her features scrunched as she focused in on hearing the report, only catching snippets here and there. The words explosion and Sokovia Accords were most of what she could make out along with what she could’ve sworn was the suspect’s name, James Buchanan Barnes.

Before Zara could even question it further, she found herself racing down the main staircase of their suburban home, sock clad feet skidding to a halt on the polished dark oak flooring. Her eyes widened as she took in the security camera footage that was believed to place Bucky near the scene of the crime. Despite having no real proof, something deep within her gut screamed that it wasn’t true. She knew him, maybe not the real version, but he’d never do that.

Imaginary Bucky followed her into the living room a minute later, his pace slow and relaxed in comparison as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Being held responsible for the most recent atrocity was honestly just beginning to feel like the average Tuesday to him. More than anything, it was Zara’s reaction that took him the most by surprise. Her unwavering faith and loyalty was unexpected and as he believed, undeserved.

He had committed unspeakable acts over the years and this was likely far from the worst he was accused of. Sure, they had grown close in the two years since he first appeared and he imagined that made it easier for her to block out the rest of the stories, since she knew at least some version of the person in question.

Zara was good, in every sense of the word. Of course she had flaws, but who didn’t, especially at sixteen. But he saw the way that she looked at the world with love and curiosity despite the violence and violations she had experienced. It was a strength of character that he truly wished he could grow to embody. Bucky couldn’t help but find it funny that he was left looking up to a teenager who hadn’t even passed her driver’s test yet; but she honestly had more morals and heart than most of the adults he had met in his life. All of those facts being true is what made her belief in his innocence all the more confusing.

His eyes fell to her father, Gabriel, as he sat on the couch to take in the evening news. The man’s head shook in what seemed to be disappointment, or maybe it was anger, Bucky honestly couldn’t be sure anymore. They had never spoken, as Bucky’s intangible form made communication with anyone other than Zara impossible, but he knew Gabriel was a black and white kind of person. He couldn’t help but accept that to anyone who didn’t know him, the evidence would be damning.

“They need to just put him down while they have the chance,” Gabriel scoffed, speaking to no one in particular while switching the flatscreen off before they could finish the broadcast.

“He’s not a wild animal to be euthanized.” Zara’s expression twisted in disgust at her father’s casual nature. “He’s a human being. If he's guilty, and that’s a really big if with how blurry that security footage is, he deserves a trial just like anyone else!”

Gabe turned to look over the back of the couch, clearly displeased that she would defend the man. “I’m in no mood to debate with you, Ziarah.” He rose from his seat and dropped the remote onto the foot stool before leaving towards his study.

Zara watched him leave, her eye practically twitching with each step he took. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, to make him see that there were likely more sides to the story than they were seeing but she knew that it was useless. Her father rarely took her opinions or beliefs to heart on things that actually mattered to him, a topic like this would truly be a lost cause.

She looked up at Bucky as he shook his head lightly, letting her tension fade away as she accepted that it was pointless. “It’s okay, Zar,” Bucky assured, his small smile wiping away any lingering doubts she had. “There are more important battles to pick with him. This isn’t a hill worth dying on.”

Zara would’ve liked to argue that defending her friend was more than a worthy cause but she nodded nonetheless.

“How about we go find your mom. I bet she’s already working on the cake for your graduation and knowing you, you can convince her to let you lick the spoon.” His tone was playful as he coaxed her into motion, the promise of sweets and a friendly face luring her into the kitchen behind him.

Hanna was busy mixing away the different batters she would need for the next tier, the sweet aroma of baked goods filling the air. She hummed lightly as she worked, creating her own personal mix of her favorite 80’s songs together in a unique medley. Her green eyes moved to the doorway as she heard Zara walk in, a bright smile overtook her features as she set down her mixing bowl.

“There’s my little scholar,” she praised, moving around the kitchen island to take her daughter into her arms. Her warm embrace was a welcomed escape as Zara melted.

“Momma,” Zara grumbled as her mother placed a series of kisses on her forehead. “I thought you stopped doing that since I was a baby.” While Zara whined, deep down she always loved her mother’s open displays of affection. Not that she was willing to admit it.

“That’s the beauty of you always being my baby. You’re never too old for me to embarrass you. Just be grateful that I’ve opted to do it now instead of at your party.” The woman grinned away as she moved back to her work.

Zara honestly couldn’t argue with the logic as she found a seat on one of the tall bar stools. She quickly lost herself in the pleasant conversion with her mother, happily opting to clean the excess batter and frosting off of the bowls and mixing spoons like the helpful child she was. Imaginary Bucky sat quietly at the kitchen table, watching the women as they fell into the usual banter and discussion. After they finished her conversation she quickly grabbed a snack and made her way towards the door.

“I believe you’re forgetting something,” Hanna reminded, sending Zara a knowing look.

She huffed lightly before turning on her heels to grab her blood testing and insulin kit, waving it at her mother knowingly. She quickly turned back around and left the kitchen, making her way back upstairs.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to follow after her, stopping only when he saw Zara staring in her old room, which now housed her older brother Daniel. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she ran over the events that more often than not had her scurrying past said room without acknowledging it. It was easier to just pretend it didn’t exist.

A few more moments passed before Zara pulled herself back from the darker parts of her mind, focusing in on everything else in her life that was good and worth celebrating. She had known pain and a time in her life where she often considered if it would’ve been easier to just fade away, but she had made it through to the other side. She had a lot going for her now and that was enough to push her feet forward again.

Chapter 2

[winchesterandpie]

Not Now, Not Ever (Geralt x reader)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 1458

Warnings: a dash of angst, but a happy ending. TW for some abandonment issues, just in case.

A/N: So, my brain has been on an angst track lately, and I’ve been hesitant to post the fics that I’ve written because they all turned into really similar stories, but I figured I’d go ahead with this one. I still haven’t seen the witcher, so I’m really sorry if I’m totally off on Geralt’s characterization! I think I kept the reader gender neutral! Gif is not mine, nor is the Witcher! Hope you enjoy!

“What do you know about feelings, Witcher?”

I regretted the words the moment they fell from my lips, clapping my hand over my mouth as I stared in wide-eyed horror at the silver-haired man in front of me. His lack of reaction only added to my guilt. 

Afraid of causing more damage with grief-cruel words, I fled the bar, fled back to the inn, back to my room. It didn’t matter that I was grieving and lost, that didn’t justify the sharp words I hadn’t meant in the slightest. 

You’ve pushed too far… The dark part of my mind whispered. You’ve pushed too far and now he’ll leave… just like everyone always leaves you… you’ll be alone, just like you deserve to be.

Maybe that’s a good thing… There won’t be anybody I can hurt. 

I cried then, the tears I’d been holding back all day finally freed. And they came violently, running hot rivulets down my cheeks, dropping off my chin. The sobs were no kinder. Those clawed their way up my throat, tearing at my lungs as my shoulders heaved with the force of them. 

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a knock sounded quietly on the door.

“Go away, Jaskier.” I tried to sound as sullen as possible. Sullen was better than broken. 

Whoever was at the door definitely didn’t go away, only knocked against the wood again, so either it wasn’t Jaskier or he was ignoring my request. Either way, I was going to have to answer it. I forced a mask of composure on and wiped away the tear tracks as best as I could. Hopefully, it would be enough that they wouldn’t ask questions. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” I said when the knock sounded again. My legs wobbled a little beneath me as I moved across the room to the door, but they almost buckled completely when I saw that it was Geralt at my door. 

“Geralt!” After my initial shock passed, I fixed my eyes on the floorboards. “You… you’re not... gone?”

“Why would I be gone?” The very notion seemed to confuse him. 

“Because I said that horrible thing in the bar and… and how could you not hate me?” I didn’t dare look up now, continuing in a whisper. “I would hate me if I were you.”

“You’re not me,” was his simple reply. I almost looked at him then, but my composure was cracking, and I didn’t deserve to cry in front of the kind man who I had just stabbed emotionally where I knew it would hurt. 

“O-oh.” Is that the best you can come up with? ‘Oh?’ Pathetic.

As I stood there, shame burning hotly across my cheeks, trying to find a way to excuse myself from the situation, his hand reached out to tentatively grasp my chin. Gently, he lifted my face, and as I met his honey gaze I saw nothing but worry and warmth in his eyes. There was none of the hate and the cold I’d expected. 

The kindness was what broke me. The first tear leaked out on its own, and then it was like the bursting open of floodgates. I collapsed finally under the weight of everything - the grief at the loss of my parents, the shame and anger at myself for what I’d said to Geralt. It proved too much to bear. He caught me as I crumpled, strong arms pulling me into a tight embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I cried into his shirt. “I didn’t mean a word of it, I’m sorry.” I’m not sure how many times I repeated my apology, though I’m sure it was enough that he tired of hearing it.

For a long time, he said nothing, just holding me to his chest as I wept in his arms.  His hand rubbing gentle circles across my back only made me sob more fiercely, and I was glad that he wasn’t speaking. I had enough guilt surging through me without kind words I didn’t deserve mixed into the fray.

It felt like ages passed that way before my tears were finally spent and I was left trembling and exhausted. And still Geralt didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted me in his arms and moved us both to sit on the bed, keeping me tucked against him.

I was afraid to move – afraid that if I did, he would come to his senses and leave. All the same, I knew that eventually the spell of this moment had to break. I sucked in a shaky breath, burning the scent and feel of Geralt into my memory. Steeling myself, I pulled back, rubbing the back of my hand across my face.

“I’ll… You can...” All hint of coherent thought fled, leaving me speechless as I stared determinedly at my knees. So much for keeping any of my dignity intact while giving him a graceful way to leave. My certainty that he would leave settled like a boulder in the pit of my stomach as I choked back a fresh sob. I made a valiant attempt to stand, to move away, to do literally anything that would make me feel less pathetic, but the instant I started to stand, the White Wolf gently pulled me back into his embrace.

“Hush now, it’s alright,” he murmured as he tucked my head under his chin. 

“How can you even stand to look at me?” The question slipped out quietly, so quietly I wasn’t even sure he had heard. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to hear it.

“Pain is different for everyone. For some, like you and me, it means we try to push everyone away with words we don’t mean… We convince ourselves that we deserve to be alone.” He punctuated the words with kisses to the top of my head. “I’ve done it enough to recognize it in you now.”

“But that… that doesn’t… I still shouldn’t have said that. I’m--” I pulled away again, covering my face with my hands.

“No more apologies, dove.”

“Why not? How could I say that to you, no matter what I’m going through?”

Gentle hands circled around my wrists and tugged them away from my face before grasping my chin and starting to lift my gaze carefully to meet his.

“I don’t deserve your kindness, Geralt,” I said thickly, tearing my gaze from his once more. “I don’t deserve you.” All my life, everyone had, without fail, left eventually, and now I couldn’t believe - I didn’t dare hope - that he would stay. I suppose I thought my stubbornness a shield that would protect my heart when he left, even though bitter experience had taught me that nothing would. At best, it had kept others from seeing my pain.

“Oh, my sweetest love.” He all but whispered the words, leaning forward to press his lips to my temple tenderly. “Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that.” His nose traced down the side of my face, peppering kisses the whole way.

“I…” I opened and closed my mouth several times, not really sure what to say. Geralt’s warm hand slid to cup my cheek, turning my head so that his forehead could rest against mine.

“I don’t care what you said, Y/N.” His eyes were as warm as molten honey as he held me transfixed by his gaze. “I am not going to leave you. Not now, not ever.” 

A couple of fresh tears leaked out, swept away by the lightest brush of his thumb. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to trust his hold at last and relaxed against him with a shuddering breath. His arm only tightened reassuringly around me.

“You might have to remind me every once in a while,” I let out a watery chuckle, relieved that I wasn’t going to lose someone else.

Geralt didn’t say anything - I figured his quota of words must’ve been filled for the day - he just held me a moment longer before helping me change for bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he joined me, his arm quickly going around me and tugging me close to him. His free hand found mine, drawing it up to rest over his heart with his fingers intertwined with my own.

“I’ll always be here, dove. For as long as you’ll have me,” he finally said, the words filtering over my ears as I realized how tired I was. 

“Guess you’re stuck with me forever,” I hummed drowsily. For the first time that day, I had hope. Hope that tomorrow would be brighter, that everything would turn out alright in the end, as long as I had Geralt at my side.

“Forever it is, then.”

Thanks for reading!!

Forever tags:

@riddikulus-obsessions​ @addictionmarvel​ @peppermint--teas​ @mercedesbarnes​ @javapeach​ @thophil2941btw @legolaslovely​

Tag list is OPEN, just shoot me a message or an ask if you’d like to be added! (Strikethrough means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!)

[lonelyreputation]

Different (part two)

A/N: Surprise!! I’m posting earlier than I thought I would! And we’re back with the angst!! Straight angst! Like literally all of this is angst there’s nothing else. Also! I just started a tag list, so send me a message if you want to be added!!

Don’t we all just love some unrequited love?? 💞 💖

Also, your support has been so tremendous, thank you guys all so much, I love you to the moon and to Saturn 😉 💫 THANKS A MILLION! Reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated!! 🤗💞🌻

REQUEST/PROMPT: People talking a room away & Fighting the urge to cry & Unrequited Love 

Part ONE | Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: Few swear words, some self-doubt, and ANGST!!!

Word Count: 5.7K

Shawn’s texts are bold and italicized & your texts are in italics 

-

You promptly left the party, the broken glass left unattended on the floor, and silently cried the whole way back to your apartment with your arms hugging tight around your stomach.

Opening the door to your apartment wasn’t an easy task.  Tears clouded your vision as you fumbled to find the right key to open the door.  You had bit the inside of your cheek repeatedly on the walk home causing you to taste metallic every time you swallowed back a sob.  Your chin wobbled, and just when you were about to give up and sit out in the hallway to cry, your roommate opened the door with a questioning look.

“How was the…party?”

She’s different––She’s just a friend––I don’t love her.

You brushed past her, “Fantastic.” You said as a few more tears fell from your eyes and your voice cracked.

She seemed to have caught the sarcasm behind your voice that alluded to the party being anything but fantastic.  Your bloodshot eyes and wobbly chin also gave her a good indication that you left the party early.

There weren’t anymore words exchanged between the two of you as you quickly walked to your room to finally break down.  You held a hand to your chest, clutching your necklace, a birthday present from Shawn, in a fist as you gasped out for air.

You’re different.  You’re just a friend.  He doesn’t love you.

You had a hand on the handle of your bathroom door as you harshly banged against it with your shoulder to open it wide.  Once the door was closed, and you felt safe from the world around you, as you leaned up against the door and let out a cry of desperation.  You were so sure that Shawn was the love of your life.  You were positive that he had felt something––maybe not love––but some type of feelings for you that were stronger than friendship.

You slid down the door until you were sitting on the cold tiles, the only thing giving you a feeling other than absolute heartbreak.  You tried your best to keep your cries quiet, clenching your teeth and hissing out a breath every now and then in order not to draw anymore attention from your roommate.  You could physically feel your chest caving in on your heart.

The necklace that was still being held tightly in your hand burned your exposed skin.  Hastily, you unclasped it from your neck, and heard the little dink of a sound as the soft metal material of the necklace collided against the tile.

You bent your knees and hugged your legs close to your chest, failing at sniffling back your sobs as you rested your forehead on top of your knees.  You were second guessing every interaction you had with Shawn; the soft smiles from across a crowded room, him randomly sending you flowers when he knew you were stressed, how he touched you only a few hours ago.

Who said anything about love?

You tried to hold back something between a sob and a shout as you heard Brian’s question repeat over and over in your head.  You felt hot all over your body, and most of all, you felt like a fool for listening to Olivia’s advice about confessing your true feelings to your best friend.  The back of your head started to throb and the ache of your breaking heart was having a tortuous physical effect on the rest of your body.

Buzz.  Buzz.

You lifted your head to see your phone vibrating against the tile, moving ever so slightly with every ring.  A new wave of tears started to fall over as you saw Shawn’s contact picture; a picture you took of him asleep on the couch after the first time you watched 10 Things I Hate About You.  You let the call go unanswered.  Once you saw his picture disappear, you let out a shaky breath, but it didn’t last long because his picture showed up on your phone again.

You screened his call again.

Thankfully, he didn’t try calling you again, but your phone continued to buzz indicating that a few text messages were being received.  You bit your lip as you brought your arm up to your nose to wipe away the excess of tears that mixed with your runny nose and read the text messages.

Where are you? I came back to the kitchen and didn’t see you?

Are you still here? Y/n?

Liv just told me you were feeling sick, do you need anything? I can come around tomorrow morning. Love you & hope you feel better xx

Just like your necklace, you slid your phone across the bathroom tile for it to be as far away from you.

Love you? The malicious part of your brain spoke up, ha.  He even said it himself, he’s never loved you.

And again, the sane part of your mind didn’t have a rebuttal.

///

It had been five days since you eavesdropped on Shawn and Brian’s conversation.  Five days since Shawn said he didn’t love you.  Five dreadfully long days since your best friend broke your heart and you had to pretend like everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

On the first day, you left his texts unanswered and told your roommate to turn him away if he showed up at your door.  Day two, you respond to his texts saying you had a migraine and couldn’t look at any bright lights, your excuse for not responding to any of his messages.  Day three, he came over to your apartment with pizza, two big fuzzy blankets, and your favorite Pixar movie because, you always watch Pixar when you’re feeling sick, I know you, he said.  

I know you; but he didn’t know that you were purposefully avoiding him.    

On day four, you were back over at Shawn’s apartment with Brian.  Like you had done earlier when Shawn had just come home from tour, the three of you were out on his deck with the fire going. Brian was in the single chair again while you and Shawn were sharing the couch.  Except this time, your head wasn’t nestled into his chest, you were sitting on the complete opposite end with your feet tucked under you.

Brian and Shawn both had alcoholic drinks of their choice while you had a glass of water.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

“So, Shawn,” Brian quickly looked over at you for a brief moment before he looked at the boy in question, “Write any good songs?”

You wrapped the blanket tighter around your body, using it as a shield for whatever his answer would be, as you took a sip of your water.  You stared at the CN Tower, pretending like you weren’t interested in their conversation.

You felt Shawn’s eyes glance at your figure for a second before he took a sip of his drink and nodded, “A few.”

“Oh c’mon,” Brian let out a little laugh as he looked at you until you gave him a roll of his eyes, “It’s just us––It’s not like we’re gonna leak them.”

“Y/n heard one of them.”

Brian raised his eyebrows, “Did she now?”  

They both expected you to give your input, but you stayed silent, pretending to be enamored with the city lights.

When Brian noticed that his two best friends weren’t going to say anything, he cleared his throat, “And what did you think of it?”

With a question directed at you, you knew you couldn’t avoid contributing to any part of the conversation any longer.  You shot Brian a glare, as you took a sip of water to stall some time, “It was nice.”

Brian threw his head back in laughter at your simple answer and Shawn stared at you with a questioning tilt of his head.  You knew that he was thinking back to your taco night when he nervously played the song for you.  Where you praised him for his songwriting abilities and said it was your favorite song he had ever written.  But the more you thought back on that night, the more you noticed how distracted he was.  

He didn’t want to mix the spices, and while you measured the different seasonings, you would glance up at him to see his thumbs rapidly moving across the screen of his phone.  You remember asking him what was so important on his phone when you caught him smiling down at it.  And he didn’t tell you any specific stories from when he was on tour, which were always a topic of discussion on taco night. He specifically brushed away your questions about Los Angeles.  

“There would be a million girls out there who would die to listen to an unreleased Shawn Mendes song and all you say is that it’s nice?”

You shrugged your shoulders and took another sip of water, hoping it would ease the familiar scratchiness at the back of your throat, “Yeah.”

Just thinking about the song that was so clearly written for you made you want to cry like you did that night you found out Shawn didn’t love you.  When you first heard the song, you wanted that sweet guitar melody ingrained in your mind forever.  You wanted those lyrics tattooed somewhere on your body that was only visible to you.  He had sung about having a different kind of love for you.

Different.

You finished your water and excused yourself to get a refill with a sniffle as you went into his kitchen, wiping away a few stubborn tears that fell.

But the fifth day…The fifth day was worse than the day you overheard Shawn say he didn’t love you.

You were out grocery shopping when you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket.  Unlocking it, you saw a text from Shawn; Busy?

Out food shopping, you texted back, everything alright?

I’m bored.

You let out a small laugh at his response, pushing your cart out of the aisle you were in and stood off to the side, not wanting to disrupt anyone’s shopping habits.

Poor you, you texted back, I’m sure you’re really missing the tour life right now.

Nah, he texted back instantly, just missing you.

Your heart soared with happiness, but only for a split second.  He didn’t see you in the same way you saw him.  He didn’t look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.  He didn’t think of you as being someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

With a frown, your thumbs moved quickly across the screen, Boo hoo.

:(

Come over.

You weren’t expecting him to be so direct.  You hadn’t hung out alone since taco night and you weren’t sure you were strong enough to keep your composure together.

And don’t say you’re busy.

You only go food shopping when you have absolutely nothing to do.

Your thumbs stopped typing out your response.  Maybe, you thought to yourself, just maybe he does know you as well as you knew him.

Let me check out and drop the bags off at my place then I’ll head over.

:)

You felt your stomach churn with anxiety as you stared at the lone smiley face.  He usually texted with emojis, so you knew something was off when he was using simple keyboard emoticons.  It only made you that much more nervous to be alone with him.  

It didn’t take long to finish gathering what you needed and then headed to check out.  You didn’t have too much stuff, so it was easy to carry your reusable bags from the store front to the car without your cart.  Once your bags were placed in the back, and you were in the driver’s seat, you placed both hands on the steering wheel, gripping the leather material until your knuckles turned a few shades lighter than your skin tone, letting out a deep breath.

You told yourself you didn’t have a reason to be nervous.  Deep breath in.  You were the one who had the problem with Shawn, not the other way around, he didn't know you were in love with him.  Deep breath out.

Turning the key in your car took a little more effort than normal because you could feel your stomach tell you not to go over to Shawn’s place.  Your gut had a feeling that something wasn’t right.  But he was still your best friend, you still loved him, and you would do anything to have him in your life.

You drove home, quickly placing your groceries away, and then walked over to Shawn’s apartment.  Sure, it would’ve been easier to drive, but you couldn’t pass up the sweet summer air that whisked down the streets of Toronto.

Are you still coming?

A smile crept onto your face as you sent him an eye roll emoji, At the corner waiting to cross the street.  Be there in five.

:)

Instead of your stomach flipping with summersaults, it flipped with anxiety.  You shook your hands to free yourself of the nerves you felt inside, and smiled at the doorman who greeted you by name.  You made your way to the elevator, pressing the button to Shawn’s floor.  

You were always bouncing with excitement riding the elevator up to Shawn’s place because it meant that you were going to see him.  But now your leg bounced with anxiety and the ride up seemed to take hours.

Once on the floor, you made the journey to Shawn’s door, and before you could knock, Shawn swung open the door with a smile on his face.  You couldn’t even get a greeting out as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, leaning his cheek on top of your head.

You felt the familiar feeling of warmth that you associated with him as you felt his heartbeat. Out of instinct, you brought your arms around his torso and hugged him back just as tightly, breathing in his scent.

“C’mon,” Shawn squeezed you tight one last time before unraveling his arms from around you, letting his hand graze your down your arm to your hand where he intertwined your fingers, “Brian will be here in like an hour and I want you to myself for a bit.”

With your hand in his, he pulled you inside his apartment and you looked at the back of his head like he was leading you to an eternity of happiness.  As he pulled you past the kitchen and into the living room, he peered over his shoulder and offered you a shy smile.

Oh yes, you thought to yourself, you were still hopelessly in love with him; ready to bend yourself however which way just to see him smile.

He flopped onto the couch, with you standing above him, but with a gentle tug of your hand, you were falling into his chest with a laugh.  You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin through his cotton t-shirt seep into you.  You looked up at him through your eyelashes, his chest still vibrating with laughter, and you thought that even though he might like someone else, he may just love you.

“Wanna watch La La Land?”

His question brought you out of your daydream, “I thought you didn’t like the ending?”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders as he reached for the remote, the movie already queued up, “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

You slowly nodded your head, using your hand that was on his chest to push yourself off him.  But he caught your wrist in his hand, “Stay.”

With a smile slowly tugging at the corners of your lips, you nodded and laid your head on his chest, sliding your legs between his, as you felt his heartbeat accelerate. Around thirty minutes into the film, you felt Shawn bring one of his hands up to your head, softly running the tips of his fingers over your hair.

It was the little gestures that made you fall in love with your best friend.  How he always managed to relax you with a hand on your shoulder.  How he would listen intently over the phone when he was hundreds of miles away.  And how when you would be out on a date, he would call you after texting him your codeword for an excuse to leave.  But even if the date was going well, you would still text him to call, because he wasn’t the one sitting across from you.

As if you had plunged head first into the ocean, thoughts were swimming around in your mind;  his touches were comforting––you felt a spark tingle its way through your veins every time he touched you––you were never afraid to be yourself around him.

But soon the thoughts that made you feel like you were floating above the surface, suddenly swallowed you whole, and the thoughts only got worse, feeling as if you were thrashing around the water, reaching your hands up to break through to the surface; this is all you’ll ever be to him––You won’t ever have the joy of graduating to something more––Soon his gentle touches and soft eyes will be reserved for someone else––Someone he’s capable of loving––He’ll never want you in the way you want him.

As he repeated his movements of touching your hair, as if he didn’t give it a second thought, it was the only thing you were capable of giving your full attention to. The warmth you usually felt now felt like a burning sensation as it spread like a wildfire throughout your body.

You lifted your head from his chest abruptly before his hand could caress your hair once more.  Shawn was startled by your sudden movement and looked up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I––Sorry, I––” you felt your chin wobble and you knew that you had to get away from him, “I have––I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

You untangled your legs from his as you stumbled to get up, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth when your back was to him.  You could hear his distant voice asking if you wanted him to pause the film as you skidded across his floor to the bathroom.  You didn’t bother replying to him, already knowing how the film played out.

You tried to even out your breathing, soft gasps emitting from your lips as to not alert Shawn that you were having a breakdown in his bathroom.  You thought you could be friends with him, you were trying everything to keep him in your life, but it was taking too much of a toll on your feelings.

He loves you like a best friend, the rational part of your brain tried to make sense of your heartbreak.

But that’s not enough, the irrational part of your mind yelled over its counterpart, you’ll never be enough.

Your hands gripped the granite countertop so tight that your knuckles turned a few shades lighter than your original skin tone.  The coolness of the granite didn’t do anything to soothe the leftover burning you felt course through your veins from Shawn’s touches.  You lifted your head to look in the mirror and noticed that the reflection of the girl looking back at you was a heartbroken stranger.

Turning the sink on, you ran your hands under the cold water, cupping your hands under the faucet and splashing your face with water to cover up the redness of your eyes.  You grabbed a towel from the rack hanging on the wall after you had shut the water off and dried your hands.  You didn’t think you could last through the rest of the movie without breaking down, so you turned on your heel and opened the door, prepared to tell Shawn you had a headache and wanted to go home.  

But when you opened the door, you were met with Shawn leaning against the wall across the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, with a concerned, yet irked, look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

HIs question was direct, and you had the truth banging from the inside of your skull, begging to be released; I love you––I want to be more than best friends––It’s killing me to not tell you how I feel––But I know you don’t love me.

“Nothing,” you tried to squash your thoughts, but it only made your headache hurt more, “Listen, I––”

“Why aren’t you wearing your necklace?”

Another direct question that left you speechless.  You slowly brought your hand up to your chest, fingers resting just beneath your collarbone, where your necklace had taken up a home everyday since Shawn gave it to you four years ago.

“I forgot––I forgot to put it on this morning.”

“I know you sleep with it on,” Shawn’s voice was monotone as he deflected your excuses and shot you another direct question, “Why’d you take it off?”

A flashback of you ripping the necklace off your skin and throwing it across your bathroom as tears heavily flowed down your face flashed through your mind.  The sound it made as it hit the tile floor echoing in your thoughts.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the heartbreak you felt on that night down, “You’re delusional, if you’re so sure I sleep with it on––”

“Y/n,” his voice was dangerously low, “Why did you take the necklace off.”

His jaw was clenched to hold back his rage of anger.  And your jaw was clenched to hold back your waterfall of tears.

“Because I did,” you scoffed at Shawn, sending him a glare, as you walked past him, “It’s just a necklace.”

It’s more than a necklace, the rational part of your mind whispered, both of you know that it’s so much more than just a necklace.

The irrational part of your brain stayed mute.

Before you could successfully make it down the hallway, Shawn circled a hand around your wrist, “Don’t feed me that bull––”

You were fed up with him.  You were fed up with his teasing touches, fed up with the caring words he whispered to you in secret, fed up with how he thought he knew you better than anyone else.  Because if he really knew you––knew how your heart beat faster just for him––then you wouldn’t be in this position.

You ripped your wrist out of his hold and spun around, “Shawn, I love you!”

Your tone was scathing, but at the same time it was a cry for help.  And the only person who would be able to offer you assistance was frozen to the ground, lips slightly parted, but his eyes stayed the same.  You expected his eyes to be wide in shock, you expected him to be thrown off by your statement, but he didn’t seem fazed.

“I––I’ve loved you for so long and I can’t––Everything just hurts,” your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, as your eyes maintained contact with the boy who you would give everything up for, “You act like you know me, but if you really did, then you’d know how much my heart is breaking whenever I’m around you.”

You already knew that he didn’t love back, you had already gone through this heartbreak, but seeing him trying to figure out the words that would no doubt ruin your friendship, it was as if your first heartbreak felt like a little scrape on the knee.

He brought both hands up to rub his face, taking in a deep breath, as he looked up toward the ceiling, “Y/n,” his voice was strained, but not in the way you felt your throat closing up from the threat of tears, he was holding back resentment, “That––Can’t––You don’t love me––Not––Not like…That.”

Without any remorse, it was as if he had ripped your heart apart like you were just a piece of scrap paper with lyrics he didn’t think were good enough.  Not good enough, your mind echoed, you’re not good enough for him.

He had already witnessed you confiding your deepest secret to him.  And you didn’t think he deserved to witness the aftermath of your world crumbling.

You understood what the collapse of the Roman Empire must’ve felt like.

Tears were already falling fast down your cheeks, and you spun around, not bothering to say anything else to him because he didn’t warrant any more of your words after he so carelessly threw away your confession.

You made it to his kitchen when you heard his pleading voice, “Wait––” And when you felt the fire of his skin on your skin, it was a pain you never wanted to experience again.

Before he could enclose his hand around your wrist for a third time today, you snatched your arm away, cradling your wrist into your chest like you were trying to heal a wound.  You had an internal wound that you didn’t think would go away any time soon.

“If you can’t––If you don’t want to be with me,” You choked out a sob as you stared into his brown eyes; it was the first time you saw genuine heartbreak in his eyes.  And part of you was glad that he was experiencing a fraction of the pain he put you through over the past five days, “I can’t…we can’t be friends.”

His exasperated exterior fell just as fast as his face, “Don’t say that,” he took a few steps forward and reached out a hand, but stopped it mid-way and left it hanging in the air, knowing you would push him away again, “You don’t mean that––”

“I––Shawn, I can’t––” your voice was high-pitched as your bottom lip quivered, the reality of the situation becoming all too real for the both of you, “It’s been so hard these past few years––”

“Years?”

You ignored his question as another one of your secrets slipped past your trembling lips, “It’s just too––too hard right now,” you hiccuped, “I need–sp––space.”

“But I––I just got you back––You’re my best friend.  I don’t want space from you.”

You did your best to ignore the tears welling up in the corner of his eyes as you tasted your own salty tears as you spoke, “You have Brian––”

“Don’t,” his voice was rigid as the first of his tears fell from his eyes.  He harshly brushed the top of his palm across his cheek to rid himself of his falling tears.  But the more he kept wiping away his tears, more fell from his eyes, “You know that our friendship is different than what we have with anyone else.”

“Exactly!” You threw your hands up in the air, letting out a humorless laugh, “It’s different because we’re different!  We’re different around each other because there’s something more between us––”

“We’re just friends!” Shawn raised his voice over yours.  

It was silent after that as you tried to keep your sniffles to a minimum, gulping your emotions down your cracked throat.  You had made your feelings about him clear.  And he had made his feelings about you clear; friends.  Just friends.

“What,” he smacked his lips together, his next question coming out in a whisper, “What did I do wrong to make you think of me––of us––to be more than friends?”

What did he not do? That was the real question that had been floating around your head for years.  How could you not fall in love with the cadence of his voice?  How could you resist the invisible pull you felt toward him that only grew stronger since the first time you said hello?  How could you refuse to let yourself fall in love for someone you were so sure was made for you?

You offered him the best smile you could through your tears, “You did…Nothing wrong,” you let out a whisper of a laugh as you stared into his eyes that were once so comforting.  His eyes used to bring you so much joy, but now they held with just as much heartbreak as yours, “You were just…Yourself.”

“But you––Why tell me this––Why are you destroying our friendship when you already knew I didn’t love you back?”

“I didn’t want to tell you––Wait,” you had felt your heart stop for the boy in front of you a million times.  Your heart had stopped for him when he gave you your star sign constellation as a necklace for a present.  Your heart had stopped for him when he pointed at you when he was performing on stage.  

But never had it stopped for this long as you awaited his answer, “How did you know that I knew?”

Shawn’s red eyes grew wide, not expecting for his little secret to slip out.  He tried stammering out an excuse through his tears, but just like he had deflected your excuses about not wearing your necklace, you weren’t putting up with him.  You had an inclination as to how he knew that you knew he didn’t feel the same way about you.  But you were praying that you were wrong.

God, you hoped you were wrong.

“Shawn,” your voice cracked as you looked at him, he was shaking his head as if begging you not to ask your next question, “How did you know?”

“Y/n––”

“How.”

Shawn let out a breath so shaky that you felt yourself lose balance, “At the party, five days ago…” his eyes were begging you to have him stop his explanation, but you shook your head, wanting him to twist the knife he had already plunged so deep into your heart.

“The bathroom door was open and––and I saw you form the corner of my eye and when Brian asked me about you––I thought if you heard I didn’t love you, instead of me saying it to you, that we could go back to being normal.”

He knew you were listening.  He knew you weren’t okay when he asked you so delicately, so full of obliviousness, as you cut yourself with shards of broken glass.  And he knowingly left you in the kitchen after he knew he had broken your heart.  

Turns out, he did know you just as well as you thought.

“You…You knew I was listening?”

The nod of his head was the final hit.  It felt as if a hawk had swooped into your heart, talons digging in deep, thrashing until they successfully picked your heart apart piece by piece, savoring every moment of your destruction.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel even more hurt than you did that night when you listened to him in the bathroom say so confidently that he didn’t love you.  He said it with so much conviction––I don’t love her––knowing that you were just a few feet away from him, clearly able to hear him break your heart.

His presence, one that you yearned for during every second of the day you weren’t with him, was now something that repulsed you.  

How did your supposed best friend have so little respect for you?

Without a second thought other than to get the hell out of his apartment, you dashed behind him to the living room to pick your phone up from the coffee table, haphazardly slid your sneakers on, and tucked the laces under the tongue of the shoe.  Your hands were shaking as you rushed past his standstill figure in the kitchen.

Your hand was on the doorknob, about to turn it, but his voice cut you off.

“Don’t––Y/n, I’m sorry––”

The tips of his fingers grazed your elbow, just as gently as they caressed your hair earlier, but you opened the door, jumping out into the hallway to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Fucking––Stay away from me.”

You slammed the door on his tearstained face and ran down the hallway.  You ran to the very end, skipping the elevator as you yanked the door to the stairs open.  Your palms were sweating, heart beating out of control, as you raced down the stairs out of breath.  Shawn had made you feel all those things before, but never had you felt them in such a turmoil of pain, you had previously only felt them out of the nervousness of love for him.

You made it to the lobby, praying that Shawn hadn’t taken the elevator down to stop you from leaving.  When you saw that the coast was clear, you avoided eye contact with the doorman, as you quickly walked past him.

“Y/n?”

You whipped your head around, eyes wide, as you saw Brian stood a few feet away from you with a concerned look on his face.  

His eyes started at your face, taking in your splotchy appearance, then his eyes darted to your shaky hands, and then back up to your red eyes, where tears were still falling.

He looked at you with a regretful smile, “You told him?”

You sniffed back the tears and brought your forearm to wipe under your nose, “I don’t––Told him what?”

He gave you a pointed stare, you had never confided in Brian about your feelings for Shawn, but you always had a feeling that he knew something.

“Did he tell you?”

You screwed your eyes tight wanting to erase everything you had heard in the last hour.  

When you opened your eyes, Brian’s mournful stare was still on you, “He told me a lot of things.”  He perked up at that piece of information.  There was a glint of glee in his eyes, but it was soon replaced with confusion as you said your next sentence, “Keep him from coming after me.”

“What do you––”

The ding of the elevator and a desperate shout of a voice that had just destroyed your heart called out your name, cut him off, “Y/n!”

Your body went into fight or flight mode, and you chose flight as your petrified body sprinted out the glass door of his building.

And just like the night after the party, you walked home from Shawn’s place to your apartment, arms hugging your stomach for some sort of comfort, tears clouding your vision.  You miserably failed to keep your cries at bay as you publicly showcased your heartbreak as gray clouds rolled in and thunder boomed from the distance.

-----

TAG LIST 

@fallinallincurls @adelaidestreets @alina--jpeg @5-seconds-of-mendes @particularnarry @now-that-i-saw-u

[freddiesaysalright]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 5

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @namelesslosers, @headl0ng, @captvianswaan, @folietracksix​, @baltimoresweethearts​, @killer-queen-87​, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil​, @misslolasworld​, @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen​

A/N: It’s the grand finale! Thank you again for all the lovely responses to this fic! I can’t believe I’m almost done with the Disney AUs already! also i barely proofread this because i was so excited to post it so if you see a typo no you didnt

Warning(s): brief descriptions of abuse

Moodboard

Prologue  Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

Frank and his daughters came home about an hour after you did. You were already back in your servant clothes and waiting by the door. You took their cloaks and bags, and began hanging them on the rack in the main hall. 

“How was your night?” you asked politely. 

“It was a splendid evening, Y/N,” Frank answered. “More than you could ever hope for.”

“I’m sure it was,” you returned, holding back a smirk. If only he knew. 

“I’m relieved to see you have not stolen anything else from my wife’s closet,” he sneered.

You shook your head. “No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve been thoroughly educated.”

“Very good,” he said, seeming displeased that he couldn’t goad you. 

But nothing could spoil this night. It was perfect. 

“Is there anything you need before going to bed?” you asked. 

“I’m fine, but you’ll of course help the girls get changed,” he said. 

You nodded again. “Absolutely.”

He watched you suspiciously as you followed your step sisters up the stairs. You were calm. Too calm. And you were humming, which you didn’t normally do. Plus the tune was something he had heard somewhere - but no event would have had you in attendance. His frown deepened. Something was up.

***

Gwilym returned to the palace two hours later, empty handed and broken-hearted. Rami and Ben were waiting on the steps for him, but as he walked up, he only shook his head. They sighed, disappointed for their friend. Thankfully, the remaining guests had all gone home. 

“Sorry, mate,” Ben said. 

“There was no sign of her?” Rami asked. 

“No,” Gwilym said. “Even the carriage tracks just seemed to disappear. It was like she just vanished.”

“So, all we’ve got to go on is the shoe?” Ben wondered, holding it up. 

Gwilym had only entrusted his best friends with it, and they had kept it from his father. 

“It’s made of glass,” Gwilym said. “Which means it only fits her.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Rami asked. “Try the shoe on every woman in the kingdom?”

“Only the single women,” Gwilym said, as if it were obvious.

Rami and Ben shared a surprised look. 

“I hope you’re joking,” Ben said. 

“Far from it,” Gwilym replied. “I’m going to find that girl, and I’m going to marry her.”

Rami sighed. “Very well, then. But let’s start in the morning.”

“Thank you both,” Gwilym said, relieved. They had every reason to leave now. Both had duties at home, and had done what was socially expected. With the ball over, there was no obligation to stay. “Really.”

“Of course we’re gonna help you,” Ben said. “But I’m with Rami. Starting tomorrow.”

“You guys go on up, I’ll be right behind you,” Gwilym insisted. 

His friends shrugged, but did as he requested and went inside. Gwilym remained, holding that glass piece of you carefully in the crook of his arm. He looked out into the night sky, hoping somehow you could feel his desperation. 

“I am coming for you, my darling,” he said quietly. 

***

You yawned as the sun peered into your room through your curtains. You were feeling unusually light this morning. Like you were still floating just above the ballroom floor. With a contented sigh, you stretched and forced yourself out of bed. Frank and the girls would be needing their breakfast soon, but you knew you had a little extra time today. They’d certainly have a bit of a lie in after the late night. 

You threw your dress and apron on. You did a spin around your room, giggling as you imagined Gwilym there with you. Then you had to slow to a stop. It was a fantasy, nothing more. One glorious night. But now it was time to return to reality and your true life. Still, you could cling to the dream for one morning.

Humming to yourself, you put the pot on to boil and began prepping plates for breakfast. You set a pan atop the stove to start some sausages when you heard the jingle of a bell. You looked at the wall. It was coming from Eleanor’s room, so you guessed she was up. You asked Elsie to start the food and went back upstairs to get your step sister dressed. When you reached the landing, you saw Frank emerging from his room, already dressed. 

“Good morning,” you said kindly. 

“Y/N, what did you get up to last night?” he asked. 

“Why, nothing, sir,” you said. “I cleaned up, as you instructed, changed clothes, and got a head start on some other chores. When those were done, I occupied myself by reading.”

He seemed skeptical. “I see. I hope you weren’t reading anything too fanciful. You mustn’t fill your mind with...unrealistic dreams and fantasies.”

Your brow furrowed with confusion. What was he implying?

“No, sir,” you said. “I try to keep everything practical.”

“Good,” he said. “Now get to work.”

You nodded, a bit perplexed, but continued into Eleanor’s room.

***

In the morning, Gwilym was the first up. He hardly slept at all. He wrote a decree for his father to send out, that he and Ben and Rami would be making the rounds through town and the countryside to find the owner of the missing shoe. They would begin today, and search until the prince had found his lost love.

To his shock, the king agreed to this. He read over it at the breakfast table, nodding at each point. The ladies were to try on the shoe and if it fit, it must be the girl who Gwilym met at the ball.

“Very well,” he said. “You’ll begin today?”

“Yes,” Gwilym said. “I want to find her as soon as possible.”

“Alright, son,” the king replied. He looked at the prince and offered a sincere smile. “And best of luck.”

Gwilym beamed. “Thank you, Father!”

And so, they began their search within the palace, where the out of town noble guests were staying. Gwilym had his doubts about those girls because he met them before you even came through the door. But he knew everyone deserved a fair chance. When the shoe fit none of those women, they made their way into town, with a few guards along for protection. 

***

Frank received a letter from the palace early in the morning. He looked it over and you saw a flash of...something cross his face. You couldn’t place the emotion though. It seemed almost like a glimmer of hope. His eyes glanced over at you before quickly turning to his daughters. 

“Girls, get yourselves looking nice,” he said. “We’ll be having visitors from the palace this afternoon.”

“The palace?” you questioned, without meaning to, but you could hardly help yourself. 

“Yes, but that isn’t any of your business, Y/N,” he snapped. “Get my daughters ready and then proceed with your chores as usual. You are not to make your presence known while the visitors are here.”

You nodded apologetically. As you made your way back to the kitchen, you wondered if the visitors Frank referred to could be Gwilym and his father. Was he looking for you? Something in your heart told you he was, but you hardly even dared to hope. Such a thing was the stuff of dreams. And yet, the ball seemed like a dream too, but it was as real as the tea kettle you carried. You began devising a plan. 

As the day wore on, you completed your chores quickly. You wanted to prepare yourself as well. Your gut was telling you Gwilym was on his way to take you away from here. And you had all the proof you needed in that slipper that was hidden beneath your bed. So when you finished sweeping the entrance hall, you ran up to your room to get it. Only, when you opened your door, you came to an abrupt stop. Frank was sitting on your bed, holding the slipper by the heel. One wrong move of his fingers and it would fall, risking a break. 

“Well, well, well,” he said darkly. “I had a feeling you had made your way to the ball. You’ve been far too dreamy to have had as dull a night as you claim.”

Your heart rate quickened. 

“That’s mine,” you said, feeling childish as the words left your mouth. “It was given to me.”

Frank laughed humorlessly. “Oh, likely story. I suppose this is another one of my wife’s things you stole.”

“You cannot stop me from this,” you said, ignoring the accusation. “The prince loves me.”

“Against his better judgement, I believe that’s true,” he admitted.

You blinked, surprised at your step father’s nonchalance about this. Did that mean he would accept it? No. There had to be something else he was getting at. 

“As it is, though,” he said. “You’re spoken for.”

You frowned as your stomach dropped. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked. 

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he said, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket with his free hand. “And mine alone.”

A chill ran down your spine. Was he really saying what you thought he was saying?

“I’m not a slave, Frank,” you said. “I am free to do this.”

“I do not intend to make you my slave,” he said. “I intend to make you my wife.”

Your body went rigid as the blood ran out of your face. The very idea made your stomach churn. The thought of being his wife, sharing his bed, bearing his children...you nearly heaved right there in front of him.

“No,” you said firmly. “I won’t.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” he said. 

“It’s sick!” you cried. “I’m your daughter!”

“Step daughter,” he said. “I will have this estate, Y/N. You will do for me what your mother could not. My son will be the true and rightful heir, and start a new line.”

“Are you not happy with the children you have?” you wondered, completely rocked to your core. “Why do you insist on a son?”

“Sons are the only useful offspring,” he scoffed. “Daughters are just mouths to feed until you can marry them off, and even then, what’s theirs will never belong to their family. It belongs to their husbands. Well, I am not going to lose everything because my previous wives were too weak to give me what I want.”

“I will not,” you refused again. “I’ll run away.”

“And leave behind your home?” he taunted. “The one your father built so lovingly with your mother?”

“It will no longer be a home to me if I am trapped in such a marriage,” you said. 

“I’m not giving you a choice, Y/N,” he sighed. “I’ll keep eyes on you everywhere, I’ll lock you in your room, whatever it takes. Or, you can submit to me now and become mistress of this house as you were born to be.”

“I’ll die before I marry you,” you spat. “I’ll die before I bear any child of yours. I’ll -”

“No need to go on,” he said. He was being alarmingly calm about this. “I know the rest. But you will marry me, Y/N. You will have my son, and you’ll do it all without complaint. Just as you have with everything I have ever given you.”

You blinked again. So everything he’d put you through was a test? A way to manipulate you into obeying his every command? He was...grooming you? Your stomach gave another lurch.

“But first,” he said. “We will need to squash your dreams of Prince Gwilym.”

“What do you -”

He cut off your question by hurling your slipper into the wall. It shattered with a crash, which drowned out your anguished cry. You sank to your knees, hopeless. 

“There now,” he said. “I’m only teaching you the harsh lesson of reality.” 

Tears fell freely down your cheeks. You heard loud knocking at the front door, but barely registered it. 

“That’ll be him,” Frank said. 

You snapped to your senses and started to rise for one last desperate escape attempt, but Frank was faster. You felt the blow of his palm against your cheek before you even saw it coming. You fell to the ground, face throbbing. You wanted to scream, or cry, or swing back at him, but you were completely numb from the shock. You couldn’t feel anything but the sting on your skin.

“Do not resist me again, Y/N,” Frank warned. 

With that, he walked out of your room, and you heard him turn the lock. You were trapped. You curled into a ball on your floor and wept quietly. 

***

Gwilym was relieved when the door finally opened. This was the last house of the day. He saw a man there, whose smile was...unconvincing to say the least. He bowed. 

“We are happy to see you, Prince Gwilym,” he said. “I am Frank Tarleton, and I believe one of my daughters is the girl you’re searching for.”

Gwilym raised a brow. “But you don’t know which?”

Frank blinked, taken aback, and then laughed an empty sort of laugh. “Good one, your highness. Please, come in.”

Gwilym looked at Ben and Rami who both shrugged. They followed Frank inside and into the drawing room, where two young women sat on the couch, looking nervous. Ben explained everything, with Frank nodding eagerly along. Something about the man struck Gwilym as slimy. He was too polite, too eager to please, and it seemed even his own daughters were made uncomfortable by him. Gwilym sighed. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled. 

He was beginning to lose hope. Who was left, if not these girls? And yet, neither of them struck him as the one he was looking for.

***

You listened carefully at your door, not daring to make any more noise. If Frank returned, he might do worse than strike you. But you could listen to what was happening downstairs. 

It was a bit maddening to hear, though. To be so close to Gwilym now, and yet so far. To be a prisoner now in your own home was worse than being a servant. And the worst part was seeing the proof of your identity lying in pieces beside you. You felt like the slipper. Broken. Completely in pieces. Like your dreams too. 

You heard the front door open and close again. You went to your window and watched Gwilym mount his horse, his friends on either side of him, and trot away toward town. Was that truly the last time you would see your love?

It couldn’t be. Now, you could hear Frank’s familiar footsteps coming back up the stairs. You knew you had to make a break for it as soon as he opened the door. You braced yourself. You had no time to pack anything, no time to grab money or valuables. You would have to break away with nothing but the clothes on your back and a prayer. 

You watched the doorknob turn, feeling as if everything was in slow motion. It creaked slowly open and Frank’s body appeared in the door frame. He reached for you, but you ducked under his arm, darted down the hall, flew down the stairs, and straight out the front door. 

You ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even daring to look back to see if Frank was in pursuit. You just hurtled toward town, hoping that anyone could help you. You would give up your home, and everything you knew - you would even give up your life - before marrying Frank. You had to escape, even if it meant becoming a beggar. 

You burst through the back door of the tavern, tears streaming down your cheeks, and chest heaving. Flying through the kitchen, you threw open the doors to the dining area and found Zelda behind the bar. She looked up at the commotion you were making, took in the sight of you, and her brow furrowed. 

“Zelda, please!” you cried, frantic. “I need help!”

You went to her, and she took you in her arms. 

“Y/N, what’s -”

She didn’t get to finish her question before Frank came barreling through. He must not have been far behind. You let out a scream. Zelda pushed you behind her and you cowered at her back. She put her arms out to shield you further. 

“Zelda, remove yourself if you know what’s good for you,” Frank threatened. 

“Don’t, Zelda, please!” you begged. “Don’t let him take me! He’s going to force me to marry him! Please!”

She stiffened in front of you. “Oh, no you don’t, Frank. I will not stand by and let you do this.”

“Stand back or you’re fired,” he warned. 

“I don’t care,” she shot back. “I won’t let you have her!”

“I’m afraid it’s not up to you,” he returned harshly. 

He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to move her, but Zelda was a stout woman with considerable strength. She resisted him, taking hold of his biceps and forcing him back several steps. Her advantage was clearly gained by the element of surprise. 

“Run, Y/N!” she cried. “Get out of here!” 

Panicked, you leapt over the counter and wrenched the door open. You threw yourself out of it, trying to ignore the sounds of the struggle behind you. You darted into the street and sprinted as fast as you could away from the tavern. You had no idea where you would go from here - but you could not stay and be forced into a lifetime of Frank. 

You glanced back. To your horror, you saw that Frank was emerging from the tavern and had spotted you right away. With a gasp, you turned back around and sped up. Only, as you turned, you didn’t realize what was in front of you. You ran right smack into a man’s back. The force of the collision put you on your rear in the dirt. 

Wincing, you looked up. Your jaw dropped. It was Gwilym!

He met your gaze and froze as well. For a moment, you were both back at the ball, when he’d come up to you on the stairs and asked you to dance. He recognized you instantly. 

“It’s you,” he whispered. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but a sudden stinging on your scalp caused you to cry out instead. Frank had fisted his hand around your hair and dragged you to your feet. 

“Your highness!” he gasped, noticing Gwilym. “I do apologize. My servant here has forgotten her manners.” He looked at you and continued through gritted teeth. “And her place.”

He yanked your hair on the last word for extra emphasis. Gwilym’s chest tightened as he watched Frank manhandle you. He briefly imagined himself drawing his sword and plunging it right into Frank’s chest, but he refrained. 

“Release her,” he ordered. 

Frank looked at the prince, bewildered. 

“I’m sorry?” he questioned.

Gwilym’s expression darkened. “I told you to release her.”

Frank hesitated. 

“Now!” Gwilym shouted. 

You relaxed when Frank finally let go. Your scalp still itched with soreness. You desperately wanted to throw yourself into Gwilym’s arms but you were still afraid of what Frank might do. You did take a cautious step back. 

“Your highness, I’m dealing with an unruly servant girl,” Frank said. “But she is mine and I may do with her as I please.”

Your lip trembled and you shook your head. 

“That’s not true,” you sobbed. “You know it’s not, I’m your step daughter and you’re forcing me to -”

“SILENCE!” Frank roared, and raised his hand.

You shrieked and covered your face with your arms. But the blow didn’t come. You peeked out, lowering your shield just barely. Gwilym had taken hold of Frank’s wrist. Rami and Ben, who you just noticed being present, both had their hands on their swords. Now was your chance. 

“Don’t let him take me back,” you begged again. “Please, your highness, don’t let him.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Zelda trotting up the street. She halted when she took in the scene before her. 

“Sir Tarleton,” Gwilym said, releasing Frank’s arm. “We were at your home and I asked you if you had any more women residing there besides your daughters. You lied.”

“It wasn’t a lie, really,” Frank argued. “Just an omission. You see, there’s no way this girl was at the ball when I forbid her from going.”

“If that’s true, then you are still in trouble,” Gwilym said. “All eligible maidens were to attend.”

“She’s only a servant -”

“I know you’re lying, Tarleton,” Gwilym interrupted. “Now stand down.”

Frank stepped away from the prince, shooting glances between him and you. Gwilym turned to Ben.

“The slipper please, Ben,” he said. 

“No!” Frank protested, starting toward you, but Rami stopped him.

Ben handed Gwilym the slipped you’d left behind on the staircase. You wiped your cheeks, clearing away the dirt and tears, and held your prince’s gaze. You smiled at him.

“I knew you were the girl from the tavern,” he said gently. “I knew I recognized you.”

“And the cemetery,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I remember.”

“How did someone like you even notice someone like me?” you wondered, amazed. 

“Because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” he told you simply. “Inside and out. And from that moment in the cemetery I saw what you truly are - a princess.”

You flushed, looking bashfully at the ground. 

“I’m not really a -”

“Maybe not by birth,” he said. “But in heart.”

You met his eyes again. Those eyes that from the first time you saw them, told you the kindness of this man’s soul. 

He knelt down onto one knee, holding out the slipper. It made you ache for the lost one Frank smashed, but you were relieved that you had left one behind at the palace. You toed off your boot and raised your leg. Ben stepped closer to help you balance and you shot him a grateful look. Then, you slid your delicate foot into the glass slipper. It fit perfectly. 

Gwilym’s face lit up like a firework. Ben let go of your hand as Gwilym laughed, took you up in his arms and spun you around. You giggled with joy as well. He lowered you gently to the ground.

“Now, will you please tell me your name?” he asked. 

You chuckled. “It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated, and cupped your cheek in his palm. “How beautiful.”

“No!” Frank shouted again, and this time Rami had to grab him to stop him. “No! You cannot take her from me!”

“The girl does not belong to you,” Gwilym said sternly. He turned and faced Frank. “I see very clearly now that you have been mistreating her. She is free to choose whatever she likes.”

“I’m her father!” Frank insisted. 

“Step father,” you said. Then you looked up at Gwilym. “I choose you, my love.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied. “Sir Tarleton, you’ll be taken into custody.”

Frank’s eyes went wide as the guards moved to take him from Rami. They clapped iron rings around his wrists. He seemed too shocked to struggle. 

“Take him to the dungeon to await trial for his crimes,” Gwilym instructed. He faced you again. “And you, my darling, may come with me to the palace.”

“For how long?” you wondered. 

“Forever, if you wish it,” he assured you. 

“I could hardly wish for more,” you said happily. 

He took your hand and helped you onto his horse. Together, you headed for safety, and building a life together. In true love.

***

You and Gwilym married as soon as possible. The whole kingdom was thrilled at the wedding. Frank was tried and convicted for his abuse, but would not serve a life sentence, so instead of prison, he was banished from the kingdom. Even so, early in your marriage to Gwilym, you frequently had nightmares where your stepfather returned. 

Gwilym was as loving and patient a partner as you could hope for. He let you talk through your trauma, and he made sure to never do anything that caused you fear. His support helped you to truly heal. 

Your step sisters had to move from the estate, which was now yours entirely. Eleanor and Miranda were surprisingly happy to take over their father’s first business, the tavern, which they ran successfully with Zelda. They both eventually found merchant husbands and lived peacefully, and you were genuinely happy for them.  

But the greatest joy Gwilym ever gave you was your children. You had two boys and two girls, and they were the light of the whole kingdom’s eye - but especially the king, who lived a long and healthy life with his grandchildren. You had no other description for your life besides happily ever after.

[songtoyou]

Chapter 8: Wine Before Whiskey

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 2,827

Warnings: None

Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

A/N: I wanted Tommy and Rose to connect on a more personal level in this chapter. I wanted them to become comfortable with each other outside of the bedroom. I don’t want their relationship to be solely about sex. 

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars​

Wine. A nice tall glass of wine. That is all Rose wanted to cap off the day. She decided not to respond to the text messages from her friends or mother. Rose was not in the mood to come up with some bullshit excuse for being photographed out with Tommy. Also, it was not their business, and she didn’t need to justify anything with an excuse.

With a glass of wine in hand, Rose sat on the couch in the living room with her feet up. As Rose flipped through the television, the front door opened and slammed shut.

When Rose saw Louis rush up the stairs, she called out to him, “Hey, Louis!” He ignored her. Sighing, Rose got up to follow her son upstairs.

“Louis,” she spoke through the door while knocking. “Is everything okay?” Still nothing. “Louis, honey, what is wrong? From the way you slammed the front door, you seem upset. Did something happen at school today?”

Louis opened his bedroom door to come face-to-face with his mother. “Did something happen at school today,” he said mockingly. “How about the fact that my mother was photographed out with a rumored gangster. Or the fact that some of my classmates are referring to you as one of Tommy Shelby’s whores. You know he has been rumored to date escorts mom. Did you not know when you first started seeing him? In fact, how did you even meet him in the first place?”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Rose looked down at the floor. She was too embarrassed to meet her son’s accusatory gaze. “All of that stuff, the rumors about Tommy, are just that, rumors.” Rose felt sick lying to her son. “And Tommy isn’t a gangster. He is a businessman.”

“That is not what I hear. There is a whole sub-Reddit about how he really earned his millions. I should show it to you. Maybe it would rethink your association with the man,” Louis rambled on. “How did you get introduced to him anyway? It isn’t like you both run in the same social circle.”

Rose sat down on the bed and drew her knees up. It was her way of buying time to formulate a believable response, or rather lie. Thankfully, she had already thought up different scenarios that would be the most believable.

“Do you remember that business trip I took with Linda back in March? It was to a conference up in Birmingham, the educators and practitioners conference,” she explained, which that part was actually the truth. She did go to a conference up north with her boss back in March. However, here comes the lie, “Well, Tommy was there as well. He just showed up unexpectedly. He wasn’t on the agenda, but he gave a speech, something about…I don’t know, I can’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention. But it was at one of the social networking gatherings where I ran into him. We talked most of the night. He asked for my number, which I gave him, not thinking he would actually call. But we have been in contact for a while. It was only recently that we have gone on dates.” Again, all lies. Rose started to feel sick. She could feel bile began to rise in her throat.

Sighing, Louis folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk. He still wasn’t looking at his mother. “It’s all weird. You never really dated. Or not date so out in the open before.”

“Is one of the reasons why you’re upset with me dating is because of dad? Are you still hoping your dad and I get together?” Rose asked, concerned about what he would say. She wished Louis weren’t so hung up on the idea of her and Nick ending up together. It was never going to happen. 

He only shrugged. “Is it so wrong that a kid would want their parents to be together?”

There wasn’t much she could say to that concept. “How about we get pizza for dinner, okay,” she suggested hoping to move on from the subject.

“Fine. I got homework to finish up,” said Louis defeated. The look on his face broke Rose’s heart. 

“Alight. I’ll tell you when the pizza arrives. The usual?” she asked.

“The usual,” replied Louis nonchalantly while opening his school books and notebooks.

Rose left his room and walked down the stairs. She hated herself at that moment.

While Rose waited for the pizzas to arrive, she decided to send a quick text to Tommy.

As Tommy sat at his desk looking over contracts, it would be another late night at the office; he received Rose’s text. 

Rose: Tommy, we need to talk. Can I stop by your office around 3 PM tomorrow?

The message took him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting to hear from Rose or for her to ask to meet up with him.

Tommy: Yes, you can stop by. However, instead of 3:00, let’s meet at 4:00.

His reply back was his way of maintaining control. He found it rather amusing that Rose felt comfortable requesting, or rather ordering, Tommy for a meeting. Tommy was tempted to ask what the meeting would be about but didn’t really think too much of it. 

If the meeting turned out to be fruitless, he could end with Rose bent over his desk and punish her for wasting his precious time. The thought was already getting him hard. 

Leaning back in his chair, Tommy began to rub his hardness through his pants. Taking his cock out of his pants, he began to stroke back and forth. As Tommy continued to stroke, he only thought of Rose, which was unusual. Whenever Tommy was pleasuring himself alone, he would always think of Grace. He would picture his wife on her knees or bent over his desk or taking her up against the wall. It was always Grace.

But now, Tommy was picturing Rose. He saw her face clearly in his head. He imagined Rose under his desk pleasuring him with her mouth and hands. He wanted Rose bent over on his desk, taking her from behind, on the floor, the conference table, against the wall, and the floor. Tommy began to realize he wanted Rose all of the time.

At that thought. Tommy soon began to worry about why Rose asked for a meeting out of the blue. He began to wonder if she was regretting their arrangement due to being in the press. However, Tommy told Rose that being in the press was likely, and she appeared to understand that fact. No, something must have alarmed her. He would find out what it was. He would get it out of her one way or another. Tommy wasn’t going to let her go that easy. 

Friday! The day Father Time preferred to drag on and on. The hours on the clock appeared to move slower and slower, Rose noted. She was at work catching up on what she missed yesterday morning. It was the usual task; looking over budgets, setting up meetings, working on meeting agendas, finishing up the minutes from past meetings, and making sure the office was stocked with supplies. It was the same thing every day. Nothing changed, and the more she stayed at the job, the more fed up she became. Rose knew she needed to get out there and look for a better job. One that matched the college degree that she worked hard to obtain. A job that paid well where she would no longer have to be an escort to make a living. 

However, the money Tommy was offering to Rose was better than any standard 9 to 5 job could offer.

When 3:15 finally rolled around, Rose gathered her belongings and headed to meet Tommy. 

“Ms. Turner!” someone shouted at her. 

Thankfully, Rose knew that voice. She turned around to see Isaiah with a megawatt smile, waving her over to his car. 

“Let me guess, Tommy sent you to deliver me to him?” Rose questioned sarcastically. “And I told you to call me Rose.”

“Yes, he did, and yes, you did. Come on, we don’t want to be late,” Isaiah answered and opened the passenger door for Rose. She got in the car.

“You saw my son take the car this morning and let Tommy know, huh?”

“Yep,” was all Isaiah said and began to drive out of the College’s parking lot. 

With the way Isaiah drove, he managed to make it to the building that held Tommy’s office in half of the time. He smoothly moved the car around the building’s underground parking garage. 

“Okay, we are here. You can take the elevator to Tommy’s office,” he instructed and told Rose which floor to select.

“Thank you, Isaiah. I appreciate it. I figure Tommy is going to ask you to take me home?”

“That is to be determined. He might want to take you home himself. Have a nice evening, Rose. Take care,” said Isaiah and waved goodbye.

She selected the floor instructed by Isaiah and waited. Tommy was on the building’s top floor, so the elevator continuously stopped and let people on and off. When the elevator finally reached her destination, the doors opened. Rose only saw a few people pass by. There was no one at the front desk, so she stood by and waited until someone showed up.

Looking at her phone, it read 3:50. She still had ten minutes to spare. “Rose, hi. How are you?” She turned to see Andrew walk towards her. 

“Andrew, hi. I’m good. You?”

“Same. Can I get you some coffee or tea?” he asked. “Mr. Shelby is finishing up a call at the moment. Please, have a seat.”

“Okay. Water would actually be great, thanks.”

Andrew managed to get Rose’s water before Tommy emerged from his office. However, he was not alone. He was followed by a very tall and lanky man with a full beard and similar hairstyle to Tommy, but longer on top. 

“Arthur, continue to keep me posted on Changretta,” Rose heard Tommy whisper but pretended not to hear anything. She made it look like she was too preoccupied with her phone to notice the two men not far from her. 

“Esme is working on it, Tom. She is having trouble with a few firewalls, or whatever she called them, but assures she can crack ’em,” Arthur shared. “Said she would get a file on your desk by Monday.”

“Okay, good. That is good. I’ll talk to you later, brother,” Tommy responded, patting Arthur’s back.

Arthur said his goodbye and left for the elevators. Tommy turned towards Rose.

“Rose,” he spoke to get her attention. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him into the office. 

Closing the door behind him, Tommy told Rose to take a seat.

“Your text seemed rather…urgent,” Tommy began as he poured himself a whiskey. He offered on to Rose, but she declined. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, well…no, not really. I…uh…I don’t really know…” Rose began but was having trouble forming the words. “I don’t really…oh my God, it’s my son. He isn’t too keen on the idea of me ‘dating’ you. He saw the pictures. Apparently, some of the kids at school were making fun of him because of them. I have friends asking questions. Even my mom saw them, and I don’t talk to her at all. Everything has gotten out of hand. I mean, I wasn’t quite expecting this kind of outcome. It is a lot to take.”

Gulping down the whiskey, Tommy proceeded to pour another one for himself and one for Rose. 

“Drink,” he ordered, handing Rose the glass that held the amber color liquid, which she took and gulped it down. She placed the now empty glass on Tommy’s desk. “Feel better?” 

“Not really. Can I ask you something? It is kind of a personal question, but I’m asking you for some advice,” Rose asked and continued when Tommy gave her the go-ahead to proceed. “You have a kid yourself, a son. When I originally agreed to our deal, I never fully thought of the consequences that could occur. I didn’t think of how it would affect my child. To put it blankly, he is upset that I’m with you. It’s all about his stupid dad and wanting us to be together. So my question to you is, how do you go about lying to your child?”

Once again, Rose caught Tommy completely off guard with her question. That was not what he was expecting. The fact that she had the audacity to bring up his son didn’t even bother him as it would if it were anyone else. He was craving a cigarette at the moment. “My son, Charlie, spends most of his time at boarding school. He is only home on holidays and special occasions. When I have my son with me, he only wants to spend time with his cousins or me. He never really gave my ‘relationship’ with Lizzie much thought. To him, she was only daddy’s friend. Plus, the observation skills of an eight-year-old doesn’t quite compare to the observation skills of a sixteen-year-old.”

Tommy had a point, Rose thought. She motioned to him if she could refill her glass of whiskey. With Tommy’s go-ahead, she got up and poured herself a drink. This time Rose took small and sat back down.

Taking in a deep breath, Rose mentioned, “You’re lucky. It is so much easier when your kid is younger. They don’t ask so many questions or notice things that don’t add up. You can tell them pretty much anything, and they’d believe you. But when your kid gets older, prepare yourself for the questions he will no doubt ask.”

She looked up when Tommy sighed. He was leaning in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Charlie turned eight back in February. He is beginning to ask me questions about his mother, like where she was from and if we can visit the town, how we met, what made me attracted to her, all that stuff. The one question that scares me…” Tommy began, but Rose could sense hesitation. 

“He’s going to ask why did mummy have to die?” Rose finished for him. Tommy only nodded his head. “I don’t envy you on that part.”

Quite soon filled the office as Tommy and Rose sat in silence and sipping down whiskey. “Who was that guy that in here earlier?” Rose asked to kill the silence.

“That was my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy answered. “He and my younger brother, John, both own a couple of bars and clubs around England. They have been working on a new line of Peaky Blinders Vodka to go with our whiskey and gin brand.” 

“You really dabble in everything, don’t you. Where do you go from here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should try my hand at politics, eh. An MP to go with my OBE” teased Tommy with an exceedingly rare boyish grin on his face. Rose noticed that Tommy’s smile was rather sweet and brightened his facial features. “Yeah, that is exactly what my family needs is me in politics.” 

Rose softly scoffed, “I don’t think we need any more millionaires in politics, no offense.”

“No offense taken,” Tommy chuckled and downed his drink. He got up to grab his jacket and swung it on. He took Rose’s glass and finished it for her. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Tommy grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her up from the chair. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to dinner. We can talk more there,” Tommy proposed and guided Rose out of the office. 

“I won’t be able to stay the night if that is what you were considering,” she stated while in the elevator.

“Not what I was considering,” uttered Tommy, honestly. He put his hands on Rose’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Only dinner.”

“Only dinner?”

“Nothing more, nothing less,” Tommy replied, placing a soft kiss on Rose’s lips. He entwined his hand in Rose’s and walked her to his car.

He took Rose to Bar 61, London’s most famous Spanish tapas restaurant. When they were seated, Rose liked the relaxed and upbeat charm of the establishment. She was surprised that Tommy chose the place since it was more family-friendly rather than high-end/upscale. But the man before her was always full of surprises. They sat in a more secluded area of the restaurant where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Tommy ordered a bottle of wine for them to share. He raised his glass for a toast. “What are we toasting?” Rose asked with a smile.

“How about to good health and new friends,” Tommy suggested and clinked his glass with Rose’s.

“And to new adventures,” Rose added, now with a sly smile on her face.

“To new adventures,” Tommy repeated, and they clinked their glass again.

[babyybitchhh]

Announcement

Alrighty, then. This post has been a long time coming so lets get right into it.

After much deliberation, I've decided not to push the self destruct button. I thought about it. Oh, when I say I was SO damn close to deleting this entire blog and all my fics right along with it. I'm frustrated and angry with myself, and I can't exactly say I'm doing well atm, but I know when things start to get better I'll want to write again, in earnest, and then I'd have to start over from scratch. Egg all over my face. Clown shit. We don't know her.

BUT. I think its clear to any and all that this is not working. It's just not. I expect too much of myself, for starters. And when it feels like others expect a certain level of performance from me that I just can't nail consistently due to my own ineptitude, my brain powers off. Is it some kind of executive dysfunction? Is it a fear of failing? A fear of success? Plain old anxiety? Who knows! I certainly don't. Whatever it is, it's hanging over my head like a guillotine. I'm beyond stressed and barely staying afloat irl, but then when I turn towards what should be a fun and therapeutic outlet all I see are expectations.

"When will you post the next chapter" on works that I WANT to finish but yet fear putting out a subpar product for and disappointing people.

"Will you write a follow up piece" for works that I WANT to expand on but don't know how to in a way that will make everyone else happy, let alone myself.

"Are you working on my request" for WIPs I have partially drafted and yet no way of knowing if that person - or anyone! - will even enjoy it.

I honestly feel guilty working on my own ideas instead of the multiple prompts in my inbox. I'm pretty sure that's part of my malfunction with my Ogun fic and others like it that are close to being done but remain unfinished simply because I'm thinking about what everyone else wants. It'd be one thing if I could just churn out content without a second thought but I can't. Like, it genuinely upsets me thinking that people are stuck in limbo waiting because I'm too chicken shit to just go with the flow instead of obsessing over every single line of text to the point of nausea, all for the sake of putting out "quality" content. I feel bad. I want to enjoy the writing process again, just like I did when I first got back into it with OsoSan. I shouldn't have started taking requests if I wasn't going to deliver, I know, and I sincerely apologize for my lack of foresight but it is what it is. I can't change the past. But what I CAN do is start fresh. So, long story short, there are going to be some changes coming to this blog.

A total revamp. I'm going to do an overhaul on the whole thing so don't be surprised when it starts to look different. I'm going to work primarily on navigation and organization, and try to tidy up a bit.

I'm turning off anon. Both because people looking to have a go with writers aren't so brave when that's no longer an option and also because I want to get as far away from those expectations as possible. I wont be reading or responding to comments on AO3 anymore for that same reason. I love you guys, and you're more than welcome to talk to me in DM's if you're more comfortable that way, but the long list of asks wanting to know wtf I'm doing in my spare time if not writing this or that is doing more harm than good.

I'm getting rid of the requests page and also purging any that I haven't already started working on - hopefully once I get into a better groove I'll actually be able to finish them, because I genuinely would like to. I really am sorry to everyone who's been waiting for their request to be fulfilled but I'm clearly not talented or confident enough to juggle my own ideas with someone else's. Maybe at some point in the future, when I'm a better writer, I'll start taking them again and we can all be happy.

And finally, I'm going to start experimenting with my writing method. As in, you're probably going to see shorter, less obsessively curated pieces popping up on my page that may not always be sexual in nature. I just really need to buckle down and work on this - all of it - and I'm determined to improve my skills even if it kills me. I have the urge to write every single day but it's hard when I'm the way I am and I've backed myself into a corner like this. I need to learn how to stop overthinking everything and just DO it. I know my productivity would increase and, with it, so would the overall quality of my work so I'm going to be focusing on different areas that need improvement. Not everything I put out will be good but that's part of the process, right? Right.

I totally understand if I lose followers for any of the above reasons, or even just personal ones, so don't hesitate to do so if you feel like you can't jive with this blog anymore. I appreciate you taking the time to read all this and I hope you understand my reasons for needing to do a reset on this page. This is exactly why I didn't want to start taking commissions and I would once again like to apologize to anyone I've let down.

P.S. I've had this distinct feeling that certain people in the writing community are not happy with me for a while now and although I'm not entirely sure what I've done wrong, I would still like to issue a formal apology for any toes I might have stepped on. That was never my intention. I can't claim to be a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but I have no ill will towards anyone. If its about the patreon I subscribed to and then left a month later, it had nothing to do with the author in question. I just belatedly realized I had more money coming out of my account than I could handle at the time and yes that weighs heavy on my shoulders. If its about the way I suddenly disappear in private chats, that's also something that shouldn't be taken personally. I genuinely have a hard time keeping up conversations with people, and I feel like a bother more often than not. If it's about the discords I join and then never participate in, see the above. If its about the way I fangirl or enthusiastically support some writers but not others, I never meant any harm by it. I just can't conceivably read everything that comes across my dash and, yes, my favorites are prioritized. Either way, whatever the grievances may be, anon will remain on until I start the revamp process some time tomorrow night so if whoever wants to air out their problems go for it. I probably wont post them but I will read them and try to learn from them, so have at it.