#This is my first time really painting from reference so I um hope it actually looks ok and I haven’t just tricked my brain somehow

[transgendercastiel]

Dean winch ✨ ✨

(Tumblr really condenses images huh, this probably looks leagues better if you click on it 🫡)

[bao3bei4]

fan language: the victorian imaginary and cnovel fandom

there’s this pinterest image i’ve seen circulating a lot in the past year i’ve been on fandom social media. it’s a drawn infographic of a, i guess, asian-looking woman holding a fan in different places relative to her face to show what the graphic helpfully calls “the language of the fan.”

people like sharing it. they like thinking about what nefarious ancient chinese hanky code shenanigans their favorite fan-toting character might get up to⁠—accidentally or on purpose. and what’s the problem with that?

the problem is that fan language isn’t chinese. it’s victorian. and even then, it’s not really quite victorian at all. 

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fans served a primarily utilitarian purpose throughout chinese history. of course, most of the surviving fans we see⁠—and the types of fans we tend to care about⁠—are closer to art pieces. but realistically speaking, the majority of fans were made of cheaper material for more mundane purposes. in china, just like all around the world, people fanned themselves. it got hot!

so here’s a big tipoff. it would be very difficult to use a fan if you had an elaborate language centered around fanning yourself.

you might argue that fine, everyday working people didn’t have a fan language. but wealthy people might have had one. the problem we encounter here is that fans weren’t really gendered. (caveat here that certain types of fans were more popular with women. however, those tended to be the round silk fans, ones that bear no resemblance to the folding fans in the graphic). no disrespect to the gnc old man fuckers in the crowd, but this language isn’t quite masc enough for a tool that someone’s dad might regularly use.

folding fans, we know, reached europe in the 17th century and gained immense popularity in the 18th. it was there that fans began to take on a gendered quality. ariel beaujot describes in their 2012 victorian fashion accessories how middle class women, in the midst of a top shortage, found themselves clutching fans in hopes of securing a husband.

she quotes an article from the illustrated london news, suggesting “women ‘not only’ used fans to ‘move the air and cool themselves but also to express their sentiments.’” general wisdom was that the movement of the fan was sufficiently expressive that it augmented a woman’s displays of emotion. and of course, the more english audiences became aware that it might do so, the more they might use their fans purposefully in that way.

notice, however, that this is no more codified than body language in general is. it turns out that “the language of the fan” was actually created by fan manufacturers at the turn of the 20th century⁠—hundreds of years after their arrival⁠ in europe—to sell more fans. i’m not even kidding right now. the story goes that it was louis duvelleroy of the maison duvelleroy who decided to include pamphlets on the language with each fan sold.

interestingly enough, beaujot suggests that it didn’t really matter what each particular fan sign meant. gentlemen could tell when they were being flirted with. as it happens, meaningful eye contact and a light flutter near the face may be a lingua franca.

so it seems then, the language of the fan is merely part of this victorian imaginary we collectively have today, which in turn itself was itself captivated by china.

--------------------

victorian references come up perhaps unexpectedly often in cnovel fandom, most often with regards to modesty.

it’s a bit of an awkward reference considering that chinese traditional fashion⁠—and the ambiguous time periods in which these novels are set⁠—far predate victorian england. it is even more awkward considering that victoria and her covered ankles did um. imperialize china.

but nonetheless, it is common. and to make a point about how ubiquitous it is, here is a link to the twitter search for “sqq victorian.” sqq is the fandom abbreviation for shen qingqiu, the main character of the scum villain’s self-saving system, by the way.

this is an awful lot of results for a search involving a chinese man who spends the entire novel in either real modern-day china or fantasy ancient china. that’s all i’m going to say on the matter, without referencing any specific tweet.

i think people are aware of the anachronism. and i think they don’t mind. even the most cursory research reveals that fan language is european and a revisionist fantasy. wikipedia can tell us this⁠—i checked!

but it doesn’t matter to me whether people are trying to make an internally consistent canon compliant claim, or whether they’re just free associating between fan facts they know. it is, instead, more interesting to me that people consistently refer to this particular bit of history. and that’s what i want to talk about today⁠—the relationship of fandom today to this two hundred odd year span of time in england (roughly stuart to victorian times) and england in that time period to its contemporaneous china.

things will slip a little here. victorian has expanded in timeframe, if only because random guys posting online do not care overly much for respect for the intricacies of british history. china has expanded in geographic location, if only because the english of the time themselves conflated china with all of asia.

in addition, note that i am critiquing a certain perspective on the topic. this is why i write about fan as white here⁠—not because all fans are white⁠—but because the tendencies i’m examining have a clear historical antecedent in whiteness that shapes how white fans encounter these novels.

i’m sure some fans of color participate in these practices. however i don’t really care about that. they are not its main perpetrators nor its main beneficiaries. so personally i am minding my own business on that front.

it’s instead important to me to illuminate the linkage between white as subject and chinese as object in history and in the present that i do argue that fannish products today are built upon.

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it’s not radical, or even new at all, for white audiences to consume⁠—or create their own versions of⁠—chinese art en masse. in many ways the white creators who appear to owe their whole style and aesthetic to their asian peers in turn are just the new chinoiserie.

this is not to say that white people can’t create asian-inspired art. but rather, i am asking you to sit with the discomfort that you may not like the artistic company you keep in the broader view of history, and to consider together what is to be done about that.

now, when i say the new chinoiserie, i first want to establish what the original one is. chinoiserie was a european artistic movement that appeared coincident with the rise in popularity of folding fans that i described above. this is not by coincidence; the european demand for asian imports and the eventual production of lookalikes is the movement itself. so: when we talk about fans, when we talk about china (porcelain), when we talk about tea in england⁠—we are talking about the legacy of chinoiserie.

there are a couple things i want to note here. while english people as a whole had a very tenuous knowledge of what china might be, their appetites for chinoiserie were roughly coincident with national relations with china. as the relationship between england and china moved from trade to out-and-out wars, chinoiserie declined in popularity until china had been safely subjugated once more by the end of the 19th century.

the second thing i want to note on the subject that contrary to what one might think at first, the appeal of chinoiserie was not that it was foreign. eugenia zuroski’s 2013 taste for china examines 18th century english literature and its descriptions of the according material culture with the lens that chinese imports might be formative to english identity, rather than antithetical to it.

beyond that bare thesis, i think it’s also worthwhile to extend her insight that material objects become animated by the literary viewpoints on them. this is true, both in a limited general sense as well as in the sense that english thinkers of the time self-consciously articulated this viewpoint. consider the quote from the illustrated london news above⁠—your fan, that object, says something about you. and not only that, but the objects you surround yourself with ought to.

it’s a bit circular, the idea that written material says that you should allow written material to shape your understanding of physical objects. but it’s both 1) what happened, and 2) integral, i think, to integrating a fannish perspective into the topic.

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japanning is the name for the popular imitative lacquering that english craftspeople developed in domestic response to the demand for lacquerware imports. in the eighteenth century, japanning became an artform especially suited for young women. manuals were published on the subject, urging young women to learn how to paint furniture and other surfaces, encouraging them to rework the designs provided in the text.

it was considered a beneficial activity for them; zuroski describes how it was “associated with commerce and connoisseurship, practical skill and aesthetic judgment.” a skillful japanner, rather than simply obscuring what lay underneath the lacquer, displayed their superior judgment in how they chose to arrange these new canonical figures and effects in a tasteful way to bring out the best qualities of them.

zuroski quotes the first english-language manual on the subject, written in 1688, which explains how japanning allows one to:

alter and correct, take out a piece from one, add a fragment to the next, and make an entire garment compleat in all its parts, though tis wrought out of never so many disagreeing patterns.

this language evokes a very different, very modern practice. it is this english reworking of an asian artform that i think the parallels are most obvious.

white people, through their artistic investment in chinese material objects and aesthetics, integrated them into their own subjectivity. these practices came to say something about the people who participated in them, in a way that had little to do with the country itself. their relationship changed from being a “consumer” of chinese objects to becoming the proprietor of these new aesthetic signifiers.

--------------------

i want to talk about this through a few pairs of tensions on the subject that i think characterize common attitudes then and now.

first, consider the relationship between the self and the other: the chinese object as something that is very familiar to you, speaking to something about your own self vs. the chinese object as something that is fundamentally different from you and unknowable to you. 

consider: [insert character name] is just like me. he would no doubt like the same things i like, consume the same cultural products. we are the same in some meaningful way vs. the fast standard fic disclaimer that “i tried my best when writing this fic, but i’m a english-speaking westerner, and i’m just writing this for fun so...... [excuses and alterations the person has chosen to make in this light],” going hand-in-hand with a preoccupation with authenticity or even overreliance on the unpaid labor of chinese friends and acquaintances. 

consider: hugh honour when he quotes a man from the 1640s claiming “chinoiserie of this even more hybrid kind had become so far removed from genuine Chinese tradition that it was exported from India to China as a novelty to the Chinese themselves” 

these tensions coexist, and look how they have been resolved.

second, consider what we vest in objects themselves: beaujot explains how the fan became a sexualized, coquettish object in the hands of a british woman, but was used to great effect in gilbert and sullivan’s 1885 mikado to demonstrate the docility of asian women. 

consider: these characters became expressions of your sexual desires and fetishes, even as their 5’10 actors themselves are emasculated.

what is liberating for one necessitates the subjugation and fetishization of the other. 

third, consider reactions to the practice: enjoyment of chinese objects as a sign of your cosmopolitan palate vs “so what’s the hype about those ancient chinese gays” pop culture explainers that addressed the unconvinced mainstream.

consider: zuroski describes how both english consumers purchased china in droves, and contemporary publications reported on them. how: 

It was in the pages of these papers that the growing popularity of Chinese things in the early eighteenth century acquired the reputation of a “craze”; they portrayed china fanatics as flawed, fragile, and unreliable characters, and frequently cast chinoiserie itself in the same light.

referenda on fannish behavior serve as referenda on the objects of their devotion, and vice versa. as the difference between identity and fetish collapses, they come to be treated as one and the same by not just participants but their observers. 

at what point does mxtx fic cease to be chinese? 

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finally, it seems readily apparent that attitudes towards chinese objects may in fact have something to do with attitudes about china as a country. i do not want to suggest that these literary concerns are primarily motivated and begot by forces entirely divorced from the real mechanics of power. 

here, i want to bring in edward said, and his 1993 culture and imperialism. there, he explains how power and legitimacy go hand in hand. one is direct, and one is purely cultural. he originally wrote this in response to the outsize impact that british novelists have had in the maintenance of empire and throughout decolonization. literature, he argues, gives rise to powerful narratives that constrain our ability to think outside of them.

there’s a little bit of an inversion at play here. these are chinese novels, actually. but they’re being transformed by white narratives and artists. and just as i think the form of the novel is important to said’s critique, i think there’s something to be said about the form that fic takes and how it legitimates itself.

bound up in fandom is the idea that you have a right to create and transform as you please. it is a nice idea, but it is one that is directed towards a certain kind of asymmetry. that is, one where the author has all the power. this is the narrative we hear a lot in the history of fandom⁠—litigious authors and plucky fans, fanspaces always under attack from corporate sanitization.

meanwhile, said builds upon raymond schwab’s narrative of cultural exchange between european writers and cultural products outside the imperial core. said explains that fundamental to these two great borrowings (from greek classics and, in the so-called “oriental renaissance” of the late 18th, early 19th centuries from “india, china, japan, persia, and islam”) is asymmetry. 

he had argued prior, in orientalism, that any “cultural exchange” between “partners conscious of inequality” always results in the suffering of the people. and here, he describes how “texts by dead people were read, appreciated, and appropriated” without the presence of any actual living people in that tradition. 

i will not understate that there is a certain economic dynamic complicating this particular fannish asymmetry. mxtx has profited materially from the success of her works, most fans will not. also secondly, mxtx is um. not dead. LMAO.

but first, the international dynamic of extraction that said described is still present. i do not want to get overly into white attitudes towards china in this post, because i am already thoroughly derailed, but i do believe that they structure how white cnovel fandom encounters this texts.

at any rate, any profit she receives is overwhelmingly due to her domestic popularity, not her international popularity. (i say this because many of her international fans have never given her a cent. in fact, most of them have no real way to.) and moreover, as we talk about the structure of english-language fandom, what does it mean to create chinese cultural products without chinese people? 

as white people take ownership over their versions of stories, do we lose something? what narratives about engagement with cnovels might exist outside of the form of classic fandom?

i think a lot of people get the relationship between ideas (the superstructure) and production (the base) confused. oftentimes they will lob in response to criticism, that look! this fic, this fandom, these people are so niche, and so underrepresented in mainstream culture, that their effects are marginal. i am not arguing that anyone’s cql fic causes imperialism. (unless you’re really annoying. then it’s anyone’s game) 

i’m instead arguing something a little bit different. i think, given similar inputs, you tend to get similar outputs. i think we live in the world that imperialism built, and we have clear historical predecessors in terms of white appetites for creating, consuming, and transforming chinese objects. 

we have already seen, in the case of the fan language meme that began this post, that sometimes we even prefer this white chinoiserie. after all, isn’t it beautiful, too? 

i want to bring discomfort to this topic. i want to reject the paradigm of white subject and chinese object; in fact, here in this essay, i have tried to reverse it.

if you are taken aback by the comparisons i make here, how can you make meaningful changes to your fannish practice to address it? 

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some concluding thoughts on the matter, because i don’t like being misunderstood! 

i am not claiming white fans cannot create fanworks of cnovels or be inspired by asian art or artists. this essay is meant to elaborate on the historical connection between victorian england and cnovel characters and fandom that others have already popularized.

i don’t think people who make victorian jokes are inherently bad or racist. i am encouraging people to think about why we might make them and/or share them

the connections here are meant to be more provocative than strictly literal. (e.g. i don’t literally think writing fanfic is a 1-1 descendant of japanning). these connections are instead meant to 1) make visible the baggage that fans of color often approach fandom with and 2) recontextualize and defamiliarize fannish practice for the purposes of honest critique

please don’t turn this post into being about other different kinds of discourse, or into something that only one “kind” of fan does. please take my words at face value and consider them in good faith. i would really appreciate that.

please feel free to ask me to clarify any statements or supply more in-depth sources :) 

[unluckyhoneybee]

The Handsome Artist 5.

(Daniel Ricciardo)

Plants and Coffee. Just like she was told, Abigail pays a visit to Ham&Avo, which ends in the sweetest way.

MASTERLIST. Moodboards and Playlist.

Previous part: Deep thinking.

Note: I hope you like it, it's not my favourite.

Warnings: none.

I was already there I couldn't leave. I had done the whole way from Santa Monica to West Hollywood.

I sighed. My hands were shaking. It had taken me 5 days to come into senses. Jennifer was right. I had to do it. It had worked with the fear I had to go to beach, or when I stopped going out with Molly on Saturdays. It had worked with all the things listed there.

I needed to be myself. Daniel seemed to be a nice guy. It was still scary because they all seemed nice at first. But again, Jennifer was right. The feelings I had about this were different. I still had fears, obviously. But they weren't the same.

So with three different plants on the back of my truck and a rehearsed speach, I had driven for more than half and hour through LA. And I was ready for it. Kind of.

I opened the door and crossed the street. The Ham&Avo sign was bright in color white over the black wall. I took a deep breath and fixed my hair.

You can do this, Abigail. You can. You came to say thanks.

I pressed the doorbell and soon I heard a bark. Roscoe.

This time, instead of Lewis and for the first time, Daniel opened the door for me.

"Abigail!" He sounded happy, excited even.

He was wearing black clothes today, a couple of chains hanging on his neck and his usual vans. The guy was attractive. Fuck.

"Hi" I could already feel my cheeks warm, probably blushy. Only because of his smile.

"Wait. Do you you have any problem? Is the tattoo okay? I told you to text me if anything was weird"

I chuckled a bit.

"It's perfect. Really."

"Oh." He let an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that. What do we owe you this visit then?"

Lewis opened his door and Roscoe came to say hi.

"Hello, buddy" I said scratching the dog behind his ears. "Hi, Lewis"

"Good morning, Abigail"

I smiled.

"I wanted to say thanks. You treated me so well. And... Yeah..."

"Come in, then" Daniel moved to the side.

My heart was beating so fast and it was only his fault.

"Well, I actually have something for you."

Daniel opened his lips in surprise and a tiny smiled appeared on them. I smiled too, so lost on his eyes that I almost didn't hear Lewis talking.

"You are as nice as they say, right?"

I blushed and chuckled a bit.

"If by they you referred to Molly, probably not as nice."

The three of us laughed.

I could feel my palms sweaty.

"Um... It's on my truck. I need a hand"

"I'll go"

Lewis chuckled when Daniel stepped in front of him.

"Okay, come with me"

I was nervous as hell. I really was. Daniel was following me close.

"Hey, this truck is yours?"

I smiled and nodded. It was Charlotte's truck, but now she didn't drive it much and it was almost mine. It was green, she had made it get painted when I was a teen and I had chosen the color. Written on one side, a Charlotte's Garden had a darker color. It was my truck, old and sometimes a bit problematic, but the only car I had known in my life.

He whistled and walked around the car.

"It's old"

"It is"

"But it looks good. Really good. It's beautiful. A little jewel you have"

I smiled and nodded.

He patted the car and looked at me with a smile.

"A good one"

"Yep. Strong, reliable and big enough to fit a bunch of plants"

"Oh, yeah! The plants. Charlotte's Garden?"

I nodded and leaned over the back of the truck. Reaching for one of the plants I had in there.

"It's a plant store. I work there"

"Your job is about plants? I thought plants were a hobby!"

"Well, it is. Kind of. I like plants. So yeah."

He smiled and leaned next to me.

"And are these your gif?"

His shoulder touched mine and I realized then how close he was. He smelled so good. It was almost suffocating.

"Y-yes"

I pulled the plant closer and moved the paper a bit.

"This one is for me?" His voice was so gentle.

I smiled and nodded.

"Really?"

"Yes"

"You can't be serious."

"I am, Daniel!"

"This one is for Lewis and this one for the hall. It needs some life."

"Oh, Abi. You are really nice, aren't you?"

He gave my shoulders a little squeeze, making me blush and giggle.

"Help me?"

"Yeah, of course"

Daniel took the biggest plant and I took the two smaller ones. He smiled and started walking in front of me.

He pushed the door with his hip.

"Lewis! The lady brought us gifts!"

Lewis appeared with a smile.

"OH wow. They are beautiful, Abigail!"

I smiled.

"The big one is mine, Hamilton" Daniel said laughing.

"The small one for me?"

"This one. A calathea." I passed the pot to Lewis. "And this one is an a fern. I thought it would suit well in the hall."

"You are the expert. Just tell us where to put it"

I helped them locating the plants, both guys following me around the shop but Lewis dissappearing when Daniel opened his studio.

"Where should I put it?"

I took the plant from his hands and put it in a corner. Good light, that's what it needed.

"It's a Monstera" I said fixing its leaves. He was observing and smiling, making me nervous. "The place it's just perfect for it. You have the perfect conditions here. That's why I thought about it. The light it's perfect. You just need to water it when you felt the soil dry. But please, don't forget to check it"

I turned to him he had his arms crossed on his chest and a soft smile. Oh boy, he is so pretty.

"And... You should clean the leaves, the dust from the air gets on them and it's not really good. They need clean leaves for photosynthesis." I was rambling. I was no nervous I had started rambling about plants. "Um... I have this." I pulled a little card from my pocket. "It's a list of the things you should do to keep Elisa alive."

He lift his eyebrows.

"Elisa?"

I blushed and bit my lip. The thing is that the plant had been on the shop for long. She was really pretty but, didn't grow as much as the others. She was smaller, produced smaller leaf and needed a stick to stand. But she was so pretty. Her leaves were beautiful and had a beautiful green. People came to the shop for monsteras wanting a big plant, anyone wanted the dwarf Monstera. So she had been with us for long. Plants that stayed more than usual received names. It was Charlotte's rules. They got names and were like a part of the family. They were only sold for special occasions. So yes, I was giving Daniel a part of my family.

"S-she is special."

"How?"

He walked closer and touched a leaf.

"She is a dwarf Monstera. She didn't grow like the others. Elisa is actually 7 years old."

"Special plants get a name?"

He looked down at me and I nodded.

"She has been with us for a long time. 3 or 4 years I think. We couldn't just call her the dwarf Monstera."

"That would be rude, yeah"

He bit his lip.

"Are you sure you want me to have this plant?"

I swallowed. I really wasn't. This was huge for me. I could have just given him any plant. Like the fern or Lewis'. But I had looked around and seen Elisa and somehow I saw myself putting her on the back of the truck.

"I need you to take care of her. Also... We have a gardering service, I go around the city and take care of other people's plants, so I could come by and fix these if you'd like or you can't or something... I don't know. I am a botanist and Charlotte always says that I'm like a plant doctor so... "

Abi, I'm begging you to stop.

"A botanist? Are you really a botanist?"

I nodded.

"Wow. I will accept the offer. Let me try if ai can keep her alive for a bit, yeah?"

"Have you ever..."

"Yeah. My mum had lots of plats at home."

"I trust you, Daniel. Keep Elisa alive." I pointed a finger to him and he laughed.

"Okay, okay. I will. I can just call you if she doesn't look nice, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

He nodded smiling and touched Elisa again. I took my sweet time to observe his hand. Big with long fingers... He had really nice hands but I was sure he bit his fingers while nervous. Also...

"Let's fuck"

"What?" He turned his face to me with a panicked face.

Oh fuck.

"What?" I re-asked in the same way. "T-the ring. You ring. I-I... I read it put loud I'm..."

He laughed hard then, relief on his face and the blush fading away.

"Oh shit..." He let himself fall against the desk, laughing so hard.

He made me laugh too. It had hitted me hard and I didn't thought before reading his ring out loud.

"I- I though you were... Oh shit. I was like, okay Abi. Just ask me on a date first"

I laughed.

When he finally calmed down, he cleaned his tears. My heart was beating so hard, I was standing next to Elisa and I couldn't move. But not in a bad way. It was just...

He is pretty, he is funny and talented.

"Oh, shit."

"I didn't thought before reading" I said giggling.

"It's okay, it's okay. You took me by surprise."

We stayed silent for a while, sharing a look and then my eyes traveling around the place.

"Hey. I don't have anything to do. They canceled right before you came. Wanna go and have a coffee?"

I looked at him.

"A coffee?"

"Are you working? Can you take a little break?"

I was working, yes. I had things to do. It wasn't a busy morning but still... But he there looking at me with cute eyes and... Oh fuck.

Jennifer and Molly would be happy for this thing I was thinking.

"I am working. But... That house on Beverly hills can wait." A little smile scaped my lips. "I suppose"

Danny smiled.

"Oh. Beverly Hills? Anyone famous? Can I go with you?"

I laughed.

"Some rich woman. She is single and has three dogs. I'm sure she will be happy to see you around her backyard."

He laughed and I blushed. Why did it feel so good to make him laugh?

"I'm sure. I will be topless and see if she can give us some tips. Maybe we can pay a good dinner"

I chuckled.

"Let's go and have this coffee." He got up and took the wallet and phone from the desk. I followed him. I was nervous, I was so nervous.

Was this a date? Was it a way to say thank you? Was he always like this? Was he just being polite?

"Take care!"

"Lewis! We are leaving. I'm taking the lady on a coffee date!"

Coffee date?

Daniel opened the door for me.

"Follow me"

I followed him only a few meters. There was a coffee shop right there. He opened the door again and I went in.

"I always come here." He told me. "See that table? Go there. It's my place."

I smiled. The place was cute and cozy for a coffee shop I'm West Hollywood. I walked there and sat. I could see the outside. The Ham&Avo sign and my truck. But my eyes turned to Daniel. He was talking to the bartender and smiling.

I had to take a deep breath. I was here with Daniel. He had called this a date. I was having a coffee with a handsome man who seemed more than happy to be here. But I was scared. I truly was because the last time it was awful. Last time I let someone in I ended up in a million pieces.

"Hey. Are you okay?" A cup appeared in front of me.

"Oh" I cleared my throat. I had to enjoy this, to take the opportunity. He seemed to be interested in me. I knew that I had to be careful, but also that I had to at least give him a try. "With lots of milk?"

He smiled.

"Because it's delicious"

I bit my lip and took the cup.

"You liked it last time so..."

"It's perfect. Thank you"

"No, thank you" He took a sip from his coffee and smiled. "It was so nice of you to bring the plants really."

It made me blush. I was always blushing aroundhim, fuck.

"Well... Um... My therapist told me."

He gasped a bit, his mouth opened and his eyes were looking at me in surprise.

"What?"

I wanted to give myself a face-palm.

"Nice. Okay. I don't even know why I said that. Sorry. I'm nervous and I talk a lot when I'm nervous" That made him smile.

I wasn't going to tell him the truth, no. I was going to change it a bit. Just as I had done with the plants. It would be to embarrassing to appear on the parlour with one plant for him. Nop. I needed a way to change it a bit.

"Getting the tattoo was something huge okay? I have no others, I hadn't thought about getting one... And all of that. Obviously I talked about it with my therapist and she suggested me to come here and say thanks and I... I brought plants because that's how I communicate, I suppose. This is important for me. I'm so glad you liked them"

He seemed to let it sink in.

"So... You came because the therapist told you?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes. But in a good way."

He seemed confused and I was so embarrassed. The man wanted to have a coffee with me and I just went to ramble about my therapist.

"How so?" He leaned a bit closer.

"There are I bunch of things I won't do because they scare me."

"Oh, I see" He nodded. "The tattoo. Molly got you the appointment and everything"

"Yes"

"Okay. I understand. I'm glad you listened to them." He pushed me with his shoulder a bit.

"Yeah?" I asked shyly.

"Yeah. You are nice. And funny. You literally said, Let's fuck! Like if this wast the third time we see each other."

"Forth. It's the forth. And it was your fault! I have stone rings!"

We both laughed.

"Okay. I won't fuck until the forth date and I want you to take me to dinner at least once before. And ask my mum for permission" He said laughing and pointing a long finger at me.

I laughed so hard that people around us turned to look.

"Sorry. I'm a really funny guy" He told them.

I calmed down and drank some coffee.

"Hey, the date thing is serious. Would you like to go out? On a second date. This is our first-"

The phone cut him. Charlotte.

"Shit" I picked it "Hey"

"Where are you?"

"Delivering"

"Delivering to the handsome artist Molly told me about?"

I bit my lip and shot Daniel a quick glance. He was looking at his coffee as if it was the Mos interesting thing in the world.

"Um... Yes." I was just praying for Daniel to not hear her.

"Miss Bohnman called. Her garden is unattended."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Tell the Handsome Artist to take care of Elisa. And that he is invited to come home whenever he wants!"

"Charlotte!"

Daniel looked at me and chuckled. I was just praying he didn't hear.

"Go!"

"Yeah, I'm on my way..."

Hearing that, Daniel got up and reached his hand to me. I grabbed it and he helped me standing with a tiny smile.

"Don't be late for lunch. I will cook lasagna"

"See you"

She ended the call and I sighed.

"The rich lady demands my presence."

"My offer to go and distract her is still up."

I laughed.

"Thank you, but I don't think Charlotte would appreciate it"

He walked me to the car. His hand had left mine but was hanging dangerously close. I just wanted to grab it again. I loved the warmth of it.

"Hey, Charlotte told me to tell you to take care of Elisa"

"Oh, I will. I promise"

I smiled and he hugged me.

"See you. I will maybe text you. If that's okay"

"Oh, yes. It's more than okay." Don't sound so desperate.

"Nice"

I smiled. He was looking at me, his brown eyes reflected the sunlight and his freckles were visible.

"See you, Daniel"

"Yeah, see you soon"

I smiled and got in the car. He patted it and said bye with his hand. I did the same and started driving.

"Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."

Did I just had a date with Daniel? It was short. Had it really been a date? He had asked me if I'd like to go out again, I hadn't dreamt it. I was sure.

"Fucking shit" I said laughing out loud. I was feeling some kind of high. I was happy. I had been so comfortable with him. He was so nice it was insane.

There was that tiny part of me telling me to be careful, to control my rambling and not show too much, but there was this other telling me to just jump at the pool, to let go and enjoy.

And for once I was sure which one I wanted to listen.

Here it is. I just feel like it's some filling for the story. But well, had to write it anyway. I hope you enjoyed it 💛

Next part: Beers and music.

[aminiatureworld]

Time and Chance

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,028

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Confessions are tricky things. Sometimes it takes week, maybe months, maybe years of building up courage for one to happen. And sometimes life throws the oddest wrenches in our paths.

In which the reader confesses.

Author’s Note: I may or may not have decided to go full sappy this week, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you guys with my overbearing angst. Also I thought it was cute. Originally I wasn’t sure if I wanted the reader to be the one doing the confessing or whether it should be the character. I decided upon the reader on a whim essentially, with the idea that I could do the character later. We’ll see! The title today is reference to one of my favorite novels, written by Sharon Kay Penman. If anyone likes historical fiction I’d highly recommend it.

Today’s characters are Albedo, Childe, and Diluc. Tomorrow will be Kaeya, Xiao, and Zhongli. And maybe Keqing.

Like I said in my past post Happy Valentine’s Day! Although this time it’s Valentine’s Day proper.

Albedo

In your defense, who wouldn’t fall in love with Albedo?

The mysterious alchemist of Monstadt; sharp as a tack, insatiably curious, and blessed with an ethereal sort of beauty on top of it. Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a person?

And that was the problem. You’d sort of taken it for granted that everyone loved Albedo, and in that assumption you’d found a particularly distasteful discovery. That if everyone loved Albedo then you were hardly going to be the only one asking after his time. And, following that line of thought, you figured it’d be incredibly rude – not to mention supremely irritating for Albedo – for you to confess your feelings.

And it wasn’t as if you two were the closest in the world. Although you wouldn’t say you were total strangers either. You instead drifted in that odd in between; more than acquaintances, not quite friends. Or at least that’s how you interpreted it. Albedo didn’t seem to be the person with inclinations towards friendship in general, a not altogether untrue or wild assumption, so you remained content where you were, happy with the conversations you had, with the times he’d trust you with a piece of equipment or would explain to you in detail what he was working on. I mean, surely that was enough?

Absolutely not. Even in your state of perpetual irritation and fretting over your feelings, you knew that simply ignoring them was a ridiculous solution. When did that ever go well? Miscommunication was the relationship killer, no matter what type, and what could be more of a misunderstanding than this? You didn’t even know what he thought of you for Seven’s sake!

So you’d resolved yourself to telling him. Even if he’d be irritated surely he’d appreciate your honesty. And even if he didn’t you needed to tell him, for yourself if not for him.

It was with this in mind that you approached him one afternoon as he was working outside.

“Um, Albedo?” Your voice had taken on a slightly weak tone, as if you didn’t have enough air all of a sudden. It sounded weird, and you kind of wished you didn’t have to hear it. But that was par for the course when dealing something like this, although it didn’t make it any easier.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t notice you there.” Albedo turned around to look at you. You noticed that he’d swapped his regular tools for a paint set and an easel. Glancing at the painting you were struck by how he’d somehow managed to depict Cider Lake so accurately with so few brushstrokes. Never did you think about how the slight ripples that appeared in it could look a bit like circles. It was altogether impressive, and for a moment you forgot what you were doing, or perhaps you’d pushed it out of your mind.

“Was there something you wanted to ask?” Albedo’s voice pulled you out of your artistic musings. Evidently you weren’t going to be able to get out of it now. Come hell or high water, you were going to tell him.

“Well, so… you see, I… I really love you and your work!” The words came tumbling out, dropping like stones in the suddenly charged atmosphere. Almost immediately your nerves were replaced with a distinct sinking sense. “Uhm, rather. I mean –” you tried to begin again, but your voice had suddenly turned quite small, and you found yourself unable to continue.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Albedo’s voice was calm but not unkind, for a moment you felt your face grow warm. Was this actually going to happen? It’d be impressive considering how you’d botched it. “I’m so glad to hear there’s someone else interested in my work. I find that unfortunately a great many people take the world around them for granted. That you do not is commendable.”

You found you weren’t really sure what to say; admittedly the only thing going through your mind at the time was something along the lines of Holy shit. Holy shit I fucking blew it.

Okay, so maybe that was an absolute train wreck. Still, you’d gotten that far, and at this point you felt like it’d be harder to stop and deal with the memory of your botched pseudo-confession than to try again. So you steeled your courage and after a week or so you found yourself ready.

This time you tried for as he arrived at work. Originally you were going to wait for afterwards, but you found the anticipation was tearing you apart, and so decided for before. The anticipation, combined with your slight exhaustion, was nearly unbearable; and a not so small part of you kept telling yourself that this was a terrible idea, but you were too far gone.

“Fancy meeting you here at this time.” There was certainly surprise in Albedo’s voice, but he was smiling, and didn’t seem to mind at all when you stammered out that you wanted to ask him about something. He simply nodded, before unlocking his lab and gesturing for you to go in first.

You loved Albedo’s lab. Various pieces of equipment gleamed in the early morning light, everything properly labeled and put away; a stark contrast to the clutter of Albedo’s desk, filled with papers and the odd sample. The whole room was surprisingly nice in general, floors made of wood, painted over with a type of resin as to keep it from being properly damaged, multiple windows keeping the space surprisingly airy, and the smell of various herbs filling the air, though not so much as to be overpowering. You’d once mentioned to Albedo that the space seemed much to homey to be a proper lab. He’d merely laughed, replying that all homes should be comfortable, no matter how out of the ordinary.

Now you used said comfort and familiarity to ground yourself. This time you’d do it. This time for sure.

“So, um about my question?”

“Yes?” Albedo replied, dropping a few things on his desk. You took a breath, steadying yourself before pushing on ahead.

“Well… you know when I told you I liked you and your work?”

“Of course. I was very happy to hear it.” Albedo’s tone remained opaque, you had no idea how your words were registering.

“Well, you see, I wasn’t being completely clear. What I meant was more… well… well I like you, more than your work.” Seeing the look of confusion on his face you sped up slightly. “Not that I don’t like your work of course! It’s just, it’s just…” you were foundering again, feeling stupidly embarrassed. Becoming more and more frustrated with yourself you shook your head. “What I mean is I like you. Personally. And I like you a lot, more than just as acquaintances or as maybe friends. And I know that this is kind of out of the blue and kind of intrusive, and I’m sure there are a lot of people who like you. But I just wanted to tell you because, well I don’t know, just because.”

You took a deep breath, feeling as if you’d said altogether too many words. Glancing towards Albedo you saw a look of slight shock on his face. A feeling of dread was creeping up on you. Maybe it would’ve been better to say nothing.

“Well, I’m certainly flattered,” Albedo began, all your hopes beginning to sink. Urging yourself not to look away your nevertheless started picking at your fingernails, praying that at least the rejection would be over soon. “though I’m not really sure what you see in me. I’m hardly the ideal sort of person. And there certainly don’t seem to be many people who like me.” Albedo paused then; staring at him you found yourself in slight disbelief, sure that the sudden blush painting his cheeks was a figment of your imagination. “That being said, I cannot say that I don’t reciprocate your feelings. In truth I feel quite foolish now, only for assuming you were uninterested and refusing to try my hand at my own confession.”

“Really?” You didn’t mean for the tone of your voice to come out as so utterly disbelieving, but you couldn’t help yourself. Slightly light-headed you took a step forward, closing the space between you and the suddenly bashful alchemist in front of you. “You like me too?”

“Yes.” Albedo nodded slightly. “And, well, since you like me as well, might we…”

“Might we?”

“Might you do me the honor of becoming my partner?”

You found yourself giggling hysterically, half from the sudden release of nerves half from how ludicrous the situation had turned out to be. Seeing Albedo, looking for the first time uncertain and nervous, you stopped. Your face burst into a smile and you nodded.

“This is quite dramatic. But of course, of course I will.”

“I’m glad. But, might I say something?”

“Yes?”

“I wish you’d told me after work. If only because I’ll never be able to concentrate now.”

 Childe

If you had to describe your crush on Childe in one word it would be: idiotic. If you had to describe it in a sentence it’d be; incredibly irritating but also impossible to ignore.

You liked Childe, you liked him a lot. And you couldn’t blame yourself. Childe was the ideal sort of partner; charismatic, athletic, with eyes that could make your heart skip a beat and hair that was asking for you to run your hands through it. Childe was attentive too, full of words that would make anyone swoon a bit, and always ready to listen, agreeing with you on every point and reacting just as you wished.

But that was the problem. Childe was a façade, his personality had been honed to be as sharp and as deadly as a knife. Of course he was understanding and charismatic and a perfect person to hold a conversation with, what else could one expect of a member of the Fatui?

At first you’d desperately tried to ignore your feelings, as if they were somehow embarrassing. You felt vaguely guilty for carrying a flame for Childe, as if you’d managed to fall into a trap you’d seen a ways away. It was an unpleasant feeling to be sure, and you tried to bury it as much as possible, sure it’d go away.

But it didn’t go away, instead your feelings somehow seemed to become more and more stubborn, as if insisting on leading you down the path that many fools who interacted with the Fatui had fallen down before. Childe was at the forefront of your mind.

You noticed when he passed by you, shooting you a blinding smile which always turned into a self-confident sort of smirk, no doubt a result of your inevitable blush. You noticed the way he always seemed to ask after your interests, but never failed to avoid more personal topics that might make you uncomfortable. You noticed how he laughed at your odd half-jokes and the way that his hand brushed your once, causing you to withdraw your own as if burned, stammering out a “nothing” when he asked what was wrong.

But still you refused to tell him. Surely that was what he wanted, another person who could be called upon to give information to the Fatui, or perhaps assist in their dirty work. That wouldn’t be you, that would never be you.

It was snowing on your way home, blocking out the normal sounds and casting the world in an eerie sort of beauty. You wished that it wasn’t so late, cursing yourself for once more forgetting how early the sun set. It didn’t help that it was blindingly cold, and that you were dressed for weather that was at least ten degrees warmer. Hurrying along you were thinking about the meal that you were going to have, unaware of the slick patch of ice lying in front of you.

“Whoah, be careful!” You were yanked out of your thoughts with alarm. Glancing around you quickened your pace, shoes slipping immediately on the ice. However instead of a hard fall on the street you found a pair of arms wrapped under yours. Glancing up you found your face only centimeters away from Childe’s.

“Sorry for causing that.” Childe’s voice was clear as a bell, marking the contrast between the two of you in your mind. Lifting you up he chuckled slightly. “I should’ve realized that a random voice yelling at you would be alarming. Nothing bruised I hope?”

“N-no.” You managed, face burning. You’d never gotten this close to Childe before, not really, and the experience was going straight to your head, as if you’d suddenly gotten very, very drunk. Shaking your head you shifted your glanced towards the ground. “Thank you.” You managed, although your voice was soft enough to be inaudible. You were still trying to process what was happening. One question kept replaying itself in your mind, why had he called out, why had he noticed you?

“I’m glad!” Childe’s voice was a beautiful thing, and you found you couldn’t really think when listening to it. “I was a bit worried I wasn’t in time.”

“Yeah…” you replied. Suddenly the situation dawned on you completely, and you found yourself looking at him with no little suspicion. “Why do you pay so much attention to me?” You blurted out.

“What do you mean?” The expression on Childe’s face was one of perfect confusion, but you could tell that he’d been somehow caught. The tone of his voice was suddenly muddied, as if you were hearing his uncertainty for the first time. This gave you courage to press forward.

“I mean it. Why, why do I always see you? I mean, why do you even pay attention to me? I’m not the kind of person to forget who you are, the fact that you’re a member of the Fatui. I won’t be roped into your schemes, no matter how much I like you.” Shit. That last part was supposed to be only in your head. For a moment you weren’t sure if you hadn’t actually hit your head somehow.

Childe looked frozen, his expression blank, filled with disbelief as well as… bashfulness? If that’s what it was it certainly didn’t fit the normal vision of Childe, still you found yourself somehow compelled by it. This was a part of the real Childe.

“I… didn’t realize you’d notice. Now I feel found out!” He chuckled again, but this time it was distinctly nervous, and he turned to the side slightly. Suddenly he paused, and his eyes snapped towards yours. “Wait, rewind. You like me?”

“…Yeah.” I mean what were you supposed to say?

“I can’t believe this.” The widest grin spread across Childe’s face, and he started bouncing on his toes slightly, it was very cute you could give him that.

“You’re ignoring the rest of my words. Personal feelings or not I still hate the Fatui, and I still don’t know why you’d target me anyways.”

“It’s cause I like you, can’t you tell?” Childe’s words rammed into you, utterly unexpected; seeing you shake your head he once more closed the space between you two. “No, I mean it. I like you. I just can’t believe that you like me back.” He let out another huff of laughter. “I can’t believe I’m this lucky, I’ve never been this lucky. Well, I’m sorry that I came off like I was some Fatui creep, I promise my occupation doesn’t include systematic wooing of civilians.”

“How can I trust you?” You were trying to stand your ground, but in reality you’d already fallen. The situation was too much, and what little resistance you’d managed to hold on in the past weeks was tearing to shreds before your own eyes.

“Because I wouldn’t lie about this.” Childe was suddenly still, his expression deadly serious. “I promise I wouldn’t lie about something like this. The fact is I like you, I like you a lot. I know my job is… unconventional to say the least; I also know that it’s entirely fair if you don’t want to associate with me because of it. But at least trust in my feelings being real, okay?”

What could you do? You nodded, a short “I trust you” falling from your lips. The feeling of happiness was surprisingly sedate, mixed with nerves, yet also somehow filled with contentment. It felt so good, it felt so good just to let go and accept what had happened. You liked Childe, you liked him so much, and he like you too. What more was there to say?

“May I ask you something?” Childe asked, voice slightly husky. Your faces were once more barely apart, and you found that you could stay like this for ages and ages.

“Yes?”

“May I hold your hand?”

You let out a laugh, smiling brightly as you slid your hand into his.

 Diluc

You weren’t even sure how this one happened.

It wasn’t that Diluc wasn’t the perfect kind of guy, I mean if he wasn’t you probably wouldn’t be falling madly into one sided love with him. It was just that you two didn’t actually have much of a chance to interact with one another, what with him being the manager and part time bartender of a surprisingly vast winery, and with you being an adventurer and someone not likely to get plastered any time soon.

But the few times that you had interacted with him, usually something to do with guarding the alcohol he was exporting, had been enough to cement an intense infatuation in your mind. There was just something about him; whether it was his voice, his polite yet intense form of speech; his mannerisms, always perfectly on time with what he needed, something which helped you and the Guild immensely; or his general charm, okay look he had great hair; you’d simply gone mad for him.

And mad indeed you were. Though you weren’t about to become a stalker – besides being incredibly creepy on principle since when did that land a person in anything but jail – you’d taken to trying to find out a least a little more about him. Because if you were going to be infatuated with someone it should at least be for more than his organizational skills and the fact his hair would look great in a high ponytail.

And what you’d found out only built upon your crush. The fact that he found the Knights of Favonius lacking, though perhaps a bit unconventional, was ultimately reasonable, or at least justifiable. You liked also that he refrained from drinking, and not just because the idea of ending the night sick in the bathroom was something that haunted you a bit. The more you learned the more you wished that you were in a situation where your feelings could be reciprocated, or at least where you could become friends of some degree. Really you just wanted him to notice your existence, sure he could pick you out in the endless sea of adventurers.

So you planned on introducing yourself at some point, at least as his almost designated wine protector. The only problem was when. Diluc seemed to be busier and busier these days, and when he was around he seemed muted, as if he was carrying something. You couldn’t bring yourself to add to his burden your own baggage. So you said nothing, and as your crush grew so did your dejection.

It was a lovely summer evening and, seeing as your apartment had becoming stifling in the daytime, you’d taken a walk, snaking through the streets of Monstadt before exiting via the back gate, glad to see there were no guards around. Walking down towards the banks of the lake you slipped off your shoes and dipped your feet into the water. Letting out a sigh you sat down and tilted your head back, enjoying the slightly breeze on your face, trying to take your mind off of the past months of agony. The world faded into background noise, and you found yourself in a state of pseudo peace, glad to have it, if only for a moment.

“Watch out!” A familiar voice broke through your reverie. Turning your head towards the source of your disruption you saw a masked figure as well as a cryo abyss mage. The mage, having correctly decided you were going to be easier to deal with than the actively armed person, suddenly appeared right in front of you. Acting on instinct you pushed your hand in front of you, letting electricity bloom from your fingertips.

As the abyss mage lay stunned your felt an arm wrap around your waist, dragging you a ways away. “Wait here.” The person carrying you said, before running back to fight. Finally getting a good look at your savior it was all you could do not to gasp. Despite being the cold hard truth you still found it hard to believe, and for a second you wondered if you hadn’t passed out somewhere and were having a particularly fantastic dream.

Finally the fighting was over, lifting yourself up you jogged over to the man who could only be the Darknight Hero.

“Master Diluc?” The words flew out of your mouth.

“Just Diluc please.” Diluc shook his head. “Forgive me for being a bit rough. Cryo abyss mages and electro users rarely work well together.”

“It’s perfectly fine!” You replied eagerly. “Really, thank you!”

Diluc offered a smile in reply, one that immediately made your heart seize up. Suddenly you remembered who the person in front of you was. Seized at first with something akin to embarrassment you also came to a sudden realization. This might be the only chance.

“Diluc?”

“Yes?”

“Well, can I say something?”

“Of course you may.” Diluc relaxed his stance, leaning slightly forward. Your face was burning, you really weren’t expecting something like this to happen, but it was now or never.

“I realize this will be quite sudden, but I… I like you.” You felt the urge to add on something, some explanation or apology, but unfortunately, or perhaps thankfully, you found you couldn’t say anything more. Running your fingers through your hair you lowered your head slightly, not wanting to see the expression on his face.

“Can I say something?” Diluc’s voice was gentle, and you couldn’t help but look up at him. Though you wouldn’t say his stance had changed very much, he somehow seemed more relaxed, something you weren’t expecting.

“Of course! I realize what I said must really be a shock, I’m really sorry.” You let out a pathetic sort of laugh.

“Don’t be sorry. I realize what I’m about to say must be equally as shocking. But, the fact of the matter is I like you as well.”

“I didn’t realize you knew I existed!” You replied, still not ready to drop your defense mechanisms. Diluc stared at you, a perplexed expression on his face.

“I’m quite surprised by that, I thought that my request for you to be the guild member in charge of the Winery would’ve been an indicator. Forgive me, I didn’t realize that you were unaware.”

“I thought that was a decision by the Guild to make things easier.” You admitted. “Although I guess I just didn’t want to admit that you might be aware of my existence.”

“Why?”

“Because that would’ve been scary! I mean, what if you didn’t like me, not in that way, just… in general.”

“Well I like you a lot.” Diluc’s voice was soft and warm.

“I like you two.” You replied, voice barely above a whisper.

As he escorted you back to your home the two of you spoke about a myriad of things, some important and some quite mundane. You found that having your feeling reciprocated had truly opened up something in you. Suddenly everything seemed so much realer, made manifest by Diluc’s presence. You couldn’t believe it really. What had failed with months of planning had succeeded in a matter of moments.

And all because of an unsuspecting abyss mage.

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

The Angel Nextdoor

Pairing: Artist!Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: This is the first Tom fic I’ve ever posted and I’m a little nervous, but I’m really proud of it. I hope you guys really like it, I’d love to hear your feedback. Now, this is my Valentine’s day special, and I know what you’re thinking, “Ashley, how can you post a Valentine’s say special on February 15th? It doesn’t make any sense.”. But to that I say, you’ve just never seen this kind of innovation, I’m an artist and I have to take risks like this sometimes. I hope you can understand, love you all xx

Summary: Tom’s latest assignment might just give him the push he needs to finally confess his feelings. 

Masterlist

Promt list

//

“This is the handout for your final, we’re going to talk about it more next class, but for now just look this over and start brainstorming,” Ms. Miller passed a stack of papers down the row with a smile, “You’ll have a full month to work on it so I expect really polished pieces for this.”

Tom glanced over the requirements before settling at the prompt.

‘Paint someone close to you (friend, family member, significant other, ect…) in the style of their favorite artist or painting.’

It seemed simple enough, and he could think of a handful of people to ask. Definitely not family, he didn’t want to travel home and back that frequently. He could ask Harrison, and he was sure he would say yes, but there was one person who really stuck out in his mind. It was (y/n) of course, who better to paint than the most beautiful person in the world? And could anyone really expect an artist like him not to want to paint the object of her affection? Of course actually doing it was a different story. Asking her to let him paint her was a daunting task, one Tom was sure he couldn’t complete. So he was going to paint Harrison.

“Try to come to class with a narrowed down list of who you may end up painting, you’ll need to know for sure by Friday,” Ms. Miller sighed as the class began packing up, “I’ll see you all on Wednesday.”

Tom shoved everything in his bag and went straight for the dinning hall, where he was supposed to meet Harrison and (y/n) for lunch. He debated again trying to ask her, but quickly shoved the thought from his mind. She had inspired his work before certainly, it was inevitable that she’d inspire him, or her image would wander to his mind when he was working, but he had never painted her. Of course he wanted to paint her directly, but it was intimate, it always felt wrong to do without her permission. Just asking to paint her surely would have revealed his feelings too, something he wanted to do on his own terms, when he was ready, with concrete proof that she liked him back and he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

“That’s not a happy face,” Harrison hummed as Tom sat down in front of him, “Bad grade or something?”

“No, we just got our final already,” he sighed, letting his bag fall besides him.

“Already?”

He nodded, “Yeah, she wants it to be really polished.”

“Does it seem really hard?”

“It’s nothing I can’t do, I’m gonna need your help though.”

“I’m sorry, you’ve seen me paint before right?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Obviously not with that. I’m just supposed to paint someone close to me and I don’t want to drive home every other day so I was gonna ask if I could paint you.”

Harrison knit his brow in confusion, “Why wouldn’t you ask (y/n)?”

Tom flushed, “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You two would get to spend a lot of time together, alone. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, and I’d like to paint her, but it’s so intimate. I want to be the one to tell her I like her, not a painting. Plus she could say no and then I’d never be able to show my face in public again.”

“There is no way she would say no,” Harrison rolled her eyes, “Just ask her, she’d be happy to help and you might just finally see that she’s into you. Then I can stop watching you two pine over one another.”

“No, just drop it,” Tom ordered, spotting (y/n) approaching their table, “Don’t say anything to her.”

“Hey boys,” she smiled as she sat besides Tom, “How were classes?”

“Mine were fine, Tom’s already getting his finals though.”

Tom shot him a glare while she sighed, “That’s brutal, I’m sorry Tom.”

“I’ll survive,” he hummed, “It’s not anything too rough.”

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

“Just painting someone I know,” his cheeks dusted pink, “Nothing too hard.”

“Too bad I can’t help you out with it more,” Harrison bit his cheek, “Maybe (y/n) could pose for you.”

Tom decided he’d have to push Harrison out their dorm window when they got home. 

“Oh yeah, I don’t mind,” she smiled kindly to him.

“It’s okay, it’s probably going to take me awhile and I know you’re busy, I can just ask one of my brothers,” he insisted.

“And drive home every other day? That’s ridiculous, I’ll just do it.”

Tom sucked in a deep breath, trying to decide quickly what the right decision to make was. But he was a painter, he couldn’t give up the chance to paint something so perfect in good conscience, and he didn’t really want to say no either.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he smiled to her.

“No problem. So what do I need to do?”

“I’m supposed to paint you in the style of your favorite artist, or painting.”

“Well…” she tapped her lip thoughtfully, “Oh, they guy that painted those little cupids, and he did that Birth of Venus you showed me with all the cupids in it, I really liked his stuff. What was his name again?”

“William-Adolphe Bouguereau,” Tom pursed his lips, “I could do that, it’s not too far off from what I like to do anyway.”

“Cool, I guess I should start practicing my poses then?”

He chuckled, “No, we’ll just do something comfortable for you,” he bit the inside of his cheek, “There’s a bit of planning to do first, like what you’re gonna wear and the colors I’m gonna use, and sketching, I’ll just need a few days.”

“Well why don’t you come over and we can raid my closet? Maybe I can help with some of the other stuff too.”

Harrison was smiling like a proud dad when Tom glanced over at him, “Um, yeah, that would be good, I could come over after class Wednesday?”

“It’s a date.”

/

“I laid out some clothes already,” (y/n) smiled to Tom as she led him to her room, “I mean you’ll know better than me, but I tried to pick some things I thought would paint well.”

“Thanks, I was thinking something really simple would be best,” he began examining the clothes on her bed, smiling when he spotted the same white, babydoll dress she liked to wear whenever it got hot, “How about this one? It has that sort of angelic feel.”

She picked up the dress and held it against her, “It’s the comfiest too.”

He laughed, “Well that one for sure then. Next would be location, and I know you really like L'Amour et Psyché, enfants, so I thought it would be nice to have you sitting on a cloud to reference that.”

“Whatever you think is best Tom, you’re the artist,” she hummed, “I think that sounds nice though.”

“I think we’ll do that then. Do you want to toss the dress on so we can run through some poses?”

She nodded and Tom stepped outside, allowing her a moment to change. He’d thought about the painting all night, sketching out different poses and swatching colors he wanted to try. The anger he’d felt towards Harrison at lunch had faded almost instantly to excitement. He’d hung out with her a million times before, but he usually let his nerves get the best of him if things started getting flirty. Painting always relaxed him though, and he was sure that he would be able to make his feelings known once he was behind the canvas.

Of course, unbeknownst to Tom, her feelings were quite similar. Tom was handsome, of course, and funny and kind, and she got along with him better than anyone else. She had never felt the way she felt for him with anyone else, but flirting was hard. She always got nervous and backed off, there was just too much at risk. She didn’t know if Tom felt the same way, and she didn’t want to risk damaging their relationship by telling him she was into him. Of course she was happy just to help Tom for the class, but she thought it was a good chance to tread the waters.

“Ready,” (y/n) smiled as she left her room, “Where do you want me boss?”

“The couch is fine,” he was holding his sketchbook now, holding it firm against his chest, “If you could sit kind of sideways and put your arms on the back of the couch.”

She sat as he told her, glancing over her shoulder at him, “Like this?”

“That’s really nice, very reminiscent of the original…” he glanced down at his sketchbook, “Are you comfortable?”

“It’s a little awkward,” she admitted.

“Then it’s a no. How about with your hands in front of you, just resting.”

“This is better,” she smiled as she switched positions, “But if you want me the other way I don’t mind.”

“I just want you to be comfortable,” he assured before glancing back at the sketchbook, “Why don’t you try on your stomach, with your arms under your head.”

She giggled as she moved, kicking her legs like a child, “This is like the fifth grade slumber party position. I feel like we’re gonna play truth or dare.”

He rolled his eyes, “You’re never going to break into the modeling industry if you mess around like that.”

“You’re lucky I’m not a model or I’d be charging,” she stuck her tongue out before laying her head on her hands, “Is this right?”

“Almost, just cross your arms like this,” he set her arms in the position he wanted before stepping away again, “Are you comfy like that?”

“Yeah, I could sleep like this.”

“Good, there’s just one other pose I wanted to try. Could you roll over?”

She flipped to her back and set her hands over her stomach, “Do I look like an angel now?”

“Almost,” he moved one of his arms, extending it above her head and leaving the other over her stomach, “Perfect,” he declared, looking her over with a smile, “Very angelic.”

Her cheeks dusted pink and she bit down on her cheek, “Thanks.”

“I think this is the one,” he scribbled a few things in his sketchbook, “What do you think?”

"I could lay here all day."

“Perfect, can you stay there for a few so I can sketch you?”

She nodded, drumming her fingers along her stomach, "Did you get a better explanation of the project today?"

"Yeah, she said our grade is going to be focused on the emotion of the piece since we're painting someone close to us. She wants us to focus on portraying them how we see them."

"How are you gonna portray me then?" she blushed as she questioned him.

"An angel," he spoke without thinking, his cheeks flushing instantly, "Not with wings or anything, just sort of what I'm going for."

She was sure her face was about to catch on fire, "You don't have to do that, I mean I like the angel paintings, but you should portray me how you see me."

"I am, it just happened to fit with what you like," he tried his best to conceal his face behind his sketchbook as he spoke, "You're really sweet, and you always make everyone around you really happy, I think an angel is fitting."

“I think you’re like that,” she met his eyes, just barely peeking over the edge of his sketchbook, “You always make me happy.”

“I’m really glad I do,” he bit the inside of his cheek nervously, “I think I’ve got everything I need for today, I’ll do some thumbnailing tonight and go pick up some supplies.”

“Cool,” she sat back up, twirling some of her hair nervously, “So when do you want to start?”

“You have that essay right? Why don’t we do Saturday? I don’t want to take up a bunch of your time.”

“That’s sweet but I’m gonna procrastinate no matter what,” she giggled, “Saturday is good though, then we’d have all day to work.”

“I’ll be over at ten then,” he closed his sketchbook before shoving is back into his bag, “If you really want to procrastinate you could come to the store with me. I mean I have to make sure I can match your skin and hair and everything…”

“Well sure, but if you want even more of my very valuable time I at least expect you to buy me some tea.”

He laughed, “Fine, fine, we’ll stop for tea.”

/

Day 1

Tom was surprised by how awake (y/n) was when he arrived, she was never much of a morning person. When he showed up she had brewed some tea for them both and was already wearing the white dress they’d agreed upon. Tom had drawn about a thousand thumbnails before finally deciding on exactly what he wanted the painting to look like. He decided he’d start on it Friday night, figuring it would be good to get most of the background out of the way so he could focus on painting her while they were together. She gushed over how good the painting already looked, telling him they were the most perfect clouds she’d ever seen while he set up his work station. She was always hyping him up, he appreciated it, even though he was nervous to get started.

“You ready?” he asked finally.

She nodded, “Yeah,” she sat down, doing her best to mimic the pose she had earlier in the week, “Am I good?”

Tom nodded, “Perfect.”

“Awesome, I won’t move a muscle.”

He chuckled, “You can move. Just not too much,” he sighed, picking up his palette and taking one more moment to stare at his canvas, “Okay, time to start.”

(y/n) watched him quietly at first, watching the cute way he stuck out his tongue when he concentrated. She had never seen him paint, the occasional sketch sure, but with painting she’d only even seen finished pieces. They were always amazing, but she felt like getting to see the work in progress was something special. Most people never got to meet someone as passionate or as talented as Tom, let alone get to be the subject of their work.

“Do you mind if I draw the curtains?” Tom broke her trance.

“It’s your painting.”

He laughed, “No, I mean open them. Why on earth would I add a window to a painting of you in the sky?”

“I don’t know how your artist brain works, maybe you think clouds have windows,” she laughed in response, “Go ahead, I thought you wouldn’t want the lighting changing all day.”

“Well I’m going to paint the light source where I want it to be,” he explained as he stood, “But I want to make sure I’m painting you how you’d look in more natural light. Maybe angels have windows, but I’m nearly certain they don’t have iridescent light bulbs.”

“You seriously think heaven has fluorescent lighting?”

“I think they use the sun,” he deadpanned, though a smirk tempted the corners of his mouth, “You can turn on the tv or something.”

“That’s okay, I like watching you.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “Why? I’m just staring at a canvas.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s something you're passionate about, it’s cute watching you get in the zone.”

“Oh,” he blushed and turned his attention back to his work, “Thanks. I’ll be more talkative once I get a little further along, I just really like to concentrate in the beginning.”

“It’s fine,” she assured again, “I’m not bored Tom, I don’t mind a bit of quiet time.”

“Okay.” 

Truthfully he didn’t mind it either, at least when he was with her. He just liked being in the same room together, even if they were just studying or watching a movie, it was nice to just be together. 

/

Day 2

“Would you mind if I came over after class tomorrow?” Tom questioned, breaking (y/n)’s attention from the tv.

“That’s fine by me,” she smiled to him, “It’s not like I usually have plans with anyone else on a Monday afternoon.”

“Yeah, no one else can stand you,” he chuckled while she feigned offense.

“You know I could be charging you for this? I’m doing this for free out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You think I have money? I’m a starving artist darling, free is all I can afford.”

“You better be nice then,” she teased with a smile.

“I’m cooking you lunch aren’t I?” he sighed before setting his paints down, “Speaking of which, I think I’m ready for a lunch break.”

“Me too,” she rubbed her stomach, “Break time?”

He nodded, “Yeah, you still want pasta?”

“You know I do,” she winked as she stood up, stretching her arms up above her head, “Can I peak?”

He nodded, “It still doesn’t look like much, but I’m making good progress.”

She bounced over to the painting, smiling ear to ear as she took in all he had done, “It looks more and more amazing every time I see it. This is amazing Tom, seriously it looks so good already.”

He smiled, blushing at the praise, “Thanks, I think it’s coming along really well.”

/

Day 3

Tom was making much quicker progress than he had expected, he just found it very easy to find his rhythm every time they sat down to work. Part of it was her, part of it was the subject matter, also her. He was pretty sure all the hours he’d previously spent staring at her had something to do with it too. So far he was proud of his work, though he was sure it wouldn’t have been possible for a painting of her to look bad anyway. When he sat down to paint her he didn’t have to think about it much, just paint, it came very natural. It just felt naturally to immortalize someone like her, but the talking helped the most. Normally he painted alone and he’d wear himself out or hit some kind of wall and be forced to stop, but he hadn’t had that problem since working with her. It was like his hands moved on their own while he just hung out with his best friend. It was just easy...

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you stay so clean when you paint?”

“I figured it out around the same time I stopped fingerpainting.”

She laughed, “Okay well when I try to paint I still get at least some paint on my hands and arms and stuff, you never get paint anywhere.”

“This is the third time you’ve seen me paint, I’ve gotten messy plenty of times but I’m trying really hard not to get paint all over your house.”

“Have you ever painted a girl?” she giggled, “Her body I mean, like gotten naked and painted on each other?”

He flushed suddenly, “No, have you?”

“No, but it would be fun wouldn’t it?”

“It would be cold,” he pursed his lips, he was well hidden by the canvas, so he had a lot more confidence in his ability to be cheeky, “We can take a break if you want to try it out.”

She went quiet for a moment, Tom thought he might have to throw himself out of her window but when he looked at her her cheeks were just as red, and she decided to press on, “What would you paint?”

“Depends where I’m painting.”

She bit her bottom lip, a playful smile overtaking her despite her pink cheeks, “Well I would paint a grid and play tic tac toe on your abs.”

She burst into laughter at her own awful joke and Tom did his best to fight off his own laughter, “That was not funny.”

“Yes it was that’s hilarious!” she kept laughing, clenching her stomach and rolling onto her side, only to find there was no room and roll onto the floor with a thud, “Ow.”

Tom started laughing, “You deserve that for making such a shit joke.”

“Fuck off,” she groaned.

/

Day 4

“Do you ever get lonely living here all alone?” Tom knit his brow as he tried to perfect her nose.

She nodded, “Sometimes, but I don’t really want a roommate you know? I need a boyfriend or something so I can just call him over when I decide I want someone to spend the night.”

“You could call me,” Tom didn’t dare peek out from behind the canvas after that comment, “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted me to spend the night sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we could even build a pillow fort and play truth or dare.”

She laughed lightly, “Well who could pass up an offer like that?”

/

Day 5

Rather than painting the whole night, Tom and (y/n) had decided to get some studying done, putting them at a much later start when they eventually did get to the painting. (y/n) seemed tired, and Tom had told her they could skip the night, especially since he was making such good progress already, but she had insisted she was fine. So they started working, and (y/n) watched tv, half away while Tom started working. The painting was coming along amazing, and Tom had planned to just get some of the more tedious, detailing work done and let her get to bed, but of course once he actually started working it was a different story. He had quickly gotten wrapped up in his work, not stopping until the noise of the tv stopped, the screen flashing to ask if anyone was still watching. 

“Sorry, I was just getting in the zone I-” Tom stopped mid sentence, spotting her already passed out on the couch. Her head was tossed to the side and one of her arms hung off the couch. The sight was endearing, but Tom felt bad about not noticing, “Oh dear,” he set his pallet down and stood up, flicking the tv off before approaching her, “Well come on darling, let’s get you to bed,” he nudged her lightly, “(y/n), time to wake up.”

She stirred slightly, a small groan leaving her lips before her eyes peaked open, “Tommy?”

He nodded, a small smile on his lips, “I would have carried you, but you’ve got to lock up behind me.”

She yawned, “Sorry, I’ll stay awake Tom, you can keep working.”

“You’re exhausted sweetheart, you need to get some sleep,” he smiled, setting a hand on her cheek carefully, “I got a lot done today anyway, promise.”

“Okay,” she yawned again before taking his hand, “I’ll help you clean up.”

“I’ll take care of it, why don’t you go get ready for bed?”

She nodded again, pushing herself up sleepily and padding off to her bedroom. Tom smiled to himself while he cleaned up, thinking about how nice it would have been to carry her off and tuck her in, or better yet fall asleep besides her. He could only hope he’d get there one day, if he could ever force out his feelings. It was seeming more and more possible everyday. Just as he’d suspected, hiding behind the canvas had made it much easier to flip the conversation to something flirty, and much to his delight, she didn’t seem to mind, if anything she flirted back.

“Looks good,” (y/n) hummed as she glanced over the painting, “Tomorrow we should be able to start early.”

“Thank you, honestly at this rate I’ll only need a few more days.”

“That’s awesome Tommy, I can’t wait to see it all done.”

“Me too,” he tossed an arm over her shoulder with a smile, “Come see me out.”

“I am, I am,” she smiled as he led her to the door, “Drive safe.”

“I will, get some sleep darling,” he kissed the top of her head before heading for the car.

/

Day 6

The doorbell made Tom jump, and nearly swipe a black line through one of her eyes, “Fucking hell,” he swore under his breath,

She giggles, “It’s just the pizza Tom,” she jumped off the couch, heading straight for the door, “Which means stop working busy bee we’ve got a pizza to devour!”

He pushed himself up with a sigh, “I’m in the homestretch here, I just need to push through.”

“No, you need to nourish your body and keep your mind sharp,” she winked to him as she opened the door accepting the pizza with a quick thank you.

“Smells delicious,” he plucked the box from her arms, “I think I’ll pretty much finish up tonight, but I’ll want to really polish it tomorrow when I’ve got fresh eyes. And I probably won’t want to stop once I’ve got started so eat and pee before I get here.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute or you wouldn’t get away with bossing people around like that,” she passed him a plate before tossing open the box.

“I know,” he winked to her, dishing them both a slice, “You know I probably only need another hour or so tonight, so we could watch a movie or something while we eat, then I could finish up after.”

A swarm of butterflies fluttered around her stomach, almost making it impossible for her to answer, “That sounds nice Tom, you definitely deserve to relax.”

“We both do,” he grabbed her remote as he fell down on the couch.

“I’ve been laying on the couch, relaxing is currently all I know.”

“Nah, I’m sure it gets tiring sitting there looking pretty all day,” he sucked in a sharp breath when she sat down, pressed right against his side.

“It does,” she nodded in agreement, “Alright, you pick for us alright?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t pay much attention to what he was picking, he was much more concerned with their proximity. They’d watched plenty of movies and tv shows together during their friendship, but they never sat so close. It gave Tom a lot of confidence, since she’d opted to sit besides him, he took it as a sign that his flirting was landing. So after they finished eating he decided he should also initiate something and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Without even thinking she had laid her head on his shoulder, it just felt natural. Tom pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and turned his attention to the tv.

/

Day 7

Tom stood up, stepping back a few feet to examine his work. He did it fairly frequently so (y/n) didn’t think anything of it and turned right back to the tv, until Tom spoke.

“It’s perfect, I’m done,” he declared with a small smile.

(y/n) raised a brow, “Seriously?”

He nodded, “Yeah, I have to seal it and everything, but the actual painting is done. I’ll turn it in on Monday.”

“Don’t you have a few more weeks?” she asked as she stood.

He nodded, “I don’t need them, I’m finished, it’s gorgeous, I don’t need to do anything else.”

“Well can I see?”

“Of course!” he grabbed her shoulders, quickly pulling her to face the work, “What do you think?”

She went wide eyed, taken back by how good he’d made her look. It was strange, seeing herself in a painting. It was done well of course, and it looked just like her, but better somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was, maybe the background or the romantic theme of the painting, but she just looked better. She looked like an angel, perched on a bed of pink and blue swirling clouds, reminiscent of the paintings she likes, but distinctly Tom’s work.

“Wow,” she turned to him with a big smile, “Tom it’s incredible, I don’t know how you made me look like that.”

“That’s just what you look like.”

She shook her head, “It’s better somehow, like the perfect version of me or something. You did incredible.”

“No,” he shook his head, “That’s just you, but thank you. I’m really proud of this, I think it’s one of my best.”

She blushed, “Yeah, you’re gonna get a killer grade.”

He hadn’t thought much about the grave, the assignment had taken a back seat to just painting her, “Yeah, I hope so,” he grabbed her upper arms and smiled down at her, “You’re incredible you know that? Thank you so much for doing this for me.”

She bit her lip and nodded, “You don’t have to thank me, I had fun.”

“Me too,” his eyes caught her lips for just a moment, soft and supple and more than kissable, “I, uh, we should do something to celebrate, dinner or something.”

“That would be fun too,” she tucked some hair behind her ear, leaning towards him just slightly.

He found himself leaning in too, but as much as he wanted to kiss her, something just wouldn’t let him. He kissed her forehead and backed away awkwardly, “I, uh, need to pack everything up, I have to get the sealant on pretty quick and I left it at home so…” 

The sealant was in his bag, but he felt like running away suddenly, his nerves truly getting the best of him.

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment but she nodded, ‘Y-Yeah, no problem, I’ll help you pack up.”

/

“Wait so let me get this straight, all this flirting and pining, you chickened out on the kiss?” Harrison’s jaw fell open in disbelief. 

Tom nodded, hiding his head against his arms, “Yes, and I nearly died the first time so let's not talk about it now.”

“Dude,” he gaped, “Are you kidding me? All you had to do was pucker up!”

“I know!” Tom groaned, “I know, I don’t even know what happened, I just froze up. I mean what if I misread it? She probably didn’t want me to kiss her, in fact I know she didn’t.”

“You said she leaned in first!”

“I thought she did but I’m stupid! There’s no way she was trying to kiss me.” “It literally could not be more obvious that you two like each other so I don’t want to hear it. You need to just call her up and tell her you froze up and ask her out.”

“I can’t, I will literally drop dead.”

Harrison rolled his eyes, “Then I’ll do it.”

“Dude no! I’m not ten, I can’t send you to ask a girl out for me, that’s a guaranteed no at this point.”

“Then just tell her,” Harrison groaned, “Before I lose it, please.”

/

Tom was coming to terms with the fact that he was going to die alone by Wednesday morning. It was hard to accept, but easier to accept than almost kissing his dream girl and chickening out, so the choice had been easy. But apparently the universe had other plans for him, as Ms. Miller decided to pull him aside after class.

“I want to talk about your final,” she placed his painting on an easel.

He blushed, “You don’t like it?”

She shook her head, “No, no, Tom this is incredible. I was going to suggest that you enter it into the National Galleries up and coming contest.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded, “Yeah, this is amazing, it would be a shame if the world didn’t see it,” she chuckled lightly, “And I’m sure it would get you some brownie points with your girlfriend.”

“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he spoke softly, pretending to cough to try and hide his words, “Just my friend.”

“You painted just a friend like this?”

He nodded.

“And remind me of the title.”

“The Angel Nextdoor.”

“Do you call all your friends angel?”

“Uh no, just her,” he bit his lip while she raised a brow at him, “She doesn’t know I’m into her.”

Ms. Miller glanced at the painting with a hum, “Has she seen the painting?”

He nodded, “Yeah, she was there the whole time.”

“I think she knows.”

He began to blush again, “Really?”

She nodded, “I could tell just from looking at it that you must really love this girl, I’m sure she can tell too,” she smiled and leaned back on her desk, “Anyways, I just wanted to let you know about the competition, I’ll have your marks soon.”

He nodded, “Thanks, I’ll, uh, think about it.”

He scrambled out of class quickly, wondering if maybe he didn’t have to die alone. Maybe he could confess, and maybe (y/n) who had gushed to him about the painting he’d poured all his love into, would reciprocate. Maybe she had leaned in to try and kiss him, and maybe, just maybe, she really did like him back. Instead of stopping at the dining hall where he was supposed to meet Harrison and (y/n) he paced right past it, towards (y/n)’s class, trying to hype himself up the whole way. 

(y/n) had spent the past few days with her mind full of questions. She had leaned in, hoping Tom would get the hint and they would kiss. It seemed to be going that way but then he stopped. Tom had seemed flirty while he was painting her, and she tried her best to show her own interest. He had even held her while they watched a movie, but then he didn’t kiss her. He just kissed her on the forehead and left. She was worried she had misread everything, and almost certain she had. She was anxious about seeing him for the first time since the almost kiss, worried things would be tense or weird. So she was quite worried when she spotted him outside of her class, worried he was about to tell her to never bring up the incident and forget anything happened.

“Hey,” she smiled to him, “What are you doing here?” “I came to talk to you,” he blushed a bit, “Uh, Ms. Miller really likes my painting, she thought I should enter it in this competition for up and comers.”

“Really? Tom that’s awesome, congrats!”

He nodded, “Yeah, thanks, I thought it was really cool too, but she said she thought it was good because she could really see my emotions.”

“Also awesome, you’re gonna ace that class.”

“Okay, but, um…” he trailed off for a minute, unsure of how to force the words out, “The emotion was love, that she saw I mean. She said she could tell I really loved you, a-and I know you know that I do love you, but I love you way more than any of my other friends, and it’s different too… I mean I know I’m like a struggling artist, and that’s not the most desirable thing, and I’m not this perfect, beautiful person like you are, but I do love you, and I love you so much it’s overwhelming sometimes. The best thing I’ve ever painted is you because I love you so much, romantically.”

She stood totally frozen, with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open, making Tom’s heart pound nervously against his chest. He thought he might black out but she moved suddenly, grabbing him by the neck and kissing him hard. Her lips were plump and soft and so much better than he could have imagined. He grabbed her waist, leaning into her with a smile.

“I love you too,” she smiled as she pulled away, “I think you’re perfect and I am totally crazy about you.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded excitedly, “Of course! How could I not? You’re incredibly talented and you're funny and your kind, Tom you’re amazing, of course I am so totally in love with you.”

He smiled and sealed their lips again, “Maybe we could go on a date sometime then?”

She nodded again, “Of course, but I’ve got one condition.”

“Anything.”

“There has to be more kissing.”

He laughed before pecking her lips again, “I think I can handle that.”

[spacedikut]

spooky scary skeletons ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: spencer has the prettiest face you’ve ever painted on. 1626 words

a/n: a poorly edited, poorly written and late halloween thing! inspired by idmakeitbehave (go read everything theyve ever written ever) because they have the BEST meet cutes and every time i think of them i :-)

masterlist

The haunted mansion of the fair, overflowing with screams, the sound of chainsaws and the evil cackle your friend has been rehearsing in the mirror all month, stands tall behind you like the looming presence it is. It’s brought great entertainment for you, watching and hearing the reactions of those that dare enter.

You’re set up not far from the exit of the house with your array of face paint around you, paintbrush in hand. Most of your customers are children – this year’s most popular request is pumpkin, last year was skeleton – and as much as you love spookiness and gore and everything in between, the rush of pride you feel when a little girl gasps and thanks you with the sweetest voice when you show her your finished work is unmatched.

You’re not the least surprised that your clientele is mainly children. There’s the odd parent here and there that is persuaded to get a black cat on their cheek, or some fake blood coming from their eyes and mouths, but they never venture beyond the small request.

Until him.

He’s marched up to you by his friend who, wearing a dress covered in fake spiders and cobwebs, pushes him by the shoulders right up to the foldable chair that’s placed opposite you. You’re drying off a wet paintbrush, glancing up when you hear the crunch of leaves beneath their feet.

“My friend would like his face painted.” She tells you.

“Of course,” You gesture for him to take the seat in front of you, the compliment slipping out after giving them both a once-over. “I like your outfits.”

“Oh!” The girl grins. “Thank you. I’ve been waiting all year to wear it. And he,” She points to the still-silent customer who hasn’t taken his eyes off you once, “Is more obsessed with Halloween than anyone I know.”

Looking at the bright orange pumpkin-covered sweater he’s wearing, you’re overcome by the urge to touch it – and his hair, with the way it’s all squiggles and curls and seems so soft. “What can I do for you?”

The first time he speaks, it’s after he takes a deep breath and rubs his palms on his trousers. “A skeleton, please.”

You’re already arranging the colours you’ll need, missing how the girl slips away, too busy asking the usual questions, “How big?”

“My entire face.”

That’s a new one. For an adult, at least. Usually all they want is an easy to clean, easy to hide image on their cheek.

It’s only then you really take in his appearance. In the dark, dusty light of the fair, he looks like a real life Tim Burton character – shallow eyes, sharp cheekbones, a general gauntness that you’ve only seen in fiction. He’s the perfect skeleton, if that isn’t weird to think.

“All over?” Your hand moves to gesture over your face, as if miming to him what all over really means.

“Yeah,” He nods, “I’m not that good of an artist, and my mask makes it kind of hard to see. So a skeleton is spooky enough but not a lot of work, right?”

“Right.” You smile at him. “Right, okay, let’s do it.”

The second the cold bristles dip into the paint before you, you’re absorbed in ensuring you do a good job. You’re used to working on children, so you naturally take hold of his chin to move his face this way and that way to apply a firm coat and get your lines right.

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” He mumbles.

You huff a laugh. He feels your breath on his lips. “Hi, Spencer, I’m Y/N.”

The customer – Spencer – wiggles his lips in a way that tells you he’s holding back a smile. You’re not sure what it is about him, but you like him. You like how still he sits, patiently letting you do your work, you like how much he seems to like Halloween (you refer to the sweater and the fact he’s about to cover his entire face in paint to look like a skeleton), and you like how his eyes on you make you feel. Because it doesn’t feel gross, or weird, like it normally does; it’s like his gaze is complimenting you silently, the intensity of it making you bite the inside of your cheek.

Small-talk comes naturally after hours of doing this job. “You mentioned a mask? What was it a mask of?”

“Michael Myers.”

“Oh,” You shiver, “I hate that guy.”

“The iconic mask is actually a William Shatner mask that’s painted white and changed to blur the resemblance to Shatner. Specifically, it’s a Captain Kirk death mask created for Star Trek.” Spencer tells you, giving a tight lipped smile when you pause for a second to take in the information.

“How does William Shatner feel about that?”

“Not great, probably. But, can you imagine being considered one of the stars of the Halloween franchise?” He’s giddy, almost wiggling in excitement. “I’d love to see people wearing my face every Halloween.”

You laugh at that.

A few more facts are spewed out while you mix black with a little bit of white to make grey, some you already know and some you don’t, but he’s still chattering on when you turn back to face him, ready to paint again.

The words die in his throat, however, when your hand finds home on the back of his neck, thumb hooking around to lift his jaw up. “Still, please.”

Even if he wanted to give an unnecessary apology, he wouldn’t be able to, as if his throat is full of sand.

It’s silent for a while, Spencer’s eyes trained on the twinkling night sky that sits calmly compared to the thundering of his heart, the scramble of thoughts in his head. When your hand moves away a few minutes later, his disappointed eyes fall back to your face, where he finds himself thinking, please do that again.

“Do you want the black on your eyelids, too, or just around your eye?” You ask over your shoulder, oblivious to the new slump in Spencer’s back.

“Eyelids, too, please.”

You smile to yourself at how polite he is. Spencer might be the sweetest person you’ve ever met and you’ve known him for twenty minutes.

By the time you’re done, you’ve decided Spencer is the best customer you’ve ever had and you’d give anything to replay this interaction again and again. He’s polite, listens when you ask him to turn a certain way or sit up (a surprising amount of adults simply do not listen), and brings the most interesting conversation.

Did you know the use of OMG can be traced back to 1917? Cause Spencer does, and he bestowed you with the same knowledge.

You’re impressed with yourself and Spencer’s brain when you finally lean back, checking for any spots you missed or parts you can fix.

Before you even reach for the mirror, Spencer’s interrupting you.

“Um… do I-do I look spooky?”

You face him, a pretty smirk on your lips, “Terrifying.”

When you hold the mirror up to his face, he barely spares himself glance (but it’s enough of a glance for him to think holy crap, you’re talented) and there’s a look in his eye – he’s hesitant. About what, you’re not sure.

You wonder if he can tell you don’t want him to go. You enjoy his company, you enjoy him, and you’ve never wanted to wipe your work off someone’s face so quickly just for an excuse to do it again until now.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks, reaching for his wallet but not leaving the chair.

Your eyes narrow for a split second as you weight your option. Then you think fuck it, and say, “Nothing. It’s on the house.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You can, and you will.” You stand. “Consider it thanks for all the cool facts you gave me.”

He lights up when you say cool facts, and opens his mouth to again offer to pay when he’s cut off by a group of laughing teenagers flying out of the haunted house, the exit door slamming against the wood with a startling bang.

Spencer gets an idea.

Seeing you look at the house, he asks, “Have you been in yet?”

You shake your head. “No. Not yet. If I have time later, maybe-“

“Come in with me.”

His grip on his wallet is tight, channelling all worry into his fingers so he doesn’t stumble or say something stupid.

“It’s the least I can do, and it’ll be too scary on my own.”

He’s lying – the idea of going through a haunted house by himself sounds exhilarating, but he’s found an opportunity to not leave you just yet and he’s going to take it.

You consider him for a moment. It’s late, you’ve been painting faces all day, and the sweetest, most attractive person you’ve ever seen is asking you to join them in a haunted house on Halloween. What kind of person would say no?

“Okay,” You happily concede, “But don’t blame me if I end up clinging to you.”

The two of you join the line into the house, giggling when someone dramatically falls through the exit and gasps for air like he’s barely made it out alive. And when the next people to leave the house are a couple who hold eachother close and tight, hands intertwined and one with their head buried in the neck of the other, Spencer steps a little closer to you, hoping you get the memo that having you cling to him doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @fandommonium3267 @ta-ka-shi-ma @ogmilkis @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @bitchyreids

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted  a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good. 

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it. 

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered. 

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong. 

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been. 

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you? 

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend. 

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree. 

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe... 

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another. 

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction. 

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then. 

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them. 

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away. 

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now. 

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

-

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-” 

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him. 

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift. 

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

-

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge. 

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid. 

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone. 

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile. 

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: you are a mermaid and you save a handsome man from drowning but little do you know it’s not his first rodeo when dealing with mermaids. seonghwa, a former prince, is currently hongjoong’s first mate and boyfriend. hongjoong is the captain, the pirate king of the most savage crew across the seas. and you want nothing to do with them. not because they’re pirates, but because they’re humans…

ships: mermaid!reader x prince/pirate!seonghwa x pirate!hongjoong; wizard!yunho x demon!jongho, pirate!yeosang x mermaid!soojin x pirate!mingi (implied)

genre: little mermaid!au, pirate!au, fantasy, humour, romance

author’s note: i can’t believe this is over omg?!?! im legit bawling my eyes out rn 😭😭 i hope you guys like the end of pirate kings because i poured my entire heart into it! 💖💖 also be on the lookout for take me home, aurora, one day at a time and promise references hehe 🌅 🌅 thank you for going on this journey across the seas with me!

warnings: some swearing, mentions of drowning & torture, bittersweet (?) ending

word count: 2.6k

chapter one ☠️ chapter two ☠️ chapter three ☠️ chapter four ☠️ chapter five ☠️chapter six ☠️ chapter seven ☠️ chapter eight ☠️ chapter nine ☠️ chapter ten ☠️ chapter eleven ☠️ chapter twelve ☠️ spotify playlist

🔮🔮🔮

Yunho's POV

My genius plan was that I would become more powerful than Jongho himself. So powerful that he wouldn't even be capable of taking my soul. So powerful that he wouldn’t even dare to try. Little did I know that as I shared my idea with Seonghwa, a certain someone was conveniently listening. Little did I know how this giant mess I'd created will play out...

Once Seonghwa was reassured that I would be perfectly safe despite the deal I had made with Jongho, he left me to my own devices. No sooner had I teleported myself back to my lighthouse than Jongho appeared out of nowhere, visibly angry. But there was something else in his expression. Something I couldn't quite define. Not yet, at least.

"How much of it did you hear?" I asked, already prepared for the worst.

"All of it," Jongho scoffed.

"Regardless," I spoke confidently. "Even if you do know what I'm planning, you can't stop me. You already know how much potential I have. Or else, you wouldn't have agreed to this deal. I'm right, no?"

Jongho shook his head.

"Your silly little plan won't work, wizard."

"Really?" I smiled, because I knew my own abilities better than he did. I was absolutely certain I could beat him. "And why is that?" I inquired, out of curiosity. He didn't scare me. Just...intrigued me.

"Because I never intended to take your soul, you fool."

Now, that was something I didn't expect to hear.

Jongho had somehow managed to catch me unprepared.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You know why I'm stealing so many souls?" I was about to open my mouth but Jongho wasn't having it. "Ah-ah, just let me finish. I know what you think. I know what everyone thinks. But it's an act. Apparently, I was too good an actor and completely fooled everyone, didn't I? The reason I've been collecting souls is not because I want to be more powerful than the devil. It's because I don't have one myself."

"H-huh?" I whispered in confusion. "Jongho, I don't understand..."

He placed a finger on my lips and I felt compelled to just...listen. Hear him out.

"But ever since I met you, I've felt...different. Like I could be more than just a demon making deals. Like I could matter."

I was too shocked to say anything so I just stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. And then he continued:

"What good would taking your soul do when you're the very reason I might be growing a soul in the first place?"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I had to make sure.

"I know it's fucking insane and you’re supposed to be my sworn enemy or whatever but—"

This time, I couldn't let him finish his sentence and interrupted him with my lips on his. To my absolute dismay, he was kissing me back with as much vigour as I was. As much vigour as he put into challenging me and getting on my nerves and frustrating the living hell out of me. As much vigour as I knew only he was capable of.

"I thought this was impossible," I mumbled against his lips once I broke away from the kiss.

"So did I. But do you want me to tell you how I know it's real?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else.

"Because when you look at me, I no longer feel the urge to torture you for eternity."

"I should feel flattered, I suppose," I joked.

"It's up to you how you feel, wizard," Jongho replied. "And up to me to continue making you feel this way."

"The terrifying Jongho — a hopeless romantic. Who would have thought?" I teased him relentlessly.

"It's not too late for me to change my mind and snatch your soul."

"You greedy little thing. My heart isn't good enough for you?"

"Your heart?" Jongho chuckled and wrapped his arms around my neck. "It's mine now."

☠️☠️☠️

Yeosang's POV

The more time I spent around Mingi, the more I could see how much he'd changed for the better. And how much he was about to continue changing. Despite everything that had gone down in the past, I was feeling incomprehensibly drawn to him. And I wanted to be there for him. I knew that it would take some time for the rest of the crew to get used to Mingi being out of his cell. But I was determined to give him a chance. And convince the rest of them, it was a chance worth taking. Especially my dear Soojin...

"Sangie, he literally kidnapped us and left us without water for a week!" she reasoned.

"I know. I'm not making any excuses for—"

"And he cut off your hand! Your hand, Yeosang!" she reminded me needlessly. As if I could forget.

"Like I said, I'm not going to justify Mingi's actions. All I'm asking is that you give him another chance. He's been showing remorse. And I truly believe that if the circumstances had been different, he wouldn't have behaved the way that he did."

Soojin sighed, unsure of what to say.

"People aren't born evil," I insisted. "Everyone makes choices. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. What matters is what we do to fix the bad ones."

"Yeosang...I really want to do as you say, but it just sounds so difficult, okay?"

"I'm literally a pirate, sweetheart," I rolled my eyes. "If you don't hold it against me, I don't see a problem. Mingi's not exactly the villain he's painted himself to be."

Soojin nodded thoughtfully.

"Alright. You have a point. I'll give him a chance. One chance and that's it. If he fucks up again, I'm taking him to the depths of the sea myself."

"I suppose that's fair," I shrugged. "You heard that, Mingi?"

"Loud and clear," he grinned, a couple of metres away from us.

"He was right there the whole time?!" Soojin hiss-whispered in disbelief. "This is so embarrassing."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've chickened out and those were just empty threats," Mingi winked at her.

She physically shuddered and I couldn't help but laugh. So cute.

"Relax, Soojin. Mingi's our friend now. Aren't you?" I asked.

"If you want me to be," he scratched the back of his head a bit awkwardly.

"Come here, let's play cards," I suggested casually. "Loser gets to swim with the sharks."

"There are no sharks in this sea," Soojin pointed out confidently.

"Yeosang wasn't talking about actual sharks," Mingi correctly guessed. "He meant that I would have to go talk to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Because, obviously, I'm terrible at cards and I would definitely lose the game. And these two are scarier than bloody sharks."

Soojin rolled her eyes.

"Pirates and their stupid way of talking."

"You get used to it," I playfully nudged her arm.

"There's no escape now."

"Let's skip the game," Mingi suggested. "I'll just go talk to the sharks right now and beg for mercy or whatever."

"We'll come with. Right, Soojin?" I offered.

"Like I have a choice," she groaned but I could tell that she was gradually warming up to the idea of letting Mingi stick around.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate the moral support," Mingi blushed.

"I guess you could say...I'll be your right hand," I stared at the hook replacing my missing hand and snickered sarcastically. Mingi and Soojin were beyond mortified by my dark sense of humour. "Too soon?"

☠️☠️☠️

Hongjoong's POV

"I mean...we already had dealings with a demon and a wizard so I don't see how Mingi could pose a threat," I reasoned. "No offense, Mingi."

"None taken," he smiled.

"So, you're going to let him stay? Unguarded?" Seonghwa wanted to know.

"Let him stay — yes. Unguarded — no. If you're so insistent he's changed, you'll have to take full responsibility. You think you can handle that, Yeosang?" I posed the serious question.

"I've got this, Cap," Yeosang promised.

"I'll be around, too," Soojin vowed. "You don't have to worry, Cap."

I nodded in agreement. Seonghwa seemed to be on board with the idea. Honestly, after all the shit we'd been through with that demon, Mingi was the least of my concerns. But of course, I couldn't say that directly. So I had to play the "responsible leader worried for his crew" card. And apparently, I played it well.

"Wow, this went better than expected," I could hear Mingi whispering to Yeosang, as they were walking away. Seonghwa and I exchanged an amused look.

"Shh, we just caught him in a good mood," Yeosang explained carefully. "Be nice and he might let you stay for good."

"Guys, be quiet!" Soojin warned them. Clever mermaid, I told myself and grinned. Speaking of mermaids...

"Not so fast!" Y/N ordered them to stop. And so they did. Rightaway. Made me wonder who was the real Captain of this ship. Not that I minded her taking away some of my responsibilities. I even liked it.

"Yes?" Yeosang seemed kinda nervous.

"Make sure you treat my sister well. Both of you!" Y/N commanded them easily. "Or else...I'll have no problem letting the siren out to deal with you. And she's not someone you want to mess with. Ask Hongjoong."

The shock on my face was not at all exaggerated as I nodded to confirm her words.

"She'll be safe with us, Y/N," Yeosang made a pledge. "Right, Mingi?"

"Um, yeah, what he said."

"You don't sound very convincing," Y/N eyed him suspiciously.

Damn, I had to admit I was proud of her and how much she'd grown.

"Oh, let him go this time, will you?" I pulled her aside gently and she couldn't find it in herself to argue. Once Yeosang, Soojin and Mingi had taken their leave, she removed her "intimidating siren" mask and was back to her usual, gentle self I knew and loved.

"You guys think we made the right call?"

"It'll be fine," I was fairly certain. "If push comes to shove, Yunho will just help us out again, right?"

"As if he doesn't have enough problems with that demon," Y/N argued. "We can't continue using him for our needs."

"Yeah...about that," Seonghwa started.

☠️☠️☠️

Seonghwa's POV

As I was telling them about Yunho and Jongho's change in dynamics, Hongjoong and Y/N were too taken aback to react with anything else but by opening their mouths. Which was, to say the least, quite adorable of them.

"So...these two...?" Y/N asked as if to confirm what I'd just finished recounting.

"Mhm," I grinned.

"Wow," Hongjoong managed.

"I know."

"This is good news, yes? It means both Hongjoong and Yunho get to keep their souls," Y/N wanted to make sure it was indeed real.

"I mean, demons can be pretty unpredictable but judging from Yunho's happy expression when I last talked to him, I'm willing to be hopeful for once," I explained. "We've had enough trouble as it is, don't you think? We deserve something good to happen to us."

"Couldn't agree more," Hongjoong grabbed my hand and Y/N's. "But I get what she means. After all the dangers we've experienced, it just seems so unbelievable that we're finally safe."

"Too good to be true, eh?" Y/N sighed. "Let's enjoy this while we can."

"I think this one will last a bit longer," I smiled knowingly.

"Hey, don't jinx it," Hongjoong squeezed my hand softly.

"Just trust me, alright?" I looked at them both.

"I do."

"As do I."

"And I'm gonna catch you when you fall or when you're sinking," I murmured.

"I think I speak from experience when I say I'm the one more likely to save a pirate from drowning," Y/N poked fun at us.

"I was just trying to sound poetic," I pouted.

"And we appreciate the effort," Hongjoong reassured me. "But she's right."

"You two turning against me? Oh, how the tables have turned!" I announced dramatically.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Y/N ran a hand through my hair and tilted her head towards Hongjoong. "He likes it, doesn't he, Cap?"

"I bet he does."

"Hey, Y/N. My eyes are up here," I reminded her.

"Oh, I know," she blinked, feigning innocence.

"Too bad I can't even be mad at you," I chuckled.

"Why be mad when you can be rad?" Hongjoong interjected.

"That was so terrible," I groaned. "You're lucky I love you."

"Both of us?" Y/N asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately," I admitted.

"Guess we'll have to work harder to turn that into a fortunately," Y/N teased. "Wait, my bad. I forgot you two already have a wholeass fortune in the form of a bunch of treasure chests."

"Is that why you like us?" Hongjoong teased. "Who knew mermaids could be golddiggers?"

"I'll show you a golddigger!" Y/N threatened and started chasing Hongjoong around the ship. They were so childish sometimes...

🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Reader's POV

You could tell that you had a couple of more minutes left until your siren-like side rose to the surface so you decided to enjoy them. As you were watching the sun setting, you couldn't help but recall your very first memories of Seonghwa and Hongjoong. What started as a simple joke, Hongjoong throwing Seonghwa overboard, followed by you saving Seonghwa from a whirlpool, had turned into so much more. It was funny how life often surprised you in the most unexpected ways. How a few months ago, if anyone asked you about pirates (and humans, in general), you would have scoffed distastefully. If anyone asked Seonghwa about mermaids, he would have still been haunted by the loss of Ariel. If anyone asked Hongjoong, he would have said mermaids spelled nothing but danger. And now...Now, the three of you had become so different. And in a way, so similar. Forgetting all these labels that once used to define you and just finding happiness in each other. In the adventures you'd had together. In the shared feeling of being trusted, feeling known. And loved. It was even funnier how you didn't find it strange at all. On the contrary, it felt perfectly natural that you were here. Made perfect sense that you had a home with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. A former prince, a pirate king and a lost but now found mermaid. You wouldn't have it any other way.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" you said out loud, sensing Seonghwa's presence beside you.

"Yes, it is," Seonghwa replied, looking at you.

"I have to go soon."

"But you'll be back in the morning. As usual."

You simply smiled. It went without saying.

"I wish I could stay the night," you whispered longingly. "Fall asleep in your arms."

"You could. I know you'll be able to control your powers. I'm sure Hongjoong will agree with me."

"I probably could control them. But I don't mind going back to my home in the night. Even though...this is also my home. Does it make sense?"

"I believe it does," Seonghwa rubbed calming circles on your palm. "Just like how you have a human and mermaid self, you also have two homes."

You nodded.

"Exactly."

"In a way, I feel the same. Both you and Hongjoong are my homes."

You rested your forehead against his.

"And we will always be your homes, Hwa."

"Don't go," he murmured against your skin. "I don't want to be alone anymore. Every night."

"You're not alone anymore. You have Hongjoong. And me. And I will be back with the first light of day."

"Promise?"

"I promise you, Seonghwa. Even if the whole world ends, I will always find my way back to you."

The end

[iceeckos12]

Prompt: Jongerrymartin but make it noir.

HI PIT. this was probably not what you were expecting, but hope you enjoy *jazz hands* this is current jongerry, pre-jgm

please let me know if i should tag anything!

Martin stared up at the faded gold lettering painted on the door, wiping a clammy palm against the fabric of his trousers. The other gripped his manila folder tightly, refusing to loosen his grip for even a second, not after all the trouble he’d gone through to get it.

Delano & Sims, the words read. Private Detectives.

He’d talked to one of them over the phone yesterday, a man with an achingly posh accent, who’d said to come at precisely fourteen hundred hours and not a moment later. That clipped, dry tone had almost been enough to scare him off, but...no, he needed this too much to run away.

Martin took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called, and he pushed inside.

The first thing he noticed were the swirls of cigarette smoke so thick that the weak light overhead glowed a thin silver. His eyes immediately began to water at the intensity of the smell, and he desperately wanted to bury his nose in his collar.

There was an exasperated sigh from one shrouded corner of the room, and then, “Christ—Jon, open the window, would you?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” There was a clatter as the blinds lifted, and then a solid thunk, and suddenly fresh air and natural light was pouring through the open window, throwing the room in stark relief.

“Sorry about that,” the man next to the window said, leaning heavily on a handsome wooden cane. He was just a wisp of a thing, dressed in a sweater vest like he was some sort of professional academic, with salt and pepper grey hair and dark, keen eyes. “Forgot we had someone coming.”

This must be the person I talked to over the phone, Martin realized. Sims.

“Do me a favor and try not to kill our clients, Jon.” He quickly turned to look at Delano—who else could it be?—who was stepping away from the fan now juddering to life, swirling the quickly dissipating smoke. It was almost startling how different the two partners were; where Sims was thin and short, Delano was tall and wiry, with inky black hair and cool, gunmetal eyes. The weathered leather trench coat and chunky boots had obviously seen some better days.  “We need all the ones we can get.”

Martin’s face flushed as he was struck by how unfairly attractive these two people were.

“Duly noted,” Sims drawled, limping over to the heavy desk stacked high with papers. He set the cane aside and propped himself against it with a quiet sigh, then gestured toward one of the ratty looking chairs. “Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood.”

Martin shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I don’t…”

“No need to stand on decorum, not around here.” Delano pointedly plopped into the chair behind the desk, grin wide and toothy. “Jon just likes to pretend that we’re more professional than we actually are.”

“We’re professional,” Sims protested, sounding deeply offended. “Just...unorthodox.”

“Well, alright,” Martin said, and lowered into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

Delano cleared his throat. “Right. So what brings you to us, Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin thought for a moment, not wanting to speak rashly, or to give away anything too personal. “Well, I’ve heard rumors that you two are capable of...discretion, so to speak, and I would prefer that this doesn’t get spread around.”

“Ah.” Sims’ eyes quickly flicked up and down his body, one eyebrow raising. “Out of curiosity, can I ask who referred you to us?”

“Tim Stoker?” Martin shuffled. “He said that you helped him out of a similar bind not too long ago.”

Sims and Delano glanced at each other, their eyebrows doing a complicated little dance, though what information could’ve been conveyed through such a medium, Martin had no clue. They turned to look at him again in unison, expressions very serious.

“When you say similar…” Delano trailed off.

Martin immediately shook his head. “Oh, nothing to do with the Circus. I’m not stupid enough to get involved with them after what happened with Tim and his brother.”

They both relaxed immediately.

“That’s good for you,” Delano told him. “We’ve run afoul of Nikola and her merry band far too many times for comfort. If you’d said you’d gotten on her bad side, I’m afraid we would’ve had to ask you to leave.”

Martin glanced at Sims, who was staring very hard at his feet, then Delano, who was observing him calmly, patiently, the way a bird of prey sights down a mouse. “Oh.”

“Quite,” Sims murmured.

“Anyway,” Delano gave a wide, grandiose gesture. “Please. Why have you come to us?”

The manila folder suddenly felt very, very heavy, and he fiddled with one of the corners, rubbing the material between his fingers. “Well...I work for this, um, this shipping company. I mostly do busywork, administrative tasks, that sort of thing. It’s not very glamorous, but it—it pays really well, despite the company being kind of small.” Martin traced the grain of the paper with one finger. “I think it handles a lot of….specialty items.”

“And the name of this company?” Sims asked, pen poised over the little notebook he’d appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Anxiety plummeted his stomach into his toes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable giving away that information.”

Delano’s eyebrows rose. “Discretion, remember? Besides, we’ll need to know if we’re going to be able to help you.”

“If we decide to help you,” Sims muttered.

Martin took a few fortifying breaths, swallowing the nausea down. “Right,” he murmured. “Right. It’s, um...Tundra shipping company? Run by Mr. Peter Lukas.”

Sims went very, very still, pen poised above his notebook, expression fixed like it’d been molded into his face. Delano loomed forward, the gunmetal of his eyes gleaming like the sun reflecting off of a loaded barrel. “Is that so?”

Martin glanced toward Sims, wondering at his demeanor, then turned back to Delano and nodded. “Yeah. You two—you know him?”

“Do we.” Delano let out a dry chuckle. “Continue.”

“Right.” Martin shook his head. “Well, one day I was doing some bookkeeping, just...routine stuff, you know? But I noticed something off with the numbers, like...really wrong. And I double checked my math several times just to make sure, but…” he swallowed. “I think that someone may be cooking the books, or...or something. I don’t know.

“Anyway, I went back the next day but the numbers had been changed, and—and Mr. Lukas called me into his office and said some really weird stuff that I think may have been a threat? It was hard to tell.” Martin shook his head, biting his lip. “There’s been other stuff, too. Contracts with companies that I know don’t exist, visitors at odd hours. I think something really rotten is going on, but I don’t think that I can handle it myself.”

Delano and Sims shared an unhappy look. Then Sims pushed away from the desk and began to circle the perimeter of the room, his eyebrows furrowing into a thunderstorm on his brow.

“We’d love to finally be able to pin something substantial on the bastard—on Lukas,” Delano said. “But insinuating those types of claims without a shred of evidence...that’s a nonstarter. We’re going to need a little bit more than that.”

“But I do have evidence?” Martin asked, lifting the manila folder. “I took photocopies of the pages, and notated where the discrepancies were.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t about to just write on official financial records. There’s also some of the weird contracts I was talking about. I kept copies of everything.”

Sims, who’d walked out of sight while Martin had been talking, suddenly appeared behind him, reaching for the folder. “Can I see?”

“Be careful with it, that’s the only copy,” Martin said nervously, but handed it over.

Sims walked back over to the desk, hopped up on the edge, and eagerly tipped the contents of the folder on the space between him and Delano. They quickly sifted through the papers, wordlessly handing things to each other like a seamless, well-oiled machine.

“This is good.” Delano’s voice was almost hushed, almost awed. “This is...really good, actually.”

“But you see why I can’t go to the police with this, right?” Martin twisted his hands fitfully. “You see why I need your help.”

“Of course not,” Sims said dismissively, though there was an eager gleam in his eyes. “The police are so deep in Lukas’ pocket you might as well have kissed your life goodbye if you’d gone to them.”

“Oh.” Martin swallowed, trying and failing to come up with anything more intelligent than that. “Oh.”

Delano drummed his fingers against the desk pensively. “Speaking of, it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue this recklessly. We appreciate you bringing this to us, but it does put you in a significant amount of danger. Do you have friends or family outside the country you can stay with, Mr. Blackwood?”

“Um…” He had cousins in Poland, he was pretty sure. Whether or not they would take him in was another question entirely. “Possibly.”

Sims reluctantly gathered the papers up and slid them back into the manila folder, before holding it out. “Come back when you’ve got something lined up.”

Martin lifted a quelling hand as he got to his feet. “I’d...prefer you hold onto it, honestly. It’s probably safer with you.”

Sims blinked, then shrugged and set the folder back down. “I see.”

“We’ll be seeing you later, Mr. Blackwood.” Delano’s grin was a sharp, toothy thing. Despite its grimness, Martin found himself inexplicably comforted by it.

“Please,” he corrected before he could help himself. “Call me Martin.”

-0-

“So,” Gerry said, long after Martin had left and the excitement had faded. He filled a glass with some ice, then tipped a finger of whisky over the top. “What do you think?”

“I don’t trust him,” Jon said almost before Gerry had finished talking, accepting the glass with a quiet murmur of thanks. “It’s a bit too good to be true. After years of searching, someone just...emerges with hard evidence of Peter’s wrongdoings?” An incredulous snort. “I don’t think so.”

Gerry propped himself up against the edge of the desk, staring at the dark bags under his partner’s eyes, the cynical curve of his mouth. He looked exhausted. “You never know,” he said mildly, taking a sip of his whiskey sour before continuing. “I think we’re about due for a lucky break.”

“We don’t get lucky breaks. We get fooled into thinking that we have a lucky break, only to get royally fucked later,” Jon snapped, thumping his cane against the ground for emphasis. “You should know that by now.”

Gerry frowned. “Don’t take this out on me.”

Jon metaphorical hackles went up, and for a moment it looked as though he were about to start shouting—but then he abruptly deflated and looked away. “No, you’re right, it’s just…”

Gerry sighed. It was difficult to stay angry at Jon when he bore such a striking resemblance to a kicked puppy. “I get it.”

They fell silent for a moment, sipping their drinks, lost in their respective thoughts.

“Shall we go?” Gerry asked, setting his glass aside.

Jon paused for a moment longer, before letting out a long, gusty sigh and draining what was left in his drink. “Sure.”

The elevator was still broken, so unfortunately they had to take the stairs. While Gerry knew better than to offer any assistance, his heart still clenched at how tight with pain Jon’s jaw had gone by the time they reached the bottom. They stopped for a few seconds to let Jon get his breath back, before continuing toward home.

About a block away from the office, they froze at the sound of pounding footsteps growing unmistakably closer.

“Hear that?” Jon murmured out of the corner of his mouth, the dying light of the sun glinting off the switchblade in his free hand.

“Mmhm,” Gerry hummed, slipping a hand into his pocket.

Martin was very, very lucky that Gerry recognized him as he rounded the corner; otherwise, it was very likely that Jon would’ve run him through. As it was, Martin crashed into them both, gasping frantically for air, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with abject terror.

“Martin?” Jon demanded, shoving the switchblade away. “What the hell are you—”

“They’re after me,” Martin gasped out, scrabbling at Gerry’s coat. “They—I don’t know how they found out, but they, Peter, he—”

“Shit,” Gerry muttered, suddenly becoming aware of the second set of pounding footsteps growing nearer. He took a moment to assess their surroundings, before grabbing Martin’s shoulders and hauling him into the nearby alley. “Martin, hide behind that dumpster. Jon, distraction time.”

Despite the situation, Jon’s eyes lit up with an exhilarated gleam. Gerry had just enough time to fondly think, adrenaline junkie, before Jon tucked his cane over his wrist, twisted his hands in Gerry’s lapels, and shoved him against the wall for a bruising kiss.

Gerry gasped into Jon’s mouth, his hands instinctively falling to cup Jon’s slim hips. He deepened the kiss, humming encouragingly when Jon shoved his jacket over his shoulders, exposing the thin black t-shirt beneath.

Jon was just beginning to press little kisses down the juncture of his jaw and neck when the harsh beam of a torch fell on them. Jon, who’d been a drama queen long before he’d joined am dram in uni, pulled away with a theatrical gasp, his annoyance almost startlingly genuine. Gerry tucked his face out of the way and adjusted his jacket, affecting embarrassment.

“Do you mind?” Jon asked.

“Oh,” the person on the other end of the torch said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. Gerry tried to peek a look, but the beam was too strong for him to see into the darkness beyond it. “Sorry to disturb you sirs, um...you wouldn’t happen to have seen a person—?”

“No, we haven’t seen a person.” Keeping one hand curled in Gerry’s jacket, Jon took a step back, lifting his chin defiantly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we were busy.”

“Right,” the person muttered, and then the torchlight abruptly vanished, dropping them once more into the dying light of the sun.

They stood there for a moment, Jon breathing hard, cheeks flushed. Gerry tipped his head back against the wall, letting his eyes flutter shut as his pumping heart slowed.

Then the grip in his collar loosened, and Jon let out a pained groan and sank against the wall. “Fuck.”

“Alright, take it easy,” Gerry murmured. He pressed a kiss against Jon’s hair and rubbed a soothing hand against his back. “You did beautifully.” Then louder, “Martin, you can come out now.”

There was a brief pause, and then a shadow tentatively emerged from behind the dumpster. Martin looked far less rattled than he had when he’d first run around the corner, though there was still a healthy flush to his cheeks. He peered up the alley, wringing his hands. “Are they…”

“For now,” Jon said, grimacing as he dug his knuckles into the tight muscles. “We should leave before they get back.”

Martin’s eyes honed in on him. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jon snapped, straightening. “You should be more worried about yourself. You can’t go home, right?”

The question seemed to remind Martin of the current situation, because his eyes went a little wild again. “No, they...I left to do a bit of shopping, and then came back and, and there they were.”

They fell silent for a moment, considering that.

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Jon said brusquely. “You’ll have to come home with us.”

“What?” Martin gaped.

Gerry was already nodding. “We don’t have much room, but we can make up the couch for you.”

That only seemed to make Martin all the more aghast. “Wait! Wait, won’t that put you in danger?”

Gerry looked up and met Jon’s gaze.

“We have...a certain degree of protection,” Gerry hazarded delicately. “It won’t do much against the likes of Peter himself, but lesser threats…”

“You’ll be fine,” Jon completed. “Now unless you want to run into them again, we had better get going.”

Martin glanced mutely between them, looking like he wanted nothing more than to argue. Then his shoulders slumped, probably realizing that he had no other choice considering how dire the situation was.

“Alright,” he murmured, defeated. “Let’s go.”

[borisbubbles]

My favourite Dorian Quotes

Just as an addendum, since my previous didn’t exactly put across the hilarity of Dorian, here are my favourite quotes/conversations/reactions by Dorian Pavus in Dragon Age 3.  Edit 22/01: added a few more because Dorian just keeps giving.  60.  Dorian: Come on Varric, just answer the question. 😣 Varric: My mother didn’t raise any morons, Sparkler. 🙄 Dorian: But you must have an opinion! And you’re a Dwarf! Completely unbiased. Varric: There is no way I’ll answer “Which Inquisition Mage is the best dressed?”, not for all the gold in Orzammar. Vivienne: Also, the answer is obvious. 🙂 59. Dorian: So what's your estimation, Varric? Think we could win? Varric: 😱 You aren't asking me to give odds on our beloved Inquisitor's success?! 😛 Dorian: What would that look like? Three to one? 🤣 Varric: In his favor?  Dorian: After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking? Inquisitor: You would actually bet against me?  Dorian: Now now, if I weren't here, it would be five to one at least. 😘 Inquisitor: I’ll take those odds, actually. 😏 Dorian: This is why I adore him so.  😍 58.  Cassandra: So Bull, about Dorian... Iron Bull: Yep, it’s true. 😁 Dorian: By all means, let’s discuss this all together. 🙄 Cassandra: If you’re both pleased Dorian: He’s happy, I’m happy, everybody’s happy!  Iron Bull: Awww, you’re happy. 😍 Dorian: 😣 Cassandra: 😄 57. You joke! they’ll be writing books about you, boring ones that will get it all wrong. Just you wait!   56.  Iron Bull: Yesss, we’re going to fight the dragon, boss? Oh THIS is gonna be GOOD.  Dorian: You are way too excited about this. 😑

55.  Blackwall: How do you get your hair to do that, Dorian? With magic? Dorian: With proper hygiene and grooming. Maybe the three of you should get acquainted. 🙄 54.  Cole: You’re happier now, Dorian Dorian: Oh is that what this light tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right. 😏  Cole: Wishing but wondering, wounded and whistful Cole: What if he doesn’t want me after? Dorian: But he did. 😁 Cole: Now you’re smiling. It’s good.  😃 53. Varric: Does this shit make any sense to you? Dorian: Are you referring to the giant gaping hole in the sky, or the creature from a Chantry cautionary tale pretending to be a god? Varric: Either. I’m feeling generous. Dorian: What’s the matter? Some pretender comes along, tears the place down, declares himself king. That’s half of history. Varric: Corypheus is like that drunk uncle who refuses to leave the party? Dorian: Even after he puts a hole in the ceiling. Terribly common.  52.  Sera: You gonna warn me the next time you’re throwing your magic around? Dorian: As long as you’re careful where you shoot all those arrows Sera: You magic me, I’ll put three in your eye! Dorian: 😅 Now we can live together in peace and harmony!  51. Vivienne: Dorian, what did you think of little Sera’s last Red Jenny mission? Dorian: Hmm... I’d call it ‘medium’. 🤔 Vivienne: ‘Medium’, my dear? Dorian: It wasn’t rare, and it certainly wasn’t well done. 😏 50. Cole: Dorian, what is 'a slave'?  Dorian: FESTISBEIUMOCANAVERUM! 😨 Cole: You said I could ask questions! Dorian: I know I did, just... go ask the Inquisitor that one. 49. An optimist! 🤣  such a rare breed, I have stumbled upon a unicorn. 48. Dorian: What I wouldn't give for some proper wine.😫 Vivienne: Skyhold's steward is a sadistic little man who is trying to kill us. 🤢 Dorian: Perhaps he found a bargain he couldn't pass up, on vats of vinegar? 47. Cassandra: Why are you looking at me like that, Dorian? Dorian: I am trying to imagine what you would look like... in a dress.😈 Cassandra: Keep wondering. If my uncle couldn't put me in one, neither shall you. 46. Dorian: How do you want to be remembered, Cassandra? Valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo? Cassandra: I don't have any control over how I'll be remembered. 🙄 Dorian: Sword raised high, blue scarf dramatically fluttering in the wind, sun rising behind you? Cassandra: Blue scarf?😒 Why would I be wearing such a thing? Dorian: It's a painting, of course! Work with me( It'll be fantastic! 🤗 45. Dorian: Why is it so cold? How do you southerners stand it? Iron Bull: What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies? Dorian: My ‘footsies’ are freezing, thank you! 😒 44.  Blackwall: Dorian, I’d appreciate it if you stopped refering to me as ‘that hairy lummox”.  😠 Dorian: When did I do that? Blackwall: At the tavern, the blacksmith’s, the stable. You said it to the gateguards when we left Skyhold! Dorian: hmm... 🤔 yes, that does sound like me.   🤗 43. Dorian: Watch out where you point that thing! 😡 Iron Bull: Dirty! 😏 Dorian: Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon! 😡 42. Dorian: What would you say Blackwall's best feature is, Vivienne? Vivienne: His absence, of course. 🙄 Blackwall: I can hear both of you. 😒 41. Dorian: Did you know we are actually related Inquisitor? Inquisitor: We, what? Dorian: Not first cousins or anything. Can you imagine?  Dorian: I however did a bit of digging in my family tree, and somewhere down the netheregions of my line there was also a Trevelyan. Dorian: Perhaps the one who went to Ostwick to establish the branch? I knew we looked so alike for a reason. 😏 Inquisitor: Um, yay?  Dorian: Indeed! 😁 Yay! 40. I’m always nice. 😏 39. Dorian: I don't know if you've heard, but the rumours are that you and I are... intimate. Inquisitor: That's not such a bad thing, isn't it? Dorian: I don't know, is it? Inquisitor: Do you always answer a question with a question? Dorian: Perhaps you would like me to answer in a different fashion? 🤔 Inquisitor:  If you're capable. 😅 Dorian: 😘🥰😚 Dorian: 'If you're capable.' The nonsense you speak. 🤭 38. Dorian: You caught the eye of a young woman in that last village, Blackwall. Blackwall: I'm sure you're mistaken. 😒 Dorian: You're right. She was undoubtedly looking at me.🤭 37. Dorian: Vivienne, I have only the one question - why the Orlesian fixation with masks? Vivienne: It is The Game, darling. You never show the players your true visage. Dorian: A strange custom in a culture where people assassinate each other for putting too much salt in the soup Vivienne: An extra hurdle to be overcome. Fail at The Game, and you die. Dorian: And you people call Tevinter barbaric. 🙄 36. Dorian: You are smiling a great deal these days, Cassandra. 😉 Cassandra: I am not... smiling. 😒 Dorian: Now you're not, but only because I pointed it out to you. Cassandra: I am not a giddy schoolgirl! 😡 Dorian: That would have been easier to believe if you hadn't just blushed. 🤗 35. You’ll be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your Reverence.  34. Dorian: Sera, I see you are having fun with your illustruous paramour- Sera: WHAT? 😨 Is it showin'? Dorian: What? NO, oh heavens NO. 🤢 Dorian: I meant to ask if you're enjoying your new relationship. Sera: Then why not just say that? 🙄 Dorian: I did... in words you apparently don't understand. 😑 Sera: What's the point of words you know and others don't? Who'd you say them to? 🙄 Dorian: Letmejustdobothofusafavorandretractthequestion. 😡 Sera: Pity, because we're doing great. That's why I'm following her around with weirdies 🤗 33. It was fun to goad you, Cassandra. You get that knot between your eyes when you're flustered - Ah, look, there it is! Delightful!  🤗 32. Dorian: I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd to criticise my manners. Inquisitor: Where would we be if you mother we really here? Dorian: Short one mage, after he's been dragged out by his earlobe. Inquisitor: I have a hard deal imagining that. 😅 Dorian: Picture me a young boy of five years then. She certainly always has. 🙄 31. Dorian: 'Official Mage to the Orlesian Court'. Well that sounds exciting. 🙄 Vivienne: It's an esteemed position, darling. One many mages should envy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose being paraded around like an exotic peacock is better than frantically running from templars. 🙃 Vivienne: Better an exotic peacock than one Tevinter rat amongst many. Dorian: Oh? A dig at my homeland? This should be fun. 😏 30. Sera: Dorian? Those words you say. What do they mean? Dorian: What, you mean like mendicant or ultimatum? 🤨 Sera: No, arse, when you're mad. 'Pish-anty cough-ass'. You're swearing, I know it. Dorian: Ah, 'vishante kaffas'. It's Tevene, relics of the old tongue. We still use the colorful phrases. Sera: And it means what? Dorian: Literally? 😏  'You shit on my tongue.' Sera: 😂 Why not just say that?  Dorian: A mystery for the ages.  29. Sera: Demons! Flappy robes! Dorian: Thieves! Dog Stink! Sera: Culty shits! Dorian: Treacherous teyrns! Sera: Wha- It’s not a proper game of ‘Your people are shit” if you just make up words. 🙄 Dorian: A ‘teyrn’ is a Fereldan title, just below that of a king. I thought you of all people would know that. Sera: Well that’s just... I... smartasses 🤬 Dorian: Too late! I believe that’s my round. 🤗 Sera: Piss! 😠 28.  Vivienne: You’re rather amusing, Dorian. Dorian: Your outfit’s entertaining, I’ll give it that.🙄 Vivienne: Pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you’re not a shark and you’ll never be one, darling. They knew this as much as we do.   Dorian: I could have of course pretended, wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I’m something I’m not.  Dorian: Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am.  Vivienne: Such snapping for a fish without teeth! 😂 Inquisitor: I cannot believe the way you two speak to each other. 😨 Vivienne: Inquisitor whatever is the matter? We’re having a perfectly civil conversation. Dorian: It’s true. I’ve heard worse from the gardener back home.  27.   Dorian: Varric, you owe me five royals. I’d like them paid in candied dates. 😉 Varric: I haven’t lost that bet yet, Sparkler. Dorian: You said we would be arse-deep in trouble. This is more like knee-high. Varric: I didn’t specify whose ass, did I? 😏 Dorian: Leave it to a dwarf always lowering the bar. 🙄 26. I hope you tried the ham they were serving, by the way. Tasted of despair. Fascinating. 25. Dorian: Vivienne, we can continue this dance forever if you like. Vivienne: Certainly. Provided both of us are capable. Dorian: I mock Orlesian frippery and nonsense, you slam Tevinter decadence and tyrrany. Dorian: There's however something more important we must remember. Vivienne: And what might that just be? 🤨 Dorian: At least we're not Antivan. Vivienne: 🤢 Quite right. Thank the Maker. 🙏 24. Cassandra: You're not as handsome as you think, Dorian. Dorian: Ah, but I must be! Or you wouldn't have been thinking about it all this time.  😏 Cassandra: Anyone who claims it as often as you must be dreadfully concerned they're not. Dorian: Look at this profile - Isn't it incredible? Dorian: I picture it in marble. 😏 Cassandra: 😒 23. Flying cows over Minrathous? Preposterous! Okay that one is actually true, but the cows didn't have wings. 22. Dorian: I have only one question, Sera: did you cut your own hair?  Sera: Yeah. Why wouldn't I? 🙄 Dorian: You could try using something other than a rusty butter knife. Sera: Oh, excuse me while I dig up my diamond-studded hair-cutting whatevers. 🙄 Dorian: Scissors. 😏 The word you're looking for is "scissors." 😏 21. Iron Bull: Quite the stink-eye you've got going, Dorian. Dorian: You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest. 😡 Iron Bull: That's right. These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. Iron Bull: I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns. Iron Bull: I. Would. Conquer. You. 😏 Dorian: Uh. What? 😨 Iron Bull: Oh. Is that not where we're going? 🤐 Dorian: No. It was very much not.😳 20. You can't call me pampered, Varric. 🙄 Nobody has peeled a grape for me in weeks. 19. Sera: Dorian are you going to warn me the next time you bust out in demons or sumthin? Dorian: 😂 How exactly do you picture me 'busting out’? Dorian: I am just walking along and *OOPS* - demon? Dorian: I mean it could happen, after years of training. You could also trip and impale your eye on an arrow. 😏 Sera: So are you going to warn me or not? 🙄 Dorian: Certainly. But only because you're so dear to me. 😘 18. Dorian: For being so unnerved by magic, you aren't shy about benefiting from its effects.🤔 Sera: I don't. I use normal things, not magic. 🙄 Dorian: You consider swathing yourself in flame or ice 'normal' and 'not magic'? 🤨 Sera: For one: it comes out a bottle. Sera: For two: I mess up, I get burned. You mess up, your head chucks up a demon. Sera: For three: Bottle, little burned, no demons. So there. 🤗 Dorian: That was only... you know, if it lets you sleep at night, never mind. 😒 17. Festis bei umo canaverum! I swear, if you don't come through this, I will kill you. 😖 16. Dorian: The first time I entered the Fade it looked like a lovely castle full of silks and gold. 😍 Dorian: I met a marvellous desire demon as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he tried to possess me. 😇   Vivienne: 🙄😒😠😡🤬 Dorian: Yes? I hear your southern Harrowings are slightly more strenuous. 😏 15. What do they call this place? A "bog"? Lovely word for it.  🙄 14. Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I am sorry? 🙄 Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry.😷 What are you supposed to be, some sort of woodsman? Dorian: Isn't that a Dalish thing? Don't you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some sort of statement? Solas: No. 😠 Dorian: Well, it says "Apostate hobo" to me. 😏 Vivienne: Unwashed apostate hobo, more specifically. 🙂 13. I AM TOO PRETTY TO DIE 😭 12. Dorian: Amatus, it's been so long. Did you miss me? Inquisitor: A little bit. Dorian:  😂 'a little bit' he says. I'll show you a little bit! Just you wait. 😏 11. Dorian: Sera, where do you get your arrows from? You have so many. 🤔 Sera: From your arse. That's where. 🙄  Dorian: My arse should open up a shop. It's apparently quite prolific. 😁 10. Ah, this reminds me of the time Mother took me boating in summer. Or rather, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink.🙄  09. Inquisitor: Things are going well with the Bull, I take it? Dorian: He's glad I've returned, if that's what you mean. Nearly crushed three of my ribs with that ridiculous hug. 🙄 Inquisitor: You say that as if you don't like it. 🤨 Dorian: For such a great beast, he can be such a terrible sap 🙄 Dorian: [bullvoice] "I want to talk about my feelings, Dorian". Dorian: Ugh. 🙄 Inquisitor: 😂 you do like it Dorian: Quiet you! He'll overhear, and then where I'll be?🤫 08. Dorian: Sera, I cannot believe you, of all people, are scared of magic. Surely you can see nothing wrong with a properly used tool? Sera: What about all the mages waving their proper tools in people's faces? Dorian: There's an image. 😁 Sera: "What about Corfyface? How many proper tools does he have under him? Dorian: That's not... I don't think I can continue. 😬 Sera: I don't care how gifted you are, don't cram it where it's not wanted. 😡 Vivienne: Maker, how does she not know? 🙄 07. Just once we should enter a cave and see normal sized spiders. 🙄 06. Cassandra: After all the places we have been, I hardly expected us to find ourselves in another cave. Cassandra: Still, as mad as our lives had been, I would take any chance to be together.  😘 Dorian: Why seeker, after all these years, I never realized you felt this way!! Cassandra: ... Dorian: ... Cassandra: 😒 Dorian: Oh, you meant him. 😶 05. Mountains! 😠 Cold! 😠 "Let's bring Dorian!". 😒 04. Dorian: I heard a little rumour that somebody has been doing some training. As an assassin no less. Inquisitor: I thought the skills might come in handy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose a little flair is welcome, with all the killing you do. Inquisitor: I don't kill that many people. 🙄  Dorian: Are you joking? I'm only surprised you didn't kill someone walking over here. 🤨 03. Cole: Breath painful, stabbing, and then real stabbing, lungs full, frothing, scent of apples as it all goes black. Dorian: 'Death By Applepie' - A lovely poem by our dear friend Cole.  02. Blackwall: Corypheus, one of yours isn't he? Dorian: One of my mine? 🙄  Like a pet? 🙄 Like a giant darkspawn hamster with aspirations of godhood? 🙄 Dorian: "Dorian, why can't you look after your little friends. Corypheus peed on the carpet again". Dorian: In this analogy, 'the carpet' is Haven. 😏 Blackwall: Is he or isn't he a Tevinter magister? 😒 Dorian: Meaning 'the source of everything bad in the world'? They are the same, yes? 😑 Blackwall: Sigh. Feels that way at times. 🙄 01. Inquisitor: No matter what happens, I wouldn't trade the years I spent with you for anything. Inquisitor: I love you. Dorian: I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard. 😭

[goldentournesol]

Proper Date

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer and Y/N go on a proper date after being kidnapped together.

Part 2 of Unwanted Matchmaker: Read Part 1 here :)

A/N: makes minor references to Part 1, but can be read without reading it. ENJOY SOME SPENCER FLUFF! i got a little carried away...but it’s worth it! thank you to @theamuz , @andiebeaword , @yourwonderbelle​ for requesting a part 2! 

Length: 2.5k

masterlist

Luckily enough, Friday came sooner than Spencer had thought it would. He was finally able to take a break from the team. Y/N had texted him Friday morning to confirm the date. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him for a single moment ever since they went their separate ways the day of the fateful kidnapping. She never thought she’d ever be thankful for such a situation.

She was nervous, she knew very little about the Dr., but had gathered bits and pieces of him on the days she saw him at that coffee shop. She thought he was gorgeous. She also thought she may have imagined it when she caught his eyes lingering on her once or twice, but the imagination became set in stone when his face broke into what seemed like the most adorable shy smile that could possibly appear on someone’s face. She should have talked to him then, but she would have been late to her class. She couldn’t have been more glad to go on a date with him.

Spencer had gotten off work two hours early to ensure he had enough time to be nervous while getting ready.

“Woah, where you goin’, pretty boy?” Morgan asked as he watched Spencer begin to pack his things.

Spencer rolled his eyes, he should have timed his exit better, “Uh...I have an appointment?” He made an attempt to lie. 

“You always this nervous going to appointments?” Emily chimed in.

“Wait, wait, what day is it?” Morgan asked.

“Friday.” Emily replied.

A knowing smile made a home on Morgan’s face, “Aha! Pretty boy’s got a date!” Spencer quickly shot him a look that screamed, ‘how did you know?!’, “I may have overheard you talking to the girl the day the unsub took you.”

Once again, Spencer rolled his eyes, “My God, can’t I have just one thing to myself? Just once?” He tried to hide his smile though.

“Nu-uh, not when it’s making you this nervous!” Emily pointed out, noticing how Spencer’s hand was turning white at the intensity it held onto his bag.

“Well, Emily, it’s not every day that I have a date with someone who is practically the embodiment of beauty.” Spencer uttered with a slew of exasperated hand motions.

Morgan let out a chuckle, “Calm down, kid. She seemed really into you. I’m sure she’s just as dorky as you are.” Emily smiled endearingly at the youngest member of their team and nodded.

“Yeah, haven’t you guys been in contact like..all week? She wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t interested.” She added and noticed the slight drop of Spencer’s shoulders. Maybe they were right, he probably had nothing to worry about. He nodded and began to smile.

“Go get her, kid. Just try to keep the statistics at a minimum.” He joked around before Emily interjected quickly, “No! Be yourself!” Spencer laughed and gave them a double thumbs up before quickly saying goodbye and heading home.

He called the restaurant to double check his reservation and tried to pick out an outfit that wouldn’t scream, ‘I got off work two hours early’. He showered, shaved, and attempted to style his hair, but it was too much of a task to tackle, so he left it to do whatever it pleased. He decided he’d stick to his normal attire with a white and blue checkered button down, a navy v-neck sweater and a matching blazer to elevate the look. He contemplated whether or not a tie would make the outfit over the top, but then remembered that the restaurant would be quite fancy and added it anyway. He left his house a half hour early to make sure he had enough time to pick up a bouquet. That was romantic, right? People do this all the time, right? He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stop stressing. He decided to get her red flowers to match the dress she wore when he first saw her. She was wearing a white dress with a motif of small red flowers with black centers, it was safe to say she blew him away that day. 

He checked the time and saw that it was still early, so he texted her. They had agreed on meeting at the restaurant, but he just couldn’t wait to see her.

“Hey, would it be okay if I picked you up instead of meeting there?” She lived closer to the restaurant anyway and he wanted to ensure her safety any time he possibly could.

“Yeah, sure! I’ll send you the location.” She did just that and Spencer made it there on time, of course.

He took a deep breath as he stood at her doorstep with the bouquet of flowers. He gave himself a miniature pep talk and knocked on the door three times. Spencer hoped the knocks were louder than his heartbeats beating relentlessly in his ears.

Y/N’s heart leapt as she heard the knocks, “Coming! Just one second!” She made her way over to the door, struggling to put in one of her earrings. 

She opened the door for him, “I’m sorry, I’m almost rea-” She breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of him. She admired his every angle, he looked immaculate to say the least. She’d only noticed that she dropped her earring on the floor because she followed his eyes to where it lay.

“You..um, dropped your..” He stuttered, turning red. Was it him who made her nervous? She laughed nervously and retrieved it quickly, putting it on. He cleared his throat to try to regain his composure from seeing her, “You look...stunning.” He let out a breath and shook his head as if to clear the fog in his brain that she unintentionally created, “Oh! Um, and these are for you!” He extended the arm holding the bouquet. 

She smiled and accepted them graciously, “Oh, these are beautiful, you didn’t have to trouble yourself, Dr. Reid.” He loved the way his name sounded coming from her.

“It was nothing, really, it’s the least I could do, and please, call me Spencer.” He smiled and she mirrored it instantly.

“Come in, Spencer. I’ll put these in a vase, put on my shoes, and we’ll head right out!” He watched her as she disappeared into her apartment. 

A sparkly, form-fitting black dress adorned her figure contrasting to the flowy nature of the dresses Spencer had usually seen her in. He tried not to profile her apartment as much as he could, but he was too curious not to. He saw unfinished canvases and the apartment smelled vaguely of paint thinner. He admired her paintings but also tried not to snoop. She came out of her room, completely ready, and saw him staring at her paintings.

“Uhm, those aren’t quite done yet.” She stated shyly, “I have a habit of getting sidetracked.” She giggled and gestured to her unfinished paintings. 

He smiled as he turned to her, “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to poke around.” He stated quickly but she just smiled at him, “These are incredible, I don’t believe I have a single artistic bone in my body.” He laughed.

“Yeah, right! That can’t be true.” She teased. 

Spencer grinned and checked the time, “Are you all done? We should get going. I hope you don’t mind walking there.” She nodded and they made their way out. The restaurant was a short walk away and the whole time Spencer fiddled with his hands in his pockets nervously except for when he was describing something, a habit he had. They arrived at the restaurant.

“Good evening, reservation for Dr. Reid.” Spencer said and Y/N hated the way her stomach went into a fit of somersaults at that. That was a lie, she kind of loved it.

They were seated and they could finally make uninterrupted eye-contact. She smiled at him and Spencer hoped his swooning wasn’t too obvious. They ordered their food and made conversation as they waited.

“So, Spencer, how did you get into the FBI?” She asked as she propped her chin on her hand. Her gaze was enough to send Spencer into the next dimension.

“Believe it or not, I’m unbelievably athletic.” He joked and she bubbled with laughter. Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off her as she laughed, determined to never stop her from doing it, “seriously,” he continued, “they took one look at me at the academy and were like, yeah we need this dude chasing down bad guys immediately!” She laughed again and shook her head.

“Aw, come on, don’t bring yourself down!” She smiled wide and took one of his hands that were resting on the table. Spencer’s heart soared at the action and was glad it was different from the way it felt as she clutched his hand when they were kidnapped together.

“I guess the FBI needed me because well...serial killers and criminals often have a tendency to create puzzles that are seemingly impossible to crack, and I just so happen to be very good at cracking those puzzles. I usually do that by analyzing their behavior. I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” She could tell he was being humble, but she couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Aren’t you a Doctor? I’m assuming PhD?” She saw him blush.

“Uh, three actually.” He looked off to the side bashfully. Her jaw dropped at his humility, but he just smiled, “In Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering…” he paused, “as well as degrees in Psychology and Sociology.” She laughed in somewhat of a shock. Spencer knew his credentials were impressive but for some reason her validation seemed so important to him.

“What….how? How old are you?” She gawked. 

He laughed, “I’m 30. I graduated high school at the age of 12. I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute. I have an eidetic memory which basically means I can remember lots of information accompanied by the ability to recall things with accuracy which of course came in handy while I was getting those PhD’s…”

“Wow...” was all she could say, she suddenly felt insignificant, but her smile never faltered. He had no intention of making her feel that way and she knew that, but she had no idea how she possibly landed a date with a...genius.

“Yeah...it kind of overwhelms people, I hope you’re not too intimidated.” He laughed shyly. She giggled, how could she be when his awkwardness made him oh so endearing.

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little intimidating, but they are amazing accomplishments and you have every right to be proud of them.” She assured him by squeezing his hand, just like he did hers when she was nervous. He appreciated the gesture and they grinned at each other.

“So when did you start painting?” He asked her as he took a sip of wine.

“All my life, it seems. I couldn’t think of anything else that I wanted to do. There’s something about the way the paintbrush feels in my hand. I don’t know, I guess I wanted to add more color into people’s worlds…and I love kids! I just knew I had to teach them.” She gushed and he admired the way her eyes sparkled.

“You know there are countless studies that support the idea of painting as a stress reliever. Actually, there was this one study where…” he continued to ramble and Y/N seemed to hang onto every word. He was so adorable in the way that he described things and bounced from one topic to another. She didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the food was set down on their table. He only stopped when he felt the warmth of her hand disappear from his so she could start eating. She peered at him curiously, wondering why he stopped.

“Sorry,” he grinned, “didn’t realize I’d been rambling.” 

She shook her head, smiling wide, “If I knew half the things you know, I would want to share them with everyone too. I love it.”

He hadn’t expected her response but he was grateful because she hadn’t belittled him like most people do. They ate as they shared stories from their lives. Spencer noticed how the wine added a flush to her cheeks and he wondered how much more beautiful she could possibly get. She insisted on feeding him a piece of her meal but she couldn’t reach that far across the table and Spencer thought that was adorable. He’d had to lean forward just to have some, the interaction made his cheeks ache from smiling. Soon, they finished their food and Spencer took care of the bill, Y/N insisted she’d take care of dessert. 

They got up and headed out of the restaurant. They were greeted by the soft chill of the nighttime. Spencer had noticed immediately how Y/N’s arms instinctively shot up to hug herself and shield her body away from the cold. He took his blazer off and placed it on her shoulders. She blushed at the warm gesture and gladly slid her arms through. 

She smiled up at him gratefully, “Thanks, Spencer. Are you sure you won’t get cold?” The way she slipped her arm through his and hugged his arm almost made him forget to reply. 

“I’m good, this um, sweater vest is warmer than it looks.”

He usually shied away from touch, but if there was one thing Spencer was sure of, it was that he never wanted her to let go of him. They walked in the moonlight. Conversation with her came easily. They found themselves in front of the coffee shop where they first learned of each other. It seemed it only fit to celebrate their first date there. They walked in and the woman behind the counter beamed as she saw the two of them walking in together. It was like she knew. She greeted Y/N and the Dr. gleefully and happily took their order. Spencer physically had to bite his lip to keep from smiling too much. They sat down where Spencer usually sat with his books.

“The first time I saw you sitting here, you were literally zooming through a book. I thought you’d had to have been looking for a specific quote or something, not actually reading it!” She giggled as she took a piece of the carrot cake they’d ordered. She didn’t want to let go of his warmth, so they decided to sit next to each other. Spencer didn’t mind that one bit, he’d taken his hand out of his pocket and laced his fingers through hers, their arms still looped in one another’s.

He nodded at her words, taking another piece, “The first time I saw you, you were just walking in, with your earbuds in. I was quite literally blown away.” He sheepishly admitted. She was taken aback by his sweetness and she shook her head. This man had to be too good to be true. She looked up at him and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I never thought I’d say this but...I’m so glad I was kidnapped.” She said and that sent the both of them into a roar of laughter that made the entire coffee shop jealous of what they had.

Part 1

[tricksters-captain]

Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 2

AN: I’m so glad you all are actually liking these first couple parts!!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n) plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: Wood doesn’t quite trust (Y/n) when she says that the attention Diggory gave her was nothing and sends the twins to keep an eye on her. 

(PART 1 HERE)

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 4,026

Warnings: Angst 

You walked into your first class of the day which was Potions. You weren't thrilled that Snape was your first lesson of the year but you were lucky you were quiet and gifted in Potions so Snape rarely picked on you during class. 

You found your seat toward the back of the class and that’s when you heard the noisy chatter of the Weasley twins situating itself behind you. 

“Morning (Y/n).” The twins said simultaneously. 

You turned to face them and the sheepish smiles they had on their faces. 

“Fred. George.” You greeted them back. 

“What ya gonna do, Seyler? This is Wood’s last year.” Fred winked at you, 

“You’ll have to find some other reason to come watch us play Quidditch.” George added onto Fred’s sentence. 

“Oh, I forgot I went to Quidditch matches for you two?” You leered back, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“Come on, (y/n), we know you secretly admire us. Why else would you spend all your time with Wood unless it was to secretly spend time with us!” Fred chimed. 

“It definitely has nothing to do with the fact Oliver forces me to come to matches.” Sarcasm dripped from your words which only made the twins laugh. 

“Silence!” Snape entered, slamming the door behind him. 

“He’s a ray of sunshine this morning.” George muttered, 

“Must've had a great summer.” Fred whispered back. 

You smiled and shook your head at their comments. If these two sat behind you the whole year, you weren’t going to get any work done. 

It was only a few lessons into the day and you were feeling pretty drained. 

“How’s the first proper day back?” Oliver met you in the corridor as you made your way to the back entrance for Care of Magical Creatures. 

“Piece of cake. How’s yours?” You sighed, holding your books tight to your chest. 

“All I’m gonna say is I may be able to win the cup this year unscathed but passing these exams may end it all.” Oliver slapped your hand, initiating your handshake, and ended it with a fist bump as he parted to go his own way. 

You made your way down to Hagrid’s hut where you could see the previous class leaving. 

“(Y/n)!” You soon found out Cedric was in that class as he called your name, rushing up the steep path to meet you. 

“Cedric.” You felt yourself tighten your grip on your books as surrounding students started to whisper as they passed. 

“Are you on your way to Care of Magical Creatures?” He asked you, 

“Yeah I am.” Was all you could reply. 

“It’s really great. Hey, what are you doing later?” Cedric’s energy was incorrigible, clearly Hagrid had made it an exciting lesson. 

“Um, I’m not sure. Probably studying.” You admitted honestly. 

“Ced! Come on! We’ll be late!” Boys from Cedric's class who had made it back to the castle were calling his name. 

“I’ll find you after supper then.” Cedric said as he made his way past you, rushing up to his friends. 

You didn’t know how to act or what to think. 

Why was he suddenly so interested in you?

“Were you just talking to Cedric Diggory?” Angelina approached you as you reached the hut. 

“I guess I was.” You frowned, looking back up at the castle where he had gone inside. 

“Alright! Gather round!” Hagrid’s voice cut off whatever Angelina was about to say next and you were almost thankful for it. 

The rest of the day seemed to go by quickly and soon you were sat in the Gryffindor common room with a book on your lap. 

However, the common room was busy, and the noise wasn’t letting you concentrate. 

“I’m going to the greenhouses.” You tucked your book under your arm as you got up to leave. Wood only hummed a goodbye as he gawked in confusion at whatever he was studying. 

You made your way to the greenhouses, speaking to Professor Sprout before you went into your section of the greenhouses that held the project you focused on last year. 

When Oliver was training with the quidditch team, you were often left alone and with the spare time you had last year, you focused on Herbology. 

Like Potions, it was another subject you had a good knack for and your talent of getting on Professors good sides meant that you could have your own section to raise plants you wished to study. 

“Angelina said I’d find you in here.” Cedric’s voice made you jump and you sent your watering can to the floor. 

“Merlin’s beard!” You gasped at the loud sound of the metal can. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Cedric stepped forward, picking up the can for you. 

“I just didn’t expect company.” You took the can from him and then refilled it. 

“So, what are you doing in here?” Cedric asked, looking around at the plants that surrounded you both. 

“This is my, um, private section of the greenhouses. I haven’t been here since we left for summer, Professor Sprout has been looking after my plants.” You explained, watering a small sage bush you had planted. 

“You have your own section of the greenhouses?” Cedric smirked, cocking his eyebrows at you.

“I told you. I don’t have many friends.” You placed the can down and faced the boy who was now fiddling with some ear muffs. 

“Here.” You took the earmuffs from him and placed them on his head before picking up your own. 

“I was curious about raising plants last year and one plant I managed to actually grow was Siren Silines.” You explained as you went to open a door. “Dangerous flowers really. Their song is beautiful but draws animals and young children in to their death. Once picked without gloves, you’re a goner.” You opened the door and lead him inside. 

Even with the earmuffs you could faintly hear the flowers singing. 

You reached up towards the boy and removed his earmuffs for him. 

“You shouldn’t listen for too long, you’ll get light headed but this is their song.” You let he boy listen as you knew curiosity would over take him at some point. 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” You sighed happily as you stared down at the poisonous flower. 

“Very.” Cedric was watching your face as your lips curled into a soft smile which only brought on a goofy smile of his own. 

You faced him and lifted his muffs back onto his ears in fear he may faint soon. 

You guided Cedric from that part of the greenhouse so you could remove your muffs and gloves. Cedric copied you as you locked the door behind yourselves. 

“So, I didn’t ask you...” You started as the question came to mind. 

“What?” Cedric’s eyebrow twitched at you. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“I told you I'd find you after supper.” Cedric referred to earlier. 

“But why?” The question slipped past your lips before you could stop it. 

“Why not?” Cedric shrugged, his smile as contagious as ever. “Do you not like me?” 

“I never said that––” 

“––Then we can be friends.” Cedric declared before you could say anything else. 

A couple of weeks past and you didn’t see much of Diggory besides the occasional glances during study periods where the years mixed. 

Cedric had hoped to see you in Hogsmeade on the weekends but never could seem to find you anywhere outside of school hours. He thought you might be avoiding him. 

You had in fact been avoiding spending time with him after you caught the Weasley twins peaking their red heads around the greenhouses once Cedric had returned inside the castle. 

The Weasley Twins had in fact been spending more of their attention on you in lessons now too. You were irritated they were spying at first but then you realised they wouldn’t have been spying on their own accord. 

Oliver. 

He denied it at first but a few of days of the silent treatment had him confessing the truth. 

You were in the common room studying with a cup of tea when the twins decided to bother you again.

You stirred the spoon with magic as you twirled your finger, you were deep into a paragraph on dragons when Fred and George jumped down either side of you. 

“Hello Seyler.” Fred was the first to speak. 

“Have you lost something?” George asked, 

“No? Why?” You were confused by the boys cheeky smiles and thought they must be playing some kind of game with you. 

“Because there’s something outside the common room waiting for you.” Fred tried not to laugh. 

“Asking anyone going in or out about you.” George nudged your shoulder which forced you to close your book to see what they were going on about. 

The painting opened as you left the common room and stood on the stairs was Cedric.

“Cedric?” You were surprised. He stood on the stairs in a light brown patterned jumper and dark brown trousers, his hair fluffy yet styled and his lips spread into a warm smile when his eyes met yours. 

“Have you been avoiding me by any chance?” He asked without any hesitation but with humour. 

“What makes you think that?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest as you moved aside so you weren't blocking the common room entrance. 

“The fact I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks.” Cedric raised his eyebrows  as he made his point.

“I’m a busy girl?” You tried to make an excuse. 

“How can a girl who claims she has no friends be so busy?” Cedric goaded with a cute smirk on his lips. 

“I like to study. I do have my O.W.L’s. this year you know” You defended yourself. 

“But they’re not until the end of the year. Do you have to study all week every week?” He meant the weekends and you knew it. You hadn’t really left the castle since you arrived back at Hogwarts but every time you accidentally walked into a large group you could hear the mutters about Azkaban and your parents and these were children so you couldn’t bare to see the adults in Hogsmeade join in too. 

“Ced...” You muttered, looking down at your fingers. This boy barely knew you. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. 

“Look, I’m sorry.” Cedric apologised for his attitude about it, “Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Nothing crazy, just a few butterbeers and maybe a trip to Zonkos?” 

You hesitated to answer. 

“Fine.” You gave in as his gorgeous eyes bared into you. 

“Great.” Cedric smiled, taking a step down the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.” 

You returned to the common room swiftly after Cedric jumped down the stairs, heading back to his own common room. You avoided the twins by heading up to your bedroom. 

You flopped back onto your bed and let out a deep breath. 

What on earth did he want with you? 

You had never received this much attention from anyone before. You didn’t expect Cedric to be almost chasing you in order to get a chance to speak with you. No one ever wanted to talk to you unless it was about school work. No one except for Wood of course...

You tossed and turned all night, concerned about what would you talk about, spending a whole day with someone new. Wood was the only one who has ever known everything about you but Wood was basically your big brother. Cedric, on the other hand, was almost a stranger. 

When you finally got up in the morning, you spent way longer than usual picking something to wear, the weather was getting colder as autumn took over fully and so you made sure to wrap your Gryffindor scarf around your neck before you left. 

It was early so whilst half the house was still asleep, the other half were in the great hall already devouring a breakfast. 

Cedric was stood outside the great hall, leaning against the wall with one leg cocked up against the stone as he waited for you. 

“I was getting worried I’d have to corner some poor second year Gryffindor to go get you out of bed.” Cedric didn’t shy away from teasing you as you came into view. 

“I didn’t know what to wear. I’m not used to this. My Saturday’s are usually spent in the library or the quidditch pitch after being blackmailed by Oli to come watch them train and point out the weakest links.” You mumbled quickly as you tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. 

“I’m only joking. Come on, I wanted to go for walk before we went to Hogsmeade.” Cedric offered his elbow, his own hands in his jacket pockets too. 

You took it, the nerves bubbling in your stomach, as he began to walk towards the path that headed down to the black lake. 

“How did you sleep?” Cedric asked you. 

“Not great. I haven’t sleep that well since the news that Sirius Black was sighted a couple weeks ago.” You were honest which surprised yourself. 

“Do you think he’ll really come to Hogwarts?” Cedric looked down at you as he spoke. 

“He won’t if he knows what's good for him. But if he were anything like my parents, he will.” You kept your eyes to the ground ahead of you when you brought up your parents. 

“What do you mean?” Cedric furrowed his brows, 

“My parents were... are.. so dedicated to you know who that if they were given the chance to kill Harry, they would. They’d kill him and come straight for me.” 

Cedric was silent for a moment after hearing the truth in your voice. You truly believed that is what would happen. Cedric thought it must be so nerving to know your own blood would kill your friend then drag you away from everything you knew. 

“I’m sorry. How’d this turn so dark...” You tried to chuckle weakly to lighten the mood but Cedric knew it was fake. 

“Don’t apologise. This is the most I’ve heard you talk since I met you. It’s nice, even if the topic is not.” Cedric nudged your shoulder with his as you walked along the pebbles and stones. 

“I bet there’s loads of scary things in the black lake.” You bent down and picked up a stone to skim along the water. 

“I don’t know. We can find out if you like?” Cedric watched you skim the rock as he spoke. 

“How?” You asked, facing the boy again. 

That's when Cedric ran towards you and threw you over his shoulder, jogging towards the water and stepping into the shallow water. 

“Cedric!” You screamed, “Cedric! Put me down! Cedric! Stop!” 

The boy laughed wildly as he placed your feet back onto dry ground. 

“That wasn't funny!” You pushed the boy back several times which only made him laugh harder. 

His laughter encouraged yours and soon you were laughing with your hand on your forehead as you calmed down. 

“Can we go to Hogsmeade now?” You asked him, 

“Yes, we can go now.” Cedric straightened up from laughing and took your arm once more. 

Once you arrived at Hogsmeade, you immediately went for a butterbeer. 

“Why couldn't Hogwarts be somewhere warm? Why is it Scotland? It’s getting so cold out there already.” You complained as you sat down opposite the boy. 

“I like Christmas here. The snow just makes it better.” Cedric placed your drink in front of you with his own. 

“Snow? You mean the white cold, slushy, slippery stuff that is wet and makes my plants die?” Cedric laughed at you and you just shook your head. 

“Aren’t your plants in greenhouses?” 

“What about the plants that are outside? The only good thing to come out of cold weather is snowdrops. Such little flowers but they are so pretty.” You weren't aware of the smiles that Cedric was sending you but he enjoyed listening to you speak without the nerves you had before. 

“I’m guessing Herbology is your favourite subject?” Cedric pondered, 

“No, actually. Potions is. I like Herbology but it’s because I'm good at it. I’m good at Potions too but that’s because I find it interesting minus Snape.” 

“I don’t think I’ve heard anyone admit Potions is their favourite class before.” Cedric chuckled. 

“Look, if Snape wasn’t the Potions Professor I’m certain more people would enjoy it.” You couldn’t help but laugh along with him. 

From the corner of your eye you could see something (or someone) peaking through the window. 

The flash of red then gave it away. 

It was Fred and George, spying, again!

“Oh God...” You groaned, taking a large gulp from your Butterbeer. 

“What?” Cedric glanced towards the window then back to you. “What is it?”

“Oli... He’s sent the Weasley twins to spy on me, no doubt.” You sank down in your seat as your eyes flickered to all the windows to capture a glimpse of them again. 

“What’s going on with you and Wood anyways?” Cedric soon made that transition. 

“Nothing. He's like my brother. We’ve been best friends since I was in first year, not like the rumours haven’t spread though. Got Oli into some trouble with a couple girlfriends actually.” You explained, sparing the details for a later date.

“Really?” Cedric clearly found that amusing as he let out a soft chuckle. 

You rolled your eyes and nodded your head. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Cedric jumped up from his seat and offered his hand. You took it to help you out of your chair but dropped it soon after. 

Cedric opened the door for you as you left the leaky cauldron. You sent him a shy smile as you mumbled ‘thanks’. 

You walked through Hogsmeade towards Zonko’s joke shop when you stopped outside Honeydukes. 

“Do you mind?” You asked Cedric hopefully as you eyed the sweets in the window. Cedric smiled back and got the door again. 

You rushed in and immediately picked up two bars of Honeydukes best chocolate. 

During term time, you survived off sugary treats to keep you up, especially during winter when the skies grew dark and the weather became miserable. 

You knew you’d need a good supply with your O.W.L’s coming up. 

You gathered a good stock of chocolate wands, chocolate cauldrons, chocolate skeletons and then finally came to the chocolate frogs. 

“I’m guessing chocolate is your favourite?” Cedric smiled down at you as he stepped to be by your side. 

“Is it that obvious?” You laughed lightly, 

“Stocking up because of the dementors?” Cedric asked genuinely, it was well known that you’d need something sweet to get your serotonin levels back up after an encounter with a dementor. 

“Kind of. I get low during the winter months anyway and I need the energy to actually do well on these O.W.L’s.” You admitted, taking a chocolate frog from the shelf. 

“I’m sure you’ll get outstanding in every subject. I remember how nervous I was for my O.W.L’s last year but I did alright.” Cedric moved along the shelf and took some Berties Botts every flavoured beans as he spoke. 

“Alright? Okay, Cedric ‘best student’ Diggory.” You scoffed, you knew well (like the rest of the school) that Cedric did practically perfectly on his O.W.L’s. 

“Well, with all the hours you spend studying I don’t doubt you’ll at least pass.” Cedric sent you a wink and you felt your stomach flip. 

You looked away from the boy so that you could hide your burning cheeks. 

“Just these please.” You piled your mini haul onto the cash register. 

“Here, I’ll get it.” Cedric stepped forward, opening his small bag of coins. 

“No, really, it’s okay.” You tried to stop the transaction but Cedric was quicker than you. 

“Keep the change.” Cedric took the bag as you stared at him with objection. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”  You said as you left the shop. 

“I wanted to. It’s not everyday that I actually get to spend time with (Y/n) Seyler––”

“––Will you keep your voice down!” You reached up, shushing him with your hands as you looked around at the passing wizards and witches who seemingly hadn’t heard. 

“What?” Cedric pulled back from your hands, a smile still pursed on his lips. 

“You clearly don’t know what it’s like to have a name that sends a room full of people’s eyes directly to you.” You didn’t want to sound angry but Cedric’s smile faltering slightly must've mean you failed. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to––” 

“––No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoke to you like that. It’s just... I reckon the only other person who understands what it's like is Harry Potter.” You continued walking. 

There was a moment of silence between you as you walked side by side. 

“Maybe we should head back to the castle.” You suggested, 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here then, Georgie?” Fred’s voice caught your attention as you passed Zonkos. 

“I don’t know, Freddie. Looks like Seyler and Diggory here are on a date.” George smirked back at his twin as they swaggered up to you both. 

“We were just on a walk.” You corrected them both which sent the twins eyebrows up their foreheads. 

“Is that right, (Y/n)?” Fred looked between you and Cedric with a smile. “Is that why we saw you in the leaky cauldron together?”

“We were just having a drink.” Cedric spoke up as he could see how uncomfortable you were with this conversation. 

“A drink, eh?” George winked at the boy. 

“How about it, Cedric? You ready to lose the quidditch cup this year?” Fred chimed into a different conversation as you sent him a death glare. 

“Don’t be so confident, Weasley.” Cedric chuckled, 

“We’re heading to the shrieking shack.” Fred started, 

“Meant to be the most haunted house in Britain.” George added. 

“Care to join?” Fred wiggled his eyebrows at you both. 

“Actually I think we were about to head back to the castle.” You looked between Cedric and the twins.

“Suit yourself.” Fred. shrugged before turning on his heels. “Oh, and (Y/n), Wood said that you’d be at every match this year. I suggest you find yourself a good coat ‘cause they’ll be no skiving matches just because it’s raining.” 

You groaned at the comment and all the boys just sniggered. 

When you arrived back at the castle, you could see some 4th years whispering down one of the arched corridors as they saw you and Cedric walk through the courtyard together. 

“Thank you for today.” You took the bag of sweets that Cedric was holding from him as you thanked him. 

“Look, about earlier, I really am sorry if I upset you in any way.” Cedric’s kind nature couldn’t help but apologise again. 

“Really, Cedric, water under the bridge. I didn’t mean to get so upset.” You tightened your scarf as the wind picked up. 

“Well, what are you doing this week?” He asked, 

“I’m not sure. Studying. Homework. Professor Lupin says he has a special treat  for us sometime this week or the next which I’m quite excited about. It’s refreshing having a teacher who knows what he’s talking about after Lockhart last year.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of Lockhart being outted as a fraud at the end of the year. 

“He was... something else.” Cedric laughed with you.

You hadn’t smiled this much in a long time.  

“Ced! Where’ve you been?” You heard a voice behind Cedric and knew it was his oncoming friends.

Cedric peered behind before looking back down at you with an apologetic smile. 

“I better go. Don’t disappear on me now, (Y/n).” Cedric really hoped you wouldn’t avoid him for another few weeks until he is then forced to track you down again. 

“You’ll just have to use that Hufflepuff intuition and find me.” You almost didn't believe what left your mouth. Were you flirting with Cedric Diggory?!

(Next Part Here)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Hey, everyone! I’ve been saying for a bit I want to get some fics from prompts I’ve written onto AO3 but...it’s so hard...ok it’s not hard, Executive Dysfunction is just kicking my butt. I’m going to post some of them to Tumblr today. If you want to help these babies get on AO3, they need: titles, tags, you pestering me in the comments. If you don’t think they’re good enough for AO3 - fair enough, just hit the little heart if they make you smile!

Prompt: Aziraphale reading to Crowley

(Requested by @zadusk and @lyricwritesprose)

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the innkeeper said, “just rented out our last room.”

“What?” Crowley crossed his arms, huffing through his nose. This was Bethlehem all over again. “This town is in the middle of nowhere, it has three inns, how can they all be sold out?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The innkeeper shut the ledger. “Everyone’s headed down to London, and we’re on the way. Now. I can offer you a hot meal, and for, let’s say, half the price of a room you can sleep in the stables. The hay loft is clean, apart from the mice—”

“Stablesss!” Crowley hissed, slapping his hand on the counter. “Do I look like someone who sleeps in stables?”

The innkeeper didn’t appear remotely impressed. “You look like someone who is going to be sleeping in a hedge. Looks like a storm tonight. Good evening.” And he spun away, calling out to the cook in the back room.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted. “Get back here, you—!”

“Crowley! Whatever are you doing here?” The familiar voice was half delighted, half scolding. Aziraphale appeared beside him, same white suit as the last time they’d met, top hat tucked under his arm. “I thought I made it clear we shouldn’t see each other so often. Since I opened the shop, it’s been—”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley waved a hand and turned away. “I’m not here for you, Angel, I have actual business in York.”

“Really?” Despite his words, Aziraphale trailed behind him. “How interesting. I’m just returning from York – oh, no, you don’t think they’ve sent you to undo all my work again, do you?”

Crowley snorted. “No bet.” He dropped his voice into a low whisper. “This is why we need to meet up more often. Look at all this time we’re wasting! And now I have to march through the bloody night in the rain because there’s no place to sleep—”

“Oh! Well, I wouldn’t dream of it. You can share my room.”

“Ngk?!” Crowley’s brain crashed into his skull with all the speed and grace of a train wreck. “Mf. Yk. No I can’t – Aziraphale!”

“Oh, my word – obviously, I’m not planning – that!” His voice dropped even lower and he tugged on Crowley’s elbow. “Don’t be crude, dear fellow. I have a room with a bed that I’m not intending to use. You can have it. I just need a chair to sit in while I read.”

“Jgk.” Crowley turned away, taking a deep breath through his nose. It made sense. He could sleep. Aziraphale could read. No getting soaked, or lost in the dark, or needing to fight off highwaymen or anything of the sort. “Fffine. We can. Er. Do that.”

“Jolly good.” He could practically hear the angel straightening his waistcoat. “Now that’s settled. I’ve already had my supper and was about to head up. Unless you’re hungry—”

“No, no, now is fine.” He still couldn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Lead the way.”

The room, it turned out, was nearly as advertised.

A double-sized bed with a straw-tick and a quilt. A little stand with a pitcher of water and bowl for washing up. Windows that could be tightly shuttered to block out some of the city noise.

The only thing missing, really, was the chair.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers tapped on his book and he glanced around, as if a seat might be hiding in the corner. “Well, er…”

“It’s fine. I can leave.” Crowley turned on his heel and reached for the latch.

“Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it. You get settled and I’ll – ah – I’ll miracle in a chair.” He peered around the narrow room. “Somewhere.”

“Look, I can—”

“No. Miracle yourself a nightgown or whatever it is you need.”

“I—”

“Hush!”

Resigning himself, Crowley waved his clothes into something more comfortable for sleeping and crawled under the blanket. It was…slightly better than sleeping in the stables, he supposed. The straw was lumpy and the sheet covering it coarse, but the pillow was well-stuffed with goose-down, a luxury he could get used to. He shifted onto his back, trying to find a comfortable angle.

Instead, he found Aziraphale, standing beside the bed, staring blankly at the wall. “There…well…it would appear there isn’t room for a chair,” he confessed. “Not one that will fit my, er…my current corporation comfortably, that is.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling. He could sleep up there, but it would mean abandoning the pillow. Or. Or.

“Look, Angel,” he said as casually as he could. You can, um, you can sit on the bed. I’m not going to be offended or anything. It’s fine.”

“No, I couldn’t – couldn’t possibly—”

“Aziraphale. It’s really fine.”

The quilt tugged, folded back, and with a rustle of straw Aziraphale settled into the mattress. He sat straight, stiff, and so close to the edge he might topple off.

Even so, he was alarmingly close.

“You, um. You need the candle?”

“No, my own light will be sufficient, thank you.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Crowley tossed his glasses onto the little table and waved a finger at the candle, which immediately snuffed out, leaving the room dark except for the soft glow of Aziraphale, gently illuminating his book.

Crowley closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep.

He turned onto one side. No good, too close to the edge.

He turned the other way, or started to, freezing when he felt how close the angel’s warmth was.

Then he lay on his back again. The whole room fell very, very still.

“Bless it, Aziraphale, will you relax?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can practically hear your muscles creaking. How am I supposed to all asleep with all that – that tension barely six inches away!”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to. I am – am perfectly relaxed here, reading my book and you – you interrupt with these – these pointless accusations.”

Crowley gave up and turned on his side, facing Aziraphale, giving him as hard a stare as he could manage. “Your book is upside down, Angel.”

“Is it?” He swallowed. “I mean, of course it is. I am training myself to read upside-down text, a highly useful skill, which I’m sure—”

Crowley shut his eyes. “This was a terrible idea.” He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Look, Aziraphale, neither of us is actually comfortable with this. So I’m just going to head out. If I leave now, I might make it to the next town before the rain starts, and maybe they’ll have a room. You can have this one and—”

“Crowley,” he said, voice much softer than expected. “My dear fellow. I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out there. I know you won’t be in – in any real danger but…I would rather know that you’re safe.”

He stared ahead, sitting perfectly still in the way that only beings who aren’t really alive can – no breath, no heartbeat, no tiny motions.

Then, slowly, Crowley pulled his legs back under the quilt and lay on his back.

“What’s this book about, anyway?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“It’ll help. Trust me. What is it – poetry? Ancient epics about glorious wars? Not Hamlet again, I hope, that play is a gloomy mess of—”

“No, nothing of the sort. It’s…well, it’s a sort of love story.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Sort of?”

“Well, yes, it’s more a – a study of the manners and traditions of courtship. Our heroine is the second of five sisters, and there’s a great deal riding on finding them suitable husbands, but her choices are, well…not especially appealing.”

“Does she tell them to go jump in a lake?”

“Not in so many words,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly. “But yes, she has so far turned down two proposals quite bitingly. Although I think she was a bit hasty in her judgement of one of the young men.”

“I like it.” Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, and found the angel had relaxed, and moved just a little closer. “What’s it called, anyway?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” His fingers tapped against it. “Just released last year. I must try and find the author’s other work when I finish.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me how it ends.”

“Oh, are you…interested?”

“Hmm,” Crowley settled his head a little further into the pillow. “I do like a good drawing room drama. Perhaps I should pick out a few dresses and spend a year or two back in those circles.”

“As I recall, you were always deceitful and wicked and caused many a scandal.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Aziraphale smiled down at him, and it made Crowley feel light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “Then I imagine you’ll be brilliant at it.” He suddenly turned away, looking at the shuttered window. “Oh! Do you hear that? The rain has started.” The first drops were tapping against the shutters fitfully.

“Good thing I didn’t go out.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked at the book again. “Er, would you like me to…to read it to you? Just the first part, until you fall asleep.”

“I…” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean, your voice puts me to sleep half the time anyway, so…”

“Oh, yes, absolutely wonderful. Let me just get the first volume.” He hopped out of bed and hurried over to his jacket, rummaging in the pocket to pull out another hardcover book. When he returned to the bed, it was with almost no self-consciousness, wriggling comfortably against his pillow only a few inches away from Crowley.

“Now, let’s see…yes, here. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…’”

It was strange, seeing the angel from this angle, round face slightly lit by his own glow, little smile curving up his lips as the words bubbled out excitedly. His voice rose and fell as he read, trying to paint a picture of Longbourne and Netherfield and the lives of the Bennet sisters. Crowley could get used to it, the look, the sound, the soft familiarity of it all. Not that he was likely to have an opportunity.

He didn’t close his eyes. Not yet.

--

“‘But I can assure you,’ she added,” Aziraphale was quite enjoying the voice he had chosen for Mrs. Bennet, raising it now in slightly erratic excitement. “‘that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.’” He shifted again, raising his arm to better articulate the dialogue. “‘So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with!’” He dropped his voice into a vicious hiss. “‘I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.’”

He glanced to his left, grinning, hoping to see Crowley’s reaction to his bit of acting, but the demon had at some point fallen asleep. He lay half on his back, still facing Aziraphale, shock of red hair across the white pillow. His mouth hung slightly open and something emerged that was almost a snore, but rather too small to really qualify. It was drowned out by the wind and rain outside, rattling the shutters. Now and then, in the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Well. I suppose…yes, you sleep now.” Aziraphale turned to put the book down, thinking to find the second volume and pick up where he’d left off.

“Nf.” Crowley turned onto his side, one arm flinging out towards Aziraphale’s waist. “D’n stp,” he mumbled. “Jus’ gettn gud.”

“Er, are you…awake?” The arm tightened slightly, and Crowley pulled closer, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s side. “Crowley, er, dear…you’re…”

“M’fine.” He sighed, not seeming aware of the world at all. “S’nice.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale stared at the demon who had – had invaded his space. Had settled against him in a most – most awkward and undignified way.

Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Aziraphale slid a little lower against the pillow, until he’d surrounded Crowley in the crook of his arm. “Is that better, dear?”

“St’ry.” But he settled into that space between Aziraphale’s side and his arm with a content sigh, arm now draped across the angel’s chest.

Oh, dear. This is not going to be easy to explain when he wakes up. But that wouldn’t be for several hours, at least, and right now, there was a very small smile on Crowley’s lips.

“Well. Chapter four. ‘When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him…’”

--

Thanks for reading! Pride and Prejudice was initially published in three volumes, in 1813, attributed simply to “The Author of Sense and Sensibility.” I have no idea what was going on in York in 1814 - I mostly needed someplace they could walk to but would take several days - so feel free to attribute whatever historical events you can think of to these dummies! 

[fangirlshrewt97]

Stuttered Confessions and Soft Kisses

Fandom: Sense8

Pairing: Amanita Caplan x Nomi Marks

Read on AO3

///

Nomi was walking on clouds. Well, not literally obviously, but she was pretty sure this weight-less sensation would be what it would feel like. Her heart felt like it was racing and also just the most full it had ever been. She didn’t even mind that the rain had left them stranded in under this bus stop, hell, she was ready to thank it and hope it continued for a while longer.

Here she was, nearly at the end of her fifth (fifth!) date with the single most incredible person she had ever met, and Nomi felt like she was in a dream. How was this her life?

She was not the type of girl things like this happened to. Like come on, meeting who was surely going to be the love of her life in a bookshop? Her saying yes to a date? And then again to a second one?

And yet. Here she was. As happy as all those sappy love songs always made puppy love out to be. She had always assumed that to be a load of crap. Maybe she owed them an apology for doubting the sentiment, but the music was still too sweet for her.

She did not want to burst the bubble, afraid of ruining the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had not told Amanita about …her. Not yet. About her past. Did it matter? Like, was it important Amanita know right now? What did it matter? The risks of telling the truth were far too great, and Nomi had never considered herself to be gambler.

Still. They had been on five dates. Nomi had come home from the first date of her most secret dreams, and she had known she needed to tell her. Even back then, it was obvious that Amanita was not just another person she would get to know and then move on from. Something about her was magnetic. Addictive. And also because she did not know what falling in love felt like, but she thought it was the endless butterflies in her stomach at the sight of Amanita’s smile, or the warmth that had spread and lingered through the night from her simple hug at the end of the night. Or maybe it was the perfect impression of her captivating eyes that had tattooed themselves into Nomi’s brain. Or maybe it was all of the above.

The risk though. The inevitable pain. Nomi was no stranger to pain, hell, she was more intimately familiar with pain than with this strange joy, which is why she needed to tell Amanita the truth. Because as much as it would hurt if Amanita decided to walk away, Nomi would always remember her for being the first partner she had had who had seen her. Truly seen her, and liked what she had seen.

So today.

She would tell her today.

At the end of their date.

She would tell Amanita.

Shit.

She did not want this rain to stop. The rain stopping meant they could walk to Nomi’s apartment. Meant it would be time for Nomi to confess. That Amanita would walk away.

She did not want to leave this little cocoon they were in, where Amanita was huddling close to Nomi, an arm slung across her waist, shivering slightly in the face of the rain’s chill. She did not want to walk towards her heartbreak.

Because this was her, right? In what world could she hope for a story that didn’t end with her heart broken? What frame of reference did she have for unfettered happiness?

“Bloody rains never rain when one is inside, always insist on ruining lovely days.” Amanita gritted through her teeth as she tried to wind her shawl tighter around herself.

Nomi hummed, mind still worrying over the coming confession. She glanced outside the glass of the bus stop they were standing in. “I don’t know. I always found rain to be cathartic. A way for the world to relieve itself of whatever burdens it had. I could stay comfortable in my room, inside my blankets, I slept easiest when it rained.”

Remembering herself, a faint blush painted her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “I mean , that is-”

Only to stop in the face of Amanita’s wide eyes and slightly open mouth.

Nomi ducked her head. “Sorry.”

Amanita shook her head vigorously. “Don’t apologize. That was beautiful. I had never thought of it like that.”

Nomi shrugged again, still keeping her eyes to the ground. Until she felt a soft touch to her temple, Amanita’s hand clammy where it was lightly cupping the side of her head. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I love to hear about how you see the world.”

The blush returned stronger than ever to Nomi’s cheeks.

Amanita’s lips quirked, and she leaned closer, making Nomi’s breath hitch. Just as Amanita was about to kiss her (their first kiss! Nomi’s brain was blue screening at the most inconvenient of times!) though, a car came roaring out of nowhere. Speeding down the road so fast it sprayed them with the puddle water, making them jump apart.

Nomi reached to grab Amanita’s wrist as the other woman shouted curses at the long gone car. When Amanita turned to face her, Nomi knew she must be in love. Even with dirty water dripping down her face, and eyes fuming with outrage, Amanita was the most magnificent sight she had seen.

Unable to help herself, she started laughing. Amanita scowled at her for another moment before cracking, and soon they were both leaning on each other as they laughed. When she finally caught her breath, Nomi straightened up and reached into her bag, pulling out some wipes. Passing a couple to Amanita, she wiped off her glasses, and then her face.

“And here I was thinking this date was like something out of a dream.” Amanita muttered as she threw their wipes into the nearby trash can.

Nomi just grinned, “I like this better. Because it makes it more real.”

Amanita’s shoulders dropped as she seemed to soften. “Yeah, I suppose there is that.”

Feeling brave, Nomi approached Amanita, one hand tentatively cupping the shorter woman’s cheek. Amanita leaned into her hand, eyes lighting up in anticipation.

Swallowing down the fear, Nomi leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t a “fireworks” or “angels singing” kind of kiss. It was soft lips on chapped lips, gentle hands cradling one another, two people sharing a connection with the potential to grow into so much more.

It was real, and it was perfect.

When they parted, they stayed close, leaning their foreheads against each other.

Nomi was afraid to open her eyes, afraid that this would all have actually been an elaborate fantasy her mind had made up. Her breath shook, and only Amanita’s wounded noise and finger brushing away a tear made her realize she was crying.

“Nomi? What’s wrong?” Amanita whispered.

Nomi just shook her head, body trembling as the words lodged themselves in their throat.

“Oh honey.” Amanita said, so gently, and folded her into her arms, Nomi clutching at her sides, trying to calm down and push down the sobs that kept rising up.

Amanita held her through it, calmly rubbing at her back, her other hand curved around the back of her head. When Nomi was able to see past the tears, she stepped away, arms wrapping themselves tightly against her chest in a gesture she had become familiar to over many years of missing touches. Amanita recognized she needed space and gave it to her, leaving another immense wave of gratitude to flow through Nomi. She did not think she could do this if Amanita was touching her. Wasn’t sure she could do it otherwise either, but if not now, then. Then, she might not survive whenever Amanita left.

“You need to know something.” Nomi said.

Amanita blinked, then nodded hesitantly.

“I-um. It’s important. It’s a part of me. And I can’t. If this can be more. And I want it to be. You need to know. Now.” Nomi stuttered.

Amanita released a breath. “Okay. What do I need to know?”

Here it was.

The moment of truth.

The moment of heartbreak.

The moment where all the love and concern in Amanita’s eyes would leave. Nomi knew her enough to not disrespect her by thinking she’d be disgusted.

“I.” Nomi straightened her spine, taking in a deep breath and exhaling. “I’m trans. I wasn’t born… I am a woman.” she finished. She was a woman. Had been one from birth. No matter whatever anyone else had to say about it.  

“Oh.” Amanita said.

Nomi’s eyes focused beyond her shoulder, heart racing with fear. She couldn’t meet the other woman’s eyes. Not until she came close enough for Nomi to feel her body heat.

Nomi fought to keep the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from falling.

“Would you please look at me?” Amanita asked, voice gentle.

Clenching her jaw, Nomi inhaled once, eyes closing. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes. Amanita’s dark eyes were sparkling in the streetlight.

She let out a sob when she saw the same love and concern there, along with something that almost looked like pride.

“Can I hug you?” Amanita asked. Through blurry vision, Nomi nodded, letting Amanita embrace her again.

Where the last hug had felt like a desperate grasp to the last bit of comfort and affection she would receive, this one was so much more. This one felt like home.

“Thank you so much for sharing that with me Nomi. And I am so sorry that you have been caused so much pain because of that. The world is so stupid and it sucks. But I promise you. It is not a deal breaker for me.”

Nomi’s shoulders kept trembling.

“You are perfect just as you are. And anyone who has ever made you think otherwise can go fuck off. Do you hear me?”

Nomi let out a watery chuckle, and felt Amanita press a smile to the side of her temple.

“I would really like to go on another date with you. How does that sound?” Amanita whispered in her ear.

Nomi clutched her tighter. “Like a dream come true.”

Amanita laughed and nudged her upright, grinning so brightly, Nomi felt blinded. “Let’s get you home. Sooner I drop you off, sooner I can pick you up for our next date.”

This time, Amanita was the one who kissed her.

Nomi opened her eyes as soon as it was over. She did not want to miss a single moment with Amanita. Because this wasn’t a dream, and that made it so much better.

[ais-for-alex]

The Scars of Our Past Chapter 20:

So Ngl I love this chapter, I am a ho for a soft LeLo moment. Hope y’all enjoy 😊 (also you don’t have to listen to the song but I feel like it adds to the moment)

Logan paced the length of his room, back and forth, back and forth wearing a hole in the carpet. He had his lower lip pulled between his teeth, biting, worrying it until it was sore and swollen, his hands clenched and unclenched unconsciously cracking the knuckles over and over again.

He had to say something, he needed to say something. But god, what the fuck was he supposed to say? He hadn’t spoken to Leo aside from the occasional meme, since he ran and hid from him, it had been what? A week? And yet Logan felt like a vital part of himself had been ripped from his body and stolen from him.

Logan huffed an exasperated breath and sat at the foot of his bed, he needed a game plan, things were always easier with a game plan. Mentally Logan began composing a list in hopes that once he had an idea of what to do he would actually do it.

Step 1: Text him and hope that he responds

Step 2: Apologize for nearly accosting him, then running away, then ghosting him (god why are there so many things here?)

Step 3: Hope he accepts the apology

Step 4: …

Then what? Logan groaned at the thought and flopped backwards, what exactly was he trying to accomplish here? Get Leo back into his life as a friend? That didn’t feel quite right and made Logan's stomach clench uncomfortably, but the alternative option filled him with anxiety, all the unanswered questions that pulled up in his brain Logan couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. Well, at least it was the start of a plan, enough to take that first step.

Logan pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans and pulled up Leo’s contact.

(You): Hey :waving emoji: whatcha up to?

The moment he hit send Logan dropped the phone face down on his chest, too nervous to watch and see if Leo would read the message let alone respond. Only a second late though it buzzed with an incoming message.

(Sunshine Giraffe): Just finishing up at practice

(Sunshine Giraffe): How about you?

Logan felt his stomach do that weird swoopy thing like it does whenever he goes on a roller coaster as he typed out his next text.

(You): Nothing much RN

(You): You want to go find something to do?

(You): Together?

There was a bit of a pause as he watched the typing bubbles pop up then disappear, in the near minute and a half it took for Leo to respond Logan nearly chucked his phone at the wall, but then he felt it buzz in his hand again.

(Sunshine Giraffe): Sure, that would be nice

(Sunshine Giraffe): You have an idea in mind?

(You): Nothing too special

(You): Meet me at the rink?

(You): We can go explore a bit; I can show you the area?

(Sunshine Giraffe): Sounds like a plan

(Sunshine Giraffe): See you in 15ish?

(You): :Thumbs up emoji:

Logan breathed in deep, step 1 done. He rolled up off his bed before snagging a pair of shoes from his closet and making his way up the stairs to the main area of the house.

“Hey Dumo?” he called out, peeking his head into the living room where Dumo and Celeste were curled up together on their couch.

“Quoi?” he asked looking up.

“Mind if I borrow your car? I’m going to meet a friend.”

“Hmm,” he hummed as if thinking hard about the request, “fine. On one condition though.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Dumo chuckled as he grabbed the keys off the coffee table in front of him, “Stop moping,” with that he tossed the keys through the air for Logan to catch.

“I have not been moping,” he spluttered, making both Dumo and Celeste laugh at his expense.

“Sorry Tremz, but you kinda have,” Celeste said with a mildly sympathetic grin, “for like the last week at least.”

“I- no- I haven’t,” he stuttered at a loss of ways to defend himself, “alright I’m leaving,” he finally said before turning to make his way to the garage.

“Remember no more moping!” Dumo called after him, still chuckling.

When Logan pulled up outside the rink, he spotted Leo sitting on the stone steps leading into the main entrance of the building. At the sight of Leo all wrapped up in his jacket and scarf, beanie pulled low against the chill of the frosty air, Logan felt an odd warmth settle in his stomach. Somehow that warmth seemed to calm the fluttering butterflies inside him as he parked and hopped out of the car.

“Leo!” he called out as he got closer, making the blond glance up and lock his baby blue eyes on Logan.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, standing up from the steps grinning widely.

Jeeze, Logan always forgot how tall he was until he was right next to him, his face tilting upwards basking in the rays of warm sunshine Leo always seemed to radiate.

“So,” Logan said, a bit lamely not entirely sure where to take this conversation. He dug his hands into his pockets just to hide his nervous fidgeting, he knew he needed to apologize but it felt weird to just jump into it right out of the blue and the words seemed to stick in his throat at the thought. “Um, I thought we could walk around for a bit. I can show you some of the best places around here if you want.”

Leo chuckled and held out his hand gesturing to the sidewalk next to them, “well, where you lead I will follow.”

Logan laughed at the little self-satisfied grin on his face, “Did you really just reference the Gilmore Girls theme?”

“What? Who me? Yes, yes I did.”

“Come on, you dork,” Logan laughed again, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the sleeve of Leo’s hoodie and tugged him forward.

Together they began wandering down the sidewalk leading away from the rink, Logan pointed out all the restaurants with the best take out, the little book shop that Finn would always drag him to after practice, the music store where he bought one of his favorite guitars. He could feel the warmth of Leo’s arm brushing against his own as they walked, Logan could feel those soft blue eyes watching him and each time he would glance up Leo would smile tenderly at him.

The sun began to sink along the horizon as they walked,painting the frosty sky in cotton candy and orange sorbet turning the swirling clouds into sugar coated ice cream cones. Eventually the sidewalk led them into a hidden courtyard, a few people resilient enough to brave the cold were sitting at wrought iron tables outside a little Italian restaurant, a makeshift stage had been set up and a typical hipster looking guy with a guitar was strumming a soft tune his voice mingling with the notes to create a soothing melody.

“Hey,” Leo said, nudging Logan, “let’s sit for a bit.”

Logan nodded and followed Leo over to sit at the edge of a stone lined fire pit, the blaze was contained behind an intricately designed wrought iron cage but the heat still bled into their backs as they sat and watched the musician.

“Hey Leo?” Logan said softly, not looking up.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed and tucked his hands under his thighs to stop himself from fidgeting.

“It’s ok,” Leo replied, his voice sounding so earnest.

“No, it’s not,” Logan said, finally looking up, Leo was watching him again with that soft look in his eyes that made something inside his heart melt just a bit. “I shouldn’t have done that, that night. I held you down, took advantage of you. And then I ran away and hid like a scared little child. And then on top of that I couldn’t even nut up enough to text you back.”

“Logan,” Leo’s voice was soft as he reached a hand out and gently brushed a bit of hair off of Logan's face, the light brush of his fingertips made his breath hitch. “Please believe me when I say, it’s ok. You didn’t take advantage of me, I liked you being there. And I mean you’re strong,” he chuckled and glanced down at Logan's body, “but if I didn’t want you on top of me, I very easily could have gotten out of your hold.” Leo let his hand settle at the side of Logan’s neck, the warmth of his palm comforting,“and as for the rest, it’s ok to be scared. It’s ok to not understand the things that you’re feeling. Believe me it’s hard and confusing but it’ll be ok,” his voice tapered to a whisper as he finished speaking.

Logan felt himself crumble at Leo’s words, his eyes fell closed and he couldn’t stop the sigh from falling from his lips. Suddenly, Logan felt like all the energy had drained out of his body, he let himself lean forward to rest his forehead on Leo’s shoulder.

“How are you always so nice?” he asked, he felt Leo chuckle at the words as his fingers tangled into the soft curls that fluffed out under the brim of his snapback.

“It’s my southern charm,” he teased, Leo let his hand wander away from Logan's neck to wrap his arm around his body and tug him just a bit closer into his side.

The two of them sat like that for a while, comfortable in each other’s presence. They let the fire's heat fight away the winter chill as night fell steadily darker and darker around them. The soft music drifted closer on the frosted breeze but with Leo’s warm arms wrapped around him Logan was content to stay right where he was.

Eventually though they did have to leave the little bubble of that hidden courtyard but Logan didn’t want to leave Leo. He had been hiding from him for the last week but after finally finding stability with him again his heart was calling out to be with him as long as possible, so Logan walked with him back in the direction of Finn’s apartment.

“Well…” Logan said softly looking up at Leo’s face when they finally made it to the entrance of the building.

“This is me…” Leo replied, his baby blue eyes watching him tenderly.

“I guess I should get going, I’ll see later Leo.” Logan turned to leave but felt Leo’s hand reach out and grab his arm.

“Wait,” he said, “um… do- do you want to come up?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Logan hesitated remembering that last conversation with Finn, him walking away. “I don’t think Finn really wants to see me right now.”

Leo huffed a soft little chuckle, “I don’t think Finn would ever object to seeing you. Come on, I’ll make dinner.”

“You’re gonna cook?” Logan laughed a bit disbelievingly.

“Why does everyone act like that’s such a surprise?” Leo said tugging Logan a bit closer to the door, “Come up. Please?”

Logan felt warmth bleed into him at the soft sound of Leo’s please , he was suddenly struck by the realization that if he asked it in that voice Logan wouldn’t be able to deny Leo anything.

“Alright, I’ll come with you.”

The smile that split Leo’s face lit up the entire street with sunlight.

Read on ao3

[sunshineandcybertronians]

Heart Attack - Knock Out x reader

Word count: 3,670 Warnings: None A/N: This was one of the first TFP fanfics I wrote. I finished it in June 2019. Hope you enjoy! Song: Heart Attack by Demi Lovato 

You hummed a song on the couch while watching the older two teenagers play a video game. Not truly paying attention with a big grin and a far off look in your eyes, daydreaming. about your secret friend. Knockout. You met him through your association with the Autobots. He decided to capture you, not too long after you were introduced to them, a few months after the other three kids were. Before the Autobots rescued you, you talked with Knockout. It was enjoyable and you both like to conversing. Thus, you been secretly scheduling time to get together. You loved being with him and talking to him.

Currently, your mind was sitting on a mental picture of him his finish shiny and a beautiful shade of red. His face snow white and handsome. Your imagination switch to him in his flawless alt mode rolling down the road against the sunset. Sighing, your imagination supplied the sensation of sitting in him at that high speed. Your heart began throbbing with a strange feeling. Realizing what you were thinking, you shook your head. No, you couldn't think that. You were just friends with him, that's all.

You were drawn back into the real world by Miko's victory celebration.

"Yes, I won!" Miko jumped up at her car knocking Jack's off the road.

Jack groaned before reminding Miko, "Okay, it's Raf's turn now."

"Right. Here," she handed him the controller.

"Miko, you've made the controller all sweaty," Raf complained, holding it by only his fingertips.

"Sorry," she replied in her cheerful way. "Not my fault my hands decided to do that while I was crushing Jack." She mimicked holding a controller and mashing buttons with one foot up on the cushion.

"How long has it been since you guys cleaned those off?" You asked, suddenly curious and slightly disgusted since you never recalled them doing that.

"Um, we're supposed to clean them?" Miko asked, sitting down and putting a finger on her jaw as if she was thinking.

"I... don't think we ever have," Jack slowly admitted as the realization came over him.

"Then I'll go get some wet wipes from the storage room. I'll be right back." You got up, began to clop down the hard stairs, and entered the Cybertronian sized corridor. "I'll come with," Miko called out while hopping up and running down the stairs with no regard for her own safety.

"Carefully!" Ratchet immediately snapped when he glanced her way.

"Sorry," you apologized for her, sinking into your shoulders.

Miko caught up with you and you both began running done the hall. You wouldn't normally have run, but you unintentionally mimicked your energetic friend, as well as doing so to simply keep up with her. Being in the corridor without someone usually made you feel uneasy, as if you felt that you didn't belong there due to your small size. Miko being beside you helped ease your insecurity.

She kept talking about some random things, like how she defeated Jack, that they need a new video game, and the monster truck rally she and Bulk went to. Most of the time you just nodded while she did the talking. You accidentally tuned out about half of it. Once you reached the storage area, you grabbed the box of wet wipes, cradled it in your arms, and began pacing back.

"So, do you like anyone?" Miko asked you out of nowhere, leaning forward while looking to you expectantly.

"What?" Your pupils became large and you almost froze from surprise.

"Do you have a crush on anyone?" she jumped out in front of you and walked backwards. "You've been acting more happy and daydreamy recently."

"I don't think 'daydreamy' is a word," you avoided the question.

"But who is it?"

"No one!"

She fell into step aside you again, pretending to examine her nails with a smug smile. "It's Knockout isn't it?"

That time you actually stopped in your tracks for a split second. "What?!" you said a lot louder than you meant to.

"Yeah! I saw the way you looked at him the other day when we had a run-in with the 'Cons. You were totally goo-goo eyed. If it were an anime your eyes would have had tons of sparkle and you would have been drooling."

"Quiet," you almost whispered.

"You were! Do you like him?" Miko was the most persistent girl you've ever known.

"No," you firmly answered louder than you meant to. You managed to stop yourself from shouting that you didn't know, feeling frustrated. "Look, I can't like him, he's a Decepticon. I barely know him. So stop asking," your voice had an unintentional edge. Miko even looked shocked and slightly scared for a millisecond.

In reality you didn't care that he was a Decepticon, you just didn't want to have to deal with a crush. They could be so annoying. Plus, it would be hard to do that considering you were on opposite sides, the Autobots might object, and he may not like you back. That last one could ruin your friendship which you valued so much.

"Okay," Miko shrugged and focused on the open room you were approaching. Although you could tell she wasn't convinced, even more so with her sudden calm and cool attitude. She was actually pretty good at acting when she wanted to, provided she's not lying, to the point only someone who truly knew her would be able to see through it.

"Here, think fast," you tossed the box to her as you ran into the wide area with most of the Autobots' presence.

Her pace quicken like yours and she rushed up the stairs. Your course, however, was aimed at the yellow Autobot scout. You slowed and stopped in front of him.

"Hey, Bee!" you called to him, "Can I get a ride back home? I think there's a report I left at home, so I'll just finish it there." With Miko being onto your secret- you mean, her thinking you liked Knockout, you had to get out of there as fast as you could before she told everyone her suspicion. Primus knows she can't keep a secret. You did NOT want to be around if she did so.

Bumblebee beeped in agreement and transformed into a yellow Urbana 500. The passenger door popped opened and you climbed inside.

"Thanks, Bee," you said as he clicked the seatbelt over you.

He buzzed, probably saying, "No problem," and drove through the tunnel and out into the Nevada desert. It was a quiet ride back, the light brown terrain blurred past you. You began thinking about Knockout again. They hadn't figured out that you were friends yet, in fact, all Miko suspected was that you liked him. This meant you were in the clear for now. Although if Miko told everyone, it would not only be embarrassing, they might keep a closer eye on you which would prevent you from being around Knockout.

Deciding you should tell him, you pulled your phone out and your fingers began flying across the digital keyboard.

Me: Wanna go for a drive? I'll be back home in a little bit, but don't go just yet. And be careful, the yellow Urbana's dropping me off.

You tapped send and leaned back in the seat. Normally you wouldn't have referred to Bumblebee like that, but it would make it easier for Knockout to know who you were talking about. Plus, it sounded like something Knockout would say and every now and then you found you were picking up his talking habits.

A buzzing against your skin made you look back at your phone and see the reply.

Knockout: Sure. I'll stick around, unseen, until you give the thumbs up.

You wanted to comment that it was almost impossible for him to be 'unseen' with his shiny, red paintjob and his gorgeous alt mode, but you knew what he meant. Blood rushed to your cheeks and you felt warm when you realized you just mentally called him gorgeous.

"Buzzz, chirp chirp, buzz?" Bee seemed to ask a question and pull you out of your thoughts.

"Huh." Being back in reality you suddenly realized you were only two or three minutes away from home.

Bumblebee repeated himself, but you still had no idea what he was trying to say. "I'm... sorry. I don't understand you."

The seatbelt moved on its own like it was alive. The part that was previously on your shoulder tapped your cheek, then stayed on your shoulder again like it never moved.

"Oh," you let out when you realized what he was asking. "It's just warm today, so that's why my face is turning red," you lied, although it was a warm day and you were grateful he cared enough to ask.

Before you could say thank you, the AC became cooler and the cool air felt pleasant on your skin.

"Thanks, Bee," you smiled.

He beeped another, "No problem," or "You're welcome." You didn't really need a translator to know that.

In no time, you were in front of your house. You waved and gave another thanks before running inside. Once inside, you secretly watched from the window and waited until Bumblebee was gone.

Pulling out your phone again, you typed:

Me: He's gone now. Just left.

You considered painting your nails red while waiting, to look better for him, but would it dry in time? Before you could decide, fifteen seconds after you clicked send, Knockout pulled up and you rushed as fast to him as you could, almost forgetting to close the door on your way out. The door opening, you promptly got in. It closed behind you and he began to drive.

"That was fast. You didn't even give me time to brush out my hair or anything," you joked while reaching for the seatbelt out of habit, but it automatically went over you and snapped into place.

"You still look just fine," he replied somewhat slowly in his suave voice.

"Thanks," you smiled and forced yourself to stop thinking about it before you could begin blushing.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he noticed you were slightly less happy than usual. You had been friends and spent enough time with each other that he could read you fairly well.

"Miko might be onto me."

"She's the girl that's Bulkhead's pet, right?"

"Partner, or charge, whatever you want to call it," you corrected. "But yes."

"She knows about us," there was a slight growl in his words. You could just be kidding yourself, but it might have been fear, in an angry way. Like he was scared of the possibility. "About us being friends and meeting each other, I mean," the red interior lights flashed as he spoke.

"Well not exactly, she..." you paused, looking for the right way to word it. You didn't want to tell him that Miko thought you had a crush on him, because you didn't, you mentally added. "She noticed how I... seemed happy when I saw you the other day. She may guess that I've been meeting up with you, or someone else will if she tells them."

"Would she tell them?"

"Oh yeah. That girl can't keep a secret. Except for the fact that cybertronians exist, maybe she's just bad at keeping secrets from her friends. Anyway," you regained your posture and decided to get back on topic, "even if they don't figure it out, they might think that I'll approach you and get captured or... join the Decepticons," you waved your arms out, careful not to hit Knockout, as you exaggerated. "The point is they can worry and keep a closer optic on me which would restrict me from seeing you." You leaned back with your arms crossed, staring down. "I could always text or call you. But I have no idea how long the house arrest would last. Plus they may wonder who I'm texting so much and see, and I would miss riding with you and seeing you in person."

Knockout stayed quiet as he processed it, wondering what he should say or how he should respond to all of that information. The only sound was the hum of his engine giving the necessary energy to glide across the concrete in the open desert while you waited for a reply.

"Hmm. Wouldn't want that to happen. If the 'Bots learn, Megatron might too. That would be painful. But the chances of him figuring out are slim, so I'd be more worried about you right now." He thought about it. "Maybe if that happens you could run away with me," he suggested.

You laughed, "As tempting as that is, I can't do that. That would be a little irresponsible and only make it worse. If they worry about me being captured or defecting, running away wouldn't ease them, it would make them more desperate. And they're my friends too. But thanks for the offer," you added.

"What should we do then?"

"I think we should just roll with the punches and hope for the best. There's no guarantee they'll find out. Although, we should be more careful." It scared you to think that you could lose Knockout, however you had to hope for the best. That was all you could do, so you hoped you wouldn't be prevented from being with him. The thought of being torn apart from him made your heart ach- you mean, it would be sad. No, you gave your head a small shake. You didn't love him, you convinced yourself.

"If you say so," he sounded a little unsure himself.

"Knockout!" a deep, scary voice burst through the speakers making you jump.

"Yes, Megatron," Knockout tried to mask the fear in his response, not wanting to be caught slacking off with a human.

"Knockout, where are you?" he demanded.

You froze and unintentionally held your breath. You didn't know if the Decepticon leader would hear you if you said anything, but you didn't want to find out.

"I was... just scouting for energon deposits."

"Well you're in luck," Megatron became strangely calm with a bite, like he was attempting to suppress his anger. "Because we have detected an energy signature near your location. Scout out the area and report your findings, IMMEDIATELY!"

"Y-yes, my liege." He turned off the comm. "Sorry, (Y/n), I have to go check it out," he said quietly, as if he was afraid the comm was still on.

You nodded. "It's alright. I understand."

None of you had to mention it to know that you were both terrified that Megatron would find out about your secret, despite only speaking through the comm channel. Your heart was still racing. By the way the engine rattled slightly, while driving off the road to scout the requested site, you could tell he was still shaken up.

Knockout stopped by a rock wall and opened the door for you to get out.

"It would probably be safer if you stayed here and wait for me. No telling if the site is going to be unstable or if Lord Megatron has already sent other Decepticons," he mentioned.

"Right," you hopped out, "I'll wait here." You watched him drive away, turning right and behind the orange-ish brown rock formation you were standing by.

Sighing, you wondered what you should do while waiting. Your feet kicked up some rocks and dirt out of boredom. Your mind wandered and you began to think about Knockout, then Miko's earlier claim. A warm feeling fluttered in your chest. You immediately forced yourself to stop thinking about it to remove the feeling and decided to distract yourself by putting in ear buds and listening to songs on your phone.

Several songs played that you danced or bobbed your head to. Then a song, that sounded strangely similar to your situation, began playing.

Puttin’ my defences up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love

Upon hearing that you knew it was "Heart attack" by Demi Levado.

If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack

Never put my love out on the line

You nodded, since you knew that you wanted to never to risk your heart getting broken or putting yourself in a bad situation when it came to love... want being keyword. You can want one thing, but another thing can happen.

Never said yes to the right guy Never had trouble getting what I want But when it comes to you, I’m never good enough

A laugh escaped your mouth, recollecting that you often never felt good enough for Knockout. He was gorgeous, how could you ever compete or be good enough for his standards? This time you forgot to notice you called him gorgeous and argue with yourself that you didn't think that as your thoughts moved on with the song.

When I don’t care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll Won’t wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball

But you make me wanna act like a girl Paint my nails and wear high heels, yes you Make me so nervous, that I just can’t hold your hand

A hum vibrated in your throat as you began humming the song at the pre chorus. You remembered when you considered painting your nails for Knockout.

You make me glow, But I cover up, won’t let it show, So I’m puttin’ my defenses up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack

Your heart seemed to have taken note of what feeling it produced when you usually thought about Knockout and replay it while listening to the song. This time you didn't fight it and let the nice feeling flood through you.

Never break a sweat for the other guys When you come around, I get paralyzed And every time I try to be myself It comes out wrong like a cry for help

You were so into the song and relating to it so much that at the last line that you began singing along while dancing more vigorously, knowing that no one would see.

It’s just not fair Pain’s more trouble than love is worth I gasp for air It feels so good, but you know it hurts

But you make me wanna act like a girl Paint my nails and wear perfume, for you, Make me so nervous, that I just can’t hold your hand

You make me glow, But I cover up, won’t let it show, So I’m puttin’ my defenses up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack

You recalled how you'd be so much more happier being with and thinking about Knockout, but you'd never let it show because you didn't want anyone else to figure out. Thinking about it now, you didn't want yourself to figure out. You thought that if you kept denying it, then you wouldn't fall for him.

Dummy, you heard a part of your brain or heart say, how could you not fall for him?

The feelings got lost in my lungs They’re burning, I’d rather be numb

It felt really weird suddenly admitting you liked him, that it had become too powerful to deny, like the song was giving it energy. The emotion overpowered you in a way you almost felt weak, yet it somehow had a pleasant sensation.

And there’s no one else to blame

Sighing, the song reminded you that there was no one else you could blame for making you feel like this except for yourself. You let this happen and decided to meet him all the time.

So scared I take off and I run I’m flying too close to the sun And I burst into flames

You make me glow, But I cover up, won’t let it show, So I’m puttin’ my defenses up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack (heart attack) I think I’d have a heart attack

A spin was the next move you decided to perform. While doing so, you spotted an all too familiar red mech leaning against the rock and white face smirking. This startled you so much that you lost balance and fell down on your bottom, facing Knockout.

Oh I think I’d have a heart attack

Your cheeks heated up, feeling embarrassed that he heard you singing and what you were just thinking about. His arms were crossed, causing the sun to reflect off of his doors, and an optic ridge was raised that didn't help your blush.

I think I’d have a heart attack

You stopped the song as it ended and pulled out the ear buds. "I... didn't hear you. How... much did you hear?" you tentatively asked while getting up.

"Oh, just the beginning of, what I assumed is, the second chorus up until now." He stood up straight and walked closer to you.

You stood still and wondered what he was going to do. An awkward smile played on your mouth while you pretended everything was normal. Although you moved your legs closer together and held your arm, giving you the appearance of being someone shy.

"So, do you have a heart attack?" he asked.

Your heart started beating so fast you thought it would burst out of your chest and your brain stopped functioning. "Umm... Uh, ummm."

Your flustered reaction seemed to please him. He tenderly placed a digit over your mouth to stop you from talking. He leaned down so you were eye to optic. A smile graced his faceplate while you stared into his deep optics.

"I have a spark attack too."