#and add on a stranger touching me for that period of time and I’m ready to fully vomit

[svtoose]

When Everyone Else Forgot ft. Choi Seungcheol

pairing: seungcheol x gn!reader

word count: 1,300

F + some hurt/sadness

warnings: some cursing, rude friends, college au, cuddling, cheesecake

summary: everyone forgot your birthday except a special someone

a/n : s(ice cream s)coups

Today was going to be your special day, the day that only happens once a year. Today you would turn 21 years old.

As you awakened in bed, you promised yourself that nothing could ruin your day. No rude roommate, no grumpy teacher. Today was going to be a day spent with your friends filled with happiness, joy, and possibly some booze.

While getting dressed, you made sure to choose your favorite outfit and add just an extra touch of makeup. After all, you wanted to look nice for your birthday.

Once you got to the kitchen, you began to prepare your breakfast, not minding your grumpy roommate, Seungcheol, who would barely look in your direction.

As he shut the fridge right before you reached for the milk, you offered him an impatient deadpan look but quickly moved on and finished preparing your food for the rest of the day. As you had promised yourself earlier, no snarky attitude would get in the way of today’s happiness.

While you were checking your phone, you were surprised not to see any texts from your friends or family. It was true that you no longer lived with your parents, but you were sure they couldn’t possibly forget about today. Perhaps it’s just too early for them, you thought to yourself.

While your roommate shuffled back to his bedroom, you exited the apartment and made your way to class, looking forward to seeing your friends and what they might’ve prepared for you.

Once you reached the building, your friend found you and called your name.

“Y/N!” she shouted. With an extra pep in your step, you rushed toward your friend, ready to walk to your first class of the day together.

“Ugh. I’m so not in the mood for Anthropology right now," she complained.

“Yeah, me neither. At least we’ll get it over with.”

While your morning continued without a single “happy birthday,” you assumed that your friends were preparing a surprise for you during the lunch break. Maybe they’d take you out or get a cake for you.

But by the time your lunch period started, your friends were treating the day like any other. It’s not that you expected some extravagant event, but something special, a card, or a sweet birthday wish would’ve felt nice. After all, you were that friend who made everyone feel so appreciated on their birthdays.

Once lunch was over, you began to feel a bit dejected. You considered bringing it up to your friends, but that would be kind of pointless. You shouldn’t have to remind your friends of a day such as this one.

At 6 o’clock, you had completed your final class of the day and were ready to head home, without a single birthday wish, not even from your own family. As you walked along the pathway with your friend, ready to part ways as she headed toward her car, one of your classmates from biology passed by you.

“Oh, Y/N! Happy birthday, by the way!” You remembered having a conversation with your lab partner about this as she continued walking on her way.

“Thanks!” you replied. Your “friend” wore a surprised expression as the guilt spread to her cheeks and ears. You paid no mind and continued on your way home, not even surprised by the fact that she didn’t follow you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you got on the bus, completely devastated by what happened today. You paid no mind to the sympathetic looks strangers gave you and continued home.

As you unlocked the door to your apartment, you dreaded Seungcheol seeing you in tears, but to your surprise, the apartment seemed empty. The only light on was the one that hung over the kitchen counter.

Ready to end this awful day, you were headed straight to your bedroom before a box on the counter caught your eye. As you inched up, you continued to sniffle before realizing what was in the box.

“Happy Birthday Y/N,” read the blueberry cheesecake that lay fresh in the box. On the bottom corner were the words, “-your asshole of a roommate.”

You couldn’t contain your tears of joy. Out of everyone that forgot, your mean roommate remembered. With your belongings still in your hands, you made your way to your roommate’s room, hoping he’d be home. You pushed through the door to find him lying in his bed facing away from you, watching something on his phone.

“Seungcheol?” you whispered. He turned around, slightly confused at first, before he clearly saw you in all of your tears.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, concern mixed with confusion.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. “It's just... today was supposed to be special, but no one remembered my birthday. Not my friends, not my family. It felt like no one cared.”

Seungcheol frowned. "I saw you on campus earlier. I could tell something was off. You looked really down."

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face. "Yeah, it was hard to keep it together. I tried to stay positive, but it was just so disappointing."

His expression slowly became understanding. Despite his urge to crack a mean joke, he slowly opened his arms as an invitation for you. For some reason, it just felt right. You crawled into his arms as he held you close, still teary-eyed from all of the emotions.

“Thank you, Seungcheol,” you said as the warmth of his embrace began to melt away your pain. You could feel his heart beating steadily under your ear, helping you feel grounded.

He held you a little tighter, his chin resting gently on the top of your head. "Listen, I know I can be an asshole at times," he began, his voice soft and sincere, "but I really do appreciate you. I guess I just don’t know how to behave around you."

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine concern and a hint of vulnerability that he usually kept well-hidden. "Why do you say that?" you asked curiously.

Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings, or maybe it’s because... well, because I care about you more than I let on."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. "You care about me?" you repeated, as if needing reassurance.

He nodded, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I do. I might not show it the best way, but I do."

The tears that had been threatening to fall now did so freely.

"You remembered my birthday," you said.

Seungcheol chuckled softly. "Of course I did. How could I forget? I know today didn’t go the way you wanted, but I wanted to make sure you knew that someone cares. Even if that someone is me.”

You laughed through your tears. "You’re not so grumpy all the time," you teased, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

"Don’t spread that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain," he joked.

You settled back into his arms, feeling more at ease than you had all day. "Thank you for the cake. It means a lot. It’s my favorite too.”

"Anytime, Y/N. Anytime," he replied with his comforting voice.

As you lay there in his arms, the events of the day began to fade away. Now all you could think about was what your future might be like with this kinder, mushier side of your roommate.

[folklaurr]

Something I haven’t really talked about is how Covid and the whole lockdown situation ruined all the work I’ve done on my agoraphobia. Like I’m thankful for the lockdown and honestly it should’ve lasted longer but there was a solid five months where I only left my house maybe six times and it’s caused all the progress I’ve made since being diagnosed six years ago to just disappear and now I have to start from scratch again and how fucking hard it is.

[arvandus]

TW: Animal Loss - This is long and detailed because it’s late, I’m alone, and I need to process my grief.  So please beware - there are very raw emotions in here.

My babygirl is gone.  I’m so heartbroken.

Her epilepsy finally got her.  Back to back seizures for over thirty minutes.  By the time we were finally able to find an emergency vet that was open and get a friend to come over and help my husband take her there, it’d been over an hour.

They stabilized her, but her prognosis was not good. She had a very high fever for an extended period of time, and likely brain damage.  Add on that we’ve been slowly watching her struggle more and more with balance, have less energy, and she still struggled with her anxiety - her epilepsy/mental condition was likely worsening, her environment was changing due to us getting ready to move, etc.  She didn’t run and play like she used to.  She had a hard time jumping up on the couch or even just getting into her dog bed.  She didn’t enjoy walks the same way she did before.

She loved to snuggle.  And she followed my husband around like a shadow.  But we knew her quality of life was slowly fading, and with this last major seizure event, we knew it likely would never get better, if not be permanently worse.

We decided to say goodbye.

My son doesn’t know yet. He’s asleep in his bed, and I’m in the living room in tears, as the aftermath of what transpired lays strewn across the floor.  I should clean it up, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

I’m going to have to tell him tomorrow. I’m going to have to explain to him that he’ll never see his dog again.  He knew she was sick, and he’s asked about death and we’ve talked about it before.  But he’s never experienced it.  This will be his first.  I’m glad he wasn’t awake to see her suffering.  But I also wish he’d been able to say goodbye, to understand why she won’t be coming home.

This little house feels so empty now.  All the little memories of her life here with us are strewn around the home.  Her basket of dog toys, her dog bowl, the brand new dog food we’d just had delivered.  I can’t help but think...if this little house of ours feels this empty, how will it feel when we finally move into our bigger house?  It has a big yard - much bigger than the one we have now. We were so happy because we know she loves to run.  But now that’s going to feel empty too. Her toys are at the new house. I took her there to visit it, but she didn’t want to play. She just wanted to hop up into our laps and cuddle.

We got her when she was 10 months old.  She’d had a bad lot in life. She was found as a stray, and she had behavioral issues due to past trauma.  We’re certain she was abused, may have possibly been a bait dog (a dog used to rile up fighting dogs before a fight); her canines were filed down, and she was terrified of people (except for us...she was always good with us, even from the beginning).  If you touched/grabbed her collar, she would yelp, nip, and cower. She wasn’t potty trained when we got her.  She would growl and bark at people she saw across the street. The sound of my coughing always scared her.  Just me, not sure why. Maybe it was a woman who had abused her.  I’d comfort her, and usually she liked that - helped remind her she was safe.  Other times, she’d prefer my husband, who she developed a very strong attachment to.  That was okay, too.  It was what she needed.

I trained her as best I could with the time I had.  I taught her tricks, which she picked up quickly.  She learned shake, touch, sit, down, stay/wait, off, come.  She knew ball and rope and would tell them apart if you told her to get one or the other.  She loved to play with her tetherball in the backyard, booping it with her nose and smacking it with her paws.  She did her doggy puzzles in record time, quickly getting all the treats out.  I took her on walks and had her sit and gave treats every time we saw another person across the street.  She never got comfortable with strangers, but she did stop barking at them.  Would even sit and look at me, waiting for her treat.  She eventually trusted me enough to let me clean her ears when she began getting chronic yeast infections in her ear. She got so comfortable, that she’d come seek me out, stand there, and stare at me forelornly until I took her into the kitchen and cleaned her up and gave her a spoonful of peanut butter.

Despite her trauma and her anxiety issues, she was good with my son.  Always good to him.  She was curious about him when he was a baby, would come snifff him and check him out, would lay down next to him.  Never bit him. Gave a warning nip once or twice when he crossed a boundary, but never so much as scratched him.  She helped me teach him about how to respect a dog, how to understand that they’re animals and we have to be careful.  How to read her body language.  He was learning how to do her tricks with her; she would do touch with him and he loved it.

She was imperfect - I’ll be the first to admit that. She didn’t get along with everyone, and not everyone liked her. But she got along with most, which was more than we could ask for, considering where she came from and what she struggled with.  She wasn’t an easy dog to have, but we loved her, and I know we did our best for her. She was sweet, she was smart, and she was beautiful. I wish she could have had a longer life.  I wish we could have taken one more walk, or gone on a hike once the weather cooled down.  She was seven years old, too young to leave us.

I’m going to miss her so much.

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW - Game Plan: Chapter 3

Artwork by @faith2nyc​ Catch up on Chapter 2  Read on AO3

He can’t breathe. Well, maybe he’s being a touch dramatic. It’s not as if the tightness he’s feeling in his chest right now is akin to having a three-hundred-plus-pound defensive end pinning him to the ground, though Steve’s certainly experienced that enough times to know it’s pretty damn close. And just like when he’s sacked in the pocket, he’s uncomfortable – irritated, even. But the worst part is, he doesn’t actually think it has anything to do with the interviewer that’s been trying to cajole him into a cringeworthy sound bite for the last half hour.

The irony that he’s now sitting for an interview does not escape him. When the Avengers had first announced his signing, the reception was a mixed bag. There were some who cheered, delighting in the idea of him mounting a comeback and raving about what a coup the front office had pulled. Nevertheless, many were skeptical. Hardcore fanatics were, at best, lukewarm about the idea of a former NFC West quarterback jumping to the AFC East. Pundits on Sports Center dissected his ability to play pro ball again after a two-season hiatus. Then there were the ever-unescapable critics. He’s sure they had a lot to say (and likely still do), but if he hadn’t paid attention to them back then, he sure as hell isn’t going to do so now.

Fast forward two weeks, one front page cover, and a charity campaign kickoff later, and suddenly the tides have turned. Such was the number of requests Natasha had received from podcast hosts to talk show producers alike to book time with him that they had no other option but to schedule back-to-back interviews while he trains at the Avengers’ remote facility out in New Jersey. And that’s how he wound up in his current predicament – his patience running thin as he sits mic’d up on a plush leather seat in the Press Room in the middle of his third interview of the day.

“Let’s talk about your career.”

The suggestion comes from his left, where a wooden desk with a surfeit of props across the surface has been situated on the makeshift set. Behind it sits Johann Schmidt, the famously mercurial host of the streaming talk show HAIL HYDRA! and known to sports fans across the nation as the Red Skull – a moniker bestowed upon him for his impossibly sharp features and his penchant for dressing in the fiery color.

“7 seasons, 102 games played, 23,671 passing yards, 171 total touchdowns, 73.4% pass completion rate…”

As Schmidt rattles off a list of his career statistics, he steals a glance towards the front of the room, half expecting Natasha to interject that his pass completion rate is actually 74.3%, not 73.4. But she doesn’t, and he realizes that unlike the last few times she’s cut in when an interviewer misstates a fact about him or his career statistics, she isn’t doing so now because her attention is elsewhere. Or, more accurately, it’s being monopolized by the towering stranger she’s been talking to since the start of this interview whose words now have her tipping her head back in laughter.

The thought triggers a bitter taste in his mouth, and right then and there, it hits him. The inexplicable tension in his body, the irritation he feels – it’s nothing short of the green-eyed monster.

He’s always been competitive. He is an athlete, after all, and he’s almost certain that anyone would be hard pressed to find one that didn’t prioritize winning. But jealousy is just not an emotion he’s ever leaned into. It’s childish, nonsensical, and he’s seen the crazy things it’s driven other people to do. Not to mention the fact that right now, he has absolutely no right to feel it – especially when it comes to Natasha. With that in mind, he shifts in his seat in an effort to shake the feeling away, turning his attention back to Schmidt.

“The New York Avengers haven’t had a successful run in the playoffs in quite some time,” Schmidt states into the windscreen covered microphone before him. “That said, it’s still the most storied franchise in the league, which is why it’s understandable that fans may be dubious about whether or not you’re the right man to lead the team back to glory.” Schmidt pauses, his expression bordering on menacing as he leans forward in his seat. “So, tell us, Steve, why do you think you’re the player to do that?” Schmidt lifts a shoulder. “What makes you so... special?”

“We all know I’ve suffered a major injury and that I haven’t played professionally in two seasons. So, I get it,” he acknowledges. “I get why fans are skeptical to give me a chance.” He shakes his head. “You ask what makes me the man to lift this team back up… What makes me so special? The answer, Schmidt, is nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s true that I’m often associated with LA because that’s where my career began. But at the end of the day, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn-”

“Just what every fan base wants to hear, am I right?” Schmidt interrupts, practically reveling in delight as he smirks. “The savior they’ve been waiting for… and he turns out to be nothing but ordinary.”

“Perhaps you see it that way, but I disagree,” he says, prompting Schmidt to raise a brow. “Being a kid from Brooklyn means that I can’t” – he pauses, shaking his head – “I won’t back down from a challenge.” He sighs. “So, while I can’t guarantee fans a Lombardi at the end of the season, what I can guarantee is that every time I put on that uniform, I will leave my heart out on that field.”

Schmidt is stunned into silence, and it’s only when the room suddenly bursts in applause that he comprehends why the man’s glib expression has soured into a scowl. Turning away from the host, he allows his eyes to sweep across the room to see the entire crew – both from the Avengers and from HYDRA – clapping enthusiastically. As he spots Darcy and Wanda in the corner, both of whom offer him two thumbs up, pride begins to surge through him. But it’s only when he sees Natasha next to them, her lips quirking as she gives him a nod of approval, that he smiles – his earlier discomfort all but forgotten.

“You killed it!” Natasha exclaims as he walks towards her at the end of the interview, and he’s surprised when she leans in to wrap her arms around him.

“Think so?” he says, returning the embrace and letting his lips pull upwards into a smile.

“Know so,” Natasha says as she pulls away. “Oh, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Natasha moves to his side, and he looks up to see the man she was talking to earlier standing before them. He’s dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, his stature massive enough that he could easily be a tight end or even a center. “Steve,” Natasha begins, “this is Thor Odinson, CEO of Point Break, the country’s leading athletic wear brand and your new sponsor.” Her words cause the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. “Thor, this is Steve, our starting quarterback.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Johann Schmidt stunned into silence before,” Thor says, flashing his perfect teeth as he smiles and extends his hand out to him. “Seriously, good job.”

“Thank you,” he says, shaking Thor’s hand. “But that was all Natasha. She prepared me well.”

He beams in pride as he turns to Natasha, because if he’s learned anything in the last two weeks, it’s that her dedication to her job is unparalleled. Every day since this media campaign has started, she’s easily the most prepared person in the room – ready to fire off a Plan B, C, or D when necessary. While things haven’t always been smooth sailing, he’s certain that nothing has ever escalated into a mishap because of her quick thinking. If he’s had any success in turning the public’s opinion on him, it’s only because he’s been fortunate enough to have her as his guide every step of the way.

More impressive than Natasha’s work ethic though, is her capacity for kindness, and it’s something he’s witnessed time again throughout their relatively short time together. As his Publicist, she’s often the first line of defense when it comes to the media, and though he’s only been back in the public eye for a brief period of time, he’s seen how brash they can be when they press her for information. And yet, she’s never been anything but professional, even when the person before her does not warrant it. Add to that the way she watches over her team and how lovingly she speaks of her sister, and he’s not sure how anyone can do anything but admire her.

“This one,” Thor says, pointing a thumb at Natasha, “is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” he says to her more than anyone else, and as she playfully rolls her eyes, he pretends not to notice the hand Thor places on her shoulder.

“When he can nail interviews like that, my job is basically a breeze,” Natasha says, turning to Thor. “Anyway, shall the three of us discuss the rollout strategy for the sponsorship?”

“Yes, let’s,” Thor says, gesturing towards the door. “Lead the way, Nat.”

He arches a brow as he follows them out of the Press Room. Nat?

Read all of chapter 3 here

[goldencuffs]

aberrant affairs

Laurent Revere comes down the wide, glossy staircase wearing a sheer, silk shirt that matches the pink in his cheeks and lips, and jeans that are too tight to be appropriate. His golden hair is neat, styled with care, and it shines brighter than the chandelier he stands under. He’s still wearing his ring, a giant cut of diamond that is obnoxious, yet tasteful.

“Goddamn,” Lazar mutters under his breath. His mouth is open, and his gaze is glassy.

Jord agrees. Goddamn. No one should look this sinful two days after their husband’s death.

“Gentlemen,” Laurent greets politely. His voice is husky, a gentle purr that is seductive to its core. “I apologise if we’ve met before, but I can’t seem to place your faces.”

Jord shifts his jacket so it falls open at his hip. There, his badge gleams in the lighting of the foyer.

Laurent’s eyes fix on it for a few beats before he tilts his head. “Ah,” he says. “Please, follow me.”

Laurent leads them through his mansion with ease. The hallway itself is grand, high ceilinged and designed with white marble. The room they eventually end up in is ostentatious; it overlooks the sea, and the minimal furniture in it are gold trimmed vintage pieces.

“Coffee or tea?” Laurent asks, so sweetly it catches Jord off guard.

He clears his throat.“Coffee.” He adds: “For both of us,” when he notices how dazed Lazar still is.

Laurent busies himself making coffee for them in the corner, where an expensive, steel machine rests on top of a gold plated bench.

Jord’s gaze is helplessly drawn to the curve of Laurent’s backside, the tops of his thighs and the white of his feet, which are bare. It somehow makes Laurent look both boyish and expensive.

Lazar is staring too, but with less subtlety. They both catch themselves at the same time and turn away; guiltily, they turn their faces out towards the view of the sea.

Laurent comes back with three cups of rich coffee balanced on a silver tray. It smells divine, and Jord picks his up with too much eagerness.

They sit in silence for a while. Jord watches Laurent carefully. His skin, lily white, is unblemished: there are no dark circles or red rimmed eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s been mourning. He doesn’t even seem shocked. Nothing about Laurent suggests he’s just lost a husband. Instead, he looks regal, like a spoilt, bratty sugar baby that’s never had to work for anything in his life. Jord’s blood boils.

Lazar puts his cup down with a small clink and says, “I’m sure you must be wondering why we’re here, Mr Revere.”

“Please call me Laurent, detective,” Laurent says. He watches the both of them over the rim of his cup, his blue eyes steady. “And yes, I have been wondering.”

Jord says, “We have some questions about your husband’s death.”

Laurent wraps both palms around his cup and nestles it on his lap. His nails are clean and his fingertips are pinked. “Oh?” he says, and god — Jord finds himself genuinely impressed. The kid is good; he legitimately sounds confused.

“Where were you on Saturday evening?”

“Here,” Laurent blinks, his long lashes fluttering. “At home.”

“Was there anyone with you?” Beside him, Lazar is dutifully writing down Laurent’s responses.

“Just the usual staff.”

“And why weren’t you with your husband at the gala? It seemed like a pretty big event to miss.”

Laurent’s lips purse. “I had a terrible headache.” He pushes back his hair on his forehead with the delicateness of a virgin milkmaid from a period drama. “I’m prone to them quite often.”

Jord — barely — keeps from rolling his eyes. He asks, “What were you doing when you received the call that your husband died?”

“I was getting ready for bed. I was —” Laurent’s chin quivers enough for it to be noticeable, the first real signs of distress. “I was waiting for him to come back.” His voice wavers as he says it. With a polite cough, he excuses himself with a meek, “I’m terribly sorry.”

It’s so convincing. It’s confounding how effortless his acting is. It’s why Jord says, lightly, “Well, at this point, you must be used to those kinds of calls.”

Jord finds himself subjected to Laurent’s sapphire gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean,” Jord begins, “is that being married to you seems to suddenly drop a man’s life expectancy. Twenty six years old, and all three of your marriages have ended with your husband’s untimely deaths.”

Laurent’s face goes ashen.

Jord doesn’t fall for it. He’s not going to be swayed by such a pretty face — isn’t going to be another victim in Revere’s life.

He knows Laurent’s history by heart at this point; he and Lazar have been vigorously studying it for the last two days.

Laurent’s first husband, a refined gentleman from a small village in Kempt, had died just seven months into their marriage. The second, a professor at one of Akielos’ most renowned universities, had died in his sleep. He’d only been married to Laurent for six weeks. Laurent’s last husband, a famous socialite with ties to the Patran royal family, had dropped dead in the middle of his speech last Saturday at a private gala with over five thousand witnesses, just shy of their one year anniversary.

All three men had several unfortunate things in common: each had been extensively older than Laurent, wealthy, and had been so enamoured by Laurent, they had married him within months, sometimes weeks, after meeting him.

Jord has done this long enough to know that three of anything is never a coincidence.

Sitting in a multi million mansion, watching the sun catch the gold of Laurent’s hair, he can see exactly why a lonely, older man with a fortune to spare would be so eager to capture Laurent’s attention.

Laurent’s response is cold, composed, but underneath his thin shirt, his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood, detective, but are you — insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s death?”

Lazar leans forward. “You do have to admit, Laurent, that it is incredibly suspicious that every single husband you’ve had has died shortly after marrying you.”

It’s oddly gratifying to see how much colour drains from Laurent’s face. But the tears that suddenly well in his eyes makes Jord pause.

“Get out,” says Laurent, quietly. His words are so choked, at first, it’s hard to make them out. “You have no right — how dare you —” Laurent cuts himself off, frustrated, and still breathing heavily. “Just go. I don’t want either of you in my house.”

Jord almost declines; he wants to push more answers from Laurent, wants to let him know that a few tears won’t dissuade him from getting to know the truth. Then he thinks better of it; they have time. Jord isn’t going to rush this case.

So he stands. Lazar does too.

“We’ll be off then,” Jord says. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr Revere.”

Laurent mutters something too quiet for Jord to pick up on. From his tone, it isn’t hard to guess what, though.

Still, probably trained under his husband — husbands — to be as gracious as possible, Laurent stands too, intent on leading them to the doorway.

In the foyer, there’s a tall, well-dressed man standing near the staircase. His features suggest he is Akielon through and through: his nose is straight, eyes and hair both dark, and underneath his suit, it’s obvious he is nothing but muscle. He is stunningly attractive, although not exactly Jord’s type.

When he sees Laurent, the sheer joy on his face is blinding. It dampens considerably as his gaze shifts to Jord and Lazar.

“Hey,” the stranger says, in rough Akielon, addressing Laurent. “Erasmus just let me in, but he didn’t say you had company over.” Once again his eyes roam over Jord and Lazar, but almost against his will, his attention is quickly stolen by Laurent.

Laurent offers a small smile. “Damen,” he greets, and his voice is pleased, a little relieved. “These lovely gentlemen were just on their way. Detectives, this is Damen Vallis, my best friend.”

Jord watches Damen’s eyes narrow at the word detectives, but his smile is friendly as he shakes their hands.

And then Damen steps closer and finally takes a good look at Laurent’s face, his red eyes and pink nose. The anger that contorts his face is so sudden, it startles Jord. From the corner of his eye, he can see Lazar raise his eyebrows.

Still in Akielon, Damen says, “What the fuck did they say to you?” It comes out biting, harsh.

Laurent winces. In a placating gesture, he places his hand on Damen’s forearm. “Nothing, I swear. I’m alright.”

Damen shakes off his hand with a grimace, mouth pulled tight. The disgust on his face is evident.

Laurent looks hurt, but doesn’t outwardly react. He seems to realise that Jord and Lazar are still there because he says, “Just wait in the living room, okay? I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Damen nods, curt, and stomps off, his fists clenched. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone else.

“Sorry,” Laurent says, after a brief pause. “He isn’t normally so rude, but his clients have been giving him grief lately.”

“He’s a lawyer?” Lazar asks, and Laurent nods.

“Best in the state,” he says, genuine pride in his tone.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Since forever. Our families are very close.”

Jord nods, only half listening. While they walk through the same marbled hallways, he thinks of the look on Damen’s face when he had caught sight of Laurent: smitten, completely besotted. There was a strange violence thrumming under the surface of his anger when he had realised Laurent had been crying. But those things aren’t necessarily abnormal. It isn’t uncommon for best friends to be so loyal.

It’s the way Damen reacted when Laurent had touched him that keeps replaying in Jord’s mind. Something about it had seemed off.

It isn’t until they’re back in the car that he realises what had bothered him about it. Laurent had touched Damen with his left hand, the hand that still had his ring on it.

Damen had seemed… outraged over the fact that Laurent was still wearing it.

As they drive off, Jord watches Laurent step back inside his mansion and thinks he might have misjudged him, after all.

[artificialqueens]

(We Don’t Need Words) Let Your Body Talk (Rosnali) - Goodemethyd

A/N: it was only a matter of time before i wrote rosnali smut. and here it is. thanks to @crygiankiedoll-rps for listening to me ramble about this and helping me brainstorm and encouraging me.

Summary: It turns out Denali lives just a couple blocks from the club, which is why she’s there all the time, and Rosé is glad that she talks enough for the both of them on the walk there. When they get through the door of Denali’s apartment, and she pushes Rosé up against the wall and kisses her, Rosé is instantly more at ease. While she may not be great with words, she’s an expert in body language.

OR

Rosé can’t words because Denali too pretty. But Denali takes it into her own hands. And then Rosé takes Denali into her own hands?

Read on AO3

It’s a Saturday night and Rosé is at work, tending bar at one of the hottest nightclubs in New York. Even though there are times it’s so busy she doesn’t even have time to think, it’s a pretty easy gig, slinging drinks and sticking her chest out at annoying guys to get bigger tips. Plus she gets to look at hot ladies on the dance floor all night long.

Lately she’s had her eye on one in particular. She’s got long, straight black hair that practically floats around her when she’s moving. The few times she’s taken a break from dancing to order drinks, Rosé has been captivated by her smile and the dimples that show up in each of her cheeks. She is the most gorgeous girl Rosé has ever seen in her life, period.

If only she could work up the courage to talk to her. Every time she’s seen her coming, she pretends to be busy and leaves it up to Jan, Lagoona, or one of her other coworkers to take care of it. She just watches from afar, admiring her beauty, and trying not to seem like a stalker.

Tonight, though, is a little different. Rosé hands a rum and coke to a frat boy at the bar, smiling and leaning over as she does so, and thanks him for his generous tip. She moves on to the next person without realizing that it’s her, the dark haired goddess that she’s been obsessing over for weeks.

Rosé just stares at her. Like a fucking moron. And kind of wants to die.

“Um, can I get a drink please?” she asks, looking at Rosé like she has two heads, which she honestly doesn’t blame her for. She knows she’s acting weird as fuck.

She just nods her head and keeps staring.

“Um, can I get a shot of tequila?” she asks, now realizing that Rosé apparently isn’t going to say anything.

Rosé nods again and practically runs off to grab the bottle of tequila from the shelf. She pours a shot and contemplates downing it herself before she turns around and passes it over to the pretty girl.

“How much?” she asks.

“On the house,” Rosé manages to say, barely loud enough for the girl to hear, then curses herself inwardly since that will have to come out of her check and she poured the high class shit.

“Thanks.” The smile that graces her face, her dimples as prominent as ever, makes it all worth it to Rosé. She stares after her as she goes, watching the sway of her hips as she walks, and once again can’t believe how gorgeous she is.

“That was the most awkward thing I’ve ever fucking seen!” Lagoona yells out to her, cackling, as she grabs two bottles of beer for a customer.

“Shut up!” Rosé cries, tucking her long ginger locks behind her ear and turning to the bar, looking for someone to serve drinks to so she can ignore her friends.

“Seriously. Painful,” Jan chimes in from her other side, mixing a cocktail for someone who looks like they definitely have a fake.

“Listen, I don’t need this from you!” she snaps. “From either of you!” she adds, turning back to Lagoona.

“I don’t know why you don’t just tell her you think she’s hot. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes.”

“Fuck off! I’m taking a break,” she says before storming off to the back alley. She needs some fucking air.

She paces back and forth a few times, trying to give herself a pep talk, hoping no one’s around to hear how crazy she sounds as she talks to herself.

“Come on Rosé. Stop being a fucking bitch and talk to her. What’s the worst that could happen? Oh yeah, she could reject you and you could end up humiliated and have to quit the best job you’ve ever had in your life. So yeah, good idea, don’t talk to her.”

She feels like she’s losing it, wondering how a virtual stranger who she’s only had one interaction with could be affecting her in this way. She doesn’t know what it is about this girl, but Rosé just knows that she’s special. She can just tell.

Rosé shakes her head, trying to shake these thoughts from her brain so she can go back inside and focus on work. It doesn’t really work, but she tells herself it does anyway.

When she gets back inside the lines are long as hell and Jan and Lagoona and the other bartenders on shift are running their asses off trying to serve everyone. Rosé jumps in, taking orders left and right, making tips like nobody’s business, and they get things mostly under control again. At least for a little while. So Rosé lets her guard down.

Big fucking mistake.

The hottie with the body comes up to the bar again before she realizes it and goes directly to Rosé for her order. She’s surprised she didn’t completely scare her off last time.

“Can I get another tequila shot, please?” she asks, breaking out the dimples yet again.

Rosé manages to say yes this time instead of just staring and nodding before she goes to grab the same bottle. She pours the shot and this time as she hands it over their fingers brush against each other’s. Rosé swears she feels a spark of electricity from where they make contact that runs all through her body.

“Thank you.” She smiles again before downing the shot and heading back to the dance floor.

“You’re welcome,” Rosé whispers feebly after she’s definitely out of ear shot, and realizes she didn’t make her pay for it again.

“Wow, a couple more words this time. At this rate you’ll say a full sentence to her by this time next year,” Lagoona teases her again and Rosé puts her head in her hands and groans, because she knows she’s right.

“Seriously,” Jan starts again. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to talk to her. You never fucking shut up with us.”

“It’s because I hate both of you!” Rosé shouts and they both just laugh at her.

The rest of the night goes better, and Rosé doesn’t make a fool of herself again because the girl stays on the dance floor, showing off some of the best moves Rosé has ever seen. And she’s seen a lot working here.

It’s almost closing time and the crowd at the bar has died down enough that they have more of a chance to talk to each other instead of just yelling while they’re grabbing drinks.

“Ok, so what are you gonna do about this little crush, Rosé?” Jan asks as she catches her staring again.

“I’m going to do absolutely nothing. And you need to mind your business.” Rosé replies, leaning up against the bar and crossing her arms with her back to the dance floor so she’s not tempted to look again and give Jan any more ammunition.

“Oh yeah, like you did with Jackie?”

She’s about to say that’s different, but she knows it’s absolutely not.

“Why don’t you just try to talk to her like a normal human being instead of whatever the fuck it is that you were doing earlier?” Lagoona adds.

“I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!” she yells, turning around so she doesn’t have to look at her friends anymore, and comes face to face with the girl.

“I usually start with something simple, like asking their name,” she says, clearly indicating that she heard Rosé loud and clear. “But I’ll save you the trouble. I’m Denali. And I already know that your name is Rosé.”

Rosé almost swallows her own tongue.

“Sometimes it’s nice to touch them as you’re talking, too, like this.” She reaches out and places her hand on Rosé’s bare shoulder.

“What time do you get off work?” Denali asks, sliding her hand down Rosé’s arm, and she feels shivers run down her spine. She looks up at her through her lashes, and Rosé feels like she’s going to spontaneously combust.

“She gets off work right now,” Lagoona answers the question behind her, even though she normally would be there for a few more hours, at least, cleaning and closing up.

“And she would love to go home with you,” Jan provides. Rosé is going to owe them big time.

“I really, really would,” Rosé adds breathily, words falling from her lips before she realizes it, and she’s fully ready to be rejected because she sounds so needy.

But Denali just smiles and giggles. “I’d like that, too.”

Rosé doesn’t think she’s ever moved as quickly as she does then, stepping out from behind the bar and moving next to Denali. “Let’s go.”

It turns out Denali lives just a couple blocks from the club, which is why she’s there all the time, and Rosé is glad that she talks enough for the both of them on the walk there. When they get through the door of Denali’s apartment, and she pushes Rosé up against the wall and kisses her, Rosé is instantly more at ease. While she may not be great with words, she’s an expert in body language.

Denali’s lips are soft and full against hers, and she tastes like the tequila Rosé served her at the bar. The soft moan that Denali emits when Rosé licks into her mouth almost makes her weak in the knees, and she’s grateful that she’s sandwiched between the wall and Denali’s strong body to keep her upright.

As she runs her hands up and down Denali’s back, sides, arms, anywhere she can reach, Rosé can feel all of the muscles she’s seen put to work on the dance floor. And they feel better than she could’ve ever imagined.

Rosé is pretty sure she could spend the whole night kissing her, feeling Denali’s tongue caressing hers and enjoying every second of it. But she also needs to see her and touch her and fuck her. And she’s not going to be able to do that until they move. Rosé pulls back slightly, nibbling on Denali’s bottom lip as she does so, and Denali lets out another soft moan that Rosé feels straight down to her core.

“Fuck,” Rosé breathes out. “I really want to fuck you.” Suddenly she has no problem saying what she wants, probably because she’s been kissed stupid by Denali and she has no brain power left to be nervous anymore.

“God, yes, please.”

“Okay, this is probably going to sound weird,” Rosé starts, like everything she’s already said tonight hasn’t been already. “But do you mind if I use your shower real quick first? Someone spilled beer on me tonight and I’m really gross and sticky.”

“I don’t mind as long as you don’t mind me getting in there with you,” Denali replies, raising an eyebrow like she’s giving her a challenge. “I worked up quite a sweat showing off for you tonight.” She winks and Rosé feels like her knees might go weak again.

“Um, yep. Yeah. That would… that would be great.”

Denali takes Rosé’s hand and leads her toward the bathroom. When she strips out of her clothes, she moves just as smoothly and gracefully as she does on the dance floor. So Rosé has to kiss her again before she takes off her own tank top and jeans. She throws them on the bathroom floor next to the pile of Denali’s discarded clothes as Denali gets the shower started.

Once the water is running, Denali reaches out to grab her hand again, smiling and showing off the dimples that Rosé is quickly becoming obsessed with, before she pulls her into the shower. She admires Denali’s body as she steps under the spray of the hot water, and she wonders how the fuck she got so lucky that this woman actually wanted to take her home. Whatever the reason, Rosé’s not dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she’s going to fully take advantage of the situation.

Rosé plasters herself against Denali’s back, reaching around to cup her breast in one hand and running the other down her side. She rubs her thumb against a nipple and Denali gasps, pressing back even further into Rosé. She’s never thought of herself as an ass girl, but being pressed up against Denali’s perfect, round backside has her feeling some type of way, and she can’t wait to focus her attention on it later.

For now though, she has one goal. She moves the hand on Denali’s side around to the front, dipping in between her legs and feeling a different kind of wetness not caused by the shower.

“Fuuuuuck,” Denali groans, throwing her head back against Rosé’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Rosé replies nonsensically as she runs her fingers along Denali’s folds, spreading the slick. Denali reaches down and grips her wrist, maneuvering her hand where she wants it until Rose’s fingers are focused on her clit.

“Right there, Rosé, yessss.” Her name sounds so good coming from Denali’s lips that she vows to make her say it again, multiple times, that night. For now, though, she focuses on the task at hand, moving her fingers deftly to make Denali feel good. The sounds falling from her lips urge Rosé on, and her movements get quicker and rougher, until Denali is coming, thrusting up into Rosé’s hand and mumbling profanities.

Once she’s finished, she turns around quickly and crashes her lips against Rosé’s, kissing her breathless. Denali cups her face with one hand and snakes the other down her body, settling between her legs and returning the favor. Rosé feels her orgasm start building much quicker than she would normally expect, but it doesn’t surprise her. She’s been low key turned on since she saw Denali’s moves on the dance floor earlier that night.

Rosé bites down on Denali’s lip as she comes, feeling it in every nerve ending in her body. It’s one of the best orgasms she’s had in awhile and she doesn’t know if it’s because it’s truly that good or if it’s just because it’s with Denali.

Their kissing slows down then, getting less frantic and more relaxed, now that they’ve both relieved some of the tension. And Rosé remembers the actual reason they got in the shower in the first place.

They get cleaned up quickly, washing the sweat and sticky alcohol off of each other, then drying off with big fluffy towels that Denali grabs from the closet.

“That was fun!” Denali says as she’s drying her hair, fluffing it up with the towel, and Rosé is instantly disappointed that it seems like the night is over already. She had so many more plans.

But her mood does a full one-eighty when Denali starts speaking again.

“I can’t wait to see what else you can do.”

Rosé grins devilishly before replying, feeling all the confidence in the world after those orgasms. “Oh baby, you are in for a treat.”

“Don’t let me down,” Denali challenges before exiting the bathroom, completely naked, leaving Rosé to stare at her glorious ass as she walks away until she pulls herself together long enough to follow.

When Rosé finds her, Denali is lying sideways on her bed, head propped up on her hand, long dark hair cascading down her chest with a nipple just barely peeking out. Rosé wants to absolutely destroy her.

“Come show me what you got,” Denali says with a smirk and Rosé moves without a second thought.

She pushes Denali onto her back and climbs on top of her, legs intertwining as she drops kisses onto her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, and trails down to her breasts. She sucks a nipple into her mouth and is spurred on by Denali’s words of encouragement and the hand that’s tangling in her damp hair, trying to pull Rosé even closer into her chest as she arches her back.

“Oh god, your tongue,” Denali gasps when Rosé swirls it around.

“Wait till you see what else it does,” Rosé brags, leaning up to look Denali in her eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, show me now!” She uses the hand that’s still tangled in her hair and starts pushing Rosé down her body.

Rosé chuckles as she goes, pressing a soft kiss right next to Denali’s belly button before giving her what she wants, parting her folds with her thumbs before licking in. The noise Denali makes goes straight to her core and if her hands weren’t already occupied, she’d be sliding one down in between her own legs right about now.

But for now, she’s focusing on Denali, licking long, broad stripes up and down her cunt, starting slowly before going all in. Once Denali starts squirming underneath her, unable to stay still, Rosé makes her move. She goes from slow licks to quick flicks of her tongue, focusing on her clit now, but backing off every now and then to move back down toward her entrance, not quite ready yet to go in for the kill.

“Please, please, Rosé! I need to come. Please make me come!” Now that Denali is babbling and begging, Rosé shifts back to her clit and stays there. She uses her tongue and her lips, sucking it into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. “Oh fuck yeahhhh! Right there! Don’t fucking stop!” Rosé wouldn’t dream of it.

Denali comes a few moments later, crying out Rosé’s name and tangling her fingers through her hair again. She keeps licking her through her orgasm, then pulls away, looking up her body at her flushed, heaving chest and feels a sense of pride that she’s the one who caused that.

“Holy shit,” Denali breathes out. “You weren’t lying. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

Rosé grins, pleased by the praise and the validation. She lays a soft kiss on Denali’s inner thigh before running a finger through her folds, absolutely dripping now, and Denali shivers, clenching her legs together.

“Oh god, that feels good, but I don’t think I can go again yet.” She’s still breathing hard, but she’s smiling and she has this glow to her. Rosé is yet again in awe of the fact that this gorgeous woman has chosen her, has let her do this.

“Let me take care of you now.” Before Rosé realizes what’s going on, Denali is moving quickly, flipping Rosé over like she weighs nothing, and settling between her legs. She dives in without preamble, getting her tongue in just the right places, and Rosé is worried she’s going to come embarrassingly fast, already keyed up and turned on just from eating Denali out. She tries to take deep breaths, calm herself down, but that’s easier said than done.

Rosé whimpers with relief when Denali pauses and pulls away for a moment, and she tries to regain any composure she might have had at the beginning of the night. But that flies out the window when Denali looks up at her and Rosé sees evidence of her own arousal glistening around her mouth and on her chin.

“Do you want fingers too? Or just my mouth?” Denali asks, licking her lips.

“Ugh, yes. Both,” she answers and Denali doesn’t waste any time complying, pressing one finger into her slowly as she works her tongue on her clit. “Fuuuuuck,” Rosé breathes out, feeling entirely consumed. She can’t control the buck of her hips when Denali pushes another finger in, but it doesn’t seem to deter her one bit. She fucks Rosé with her fingers as she sucks at her clit, and Rosé loses control of what comes out of her mouth as she gives herself over to the intense pleasure.

Rosé’s legs start trembling as she feels her orgasm that’s been building slowly start to rush closer to the surface. She knows that she can’t hold on for much longer, even if she wishes she could let Denali do this all night.

She comes with a breathy moan, repeating Denali’s name over and over as her climax pulses through her, clenching around the fingers that are buried deep inside of her. Denali works her through it, her movements slowing until they stop altogether and Rosé feels like she won’t be able to move for at least half an hour, maybe longer. Denali kisses her clit softly before pulling her fingers out, and Rosé misses them immediately.

“Fuck.” Rosé doesn’t have enough energy to say anything else, but it seems like that word conveys what she’s feeling enough because Denali nods her head in agreement as she crawls back up the bed. She settles on her side next to Rosé, looking over at her and running her fingers along the various tattoos on her arms. Rosé wishes she would never stop touching her.

Once she can move again, Rosé turns onto her side to face Denali, and she cups her cheek before attaching their lips together again. She gets the taste of each of them on her tongue, mingling together and it makes the kiss even hotter. Denali buries her fingers in Rosé’s hair as she kisses her back fiercely. Rosé breaks from the kiss, gasping, when Denali tugs on it. She’s never been one for hair pulling before, but apparently Denali isn’t capable of doing anything that doesn’t absolutely do it for her.

“That feels good,” Rosé whispers and Denali does it again, pulling a moan from her, before her touch turns gentle again.

“Your hair is so gorgeous,” she says as she goes back to running her fingers through it. “That’s the first thing I noticed about you.”

“You noticed me?” Rosé asks, shocked that someone like Denali would notice someone like her.

“Are you kidding?” Denali snorts. “A tall, sexy redhead with tattoos who gives me free tequila shots? Of course I fucking noticed you, don’t be stupid. And I noticed you watching me too. It was really hot. I liked dancing and showing off for you.”

Rosé feels like she should maybe be offended by the fact that Denali just called her stupid, but she’d much rather focus on the fact that she called her sexy.

“You could dance and show off for me right now,” Rosé suggests, wiggling her eyebrows at Denali. Now that they’ve exchanged multiple orgasms, and she knows for a fact that Denali likes her, Rosé plans on saying anything that comes to mind.

“That could be arranged,” Denali replies with a suggestive grin, and Rosé wonders for what seems like the hundredth time that night how this is actually her life.

[angrylizardjacket]

heard your name in every love song {Ben Hardy} 19 // EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE // 19. i love everybody because i love you

Summary: A series of vignettes that follow your life after X-Men Apocalypse.

A/N: 16.6k words. this has been a WILD fucking ride, and i love you all so much. i hope you like it. i hope i stuck the landing. thank you for coming on this journey with me, im so unbelievably proud of this fic. also lowkey woah the wish-fulfillment really jumped out in this epilogue. but also you ARE wonderful and talented and deserving of success!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME WITH YOUR THOUGHTS ID LOVE TO HEAR THEM and i respond privately to all non-anon messages if you dont want me to publish !! id still love to hear from you!! ( and im sorry if you dont care abt stranger things)

the mutant brotherhood: @daisy-lu @hervoidparadise @jamesbibuchananbarnes @ultrunning @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @clementimee @that-fandom-sucks-tho @cjand10 @rest-is-detail @baileymae @rosesvioletshardy @onceuponadetectivedemigod @hazelstyles94 @bitchylittleredhead @bihemian-rhapsody @sweatyexpertgardenpanda @whereeverythingisbetter @dedxbed @xxencagedxx @glittrixvibe @a-girl-with-stress @sunflower-ben @pxroxide-prinxcesss @mrsmazzello @cubedtriangle @haileymorelikestupid @misscharlottelee @nevilles-insinuations @jovialcreatorkidtoad @brianmaysclog @sambuckywarrior @hey-yo-bedussey @bubblyanis @lifesciencesbois @elektraofcrete @diosanaz @bbdoyouloveme @kirstansworld @okilover02 @cardboardbenmazzello @dreashappyworld @juliarose21 @simonedk @greycuby @emmasunshiine @dinotje @qtrogerina @spiketacus @nympha-door-a @local-troubled-writer @emphatic-af @wh0a-thisisheavy @lustgardn @banginashton @pamacs-macs @rogerinahardy1 @tired-ass-show-girl @kurt-nightcrawler

----

“So they’re not technically dating,” you explain to Tye before filming starts; he’s got his head in your lap, reading through a few pages of the script, and you’re gently carding your fingers through his hair, “they’re just hanging out while Alex is in town filming.” You explain, and he lowers the paper he’s reading from, giving you as look as if to prompt you for more information.

“And?”

“And nothing,” you shrugged, “just making conversation,” and he rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond, “Egghead,” you add, poking him in the cheek.

It’s the end of the first week of filming; they’re hoping to get most of the live-action shots done before suiting you all up for the in-game, motion captured scenes, and you’re both enjoying the morning. You’re on a roof garden, the crew milling about, repositioning various fans to create more wind, as Spielberg was reviewing some footage from the day before; the breeze isn’t particularly sweet, though that’s unsurprising given the local of the shoot, but the sun is warm, and the off-the-shoulder sweater they’ve put you in is comfortable. You’d already spent a good part of the morning warming up, so now you’re just waiting for filming to get underway.

“Alright, Tye, Y/N, can you both reset by the door, we’re about ready to start,” Spielberg calls over to you, and Tye sits up, getting to his feet and stashing his script out of sight for the moment.

We’re rolling. Action!

Tye identifies landmarks that will be added in post, IOI’s building, “The Stacks” where he’d lived, before his home was blown up –

“We’ve been living this close to each other the whole time?” His tone is softly disbelieving; with his lost-puppy expression and oversized jacket making him look all soft and warm, it’s easy to fall into character and give him nervous, half-pining looks. Your character, Artemis, still feels like it’s a risk to get close to him, but she can’t help herself; you hope that reads in the way you’re regarding him.

“Next door, around the world,” you shrug, moving past him, the wind blowing your hair out of your face; you’ve been put into a cute, auburn-toned wig to better fit the camera, an incredibly high-quality lace front, that now works exactly as intended, blowing carefree in the artificial wind, revealing the large birth mark the makeup team had given you, “it’s all the same in the Oasis.”

As if realizing what’s happened, you deliberately move your hair back to hide the birthmark, gaze dropping from his.

“For the record,” Tye stumbles over his words, all young and nervous and in love, “I’m… I’m not disappointed.” And you look to him, make eye contact as you let yourself feel your thinly veiled surprise; “you know you… you said I’d be disappointed when I met you, but I’m- I’m not.”

“I’ve lived with it my whole life, you don’t have to pretend,” you tug your sweater a little tighter around you, walking away from him, going to sit on the makeshift bench that had been set up amid this small slice of urban paradise; he follows you in earnest, looking far too gentle. He brushes the hair out of your face, revealing the birthmark, his hand warm, though you avoid his gaze.

“You have a birthmark,” he tucks the hair behind your ear, “so what?” And he gently lifts your chin, fingertips warm when they linger, “why would that scare me?” And in character, you hesitate in the face of such unfiltered kindness, and you reach up, taking his hand, marveling at the contact; it’s the first time your characters have touched one another in real life.

“Z, if I hurt you, I’m sorry,” you tell him as honest as you can manage, and it takes him a moment to try and wave it off before he’s grinning and laughing at the realization that you’d called his character by his in-game avatar’s nickname. His smile and laugh is a familiar comfort.

At first it’s weird to have romantic tension with him, to almost kiss him before your character’s realization occurs and you rush off. The moment after his gentle, soft laughter, in which you finally come to the realization about the ‘Second Clue’ in game, and you get to yell ‘Oh Shit’ instead of kissing him, it’s a cathartic release.

During the first take, the moment you shout, Tye bursts out laughing, unable to stop himself ruining the take. But it helps. Because it’s Tye shining through, and slowly the two of you work to find a middle-ground, between who your characters are, and how to bring your genuine friendship into the role.

There’s a take where you’re admiring him as he speaks, and you forget your own cue for a moment. He looks at you, as if to prompt you, eyebrows raised, but you double down on your mistake once you realize it. You plant a loud kiss on his cheek, wrapping your arms around him.

“We have a plot to get to,” he says with a quiet laugh, struggling to stay in character while you press a stupid grin to his cheek.

“But you’re cute,” you tell him teasingly.

“Fuck the plot,” he announces, as if convinced, throwing seriousness to the wind, wrapping his arms around you and licking a large stripe up your cheek in retaliation. He pulls you closer with such force that you both topple off the bench you’re sitting on as the director calls cut. You can almost guarantee that’ll make it to the blooper reel.

The banter sounds more natural between you both, and when Spielberg calls cut, he’s nodding as if it’s turning out the way he wanted it.

----

[what’s your eta?] Sitting in the plane before take off, about to turn your phone off when Ben messages you. How could a single text get your heart racing, and your grin to a billion watts.

[my flight leaves in fifteen so like an hour and a half?]

[fantastic!] [filming wraps for the day in about twenty so I’ll see you then] and then in a few seconds [wanna come to dinner with the cast?]

[as long as I won’t be a bother]

[never x]

A man in a black suit was waiting for you when you landed, holding a sign with your last name on it, and there was a giddy sort of rush that came with the whole experience, which you’d only ever seen on TV. He leads you to the waiting car, and your waiting boyfriend, sitting on the boot with his ankles crossed. His hair is all curly, like the early days of Apocalypse filming, but it’s shorter this time, styled, like he’d just walked off set, which becomes apparent when you go to run your fingers through it.

He’s ecstatic to see you, an emotion you mirror with ease, laughing with relief when you final get to hug him.

“Do I get to see you in period clothes this week?” You ask once you’re both in the back seat, your eyes shining bright with amusement and anticipation.

“I happen to think I look quite good in a all those fancy layers,” he sounds a little defensive, but you’re quick to placate, a hand gentle on his cheek.

“Oh, baby, I have no doubt about that,” you assure him, voice low and amused, “why else would I be looking forward to it?” And he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, a small, intimate moment that you hope your remember for the rest of your life, before it breaks, and you pull out your phone, showing him your lock screen; a selfie he’d sent you the previous week of him in full costume, “do I get to see this in person?” You ask.

“Of course,” he grins, and then you kind of forgo talking for the rest of the ride back to his hotel, and spend the hour before dinner, ahem, catching up. At least you leave time for a shower before leaving.

The cast seems surprised when they meet you, like they weren’t expecting you to be all smiley and friendly when you meet them, eager to shake hands and make small talk. Not that they can’t separate actor from character, but you can’t deny that in the two major roles you’ve played, you’ve been typecast as the bitter revolutionary. To meet you, to find you so open, so chatty, it was a welcome surprise.

----

“I told you we weren’t dating,” Merissa is sulking on your sofa, curled up and breaking an entire bar of chocolate up into bite sized pieces in a bowl before she eats it.

“Then why are you acting like –“

“I told you we weren’t together, I just… I miss her is all,” she heaves a dramatic sigh, “I’ve watched all her movies –“

“Now you’re just being a masochist,” you tell her, but when you sit down beside her, you pat your lap and she lays her head down, pouting, “do you still talk to her?”

“Sometimes.”

“Was it meant to be just a fling?” You ask gently. Merissa groans.

“I don’t know! Can you just let me be dramatic tonight?” She pleads, and your heart softens.

“Of course,” you assured her, running your fingers through her hair with one hand, picking up your remote with the other, “what do you wanna watch?”

“X-Men Apocalypse?”

----

“Don’t bite me,” Tye’s glaring at you, his hand on your thigh to keep you steady where you’re in his lap for the entirety of this shot, which happens to be the final shot of the film, but not of the shooting schedule. It’s been almost half an hour.

“I might bite you,” you mused, not sounding even a little bit sorry, “I’m bored what am I meant to do?” You asked.

“Not fucking bite me!” Tye answered, exasperated.

“Can I bite you a little bit?”

“Why?”

You shrug.

“What if I bite you?” He counters like it’s a threat, which baffles you.

“Sure,” your answer doesn’t seem to please him, “you know I mean, like, in general. On the nose. Not during the kiss, this is a family movie.” And you see the relief on his face as he finally understands.

“Oh, yeah, sure, fine, I don’t care about that, just don’t be a dick.”

“Just a little bite,” you assured, petting him on the head. He rolled his eyes at you, but leaned back in the chair, offering his cheek like a vampire’s victim offers their neck. You give him a gentle bite on the cheek.

“Did that cure your boredom?”

“Kind of,” you shrug after a moment. The scene is reset, and the swivel chair the two of you are currently occupying turns away from the camera. You wiggle to get a better seat in his lap, and he secures his grip on you.

“Don’t bite me,” he whispers in warning, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Biting is strictly for when I’m bored, I promise,” you assured, and the director calls action right as he laughs, so, at least for this take, the kiss that begins the scene and extends arguably too far into it, was to shut him up.

----

“What do you mean you’re in the new season of Stranger Things?” It’s the first and only time you think you’ve ever heard Andrew raise his voice. His eyes are wide, shocked and overwhelmed in the lagging little FaceTime video.

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’?” You squawk in confusion, frowning at your phone. You can hear Ben laugh from the kitchen.

“He’s got a crush on the skinny white boy who looks like he eats cigarettes,” Jamie’s all smug and amused, perching his chin on Andrew’s shoulder, loudly chewing Ritz crackers. Andrew looks frankly betrayed.

“As if; you know I’m only invested in that show for Wynona Rider,” he says seriously, and Jamie grins from ear to ear.

“Right, I’m the one with the crush on the white boy who looks like he eats cigarettes.” And he plants a kiss on Andrew’s cheek for emphasis.

“You have a type,” you tell him flatly, and Jamie steps back to cackle, and Andrew gives you a deadpan glare. After a moment, however, you’re scrambling to amend, “it’s not public knowledge yet, I’m still doing mocap and voice work for Ready Player One, I just wanted to tell you guys ‘cos I was excited.” You admit.

“I do appreciate that your typecast is apparently the eighties,” Andrew’s anger defrosts to thinly-veiled amusement, “I feel like I should put on Heathers just to cast you as the lead and keep in theme.”

“Andy, I’d be there in a heartbeat,” you assured him, and his smile, while fond, is a little sad.

“I feel like you don’t have the time anymore, dear.”

----

Kissing Tye on set isn’t weird, which you’re incredibly grateful for. There’s so much more strange shit in this movie, an eighties dance sequence that you have to perform in a motion capture suit, essentially feeling him up, also in the motion capture suit, and having the single most inuendo-laden conversation you’ve ever had in your life, whilst wearing – you guessed it – that horrific mocap suit.

After you’ve heard your friend mutter about having ‘the X-1 Haptic Boot-Suit with microfiber crotch inlay’ the rest stops being weird; there were several takes, both in person, and in the voice recording booth, that you couldn’t get through without laughing.

Your favorite blooper has to be when you’ve got your hands on his chest doing mocap, asking if he can feel the contact, and then, because you can’t help yourself, you bite his shoulder, and not in a flirty way, in an over-the-top, comical way, and he bursts out laughing in surprise.

“I’m gonna kill you, dude,” he chokes out, firmly out of character, between laughs, and around you the crew is trying to smother their own laughter.

Slowly but surely, however, you’re becoming nicer to each other on set, not that anyone should mistake those for romantic feelings, but it’s a tough film to shoot, and your friendship’s currently undergoing trial by fire. Just like with Ben, with whom you’d spent all your time with during Apocalypse, you and Tye have developed a similar unspoken code, the most frequent of which, surprisingly, is an apology.

You got the giggles one day on set during what was meant to be a very serious scene, and it took almost a full fifteen minutes and half a bottle of water for you to calm down. You’re meant to be helping him escape from the bad guys, and letting them take you instead, and so when you finally are in the right headspace, the last of the laughter leaving you, you want to apologise to him after you’ve apologized to the director.

Tye takes in your gentle, apologetic smile, even as the director calls for the scene to reset, and you realise you don’t have the time. You quickly rest a hand on his shoulder, murmuring a quiet but sincere apology, and he pets your cheek fondly with a nod. It’s okay.

It’s easy enough for people to miss, if one of you is late to a shoot or to coffee beforehand, if one screws up a line which ends up somehow embarrassing the other, that unspoken apology, and the easy it’s okay that goes along with it, goes a long way to reassuring the other.

----

“I’ve been thinking of getting an apartment in LA,” you bring up tentatively over dinner. Ben, who’s got a mouthful of pasta, looks at you with surprise, but mostly because you’ve caught him at an inopportune time. He’s nodding, trying to finish his mouthful quickly.

“There’s a shitload of opportunities out there, it would be smart,” he agrees, and you nod thoughtfully, though he’s the one to bring up, “seems a shame to be paying rent on two places though, ‘specially if you’re already barely using one,” which was true, you were staying with him more than in your own London flat.

“I was thinking that too,” you gave a small smile, hoping you were both on the same wavelength, “and if you ever had a project out in LA, or had a bunch of auditions or were job hunting, it would probably make more sense… you know… if I- if we- you know if I had a place out there that you could stay at.”

“You could move anything you didn’t want to take into my place here,” he offered, and the tension that had been knotted in your stomach eased considerably, though you feel the need to clarify –

“I still have a lot of stuff here, though, like I wouldn’t be moving for a while, not until maybe next year? After all that Stranger Things stuff.”

Across the table, Ben tilts his head ever so slightly, confused at your sudden concern, his expression turning soft and reassuring.

“I’m happy to live with you, there’s no rush, don’t worry.”

----

[ID: Tweet from @Deadline: ‘Stranger Things’ Adds 3 New Regulars, Promotes 2 For Season 2 dlvr.it/RXrdLR (There are three headshots attached, one of child actress Sadie Sink, one of Dacre Montgomery, and one of Y/N Y/L/N). End ID.]

[ID: @burdenedwithporpoise retweeted @Deadline’s post with the following caption: when u realise children shouldn’t be fighting monsters so u have to bring in two teenage superheroes @dacremontgomery @yourtwittername (Two images are attached; a still of Dacre Montgomery in the upcoming Power Rangers dressed as the Red Ranger, and a still from X-Men Apocalypse of the character Control as played by Y/N Y/L/N, using her scream-attack power). End ID.]

“Ben, I was meant to be at least twenty in Apocalypse,” you sighed deeply, flopping over in bed to lay your head on his chest and sulk for a moment. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head after reading the tweets.

“I know, babe.”

----

“They’re asking if I can play drums.”

“Ben –“

“If I say yes, I can always learn after, right?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

----

“Y/N, would you consider being one of my Groomsmen?” Andrew asks you over brunch at his and Jamie’s little flat. You’ve been giving your opinion of floral arrangements, “it’s pretty low effort, my brother’s going to be my Best Man, he’s organizing everything, I just –“

“Andy, that’s not even a question, of course I will be!”

It’s an Autumn wedding, the whole world golden when Jamie and Andrew both say ‘I do’, and you have to pretend like you’re not crying the entire time. Both grooms are wearing impeccably tailored, bright and embroidered suits, Andrew in sunny, pastel yellow, and Jamie in peach; the meaning, the longstanding nickname, is not lost on you. During the ceremony, you catch Merissa’s eye, see her teary in place as Jamie’s Best Woman, and you both share a bright smile. Andrew’s never been very good at expressing his emotions, so to see him crying during Jamie’s vows, it set off another round of waterworks.

Ben’s in the crowd, four rows back, and just a moment, he looks to you, as if feeling your gaze, and you share a look of love, of pride, of promise. Something catches in your chest. That could be us. You’d never considered that before.

Everyone in the wedding party is wearing a suit, at the grooms’ behest, and once the ceremony is over, and the reception begins, Ben, who was of course your date for the function, looks at you like you’re not quite real.

“How is this the first time I’ve seen you in a suit,” he breathes, hands running down your arms as he marvels at how incredible you look in all black, with baby pink accents. You’ve just finished drying your eyes, so his praise has your lip trembling with overwhelmed gratitude.

“Fancy seeing you here!” A new voice joins you both, snapping you out of your feelings, and surprising both of you. When you turn, Alexandra is beaming at you both, wearing a dress in shimmering purple.

“Alex?” You asked, happy but confused. You hadn’t seen her in the crowd. Ben forgoes a greeting and wraps her up in a hug. You follow suit, just a moment after, grateful to see her despite your confusion. When you step back, Alexandra hesitates for a moment, looking between you both.

“Merissa invited me,” she says with a smile, looking so damn pleased and joyful. Oh! “Beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?”

“Stunning,” you agreed, though your gaze is torn away as you see Merissa looking through the crowd, concerned, “I think she’s looking for you.” And Alexandra turns, expression lighting up at the mere mention of Merissa. As she floats through the crowd, away from you and Ben, your boyfriend wraps his arm around you.

“So are they back together?”

“No clue.”

Merissa kisses Alexandra in greeting, wrapping her up in a hug like long lost lovers finally reunited; that is answer enough.

----

[ID: A photo posted to Instagram by Alexandra Shipp of herself, Y/N Y/L/N, and Ben Hardy. She is wearing a floor length, strappy, purple dress with a slit up to her thigh, Y/N is wearing a black suit and black undershirt with a baby pink bowtie and pocket square, and Ben is wearing a dark grey suit with white undershirt, the top few buttons undone. The three of them are posing together, arms around each other, looking at the camera with serious expressions.

The caption reads: who invited famine, pestilence, and death to the wedding? End ID]

Predictably, the comments are full of questions about whose wedding it was, asking where Magneto was, and generally thirsting over the three of you looking like actual models. You won’t lie and say it’s not kind of an ego boost. Both you and Ben repost it to your public Instagram pages. You follow it up with a second heartfelt post about the wedding itself, congratulating two of your closest friends.

----

You’re reminded starkly of Jamie calling him ‘the white boy who looks like he eats cigarettes’ when you find out you’ll be playing opposite Charlie Heaton, playing Vanity Ambrose, a punk photography enthusiast, and resident rebellious delinquent, who begins the season as a friend of Johnathan Byers, who ropes your character into the mystery of the story, but as he leaves you behind in favor of adventuring with Nancy, you end up teaming up with Steve Harrington trying to protect Will Byers while Jonathan’s out of town.

Reading this description, you wonder what about you has you typecast in these badass roles when, in reality, you’re a soft theater student who’s winging it, because they’ve written you as someone that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, the popular guy, is actually intimidated by your character.

It changes over the course of the Season, unsurprisingly. Once Jonathan leaves you with more questions than answers, you go looking for him, and then his not-girlfriend, and instead find Dustin, the kid with a monster for a pet, and at least a few answers for you. When Steve Harrington shows up looking for Nancy too, Dustin collects him too, and your character refuses to leave without knowing what the hell is going on.

As the mystery unravels, Steve learns that you’re more than just the intimidating stereotype you present as, and you see him for more than just a popular jerk, and the two of you bicker over the advice he gives Dustin about girls. You two help the kids set up their fortress again Dustin’s monster pet, and you’re part of the ensemble for the rest of the story, helping protect the kids as best you can, and you’ve always got Steve’s back.

[ID: Two images posted to your Instagram story.

The first is captioned ‘my characters’ and is a still from John Mulaney’s comedy special The Comeback Kid where he’s saying “Do not fuck with me.”.

The second is captioned ‘me’, and is a second still from the same comedy special where he’s saying “You could probably pour soup in my lap and I’d apologise to you!”. End ID.]

----

“Hey, I’m so sorry, I just have to take this call real quick, it’s very important.”

“All good, Y/N, we’ll break for fifteen and meet back here, okay?” The director of the episode gives you a thumbs up, and you quickly move away from the rest of the cast and crew to answer.

“Babe! Babe holy shit! Babe!” Ben’s elated voice greets you at three in the afternoon in early January. You’re currently in America, two thirds of the way through filming for the show, currently on set, decked out in leather.

“Hey baby, you sound happy, what’s –“

“Babe!” He adds for emphasis, tone ecstatic, “I got it! I – fuck! I got it!” And he lowered his voice, worried of anyone in your vicinity, even with the phone to your ear, “Bohemian Rhapsody!” He hisses with the biggest grin you’d ever seen. For a moment, your eyes go wide, and you fight to control your reaction, absconding further into the woods you’d been filming in, before it all bursts forth.

“Ben, oh my God!” You’re all but jumping with joy yourself, “oh baby, oh Benny, that’s incredible! I knew you would, you’re going to absolutely kill it! Oh my man’s a star!” You practically sang, as Ben’s excitable and incomprehensible yells filled your ear.

“Queen, babe! Fucking Queen!” He made an uncharacteristic noise of excitement, before adding with something of a self-deprecating laugh, “now I just need to learn how to play drums.”

----

“What if I moved to LA?” Merissa asked over FaceTime, fidgeting.

“For real?” It kind of came out of nowhere for you, sitting in your hotel room on a rare day off, taking advantage of all your free time, catching up with your friends.

“Yeah, I mean I’m about to graduate, and there’s plenty of opportunities for journalists, and…” she hesitated, chewing her lip.

“And?” You prompted.

“And I’ve been saving for a while, actually, like since I was sixteen, and my parents have agreed to help me out –“

“So you’ve already made up your mind then?” You say with a half-smile, but she doesn’t seem to be registering anything you’re saying.

“And it means I’d be closer to Alex.”

“Don’t move to LA just for a girl,” you told her, “but if it’s what you really want, go for it.”

----

“If I bought you a waistcoat would you just wear it around the house for me?” You sighed wistfully, head propped up on your hand where you’re lounging in his chair on the set of The Woman in White, gazing longingly at Ben in his full period costume. Ben, where he’d been pacing and running lines before the shoot actually started, stopped, a blush creeping up his cheeks when he finally looked at you, taking in your dreamy expression. He approaches you, still wearing that pleased little, half-flustered smile, and he takes your face in his hands, leaning in to kiss you gently.

“Only ‘cos I like you,” he teased, leaning back, and you giggled, taking one of his hands and pulling him back in for another kiss.

Later, one of the production assistants will be by your side, the both of you watching as the director calls action and Ben wraps his costar up in one of the hottest kisses you’ve ever witnessed. The PA asks if it’s weird to watch. You shake your head; it’s a job, honestly you’re a little proud of how just watching him kiss someone else like that makes you think unholy thoughts. Mostly, however, you’re just proud.

----

“Mum, I am begging you, please do not mention EastEnders,” you plead with your mother as there comes a knock on the door of your family home.

“I won’t call him Mister Beale,” is what your mother agrees to, wiping her hands on a tea towel and heading to the door as you finished setting the table. The door opens, letting in a gust of cold air, and your mother ushers your boyfriend inside, “Ben it’s so lovely to see you again, it’s been far too long.”

“Not since we saw Streetcar,” he agreed, smiling easily, and hugging your mother when she offered one. Making his way through to the dining room, he kisses you in greeting, while your mother babbles about how it’s a shame that both you and Ben are so busy that it’s been hard to have dinner together.

“I hear you’re starting filming for that Queen film in a few weeks,” your mother muses while you were all eating, and Ben lights up when he talks about it, excited about learning how to play drums, getting to talk to the band members, watching old documentaries, and all the exciting costumes he’s been trying out. Your mother nodded along, admiring the way you were regarding him with such pride as he spoke.

“I’ve always liked them, truly tragic what happened to Freddie, truly tragic,” she shook her head, and both you and Ben nodded in somber agreement, before she perked up, “but ooh, that little bassist, I swear back when he had his long hair- that wife of his was lucky to snap him up so quick,” you and Ben share an awkwardly amused look, and your mother continues, “Roger’s always been very pretty, all my little school friends always thought he was the cutest; I’m sure you’ll do wonderful, Ben, you’re a very talented young man, I’ve always thought so.”

You’re very suddenly reminded of her, in this very room, calling him an idiot after you’d broken up that first time, but decide to keep that to yourself.

Ben’s humble as he tries to brush off the praise, but your mother feels the need to mention that she ‘owns all of EastEnders on DVD, so I’d know if you’re talented; that was a long time ago’ and Ben turns red and you regret everything that lead you here.

“Mum, you’re killing me.”

“What? It’s just a fact! I’m a fan of the show, I’m not a super fanatic or anything,” she shrugs, and you take a deep breath before remembering something you’d been meaning to bring up.

“Speaking of BoRhap, I got a call from the director,” which was news to Ben, as well as your mother, “he’s the same one from Apocalypse,” you said for your mother’s benefit, and she nodded in understanding, and you turned to Ben, resting your chin on your shoulder with a grin, “he offered me a little cameo.”

“That’s fantastic, babe, what’ll you be playing?”

“He wants me to play your wife, actually,” you grin, and Ben’s whole expression softens, “suppose he thinks I’ll do quite well at it.”

----

Filming for the new X-Men movie, simply titled Riot Control starts filming a few months after Stranger Things finishes, and you’ve never been so happy to take a painfully long flight before. It hurts to do without Ben, to have him not be part of the story, but he’s there in spirit, cheering you on the entire time.

To play Control is like riding a bicycle, like coming home after a long trip, like a warm hug on a cold night. Okay, perhaps that’s a little dramatic, but to be back with most of the cast, apart from Ben and Oscar, it felt more like hanging out with friends than any other shoot you’ve been on thus far.

They’ve hired a movement coach for you this time around, specifically to develop a new way of moving and fighting when playing the Symbiote. There’s also more fighting in this one, more time spent in the gym and with a personal trainer and fight choreographer; it’s intense, and most days leave you feeling sore and exhausted, but it’s worth it, you tell yourself every night that it’s worth it.

The best part, by far, is seeing everyone again. Some you haven’t seen for almost a year, not since the Apocalypse premiere, but there’s a few faces you’re more than used to by now.

“That looks familiar,” Tye’s grin is clear in his tone as he looks you over in an unflattering mocap suit, filming as the Symbiote for the day.

“Shut it, Egghead,” you warn him, though when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, you’re grinning, and he laughs, throwing an arm around you.

“No, come on, I’ve missed this,” he gives you a squeeze.

“You’re just excited not to be in the suit as well,” you counter, and bite his shoulder in a familiar display of affection. He does not, however, disagree.

Much to your surprise, Merissa shows up to set before Ben gets a chance to; that’s unsurprising, he’s still filming back in Ireland, but Merissa doesn’t even mention that she’s thinking of showing up before she’s on set.

“Holy. Shit.” You’re in your full Control costume and makeup, complete with prosthetics, contacts, and fake tattoos. She’s got that look in her eyes again, like back at the premiere, when she didn’t know anybody and didn’t quite know what to do or what to say, “holy shit, dude.” It’s like it’s hitting her just now, how much you’ve changed in the years that have passed.

“Merissa,” and you smile, greeting her warmly, wrapping her up in a hug and holding onto her for a very long moment, “it’s so good to see you! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“Thought I’d surprise you,” her voice was soft, and a little awed, “Alex flew me out.” She paused, stepping back and holding you at arm’s length, taking in your whole costume, “dude, you look kind of terrifying,” she grinned, “does this mean I’ll actually get to see you at work?”

“Yeah, dude, you’re here aren’t you?”

----

The Comic Con green room makes your skin itch when déjà vu strikes, waiting for the Ready Player One panel, but Tye is next to you, talking at length about his latest production, to take your mind off of things. They call you both over, and as you stand, you rest your hand on Tye’s shoulder, not an apology this time, a thank you. He gives a reassuring smile, resting his hand on your cheek briefly, nodding, checking in, making sure you’re alright.

It’s easier this time around, you find; they give you your own microphone, which you fidget with when you’re walking on after the trailer plays.

And the trailer- Holy Shit! It looks stunning, so much more incredible than you’d ever imagined. Suddenly, you’re excited rather than nervous, despite the lack of footage of your own character, though they’re still in post, so you wouldn’t be surprised if it takes another trailer or two before she’s shown fully-rendered.

“Y/N, how you doing, you okay?” Tye asks into his mic as you’re all finding your seats after hugging Spielberg and Ernest Cline, the writer, in greeting, and when you look at him, that little traitor is grinning, he must have noticed you fidgeting.

“I’m doing good, don’t have my boy- my-“ you stumble over your words, much to both Tye, and the rest of the audience’s delight, “Ben to hold my hand this time around though,” and TJ Miller, one of the other actors barks a laugh from beside you.

“You can have a Ben hold your hand,” he gestures to Ben Mendleson on his other side, and while you and Mendleson share an amused look, you politely decline with a chuckle.

“I think I’ll live,” you rebound easily after a moment, sitting back and giving an easy laugh. Most of the questions are directed at Steven Spielberg, and the two cowriters of the film, naturally, and the only question you field in the time you’re all allotted is how it felt to kind of play two separate characters, which is easy enough to answer. Until, the inevitable;

“So Tye, you and Y/N – this is the second time the two of you are working together, do you think that made it easier or harder to build that- that relationship between your characters?” The host asks, and when you and Tye share a look, you can already see the cogs turning in his mind, the mischievous glint in his eyes, and you race to raise your microphone.

“Be nice, Egghead,” you warned, and he goes to protest, something along the lines of ‘I’m always nice’, but before he even gets a chance, you turn to the audience, “he sent me a text the other night, at like two in the morning, completely unprompted –“ and Tye’s laughing because he knows exactly what you’re referring to, “that just said ‘You remind me of a pelican’ full stop – full stop,” you add for emphasis, “’that’s not a compliment’,” you huff, but you’re grinning, and shrugging, “so that’s what our working relationship is like.”

“That’s only because you called me ‘Significantly Worse James Marsden’ that day,” he protests, “so my thing, it wasn’t- it wasn’t unprompted.” He clarified, and you had to lower your microphone to laugh, along with the crowd.

“But no, seriously, Gun - Y/N and I didn’t actually interact all that much in our last film, like we did, but not a lot, so it was kind of like, we were building that relationship from scratch, but we’re both- you know we were both already comfortable around each other,” Tye explains, and you nod along in agreement, until he adds, “I just have to keep her distracted with something shiny, ‘cos she bites when she’s bored.”

“You hypocrite!” You exclaim, and Tye’s whole expression shifts to amused and mischievous, “you bite me just as much as I bite you. This is mutual-friendship biting.” And the audience laughs and whistles while Tye just sits back, amused by the chaos he’s created.

“That’s actually not a joke,” TJ Miller adds from your other side, grinning wide enough to split his face, that traitor, “between takes I’ll look over, and they’ll both be on their phones – millennials –“ he adds, jokingly, “and one of them will just lean over and bite the other, just right on the arm.”

“Biting on set?” The host asks Spielberg, bewildered, and the director laughs gently.

“As long as they do what they’re told when cameras are rolling, I don’t care; the energy and dynamic they have is fantastic for their characters, so as long as they’re menacing each other and not the rest of the cast, everyone kind of lets them be.”

The crowd are all smiling at you, watching, attentive, reassuring. They want you here.

And you’ll see them all again in just a few hours for the Stranger Things panel.

You don’t even have the safety net of Tye for your second panel of the day, but by now you think you’ve got everything under control. You’re in a new outfit at your stylist’s behest, changing the look from something sweet to something more rock and roll to reflect your character.

“Y/N, who plays Vanity,” Joe Keery announces, and you shoot him a smile as you walk on, finding your seat next to Dacre.

“Now, Y/N, you’ve already been up here today once before,” the host of the panel cuts in, and you give a laugh, leaning in to your shared microphone.

“Shh, Patton, they made me get changed so people wouldn’t notice,” you laughed, and the host snorted a laugh, quickly playing along.

“Sorry, sorry, welcome to the stage for the first time today, Y/N,” and you laugh lightly as they introduce the rest of the panel. They show the trailer for the next season and you’re kind of blown away; it’s always a little strange to see yourself on the big screen, especially playing characters so against your actual personality, but you don’t look out of place, you look… cool.

And then they’re going down the line, asking the new actors about how their characters fit into this role.

“And Y/N this- this is very familiar, the leather, the eighties; are you planning to end the world here too?” The host jokes, and you grin broadly as the audience laughs.

“What makes you think I’m the bad guy? We’ve already got – Dacre here literally said he’s a human antagonist, dude,” you shake your head, and the host babbles something about the way you’re dressed, the colour scheme you’ve been put in, and you nod in understanding, “well that’s part of my character, you know, a lot of people find it difficult to look past her whole, her whole punk thing, you know? That was really interesting for me, because – I don’t know how much I can say – but I spend a lot of time hanging out with Steve, Steve Harrington, who’s like this popular kind of jerk, at least that’s how Vanity sees him, and so it’s really nice to be able to play this kid who’s like, wearing this intimidating, punk mask, hanging out with the popular guy – for whatever reason –“ you wiggled your eyebrows, teasing the audience, “and to just have these kids discover that there’s actual people beneath these stereotypes.”

----

“Can I ask you something?” Alexandra’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet; the two of you are getting lunch in a break between scenes, and you’ve squirrelled yourselves away in the back of a restaurant you’d enjoyed back when you’d been filming Apocalypse.

“Of course, anything.”

“Do you think you’d still be Famine?” And she asks it so seriously, that it’s a little surprising, and you have to wrack your brains to figure out what she means. It’s clear her question confuses you, however, because she’s quickly clarifying, “back when we, you know, when we first met; you, me, Ben, Michael, Oscar, we went around and we said which Horseman we’d be as ourselves, not as our characters.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you nod slowly. Alexandra drops her gaze from you back to her food.

“Do you still think you’d be Famine?”

You take a very long moment to think it over, to analyses what she’s saying, what she’s implying, and coming to terms with the fact that such a small detail, all those years ago, had stuck with her. Maybe she could tell, maybe she’d understood what you’d meant when you called yourself Famine, quietly wanting for everything, so desperate for connection, for recognition, for appreciation.

So much has changed in the past two years alone.

“No, not anymore.”

----

Before filming had started, you’d heard that the story was going to be split over two films; in the first, you play the villain. You find the Symbiote while looking for a way to bring back Angel, but over time, the Symbiote corrupts you, makes you turn to vengeance rather than your loved one’s revival, and for a time, you listen. Broken by Apocalypse and Angels’ deaths, and your perceived betrayal of Magneto, who is revealed to be Control’s idol, during a flashback in which she watches his 1973 national address, she goes after the X-Men specifically, at the Symbiote’s urging. But Magneto’s not with them, and his betrayal is the one that hurts the most, so he’s the one she’s going to kill first.

Not that it works out like that.

But the point is, Control survives the first movie; going up against the X-Men, going up against The Phoenix, Jean refuses to believe that Control can’t be saved, that she doesn’t deserve to be saved, and burns the Symbiote out of her, as Control finally comes to terms with everything that’s happened, everything she’s done and who she’s become, and agrees to go with the X-Men.

In the second, you’re somewhat reformed, and would go back to being a secondary character, living alongside Magneto in his mutant paradise island as the events of Dark Phoenix would play out. At least that’s what you’re told at the time.

There’s never been a more difficult scene for you to film than the final confrontation with Jean; hours, voice raw as you’re meant to be screaming as the Symbiote is burned out of you, nose to nose with Sophie, crying and shaking and covered in cuts and blood. Sophie’s crying too, as Jean, refusing to give up on you, her hands holding your face.

You’ve been at it all day, overwhelmed and exhausted, you’re the only two cast members on set, feeding off each other’s anguish, muttering to each other that it’s going to be okay, that you’re going to get through it. Someone hands you a bottle of water, another lozenge, and your hands shake as you drink, as you try and help your sore throat before the next take.

“We good to go again?” The director asks, and you hand back the water bottle, giving him a shaky thumbs up. Sophie smiles at you, sniffling a little and trying to shake out her nerves before beginning again, “just a few more takes!” The director calls, apologetic.

And again, again, again; scream, lines, tears, a lightshow in your face to indicate Jean’s powers, her grip against your cheeks tightening, until it all becomes too much.

You scream, but you can’t keep it up, and it’s like it’s choking you, your voice lost, overcome by tears, and you collapse against Sophie in the middle of the take, shaking and crying and exhausted.

“No-one, no-one,�� she tells you sincerely in character, falling with you until she’s sitting on the ground, cradling you against her, “is beyond help. There is always hope,” and it comes out as a whisper, “there is always hope.”

The director is calling cut, but you sit like that for a long time, in Sophie’s arms, so tired and overworked, and the director apologises for pushing you both so hard, thanking you both for the effort you’d put in, telling you it was a wrap on the scene.

----

“I know we don’t have you for long, so thank you for coming in and doing this,” the director of Bohemian Rhapsody told you, leading you through to the band’s rehearsal room set, “but you’ll be back in November, right? There’s a few scenes we need you for; the schedule’s all been cleared with your manger, I just wanted to run it past you.”

Your schedule had gotten hectic; it had been less than a week since you’d wrapped on Riot Control, and in a week and a half you were flying back out to LA for the Stranger Things 2 premiere, but had made the trip to London to film your first BoRhap scene at the director’s behest.

“Yeah, all good, I’ve been looking forward to this,” you grinned brightly, smoothing out your brightly colored blouse.

“This is Rami Malek, Gwilym Lee, Joe Mazello, and Ben, whom I think you already know,” the director gives a knowing little smile as he introduced you to the rest of the cast, all already in full costume.

“I mean, we drove here together,” you agreed, and Ben snorted a laugh from where he was sitting behind the drums. You greeted each of the other actors warmly, smiling, shaking hands – Rami kissed you on the hand, apparently already in full Freddie-Mode – before you got to Ben.

“I like your wig –“

“Don’t be making fun of it,” he warned, straight up, and your hands raised in surrender.

“I wasn’t, I never would,” you tell him, and he gives you a pleased little smile as you admire him. His drumming has really gotten quite good, and as you sit on the sofas on set with the other wives while the other cast members float around, mostly in character, waiting for the cameras to finish setting up, you can’t help but admire him.

“You know Ben?” Joe asks, his interest piqued when he notices you tapping your thigh in time to the drum beats. You pause for a moment, and give a slight nod.

“We both worked with the director on X-Men Apocalypse,” you began, and Joe’s expression lit up.

“I knew I knew you from somewhere; you were- you were Control, right? The clone one? You don’t…” and he tries to put it into words, looking at your outfit and kind smile, and hums for a moment.

“Look like I’m about to get into a knife fight in an alley?” You fill in, and though Joe laughs, he’s nodding and agreeing, “I don’t know what it is about me that gets me cast as these mean, badass characters, you know? I’m just- I’m just me, you know, I’m not a fight-y person.” As your amusement dies down, however, you look back over to Ben, and when he catches you looking at him, he raises his eyebrows in silent question, “and we’ve been together for about two years.” You add as an aside to Joe.

“Oh!”

----

You’re hounded for interviews walking the red carpet at the Stranger Things 2 premiere; it’s surreal that this is the first of your projects to actually premiere. It’s surreal, so many people are calling your name, it feels like there’s a million flashbulbs going off in your face, but as things get overwhelming, you remember the message Ben had sent that morning.

[you’re going to kill it, love, im so proud of you x] [remember to reach out if it gets too much]

Remember to reach out if it gets too much. He knows you well.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay?” Wynona Ryder steps up to you before you even have a chance to look for someone to help; she’s been in the industry for a long time, she must recognize the signs. Swallowing hard, you smile for the cameras all around as you tell her what’s wrong.

“Red carpets tend to overwhelm me, and I just need to ground myself for a moment,” you take a deep breath, and she fixes you with an understanding and caring smile, offering her arm. Gratitude flows through you as you tuck your arm in hers as she leads you down the rest of the red carpet. It’s easy with her beside you, keeping you both moving forward to various interviews and photo opportunities.

“Thank you,” you whisper, approaching the main photo backdrop.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she pets your hand, “you ever need a moment, you come find me, okay?”

Once you’re finally at the end, you let her go and pose with your most winning smile for the sea of photographers, joining a smattering of the rest of the cast. Joe Keery and Gaten Matarazzo both wrap you up in a hug when they see you, the three of you posing for endless photos together to hint at your characters’ friendship, before Gaten heads to the rest of the children, and you and Joe pose together for a few photos, before the whole cast comes together.

----

One of the final shots of the season, Steve drops off Dustin at the Snowball dance, and catches sight of Nancy, his ex, inside and serving punch. There’s a sigh, a mourning for a first love he knows he won’t be getting back, but then, panning over to a darkened corner of the parking lot- Vanity, laying on the back window of her car, smoking, looking up at the sky. Steve gets out of the car.

“How can you stand those things?” Steve asks, and Vanity lets out a laugh, smoke spilling from her lips in the faint light.

“Mother Harrington,” she greets, sitting up, “Dustin make it in okay?”

“’Course he did,” Steve snorts, hopping up beside her on the trunk, the pair of them shoulder to shoulder, “kid looks a million bucks, gave him a pep talk; he made this weird growl but I talked him out of it.” He says, smug and proud in equal measure. Vanity puts her cigarette out on the bumper of the car, grinning at him, “what’re you doing out here, I thought you’d be in there working the camera or something?”

“Jonathan’s got that covered; I’m Max’s ride,” she explained, “I’ve never gone to the Snowball dance before, I’m not gonna start this year.”

“Not even once?”

“Never had anyone to go with,” she admits, a little sheepish. At that, the music starts to change, to something slow and romantic, well as romantic as a middle school dance can get, and Steve jumps from the car, and turns sharply, offering his hand.

“May I have this –“

“No.”

“Van,” he sighs deeply, hand dropping for a moment, “I’m trying to do a thing here,” and he lifts his hand again in invitation, “now I know the parking lot of the Snowball dance isn’t the same as a well lit gym, but –“

“No.” But she’s laughing, sliding from the vehicle, and gently lowering his arm, “Steve Harrington, I do not want to dance with you in the parking lot of the Snowball dance,” she told him, but she’s still gently holding his wrist, “I would however, say yes to a burger,” she paused, stepping back and shrugging, “or a movie; would you want to see a movie with me?”

“A movie?” Steve asks, surprisingly flustered, “with you?” Vanity shoves her hands in her pockets, suddenly quiet, giving a hopeful little nod.

“We can probably still catch Terminator.”

Oh, the realization occurs to him very suddenly, clear as day on his face, she’s asking him out. His expression melts into pleasant surprise.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

----

“Do you know how hard it is being a high school English teacher, coming back from Autumn break when all your students are talking about how they’d just binged the new Stranger Things, and you have to act like one of your best friends isn’t one of the new regulars?” Jamie bemoans you over coffee when you get back from LA; you just raise your eyebrows at him.

“Why wouldn’t you tell them?”

“Because it feels like I’m bragging, and as their teacher, that feels… I don’t know, it feels wrong,” he sighs, and takes a long sip, “it would be different if I was like, telling them that you were coming to speak with them about something, but it just seems like I’d be showing you off if it didn’t fit with the curriculum.”

“Any of your classes currently studying Shakespeare?” You asked pointedly, and Jamie’s entire face lit up like a Christmas tree, as if remembering the years of stage experience you also have.

“My sixth form kids are currently doing Richard the Third!”

“Get the paperwork together, I’m happy to come have a chat with your classes.”

----

With Ben’s arm around you on set, you feel like everything’s right with the world.

“Have I told you have absolutely gorgeous you look right now?” He murmured in your ear, voice low enough that no-one else could hear, all full of heady promise. You sighed soft and pleased, tilting your head until your lips were mere inches from his.

“Tell me again,” you smiled, licking your lips as your gaze caught his, pupils blown wide and dark.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters again, pulling you just a little closer, and you tucked up against him, leaving no space between the two of you, kissing him quickly. You’re on the Garden Lodge set, surrounded by the main cast members and countless extras, as the scene is reset.

“Lovebirds,” the director calls with the barest hint of annoyance, and you and Ben immediately look to him, flustered, as if caught red-handed. The rest of the cast look like they’re trying to hide their laughter, “don’t forget you’re meant to be annoyed during all of this.” And you nod adamantly but rest your head on Ben’s shoulder; he taps your shoulder once, which makes you smile. You reach down and draw a check mark against his thigh.

“Love you,” he murmurs before he takes a sip of prop champagne to hide his smile as the director calls action at the other end of the set with Rami. You give Ben’s thigh a squeeze.

“Love you too.”

----

Highschool kids are fucking savages.

“Are you going to be in the next X-Men movie?”

“Connor, that’s not-“ Jamie tries, but you straighten your posture, happy to answer.

“Yes I am!”

“Why?”

“Connor, what the fuck?” One of the kid’s friends hisses and Jamie sighs deeply, reminding her not to use that kind of language. You, however, gave a bemused look to the kid, Connor.

“What do you mean?”

He seems to have realized his mistake, and is quick to backtrack, stuttering that he thought your character wasn’t coming back because the Horsemen and Apocalypse were no more. You kindly explain that there’s more to your character than being a henchman. He nods sagely.

At the end of the class, like with all of the other classes you’d attended throughout the day, you answered a rapid-fire round of questions about anything, not just Shakespeare and theater related.

“Are you really dating the guy who plays Steve Harrington?” One girl calls, referencing a rumor you’d seen circulating a few days ago; the same had been said about you and Tye several months ago, but both were easy to ignore. The girl, Keely, quickly silenced by her friend, who, embarrassed, informs her that you’re dating Angel from Apocalypse; “wait, the blonde one?” The first girl stage whispers, turning red. Her friend nods, and the girl mutters a quick apology.

“Are the Stranger Things kids nice?”

“Incredibly!”

“How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-two.”

“Oh, shit that’s younger than I was expecting –“

“Rian, language please.” Jamie calls.

“Sorry, Mr Fulleur-Keene.”

“How’d you become friends with Mr Fulleur-Keene?”

“I was in a play with his husband when we were younger.”

“What’s been your favourite movie to be in?”

“X-Men Apocalypse,” it’s always your answer whenever anyone asks.

----

“Y/N can you come hang out with us on set again?” Joe Mazzello calling you is not a surprise; the main four BoRhap cast members have gotten very close, to the point where you’d had them over for dinner at you and Bens’ flat last time you were in town.

“Aw, Joe do you miss me?” You teased.

“Of course, if I was not a firm believe of bros-before-those-who-are-not-bros, I would have tried to steal you in an instant,” he says, with so much faux seriousness that it’s clear he’s making a joke. Ben still makes a mildly offended noise in the background.

“And if I didn’t have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world,” you said, matching his tone, “I’d still chose Rami.”

“Ouch,” Joe gasps, and you’re guessing you’re on speaker phone judging by the way you can hear Gwil and Ben laugh, and Rami call out a very pointed ‘thank you’ in the background, much to Joe’s fake annoyance, “but yes, we all miss you, but Ben’s moping-“

“I am not moping!” Ben crows in the background, his laughter immediately dying down, “I don’t-“

“He actually doesn’t mope,” you agree, and Joe makes a noise in the back of his throat, which you ignore, “you know we live together, right? I’ll see him tonight, I doubt he’s moping.”

“Joe’s the one who’s moping!” Ben calls, and you hear them bickering for a few moments, and then a loud clatter.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” it’s Gwilym’s gentle welsh amusement that greets you, amid scuffling sounds.

“It’s no worry, I’m free today anyways; how long are you guys filming for, or do you wanna all just get dinner after?”

“Dinner would be great, love,” Ben sounds strained when he shouts it, and Gwil reiterates to make sure you’d heard it. When you’re in town, dinner with the BoRhap boys is a very common occurrence, and one you look forward to.

----

“We’re so glad you could come on board, you got the pages we sent out last week, right?” Venom’s assistant director is chattering away to you while you’re sitting patiently in the makeup chair. You make a noise that indicates that you did while the makeup artist is applying your painfully familiar prosthetics. “Just a few little flashback scenes, a little bit of B-roll, a nice Easter Egg, you know? Easy as.”

All the work you’d done with your movement coach for Riot Control feels like it’s paid off tenfold as you walk with an uneven, inhuman gait, expression black, twitching, offputting. If Riot Control was your character trying to hold herself together, then the flashbacks in Venom are the moments where she loses control, where Riot fully takes over.

There’s something feral, and very wrong with Control here, something that can’t be shown in a PG-13 X-Men film. You think you like this version of her more, just a little bit. She is ugly and rotting and using this Symbiote for his power, just as he is using her.

When you scream, you throw your all into it, and the very first time the entire crew is dead silent behind the camera. It’s meant to be a flashback to when you first merge with the Symbiote, and the pain of it takes you by surprise, the scream causing the Symbiote pain, which then causes it to twitch and convulse inside you, a feedback loop of sound and pain, and your legs buckle and you fall to the floor, twitching.

The director calls cut with you gasping and shaking and grinning on the floor of the set, feeling a familiar rush of power that came with blowing people’s expectations out of the water.

“Damn,” an assistant marvels under their breath, voicing the thought they all seemed to be having.

----

You do a screen test for a film with the code name TrIXie, but you have very little idea what it was about. Everything for it was very hush-hush, just like it was for your screen test for Apocalypse.

----

There’s several different premieres for Ready Player One within the space of a few weeks, all with a different, flashy look for you to wear.

“Nineteen-eighty-eight’s Beetlejuice! Who invited you?” Tye announced, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of your striped blazer, though he hugs you in greeting. You take it in stride, however, giving him a faux pitying look.

“Whoever made the guest list really should have checked it, how’d an old coat rack make it all the way from the dumpster?” you tell him sweetly, to which his expression sours, and he looks down at the dressed down, brown sweater and black slacks he’d been put in; neither of you looked bad, obviously, it was habit more than anything else. All of you had been told not to overdo your looks for the South by Southwest red carpet, which you were more than happy to comply with. Of course, after a moment you both concede with genuine compliments, so excited to see the product of all your hard work on the big screen.

----

“We should go somewhere,” Ben muses in the early hours of the morning, all warm and soft in the afterglow, “a holiday.”

“Where would we go?” You ask around a yawn, fingers carding through his hair.

“Anywhere; Australia, Alaska, Cairo? Somewhere we’ve never been.”

“Cairo,” you ponder softly, “we did spend a good deal of time pretending to be there, would be nice to actually see it in person,” tugging his hair, you hear his stifled, breathy groan and grin, “when were you thinking of going?”

“When were you free?”

You pause, considering, and realise that the next few months are the only time you and Ben will have free until some time in 2019, probably. You’re in talks with whatever that TrIXie project is, Stranger Things Season 3 is going into production in just a month, and there’s apparently massive reshoots scheduled for Riot Control starting in August.

“Next week?”

----

Perhaps he’d intended for the two of you to visit Cairo all along, you realise looking at him with wide-eyed disbelief as he offers you a ring, and a promise across a candle-lit dinner. It’s quiet, it’s honest, it’s you mean the world to me, and there’s no-one else in the world who makes me half as happy or half as proud as you do.

The sun is staining the sky lilac and pink and gold where it’s hiding, quickly setting beneath the pyramids, haloing them in light. Maybe you’re reading more symbolism into it than you should, but you’d lost him once here, in spirit, on film, and now he’s brought you back, for the first time, to promise that’ll never happen again.

You’re looking at the ring, watching it catch the light as you let this all wash over you. He’s waiting, hopeful beyond anything else.

“Me?” The word escapes you as tears of joy begin to cloud your vision. The laugh he gives is quiet, cathartic, and he looks like he’s on the edge of a sarcastic quip, but then you’re smiling, and the tears begin to spill as you clutch your hands to your chest, and his heart melts.

“You.”

You’re nodding, already you’re nodding, yes of course absolutely, spilling from you in a joyous rush as you offer your shaking hand, and he gets up, his hands warm on yours as he slides the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly. You stand to meet him, kiss him, let yourself get wrapped up in his embrace, laughing and crying and brimming with delight.

----

“Whatever you want to say, keep it to yourself,” Joe Keery warns you the first time you see him in his Scoops Ahoy costume during the fitting for Stranger Things 3. You’re trying very desperately to repress a smile, but it’s not working.

“But I like your little chicken legs,” you teased him, though he didn’t seem nearly as amused. The tables turn, however, once you’re called over by the head of costume design, hands you a red and gold movie attendant uniform. He, very kindly, doesn’t laugh at the little hat they put you in.

“Hey, can I,” you hesitate, when talking to the head of costuming, spinning the ring on your left hand, “do you think I could wear this on a chain around my neck? For the show? I’d tuck it in, but I just… I’d like to have it on me.” She gives you a warm, knowing smile, nods, and gets you a chain.

This season starts a month into Summer Break, and your character, Vanity, has just gotten back from a month-long stay at a last-chance camp for young delinquents. Her relationship with Steve still isn’t exactly public knowledge, since they’re both young and kind of dumb, trying to uphold their own reputations. The only people who know are the kids, Nancy, and Jonathan. And honestly, who else would believe either of them?

Her parents have gotten her a job at the Starcourt movie theater to try and teach her responsibility, though it’s success is still yet to be proven. When she’s not working, she’s bothering Steve at his new job at the Scoops Ahoy Ice-cream Parlor, where she’s quietly jealous of his friendship with Robin, who is cool and funny and who Vanity’s quietly worried has a crush on her secret boyfriend.

“Ambrose!” It’s your first scene of the second season, and Gaten, as Dustin, calls for your character, delighted. You’d been playing at being in a mood, as if on a break from a job you hated, though you perked up at the sound of his voice.

“Dustin! Dude!” You crowed, wrapping the kid up in a hug as he scrambled from his seat beside Joe, in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, “how was Camp? Did you open your imagination door?” You grinned, putting on a voice to make the concept sound mystical.

“Duh! And I got a girlfriend!” He practically preened, puffing out his chest, which was a rather sweet sight.

“You gonna stand there all day, Ambrose?” Joe asks with a slight smirk, playing it cool, his voice going deadpan, “or are you gonna set sail on this ocean of flavor?”

You know you have some blocking here, you have to walk to the counter and have an interaction with Maya, playing the new girl, Robin, but Joe’s dead-eyed stare is making it hard to not laugh. It becomes a staring contest where you’re both trying very hard not to break, and in the end, you can’t help but crack up laughing, as do the rest of the cast around you. It’s such a stupid line, you love it.

Cut, reset, another take.

“You gonna stand there all day, Ambrose, or are you gonna set sail on this ocean of flavor?”

This time you keep it together, giving him a sarcastic smile, and turn on your heel towards the counter.

“Aren’t you the girl who almost burned down the science department?” Maya asks, and you lean your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your hand as you look at her with a sharp little smile.

“Almost,” you agree, and you see the surprised, and slightly flustered reaction she gives, as the two of you had worked out in rehearsals, and you order your ice-cream.

----

[ID: @yourtwittername retweeted two tweets from @JamieFK8:

MR Jamie Fuller-Keene 🌈✨📚: okay can @SHO_Shameless please cast my dear friend @yourtwittername ? because she’s talented as hell and I need her to tell @cameronmonaghan he looks like my husband. That’s not a joke. (Attached is two photos, one from Cameron Monaghan’s Instagram, the actor is posing for a magazine in a floral button-down shirt. The second is one of Andrew, blurry, yawning, and hair a mess over morning coffee, still wearing his pyjamas.)

MR Jamie Fuller-Keene 🌈✨📚: oh god never let me tweet hung over again @yourtwittername how dare u retweet me knowing andy’s going to fillet me for this 😅 😅 😅

You replied to the second tweet.

Y/N Y/L/N ☑️: because you’re not wrong lmao

End ID]

----

“I feel like I’m seeing you every two weeks now,” you’re on stage at the Teen Choice Awards with Tye, playing at being annoyed during your acceptance speech for Best Liplock. You’ve each got your arm around a surfboard that represents the award, standing awkwardly beside one another.

“Yeah, I was told after the movie I never had to see you again,” he played along, and you cleared your throat, leaning into the microphone.

“I mean… there’s still- we are still doing another X-Men movie together,” you reminded him, and he conceded on that point.

“But I don’t have to kiss you in that one,” he reminded, “it’s my favourite part so far.”

“Well then it’s agreed, let’s never do it again,” and you reach out with your free hand, as if to shake it, though it was a bit you’d both planned, pulling each other in for a big, dramatic show-kiss as the crowd screamed around you. Stepping back, you’re both laughing and a little flustered, before heading off stage while the next musical act is introduced.

----

“What’s the chain mean?” Joe Keery asks between takes, sitting in the back room of the Scoops shop. Gaten’s getting notes, and Maya’s kicking the wall, sitting opposite you both.

“Huh?” It takes you a minute to process, before the instinctual, bashful smile spreads across your lips, “oh, it’s kind of stupid and sappy,” you murmur, and he raises his eyebrows, both confused and intrigued, and you pull the chain out from where it had been tucked beneath your costume, with only the barest glint of it visible by your collar, “it’s not actually a character thing,” you pause to consider, “I mean it is; in my mind it’s something dumb, like a nail from Steve’s bat from last year that she bent into a circle.”

“That’s actually kind of cute,” Joe gives a fond grin, knocking his shoulder against yours, but you’re not done, and finally you pull the ring out too.

“But it’s actually my engagement ring,” you pause, dropping your gaze to where you were fiddling with the simple little ring, “like, my actual real-life engagement ring; I’m not allowed to wear it on my hand, but I didn’t want to take it off.”

“Oh, shit dude, for real?” He asks softly, eyes going wide. You nod, giving a toothy, pleased smile in return, “Ben, right?” Another nod from you, “that’s so fantastic, congratulations!” And he gives you a side hug. Neither of you can shake your weirdly proud and sunny aura for the rest of the shoot. You haven’t told many people, trying to keep your private life relatively private, but it feels nice to have someone share in your happiness like this.

----

“You’re in the new Star Wars movie?!” Alexandra is the first to call you, waking you up at six in the morning after you’d wrapped on a scene only three hours before.

“I’m what?” You asked groggily, eyes barely open as you held the phone to your ear.

“It’s all over Twitter!”

At least now you knew what the TrIXie project was.

According to the email from your manager that you’d received last night but hadn’t looked at, your character was named Zorii Bliss, an old acquaintance of Poe Dameron’s, which means you’d be seeing more of Oscar Isaac. You’d be more excited in a few hours; for now, you put your phone on airplane mode and went back to sleep.

----

“So you’re trying to tell me that you’re dating the girl who sets fires for fun? You? Mister Hair, Mister Perfect?” Maya snorted a laugh, leaning on the table in the back set, surrounded by cameras as she and Joe worked through a scene for episode four together, “you know she’s too cool for you, right?” She smirks.

“Why would you say that?” Joe sighs, frowning.

“You know, between the Russian conspiracy and this, I believe the Russian thing more.” She announces, ignoring him.

You’re not on set for that scene, you’re actually not on set for a lot of your favorite scenes this season, but you’re so grateful you still get to work with Maya and Joe as much as you do. The way your characters interact is so fascinating, and hearbreaking in the end, when all this time, while your character had been so terrified of losing Steve to Robin, it turns out that she had been pining after you this whole time; its not that she didn’t believe that Vanity and Steve were dating, it’s that she didn’t want to believe it.

Yet again, Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, gets everything she wants, everything she’s never allowed to admit she wants.

----

“Merissa’s kind of blowing up on TikTok.”

“Andrew, you’re not allowed to just say made-up words at me like I’ll understand what they mean.”

“Come on, you know what TikTok is, don’t you?”

“Kind of, how do you know what it is?”

“The teens in my show –“

“You sound so old, dude.”

“- are all singing Hit or Miss at each other, and Jamie comes home whistling this song about – listen I don’t know who Tracer is, but someone wants to be Tracer - believe me, everything I learned about it, I learned against my will, except -!”

“Except?”

“Merissa’s got half a million followers.”

----

A lot of your scenes in the middle episodes are with Priya and Gaten, Erika and Dustin that is, trying to rescue Steve and Robin from the underground Russian bunker that they’d found themselves caught in.

Gaten bursts into the room where Joe and Maya have been tied up, wielding a stun baton like a pro, frying the actor in the lab coat that had been looming over the pair, who does a convincing impression of being cooked from the inside out as he drops to the ground. On the other hand, Maya and Joe are doing an incredible job of acting completely out of their minds.

“Henderson! That’s just crazy, I was just talking about you!” Joe slurs, grinning at Gaten as he undoes the ties around his wrists.

“Vanity! Miss Vanity, you guys ‘ve come to save us!” Maya sings amid laughter, and you kneel down in front of her, gentle and attentive as you work at undoing her ties too, and Gaten tells them to get ready to run, and the scene cuts. There’s something in the air that’s making Maya and Joe giggly, but it adds to the scene, so they manage to make it through most takes without too much trouble. There’s a take where Maya lifts her joined wrists to gently touch your cheek, which you think is kind of sweet, even though your character’s been oblivious to her hints the entire time.

Episode seven, however, is your favourite to film.

“Vanny, Vanny, hey,” Joe’s got his head in your lap where he’d fallen, and he’d seemed to forget about you while he was being interrogated by Gaten. Now, however, he was reaching up and none too gently patting your face, “Vanny, hey if we’re going to the food court, come get- come get food with me. A real live date.”

“In the food court while you’re drugged and beaten bloody?” You asked, deadpan, refusing to break when he sticks his fingers up your nose. Joe laughs loud at his own antics, as it’s written in the script.

“Awe, were you worried about me?” He teased, before struggling to sit up, digging his elbow into your thigh.

“Ow, motherfucker- !” You yelped, and Joe immediately broke to apologise, getting off of you, and you waived him off, just rubbing the sudden sore spot as they reset from your line.

This time, when he sits up, he’s careful not to injure you before delivering his next triumphant line to Maya.

“I told you she wasn’t too cool for me!”

“Oh, dude, she definitely is,” Maya laughed loudly, leaning back in her squat until she was propped up against the wall. When Joe turns, his eyes wide and almost comically sad, you fight not to laugh yourself. It’s difficult to look as tender as the director wants when Joe’s actively trying to make you laugh.

“You’re not too cool for me, are you?” He sounds a little desperate, which goes a ways to helping you fight your urge to laugh. In the moment, you reach up to where you can feel your ring pressed against your chest beneath your costume, and think of the boy waiting for you back home to get you to the emotional place you need to be.

“I –“ you cut yourself off, tone too gentle, too raw, too honest; your character can’t tell him she loves him here, “definitely am,” you concede, and his expression falls, so you reach out, running your thumb gently over the prosthetic that makes his cheek look swollen, “I’m totally kidding, babe.” And he leans back against you, into your arms, this time on purpose. It’s a disgustingly cute moment. The director calls cut.

----

“I miss you so fucking much, I wish you were here,” you spend more nights than you can count with your phone to your ear, wishing Ben was actually beside you. He’d come to visit you a few times on set, in the months you’d been in America, but the visits always felt too short. Now, in Canada, just days away from starting reshoots for Riot Control, he feels further away than ever.

“I know, babe, I know,” he said softly, and you can hear the ache in his voice. Your gaze drifts to the sky, to the stars glittering overhead, and you play with your ring absentmindedly, “I could come see you, it’d be nice to see the gang again too.”

“Aren’t you headed it Italy in a week?” You ask, and a white-hot stab of pride flares through you, knowing that he was going to be filming for a Michael Bay movie.

“I could leave tomorrow and come visit you before I go there,” he offered, and oh how you wanted to say yes, but you didn’t want to burn him out too badly.

“We’ll see each other soon, when I have a few days free, or you have a few days free, not immediately before we’re both starting shoots,” you laugh, but your heart isn’t in it, and for a moment, all you can do is sigh, your eyes closed, curling in on yourself as if to try and alleviate the loneliness.

“I miss you,” he murmurs, and, like a flash, you have words running through your mind, though you can’t quite connect which specific song you’re thinking of.

“Which- which Queen song is the one with I’m happy at home in it?” You ask softly, and you hear his soft chuckle on the other end of the line.

“You’re My Best Friend.” His tone is knowing and softly fond; he knows what you mean, what you’re implying with the song alone, and he hopes you know that he feels it too. The distance feels like lightyears.

“Ooh, you make me live~” you sing softly, now that you’ve got the tune in your mind, and he hums along to, for a few bars, even as your voice grows quiet, “I miss you too, fuck I wish you were here.” And he seems to pick up on the notes of desperation in your voice, because his answer shifts the tone of the conversation entirely, to something playful.

“And what would we be doing if I was there?” You can hear him smirking now, and can feel yourself already growing warm; she shift to more of a sitting position against the headboard.

“If you were right here beside me? In this bed?”

“Yeah, tell me what we’d be doing.”

Your mouth goes dry, but it’s been a long time since you’ve been shy with Ben, and you’re not going to restart now; you let yourself grin, and get settled against the pillows.

----

The reshoots for Riot Control are intense.

Thanks to a corporate deal between Disney and Fox which resulted in Fox unfortunately joining the megacorporation, this film is officially going to be the last X-Men movie in this canon, which means no Dark Phoenix, and Riot Control can’t leave things open ended.

Which turns out to mean that Control is going to die.

For some reason, it stings.

Some scenes need to be moved and changed to round out the plot, some characterization reworked and redeveloped, and most importantly, that final scene between Control and Jean needs to change drastically.

It’s interesting to watch how it changes, how Jean, who had been so adamant during the original cut of the film that despite everything Control had done, everyone she’d hurt, that she was able to be saved, to now, thanks to the reshoots, be conflicted, feel Scott’s pain for his brother, and the pain Control inflicts, and think that Charles’ ideology of ‘no-one is ever truly gone’ might not be correct.

Which makes it all the more painful at the end, because finally she sees that Control is not beyond help, but it’s too late for Control to see that, so Control gives herself up in favour of causing anyone any more pain.

“We can help you,” once again, you and Sophie are crying in each other’s arms, standing on a pile of debris in front of a set of green screens, “please,” she begs, “I know there’s hope somewhere deep inside of you, I know –“

“You know so much,” your voice cracks, and you take her hands where they’re holding your face, and you press them harder to your cheeks, you’re looking at her like you know the hurt she’s feeling, like you know you’re the cause of it, but you can’t stop yourself; her expression is horrified as she realizes what you’re doing, “and yet you still think everyone deserves to be saved.”

“Cassidy, don’t do this –“ she struggles, as if trying to pull out of your grip, but there’s lights going off around you, cameras close to your face, which is free from prosthetics for the first and only time in the film. You’d already done this scene a million times with the prosthetics and contacts, now for the final takes without.

And you quickly step out of the scene when the director gives the signal, and Jean screams up at the sky, like a little part of your spirit is momentarily imbued within her, reaching up, trying to catch the last CGI embers of you that will be added in post; it occurs to you that a lot of people end up as ashes around Jean.

“How do you keep doing this?” Sophie half laughs once cut is called again, her voice raspy from screaming.

“My blood is fifty percent lemon-honey tea,” you answer with a snort, and she nods, as if seriously considering getting a cup for herself. Someone hands her a waterbottle, and she takes the time to pat the tears from her cheeks before taking a sip. An assistant comes to touch up both your makeup.

----

You catch Alexandra watching some of Merissa’s TikToks in between takes, and just grinning like a fool, all sappy sighs and gentle smiles. You don’t say anything, but it warms your heart. When you finally cave and download the app, she’s the first person you follow. She’s got close to a million followers now, and as you scroll further down, you see Alexandra in more than a few of her videos, in the background.

You realise you don’t recognize the background; it wasn’t the place you’d helped her move into a while ago, but you find a video captioned ‘Moving Day’ from about a month ago, set to Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5, and it’s a montage of herself and Alex moving all of her things into an apartment that’s already partially furnished and decorated.

Alex’s apartment.

Merissa’s making something of herself, you soon discover; she’s working for Buzzfeed, has been in a few of their videos, and is putting her journalism degree to arguably good use. A bittersweet pride flares in your chest when you realise that you’ve both been so busy that you hadn’t even know about all the changes in her life.

You invite her to set, to catch up and hang out, and thankfully, she says yes.

----

Oscar wraps you up in a bear hug the first time you see him in rehearsals for Star Wars. He tells you it’s been too long and you’re quick to agree; you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed him until you see him again.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he adds, and you’re confused for all of five seconds before he gestures to your ring that you’d been spinning absentmindedly. Your expression lights up, and you instinctively look at it, Ben’s smile bright in your mind.

“Thanks! It’s Ben’s!” You say, all chipper and awkward, “I mean- he gave it to me, I – we –“ you try and correct, but Oscar’s expression melts, and he doesn’t seem to mind your excited word vomit.

“Ah, jeez, you guys were always so cute, I’m so glad it’s still going well!”

He’s quick to introduce you to the rest of the cast, who are all incredibly kind and charming in their own right, and with Oscar’s seal of approval, they’re quick to treat you like an old friend.

For how little you’re actually in the film, there’s certainly still a lot of training to undertake, including a short, but stylized set of blows traded with Daisy Ridley, and you’re never one to complain about getting your ass kicked by someone pretty. It’s kind of becoming a habit.

It is, however, a little strange at first, to think about flirting with Oscar. Three years ago, he was playing your weird, pseudo-parental-slash-god figure, and now the two of you had a torrid romantic past that obviously ended badly. Not badly enough to stop him flirting with you, of course, Poe Dameron was like that. But still, at first it was weird.

It doesn’t take long to compartmentalize; if you can spend a year alternating between threatening to kick Tye’s ass and aggressively making out with him for cameras, you can flirt with Oscar Isaac. Who, on a completely unrelated note, has only gotten more handsome in the years since you’ve seen him in person.

----

“Benjamin that photo of you on top of that fancy dome building makes me both afraid for you, and feel like I want to do unholy things to you,” is how you open the phone call to your fiancé only five minutes after he sends you a photo from the set of 6 Underground.

“Why are you whispering? Where are you?” He laughs at the other end of the line, and yet again you curse your misaligned schedules; while Star Wars IX is filming in England, Ben’s currently in Italy, standing on top of buildings and looking absolutely gorgeous.

“I stepped out of wardrobe for the moment,” you admitted. At that, Ben huffed a laugh, following it with a contented sigh, calling you cute.

“When can I come see you? Are you free next weekend? Italy’s not that far.”

“I’ll be back in just a few weeks, BoRhap premiere, remember? Not long now.” His voice was warm and calm, softly reassuring. You took a deep breath. Someone’s calling you back to wardrobe, but as you consider the possibility of seeing him again soon, you’re too giddy to mind.

“Okay,” you breathe, “I’ve got to go, just wanted to say you look fine as fuck.”

“Thank you, babe, I appreciate it; ‘love you, talk to you soon.”

----

“Hey, thank you so much for coming out to brunch,” Andrew started one Wednesday morning, holding Jamie’s hand on the table, their fingers linked. You look between them suspiciously, putting down your bag. It looks like an interview setup. It looks like they have news.

“What’s the ulterior motive?” You ask, sitting across from them. They share a look of thinly veiled excitement. Jamie raises their joined hands, kissing Andrew’s knuckles; the two of them appear to have a silent conversation using only their eyebrows.

“We didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” Andrew finally says, slowly, and he looks back at you. Jamie’s almost bouncing in his seat, “we got approved for adoption.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes going wide, and then, as what he’s said takes a moment to sink in, you stand abruptly, your chair clattering to the floor as you reach over the table to hug them both tightly, “oh my god! Guys, congratulations!”

----

You hold a fancy prop pistol to Oscar’s head and spit insults at him through a visor. What you’d originally worried about – your shared history as actors – actually ended up helping your characterization. There’s a bit of Control in how you play Zorii, you realise, as during rehearsals, for the first time you meet him, instead of saying the scripted line for the run through, you say-

“Hey, remember that time you asked me to help take over the world and instead died in front of me? What was that about?”

Oscar, who hadn’t been expecting that at all, chokes out a laugh, eyes wide, and it becomes something of an inside joke, that all of Zorii’s anger at Poe was merely Control’s anger at Apocalypse, reincarnated. It actually helped a lot with your motivations, having something you could relate to, to help ground your emotions.

Oscar doesn’t seem concerned for you like he had during Apocalypse. When you ask him about it, he gives a slight shrug, and a fond smile.

“You seem more secure; you’ve grown into yourself.”

----

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait,” you say in a flustered rush, climbing into the limousine where Ben had been waiting in the garage of the hotel where you were both getting ready for the Bohemian Rhapsody premiere.

“No need to worry, love, we’ve still got plenty of time,” he assured as you closed the door, “you look bloody stunning, by the way,” and when you turn to him, finally, you beam, before you can take in his appearance. Your mouth goes dry all of a sudden, and Ben’s smile widens, “yes?”

“God damn it, Ben,” you breathe, and he knows that tone all too well, pressing a button on the door handle that would roll up the partition between the driver and the back.

“You like it?”

“Tell me you get to keep that- fuck,” you lick your lips and finally look back to his face. He’s smirking like he knows exactly how hot he is, “you just keep wearing all black and thinking you can get away with it.”

“Love, I need you to know that I am barely restraining myself; you are not the only one who’s a fan of what they see.”

“Do not tempt me, Ben,” you warn pressing yourself to his side, hand on his chest, on that sheer fucking back shirt that has you very vividly and precisely thinking about how scratch marks would show up underneath. His heartbeat is quick beneath your palm. His lips, his damn smug smile, is only inches from yours.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your makeup,” he murmurs. You press your nails against his chest and his smile widens. Tease.

It’s with very deliberate movements that you sit back, open your purse, and remove a single tissue, carefully wiping off your lipstick, informing him in as much of a neutral tone as you can muster, that you’re able to reapply lipstick if necessary. Ben goes to laugh, but you’ve practically launched yourself at him, kissing him within an inch of his life, practically in his lap in the back of this limousine for the entire ride to the premiere.

You let Ben leave first, soaking up the attention from the photographers waiting, while you reapplied your lipstick and straightened your dress.

When you exit the limousine, to much less fanfare, seeing as you were simply a cameo, Joe is the first to spot you from where the main four men are getting photos together; he gives you the most shiteating grin and you fight the urge not to stick your tongue out at him.

Tomorrow there will be photos from the red carpet, of you with the cast, with Ben, with Roger Taylor and Brian May. Tomorrow the world will see you and Ben, toe to toe on the purple carpet as you fix his collar, and they’ll see the ring on your finger, and the love in both your eyes, and finally put two and two together. Tomorrow you won’t even care.

Bohemian Rhapsody leaves you breathless, leaves you on the verge of tears in the theater as you realise that this may just change everything. You’re bursting at the seams with pride, speechless as the credits roll, in awe of your fiancé as everyone around you is cheering and congratulating each other. You’re quiet, but Ben can read the awe on your face, and doesn’t push you for comment with everyone around him chattering excitedly.

There’s an afterparty, and on the way there, you finally speak. It’s just the two of you in the car again, his hand on yours, and your looking at your linked fingers, and the ring gleaming on your finger. He follows your gaze and gives your hand a squeeze, finally asking what you thought of it.

“How did I ever get so lucky as to meet someone as talented and incredible as you?”

“Y/N…” He says softly, his expression surprisingly vulnerable when you reach up and touch his cheek, fingertips brushing his soft skin, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Slowly, you move in, gaze roaming his face, committing every detail of this moment, of his smile and adoration-filled expression to your memory.

“Ben, you’re the love of my life,” you breathe, gaze locked with his, and holy shit you really mean it. Of course you mean it, but you’ve never considered how far reaching that statement was, how desperately and honestly you wanted him to know. He kisses you in answer, urgent and warm, his free hand cupping your cheek and bringing you closer. I know, the kiss says.

“I’m so proud of you,” the words bubble out, and there’s tears of joy, of euphoria in your eyes when you pull away for a moment, and he’s grinning so wide so proud, and I’m in love, I love him, I love him, I love him, rings in your mind like a mantra, on repeat.

----

If someone had asked you, all the way back in 2015, before Apocalypse, before any of it had even begun, where you saw yourself in the next five years, there’s no way in hell you could have anticipated any of this.

Not even a little bit.

Not the opportunities, not the awards, not the friends, and certainly not Ben.

The idea of a future where you wake up to his smile, golden in the morning light, that was unthinkable at the start. There’s no way you would have foreseen discussing which Queen song to dance to at your wedding – Your My Best Friend and Somebody to Love are top contenders.

You take each other to movie premieres, and award shows, and finally get to take a few months off together. You travel Europe, see sights, let yourselves breathe, bask in the life you’ve built together before you get back to your busy reality.

BoRhap wins SAG Awards, wins Oscars, wins more than the cast and crew had ever anticipated; it’s a moment in time and culture, one that your fiancé is at the epicenter of, and you know you’ll never get tired of seeing him succeed, seeing him flourish.

Andrew and Jamie’s daughter Katherine, who prefers Kitty, is four, and calls you and Ben Auntie and Uncle, and it melts your heart every time. It makes you feel all warm and soft to see two of your best friends doting so much on this little girl who’s quickly come to love them, and you realise that perhaps you and Ben should have a serious conversation about kid; whether or not you personally want them is still up for debate, but it’s still a conversation that needs to be had.

When you win the Teen Choice Award for Best Villain – Female for Riot Control, Merissa’s the one who presents the award, as an influencer in her own right, and you burst into tears when you see the pride in her eyes. Something about this, above the Ensemble Emmy you win for Stranger Things, and the surprising SAG Award nomination the ensemble gets for Riot Control, this Teen Choice Award, as handed to you by your oldest friend, smiling as you both realise just how far you’ve come, it means the most.

And after, Ben will wrap you up in his embrace, brimming with pride and that’s my girl, murmured against your skin, and you can feel his smile in his kiss, in his words, in the reverential way he touches you.

In 2015, you’d been so scared to finally face the boy you’d quietly loved for so long.

Today, you can’t wait to marry him.

[exhaustedfander]

Okay uhhh I‘m not good at giving requests. How about prinxiety and them seeing each other again after a long time! Or sth like that.😅

I had three sperate ideas for this one, but this is the one I settled on. Here’s a fluffy little human au. I’d love to hear what you think! 

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word count: 1,638

The Best Gift

Virgil rocks on his heels, glancing at his phone. According to Roman’s text, his plane landed about fifteen minutes ago. He’d be outside to greet him any moment now, and that in itself fills Virgil with more joy than he’d felt in a while.

Roman does what he could to avoid performing in shows too far away from home. He’s always scouring for gigs in the area, or at least not too terribly far away, not exactly eager to spend long periods away from his emo nightmare. However, sometimes there are roles that Roman can’t shy away from, as much as he hates the idea of leaving Virgil, and this had been one of those times.

It isn’t as though Virgil doesn’t understand; dating a traveling actor, his boyfriend actually traveling, sometimes, isn’t something that can really come from a surprise. More than that, Virgil’s incredibly supportive of his partner. Roman’s a hell of an actor and he knows it. He deserves to grace every stage that will have him, larger ones, especially. But that doesn’t make the time apart any less difficult.

Sure, they call each other a ton, Roman insists on Facetiming nightly, and they keep in touch as best they can. But it’s never any easier, facing that empty bed at the end of the day. It can be a lot to handle, realizing audiences of strangers are being graced with Roman’s presence while Virgil is home alone eating Ramen Noodles and sulking.

It’s not as though Roman is Virgil’s entire world – he’s damn close, though. Virgil has friends he loves spending time with. He works as a freelance artist, so holing himself up at home is usually more fun than depressing, painting all day long. But god, he misses Roman when he’s away. Maybe more than he’s willing to admit, sometimes.

Three months has got to be the longest they’ve spent apart since they’ve been dating, at least as far as Virgil can remember. The gig was a role of a lifetime, Roman would’ve had to be sufficiently stupid not to take it, but it wasn’t easy on the couple. Virgil flew up to see one of Roman’s shows, and that was great, but it made going back home all the more challenging. Roman’s been gone so long, Virgil’s aching to see him, and any minute now, he’s gonna get to.

Virgil can certainly think of worse ways to spend a birthday.

“Virgil?” Virgil swivels around, grinning ear-to-ear when he sees Roman walking his way, suitcase in tow. Virgil practically sprints toward him, immediately pulled into a firm embrace the moment they make contact.

“My love, my angel, mi amour,” Roman drawls, dramatic as ever but Virgil can’t find it in himself to be irritated with him, “I missed you!” Roman gets on his tiptoes (Virgil would be lying if he said he hadn’t always found their height difference adorable) pressing their lips together soundly. If they weren’t in public, Virgil would want nothing more than to keep kissing Roman for eternity, but alas.

“I missed you too, dork,” Virgil says with an unshakable grin as they pull apart, though his hand quickly finds Roman’s free-one as they walk towards the taxis, the sound of Roman’s luggage wheeling behind them. “How’s the jet lag?”

“Absolutely abysmal,” Roman declares, and Virgil’s fairly sure he’s being a little dramatic, if such a thing is even possible, “Can we have a quiet day at home? I want nothing more than to lay on the couch with you and watch Disney movies, and continue to declare my undying love for you.” Virgil snorts.

“Aw, you poor baby,” he says, only half-sarcastically, “Sure, babe. Whatever you want. Sound good to me.”

The two talk of their missed time together in the cab, Virgil telling him of some of the new pieces he’s been working on and Roman filling him in on how the play went.

“That’s the last far-away show I do for a while,” Roman says once they’ve arrived home, flopping down on the couch, “God, it’s good to be home with you.”

“That’d be nice,” Virgil admits, sitting beside Roman, which quickly turns to settling into his lap, Roman’s fingers threaded in his hair, “Not – not that you can’t do shows wherever. I get it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” Roman says, voice edging on seriousness, “I’ve missed you terribly. I’ve missed us. I loved doing the show, and I met some very wonderful people, but very little compares to you, my love.” Virgil laughs lightly as Roman presses a kiss to his lips, firm and overwhelmingly loving.

“Jesus, you’ve managed to get even sappier than usual.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, darling,” Roman says, “And, also, shut up! You love it.” Virgil glares playfully at his boyfriend.

“And what if I do?”

“And you looove me,” Roman says, drawling out the ‘o’ as far as it’ll stretch. Virgil rolls his eyes, but his expression betrays nothing but fondness. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking love you, Ro.”

“More than angsty emo bands?”

“Well… let’s not go that far.” Roman squawks in offense.

“You wound me!” Virgil laughs again, the sound far more content than he’s felt in the last few months, his arms winding around his boyfriend so that he’s lying against his chest.

“I’m teasing and you know it,” Virgil says, kissing Roman once more as if to further his point, or maybe just because he’s really missed kissing him, “I missed you like crazy.”

“One of my co-stars flirted with me; would you believe that?” Virgil hums in place of a response, lost in the feeling of embracing Roman against for the first time in what feels like forever. “I have you as my lock screen, and I talk of you constantly. Also, where in the world did she get the impression I had the slightest interest in women?!” Virgil snorts at that.

“Must’ve been an off-day for her if she was delusional enough to think you were straight, or bi, or anything that isn’t insanely gay.”

“I know, right!”

Virgil’s missed this so much. Their playful back-and-forth, innocuous teasing, cuddling on the couch and basking in each other's company. As far as he’s concerned, he’d like to keep holding onto Roman like this and never, ever let him go. Virgil can’t recall when he’d become such a fucking sap, but there’s no changing it now. He’s just gonna have to live with it, and he really doesn’t mind the thought of that.

They watch Disney movies as discussed, Virgil critiquing and pointing out plot-holes all the while (Virgil, everyone knows Beauty and the Beast is a little problematic, and frankly, I don’t want to hear it!) He can tell the long flight really wore Roman out, so he decides not to comment about the fact that it’s his birthday, instead putting all of his focus on being together again.

That is until Virgil comes out of the bathroom some hours later, having just gotten ready for bed, and finding Roman sitting on their bed with a sullen expression.

“Whoa, hey, Roman, what’s the matter?” He asks, quickly sitting beside his partner.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.” Virgil blinks. What the fuck?

“What? No, you’re not. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your birthday,” Roman supplies, sounding gut-wrenchingly guilty, “I forgot your birthday!”

Oh. Virgil had kinda forgotten himself, too caught up in having Roman by his side once more. He glances at the clock.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he says, “You didn’t forget. Just remembered a little late.” Roman buries his face in his hands.

“I didn’t get you anything! I didn’t wish you happy birthday! I-I’m terrible, you must hate me!” Virgil sighs, settling a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman…”

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles weakly, embarrassedly.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t hate you.” Roman peaks up from his hands, daring to make eye-contact.

“You… you don’t?”

“Jesus Christ, of course not! I love you, you idiot. It’s just a birthday, I’m gonna have more of those, you know. It’s kind of this annual thing.”

“But- but I didn’t –.”

“It’s fine, babe. Seriously, I kinda forgot, too. Having you home again is gift enough, as it is. I can’t think of a better present than that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Virgil shakes his head, planting a kiss to Roman’s cheek.

“No need. There’s nothing to make up for. You look ready to pass out right now, as it is. I’m not mad at you for forgetting; you’ve been so fucking busy for the last couple of months, and you had a long-ass plane ride today. You’re permitted a little forgetfulness, okay?” Roman sighs as he slides into bed with Virgil and shuts out the light, his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow.” Virgil lets out a sigh.

“You don’t have to –.”

“I want to,” Roman insists, “It’s the least I can do since you’re being so gracious.”

“What, were you expecting me to force you to the couch, or something?” Roman pauses. “Roman?”

“…Maybe.” Virgil can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? After all those nights without you, I’m not letting you go anywhere.” To make sure things are crystal-clear, he tightens his hold on Roman, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“That’s good because I really wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“You’re such a dramatic doofus. Lucky that you’re so cute,” Virgil says, feeling Roman begin to go lax with exhaustion.

“Mm, love you, Virgey,” Roman mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too, Ro.”

“Happy birthday…,” Roman says before sleep greets him and he drifts off. Virgil shuts his eyes, contentment washing over him as, too, welcomes slumber.

Despite Roman’s insistent apology, Virgil still can’t think of a better birthday present.

=+=

Taglist:

@nadiestar

@unoriginalgayboyalex 

Please let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist! I’d be happy to add you! 

[thehomierobbstark]

Kissing Strangers II: Communication

Shame [Prelude] // Kissing Strangers [Part I] // In The Cut [Side Story]

A/N: Annndd we’re back yall!! I know I disappeared for a long while this time, but I’ve been writing and strategizing in the background and I’m hoping I can publish at least some of the things I’ve been working on very soon. Forever thankful for your patience. Forever grateful for your support. Always humbled by the fact you guys allow me to do my thing offline and come back when I need to. Y’all are unreal, and the love is very very real, and I don’t think I can ever put into words how much all of you honestly mean to me ❤️❤️❤️. Anyway. Back to this story.  A tiny insight into just one of the things I’ve been struggling with and trying to overcome this year, so I decided to put it into a fic and share it with yall. As always, thank you for the support and I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings: Minimal Erik appearance, this is mostly x reader based. We on some Softgirl shit this chapter ya’ll. There is a POV change at the very end, hopefully it doesn’t read too confusing.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

Sidenote: No tags this round until I can get a few more pieces out but all new stories will be linked in my bio!

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

“…You know I still don’t see what the problem is, Y/N.”

You throw your head back, silently groaning to keep your friend on the other side of the line from hearing you.

You knew you should have called Simone instead.

“Um, hello??? Did you forget you had me on speaker phone, bitch? Don’t be grumbling under your breath at me goddammit, you know I’m right!  And don’t you dare call Simone ass either after we hang up. I love her, but she’ll have you overthinking and seeing problems that aren’t really there. You know how them Scorpios be.”

You mumble a defeated ‘fine, OK’ at her and grab your phone, relocating yourself over to your vanity table to continue your conversation while you do your hair.

Reaching up, you tug the t-shirt wrapped around your head free as your damp curls fall over your face, turning around to drape the wet shirt over the back of your chair.

Tying the front of your hair up in a bun, you grab your spray bottle and one of your brushes and start to spray and detangle your hair, the leftover conditioner in it from the shower helping to make the process easier.

As you gently smooth your brush through your curls and fall into your hair routine, you start to ponder on your current predicament, allowing your friends wise words to penetrate your mind.

Maybe you were overthinking it.

“Don’t get silent on me now, Y/N. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You take a deep breath, trying to filter your thoughts and make some sense of them.

“I don’t know, Kay. I don’t really know how to explain it. I just feel like he’s not…interested.”  You shrug your shoulders even though you know she can’t see it, not really knowing any other way to explain yourself.

“Okay.  And what makes you say that?”

You inhale, taking a small scoop of leave-in conditioner and working it through a section of hair while you think.

“I dunno. I feel like when we do talk, its great, and there’s a connection there. But sometimes there’s these long periods of absence with no communication, and when that happens I feel like I’m always the last one whose reached out, you know?”

Raking your fingers through your curls one last time, you watch your coils shrink up in the mirror, the tights spirals coming to life after their first layer of moisture.

Unclipping another section in the back, you scoop some more product into your hands, repeating the process.

“Okay, I can feel where you’re coming from. But let me ask you this: what do you mean by long periods of absence?”

Your hands pause in your hair, and you bite your lip, knowing your next words are gonna make you sound like a complete dumbass.

“Uhh…”

“Yeah?” Kay prompts you to continue.

“Umm.. like… two or three days… sometimes?” Your voice gets really small and high pitched at the end, knowing you were being a little ridiculous.

“…Girl.”

You add some additional info, hoping maybe it will help your case.

“Sometimes it’ll even be a whole week tho, too!”

“Y/N.”

“…yes, Kay.”

“You know Erik is in the military, right?”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at the reminder of a fact you knew and thought about often yourself, especially when it came to this issue.

“Yes, I know that Kay.”

“Okay, then you also know that he probably has a lot on his plate and he’s most likely constantly busy all the time.”

You kiss your teeth, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair again, more-so in a frustratedly-busy way than in a hair-care way.

“Yes Kay, I know that. But come on now.  Let’s not act like people aren’t constantly on their phones all the time nowadays.  Not to push the tiresome ‘millennial narrative’, but who goes days without checking their phone anymore? It’s not like that nigga is out fighting a war, he’s doing combat training.”

You can hear the undertone of complaint and whining in your voice, and you absolutely hated it.  Here you were, a Communications major and Black Women’s Studies minor, and you were getting bothered some dude you kissed once, (okay, twice) wasn’t talking to you enough.

You had yourself fucked up.

You hear chuckling on the other end of the phone and your internal rage subdues itself for a moment, irritation taking its place.

“Damn, Y/N.  You must really like this guy.”

You cross your arms, slouching down in your chair while you pout, having too much pride to grace her with a response.  She continues, already knowing the look on your face.

“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you get so worked up over someone. He must really be something special.”

You grab your phone, holding it to your face and practically yelling into it.

“HELLO!! Did you not just hear what I said? I just told you this nigga is borderline ignoring me and you just called him ‘special’!”

More laughter takes over on her end again and you toss your phone back on the table, finishing your section and unclipping the last one in the back, muttering under your breath about Erik being a special piece of shit.

Once Kay finally recovers from your mini tirade, she speaks once again, full of a wisdom and knowledge you knew your stubborn ass needed to hear, even if you didn’t want to at the moment.

“He’s not ignoring you Y/N, and you know that.  The only reason you feel like this is because you have strong feelings and you’re not sure if they’re being reciprocated or not, and the long distance certainly doesn’t help.  Have you told him how you’ve been feeling?”

You sit there and delay a moment, nestling a little more into your stubbornness because of the fact that her words just punched a hole right into the wall of insecurity you’d been maintaining over the years.

She waits for your response, already knowing the answer.

“….No.”

Her voice softens.  “Okay, but how do you expect for him to know how you’re feeling if you don’t tell him?  You’re letting yourself overthink and go through all of these emotions by yourself, meanwhile he’s half a world away thinking that everything is fine.  If you don’t clue him in to what it is you’re going through, he won’t be able to help.”

Finishing with the bottom half of your hair, you wipe your hands off on the damp t-shirt and unwrap the rest of the hair on the top of your head.  You frown at her last statement, not liking the way it made you feel.

“I don’t know if he should even have to help me with any of this though, Kay.  I mean, these are my issues.  I’m the one whose clearly having trouble with this, it’s not fair for me to ask him to help me figure my shit out.”

She makes a hum of acknowledgement while you continue expressing yourself.

“I mean, how would I feel if some dude came to me with a mountain full of problems expecting me to fix them?  I’d fucking laugh in his face and walk away.  I can’t ask that of him.” The more you thought about it, the more you realized that you had a lot of unresolved issues you were still healing from.  What kind of person would you be if you involved yourself with someone else, knowing that?

“Okay.  I can see where you would think that, but you’re thinking about it in the wrong way.  You think that if you open up to him and tell him what you’re feeling, that it’s the same as asking him to fix your problems. But you’re not like that, Y/N. In fact, you’ve never been like that.”

You think a moment about what it is she’s saying, trying to decide whether or not you agree.  

“I mean, think about it, Y/N.  When have you ever asked someone for help?  I mean genuinely stopped and reached out to someone else, or even told them when you’re having trouble with something?  You don’t, hun.  You’ve always dug your heels into the dirt and rolled up your sleeves to get it done by yourself because you don’t trust that someone else can really be there for you the way you need them to be.  No matter how many people you have in your corner ready to fight for you.”

You think about all the lectures and scoldings you’d gotten from friends and family over the years because of the times you’d soldiered at something alone rather than take the help that was offered to you.  You’d felt that if you always needed someone else to help you get through something, then what did that say about your own strength and ability to take care of yourself?  You’d rather die struggling than ever give someone else the power to say that you wouldn’t be anything without them.

“Look, Y/N/N.  I know this is really hard.  And I know this is something you don’t like to talk about, but if you like this guy as much as I think you do, you’re gonna have to learn how to let go and trust that you and Erik are building a relationship where you can truly depend on each other. That includes communicating your feelings even when you’re not sure how the other person will receive them.

It’s gonna be scary as hell, I won’t lie.  But you gotta know deep down inside that love can’t exist in the same place that doubt lives.  You gotta trust the process.”

You’d stopped doing your hair completely now, sitting back and twirling a finger around one of your strands while Kay talked.

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand exactly what she was saying.  Kay definitely had the bulk of experience between the two of you when it came to romantic relationships, and the thing you’d come to really admire about her throughout the years of your friendship was her ability to always put herself back out there once again with an open heart and mind, no matter how badly the last relationship may have ended.

Your own inability to deal with your emotional vulnerability was something you were far too aware of, and you’d seen it affect your personal relationships time and time again,  your current situation with Erik just being the most recent example.

It was rare for you to catch feelings for someone, and to be honest, the fact that you and  Erik had made it this far into whatever it was you guys were doing had you shaken to your core.  Every moment and interaction with him was completely new for you, and your uncertainty with navigating this new ‘thing’ was starting to show with your recent anxieties about the situation.

You really wanted to believe that Erik was feeling you, because it was too late to deny your feelings for him.  But there was a tiny little voice in the back of your head always saying something to keep you guessing, making you doubt whether or not what the both of you had was even real.

It was time for you to make a decision.

“Y/N? Y/N? You still there?”

You blink yourself back to the present, clearing your throat and picking up the phone, taking it off speaker phone and holding it to your ear.

“Yeah, I’m still hear, Kay.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah.”  Your voice sounds far away, still deep in thought as you reflect on the mental hurdles your mind was trying to overcome so you could figure out how to move past the fear holding your heart hostage.

“Well okay, girl.  I don’t want to hold you up, but I want you to think about what I said some more, OK?”

You chuckle a little, nodding your head as you answer your friend.

“Okay, Kay. I will. I promise.” You add on the last two words, knowing that if you said them, she would believe you.  You always kept your promises.

“Good. I expect a full report tomorrow morning when I call you before work!” She laughs too, halfway serious.  “…And Y/N?”

“Yeah, Kay?”

You can hear her quiet back down a little, the soft tenderness of her voice seeping back into her words once more as she spoke.

“Do me a favor please and try to call him, okay? Just, try and talk to him, at least once.  That way when you hear his voice and listen to what he says, you’ll know whether or not what you feel is real.”

Your breath gets heavy and your heart skips a beat, almost feeling it in your throat.  Call him?  You hadn’t thought of that. Come to think of it, you’d never called him.

Other than the last time you saw him in person, pretty much all your communication had been through text except for the occasional video message.

“Can you do that, Y/N?” Your best friends compassionate voice speaks in your ear, and you swallow thickly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, I can do that I think.”

“You promise?”  

Damn.  Should’ve never said that shit.

You roll your eyes, stifling a deep breath.  “Yeah yeah, I promise.”

“Good!” You can practically feel her cheesy ass grin through the phone, already knowing it was plastered on her face triumphantly from giving you the challenge.

“Love youuu,” she sings out over the phone, and you kiss your teeth, groaning.

“Love your annoying ass too. Now get off my phone, wasting all my damn minutes.”

“Bitch, now you know damn well you ain’t got no one else to talk to to be kicking me off like this.”

“GOOD-BYE KAY.”

After a few more rounds of back and forth and finally hanging up (but not before agreeing to call her back in the morning with allll the details), you walk over to your nightstand and plug your phone in, returning to the vanity to finish your hair.

After slathering your strands in a second coat of hair cream and deciding against using a gel this week, you glance at the clock, noting that the night was still young and you had time to cook and clean the kitchen like you’d planned.  Tying your hair up in a high pineapple, you slip on some fuzzy socks and head to the kitchen, stomach grumbling hungrily.

~~~

A couple hours later you plop down onto your bed, completely exhausted and ready to relax.  Pulling your bowl of shrimp scampi over to you, you spike a shrimp with your fork, popping it into your mouth while you flip through the channels to find something to watch.  

Your eyes glance down to the time on the cable box, seeing that it was only about 7:30.  

It should be about 10:30 where Erik is, now.

The thought had crossed your mind before you could even stop it, and you close your eyes, willing yourself to get control over your thoughts.

You promised Kay you would call him.

Goddammit.  You slam the remote down on the bed, it making a soft thud against the comforter, and you sit up, placing your bowl onto your nightstand and picking up your phone, unplugging it.

You twirl it around in your hand a few times, trying one last time to try and find a way to talk yourself out of it.  

But of course, the one time you actually want the nagging little voice in the back of your mind to say something, she’s as quiet as a mouse.

Before you can second guess it, you quickly open your phone and tap the screen until you reach Erik’s contact, finger hovering over the call button.

It’s time to make a decision, Y/N.

Fuck it.

Taking a deep breath, you press the phone icon, pressing the phone to your ear as you wait for the call to connect.

When it starts to ring, you tense a little, bringing your knees to your chest as you wrap your arm around them, feeling your nerves start to creep up on you.

By the third ring, you wonder if maybe you caught him at a bad time, remembering what he’d said to you once about having a strict bed ti-

“Hello?”

You pause, your mouth agape as your eyes widen, your words getting stuck in your throat.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

You open and close your mouth, not sure what to say.

“Babygirl?”

You finally get the breath back in your lungs, and you speak.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. Sorry, I just, I didn’t know what to say. I…I’ve never called you before.” You give a weak chuckle, your fingers winding themselves tightly around the hem of your shirt.

“I know. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” You can hear the worry in his voice, and you could kick yourself for accidentally making him panic like this.

“Yeah I’m okay, Erik.  I’m okay.”

“Okay, good.” You hear his voice calm a little, followed by a whoosh of breath. “What’s up then, baby?”

You feel your insides warm at the pet name, your cheeks twitching at the corners into a small smile.

“Nothing, I um…”

You fist your free hand into a loose fist, twiddling your fingers against one another as you struggle to get the words out.

Just say it.

Closing your eyes, you try again, clearing your throat.

“I uh… I miss you.”

~~~~~

Three thousand miles away at the Natick, MA US Navy Department, Erik stands outside the Naval Operations building, the rough sound of two M1161 Growlers noisily passing by in the background.  

It had been a tough week, much like the past four that he’d been struggling to get through without losing a part of himself in some way.  He knew you always went to bed early for work, so he’d been putting off talking to you for another few days until he had time that he could set aside and devote to just you.  

But here you were, on his line, calling him out of the blue.  And the sound of your voice was the sweetest thing he’d heard all deployment.

His cheeks ache at your confession, much like his heart, and he bites his lip to keep from smiling like a lovestruck teen.

“I miss you too, babygirl.  More than you even know.”

[shemakesmusic-uk]

This segment features artists who have submitted their tracks/videos to She Makes Music. If you would like to be featured here then please send an e-mail to shemakesmusic@hotmail.com. We look forward to hearing from you!

Adi Shaham

Adi Shaham is a musician and producer based in Tel Aviv. Adi creates danceable electro-pop protest music. In her songs she finds sophisticated ways to mainstream subversive observations about gender and power structures. Two years after her successful debut album Army of Witches, she’s releasing her second album Last on the Shore. With a more accessible, poppier sound, and an electronic, techno touch, the album delves into our complex relationship with money in a capitalist and ultra-competitive society. The album is self-produced by Shaham and was created, recorded and mixed at Penguin Studios TLV, owned and operated by Shaham and Yuval Rozin who mixed the album and also plays on all of the tracks. Shaham wrote the album over a period of two years, during which she attempted to live as a financially independent musician, without relying on her family or partner, in an insatiable, achievement obsessed city. Alongside this, Shaham further developed as a musical producer and began producing records for other musicians such as Tal Oren and Roy Zemach. Her production style is inspired by the electro pop style of artists like St. Vincent, Robyn, Susanne Sundfur and The Knife. The final result is a sexy, pointed album, full of catchy, danceable anthems with a lot to say. Latest cut ‘Visit to the Zoo’ was written to overcome heartbreak after ghosting. “I wrote the song after a guy I was dating disappeared on me,” says Adi. “In retrospect I realized the signs were there all along: he didn't want to meet in crowded places, bragged to his friends that he was dating the "Florentin musician" as if I was an exotic bird, and each meeting was rescheduled three times before it happened. It made me realize in relationships we sometimes use each other to fill a space, rather than treat each other like a whole person.” Listen below.

Stephanie Rezendes

Stephanie Rezendes is a 15 year old artist from Boston, MA. She writes and plays piano and records everything from her childhood bedroom. ‘Stranger in the Shelter’ is the first song on her 6 song EP that comes out April 16. “This is a song I wrote about myself when i was feeling sad,” Stephanie explains. “At the time i was listening to a lot of Phoebe Bridgers, so the whole vibe that goes along with this is inspired by her. I’ve never musically written a song like this, so I’m proud of the sound it has. I think this song sort of demonstrates where i am right now, and where I was creating this project. I wanted to add to that and explain why i didn’t want my songs to sound “professionally produced” on this EP. I feel like the way I wrote these songs are the way they’re meant to be heard. Its messy and raw but that’s kind of the point. I feel like it’s more personal to me and to everyone else listening that way.” Listen below.

Stephanie Rezendes · Stranger in the Shelter

Stefanie Parnell

Born and raised in Montreal, Quebec, Stefanie Parnell is an insightful, refined and melodically driven Canadian singer-songwriter. Parnell sings from a place where her deep-seated anxieties lie beneath the surface as she expresses her heartfelt experiences. Her music will leave you feeling comforted by the dissonant chords and melancholic lyrics. Have you ever felt like a nomad, a wandering soul in search of something you can’t quite identify? The new song she is sharing ‘If I Leave’, explores the feeling that something is missing despite being in a good situation. The lack of security can leave you constantly searching in life. "’If I Leave’ came to me when thinking back on my first serious relationship,” explains Stefanie. “After it ended, I was not ready to deal with any unresolved feelings until I sat down to write this song. Writing ‘If I Leave’ brought me the closure I needed. Although I loved the person I was with, I knew that, for whatever reason, what we were doing was not right for me. This song encompasses the raw emotion I was feeling at the time, but I am surprised to see its meaning evolve over the years. It grew from how I felt in one particular relationship to the realization of a common theme in all my relationships. Because of this, I have grown to fall in love with it again and again. ‘If I Leave’ goes out to anyone who is looking for comfort but also for those who are looking to get lost.” Listen below.

Stefanie Parnell · If I Leave

Ciara Watt

With her melodic, acoustic folk-pop, Scottish singer-songwriter Ciara Watt has combined her love of storytelling and rhyme with her talent for writing melodies and songs. At only nineteen years old, Ciara has supported bands such as The Snuts as part of their 2019 tour and has written countless songs to soundtrack her story so far. Over the last year, while continuing to study her degree in English Literature, Ciara has been busy writing and while locked down composed her latest single ‘Alone in the Dark’ which expresses how it can feel to never fit in anywhere except in your own head. She creates a visual landscape of her escapisms from the mundane which help to distract her from the unpleasant and uncomfortable situation she describes. With catchy, quirky and clever lyrics and folk-pop melodies, Ciara transports us to our own places of comfort when we are ‘Alone in the Dark’. Listen below.

Bad Bloom

New York-based rising duo Bad Bloom continues to make strides with the release of their new EP Leave.The fuzzy, ethereal collection of songs is released after the band’s strong debut in 2019, bringing a fresh spirit to the shoegaze/post punk/indie rock genre. The overall tone of the EP reflects the idea of escapism. “It’s been difficult to break away from the monotony of life, and with this album, we explore a world where we can abandon responsibility,” shares Kate Rogers. “It’s such anemotional balance knowing that the real world is where we should stay...but we wanted our listener to get lost in their own mind and explore a sense of wonder through the music.” In the summer of 2020, the tracks were recorded both in Brooklyn, NY and remotely in Rochester, NY during the lock-down. Spending three days in-studio and completing the tune via remote sessions, producer Michael Abiuso (Behind the Curtains Media) worked with Bad Bloom to create their second EP. Dreamy and emotional, stand out track 'Paperwork' reflects a moment when passion turns to anger...and then fades into apathy. It feels like a gentle rage, a fury, that can only be expressed with layers of noise and sound to drown everything out. I think we've all been there at some point in our lives - where it is hard to express how you feel and immersing yourself in turbulence....whatever that may be....is the only way out. Listen below.

[leigh-kelly]

(More Hospital!AU)

After they get back from Boston, Brittany is still a little moody. Santana worries about her because she’s normally so even tempered that it’s surprising to see it happen. But she doesn’t take it out on Santana and the boys. Instead, Santana hears the interns talking about Dr. Pierce snapping at them and giving them scut. She knows that Brittany is having a little bit of a hard time, but she doesn’t want to force her to talk about it any further. She knows that Brittany is mostly a closed book when it comes to her sister and Santana is convinced that she thinks talking about it will make her break.

Instead, Santana gives Brittany her space at work, choosing to pump in her own office instead of commandeering Brittany’s as often as she was. But still, she brings her lunch and coffee, she just tries to remind her that she loves her and she’s here if she needs anything. It’ll be good when the Pierces get to New York, Santana knows that, but it’s just the transition period of them trying to sell the house that has Brittany in a state. 

One night, Brittany stays at work late. Santana gets the boys fed dinner and in bed before running a bath and getting in. Her back is sore from doing back to back surgeries, and she’s sure it will make her feel better. Just as she’s about to get in, she hears the keys in the lock and Brittany drops her bag at the door before coming up the stairs. Santana is standing in her robe when Brittany just wraps her arms tightly around her and lets Santana hold her for a long while, forgetting that her bath is getting cold. It just feels so good to have her wife in her arms and she tucks her face into her shoulder, getting as close as she can.

“Were you getting in the shower?” Brittany finally asks.

“The bath, actually. Do you want to come in with me?”

“That would be really good, yeah.”

While Brittany undresses, Santana adds more hot water to the tub and they get in together, Santana leaning into Brittany’s front once they’re settled. The big bath tub is probably the best thing about their house and Santana lifts Brittany’s hand, playing with her fingers.

“I had a burn victim today.” Brittany says quietly. “That’s why I worked that.”

“Oh, Britt.”

“The smell of burnt flesh is the worst smell in the world. It makes me almost physically sick every single time. Did you know that I saw Liv’s body?”

“I didn’t.” Santana answers carefully.

“I wanted to spare my parents of having to identify it. She didn’t look anything like her. But the worst thing was the smell. I’d been a plastic surgeon for years by that point and I’d treated so many burn victims, but I haven’t been able to do it the same since that day.”

“I...I can’t imagine.”

“I don’t want to remember her like that and sometimes I can’t help it. That’s why I’m trying to cling to the memories in the house...”

“Britt, do you want to buy the house?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. And we’d probably have to rent it out and then there’d still be strangers living in there. I just have to figure out how to let go.”

“Mommy Noodle!” Liam cries out from Santana and Brittany’s bedroom. “I need you!”

“I’ll get it.” Brittany offers.

“Stay, I’ll get it.”

“But this is your bath.”

“You need it more than I do. Seriously, relax. I’ll take care of Liam.”

Santana gets out of the tub, slips into her robe and finds Liam curled up on her and Brittany’s bed hugging a pillow. His little cheeks are tear stained and Santana lifts him into her arms, hugging him tight as he cries against her. He doesn’t say anything as she carries him back to his room but when they get there, he opens his mouth and a big hiccuping sob comes out.

“I had a scary dream, Mommy Noodle.”

“What happened in your scary dream, Sir?” She tucks him into his bed and lays down beside him.

“I couldn’t find you or Mama or Maxie or Ollie. Everybody was gone.”

“We’re right here, bud, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I want you to stay with me.”

“I’m right next to you and you can hold my hand while you fall asleep?”

“You gonna leave?”

“After you fall back to sleep, I’m going to sleep in my bed, but you know where to find me.”

“Where’s Mama?”

“Mama’s having a little relaxation time in the tub, but she’ll come into kiss you goodnight.”

“Where are Maxie and Ollie?”

“They’re sleeping right next to my bed.”

“Why can’t I sleep right next to your bed?” He asks, almost begging.

“Because you’re a big guy and this is your bed right in here.”

“But I want to sleep with you.”

“Li, you’re going to be okay in your own big bed.” Brittany appears at the door. “Do you want me to lay with you too for a little while?”

“I want you to sleep with me all night long.”

“I’m not sure there’s room for me, you and Mommy in the bed, but we’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“And you won’t lose me?”

“I won’t lose you, promise.”

As they promised, Santana and Brittany stay in bed with Liam until he falls asleep. When they go back into their bedroom and Santana pulls on a shirt, she winces, remembering that she still hasn’t gone to Roz to talk to her about her nipple infection. She’s been powering through it, nursing on the infected side like the internet has said and trying to always put Oliver there because he’s so much gentler. Brittany sees the pained look on Santana’s face and she comes over, touching the hem of her shirt.

“Let me see it.” She says gently.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, I don’t need you worrying about my nipple.”

“You’re my wife, I’m a plastic surgeon, I just want to make sure it has nothing to do with your scar tissue.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Probably not, but I really want to check it.”

“Thank you.” Santana breathes a heavy sigh of relief as she lifts up her shirt. Brittany gently put her hand on Santana’s breast and she bites her lip so she doesn’t scream.

“That bad?”

“It hurts like hell. My week has been so crazy that I haven’t gone to Roz.”

“It’s hot to the touch. Let me feel your forehead.” Brittany lays the back of her hand against it. “You have a fever too.”

“Do you think it’s the scar tissue?”

“No, I think it’s mastitis, and that you should go see Roz first thing in the morning to get on antibiotics.”

“Ugh, you know antibiotics give me yeast infections. I’m going to be miserable for two weeks.”

“Better than having to get this drained later. Just have Roz write you a script for both meds, then hopefully you can beat out the yeast infection.”

“Is the mystery totally gone from our marriage?”

“I don’t care about mystery, I have intimacy with you, that’s more important.”

“You’re right, you’re always right.”

“You’re right a lot of the time too.” She smiles. “Do you feel okay for me to hold you in bed? I’ll get you some Tylenol first.”

“I can get it, Britt. Go lay down, you’ve had a long day.”

Santana goes into the bathroom both to take her usual medication and two Tylenol. She lays down with Brittany and rests her head on her wife’s chest. She’s really dreading the night feeding but she knows if she doesn’t do it, she’s going to feel worse in the morning. So she closes her eyes and falls asleep quickly, the Ambien and Brittany’s heartbeat lulling her into slumber.

The next morning, Brittany is already out of bed when Santana wakes up and after she gets ready for work, she goes downstairs to find her with Liam, Max and Oliver in the kitchen. She loves watching her with the boys and she stands back and smiles as Liam stands on his stool at the counter helping Brittany make eggs while the babies sit on the table in their seats.

“Morning, loves.” Santana goes over to kiss the babies, then Liam, then Brittany. “This breakfast smells yummy, I wish I could stay for it.”

“Why not Mommy Noodle?”

“I have to go see the doctor this morning, Sir.”

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick, don’t worry. I just need to see Dr. Roz for a little bit.”

“You got more babies in your belly? I think we got enough.”

“Mommy doesn’t have more babies in her belly.” Brittany laughs. “Come on Li, it’s your favorite part, I’m going to flip the eggs.”

Santana, even though she just kissed them all good morning a minute earlier, kisses them all goodbye and then takes a cab to the hospital so Brittany can have the car. After Roz confirms the mastitis, she calls in an antibiotic prescription—which Brittany probably could have just done for her—and a prescription for Diflucan in case Santana does get the dreaded yeast infection. Once she’s done, she goes up to her office to do her morning of consults and she notices that Shelby’s office looks like a revolving door. The search for a new peds surgeon hasn’t been great but Santana hopes that this round will go better.

As usual, the day’s schedule is jam packed for Santana and she’s sore while does back to back to back appendectomies after her patient consults and she’s anxious to talk to Shelby and see just how the interviews went. She knows that Shelby is always up front with her and she figures she’ll get the information if she just asks. After her last surgery is done, she goes back to her office to get everything packed up, then she goes to Shelby’s office and sees her talking with a woman. Santana had thought the interviews were over, but since it appears that Shelby is still doing them, she goes to turn away just as Shelby waves her into the office.

“Santana, I’m glad you’re here, I thought you’d left for the day.”

“My last surgery actually ran a little late, Brittany is waiting in her office for me.”

“I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to introduce you to our newest peds attending, Dr. Lauren Zizes. Lauren, this is Dr. Santana Lopez, one of the best attending surgeons I’ve ever had.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Santana reaches out her hand. “Glad you’re joining us.”

“Yeah, me too. I got the whole tour, met with Dr. Sylvester, met with HR, I start in three weeks.”

“Lauren is coming to us from Johns Hopkins.” Shelby beams. “I tried to get her to start sooner, but you can’t pack up your life that fast.”

“I’ll be glad when you start, Shelby has been looking for the right person to fill your position for awhile now.”

“So I heard. Well it was nice to meet you, Santana, I know you have to go.”

“Good luck with the move.”

“Thanks, I’m going to need it.”

With a smile on her face, Santana leaves Shelby’s office. Only three more weeks of the chaos she’s been living sounds really good and she hopes that Lauren will bring a lot to the department. When Santana gets to Brittany’s office, Brittany is sitting at her desk working intensely on something and Santana knows that she doesn’t hear her come in.

“Hey.” Santana murmurs, not wanting to startle her.

“Hi. I went and picked up your prescriptions when I had a break before. I knew you wouldn’t have time to go down to the pharmacy.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Only once or twice.” Brittany smiles and gets up to kiss Santana. “Rough day?”

“I can’t wait to get this bra off.”

“I’m ready to go, I was just doing some scheduling stuff while I was waiting for you.”

“Sorry, my surgery ran late and then Shelby wanted to introduce me to the new attending, she finally hired someone!”

“That’s the best news, how much better do you feel?”

“Really good knowing there’s an end in sight to pulling double duty. Let’s get out of here though, I miss the boys.”

They get in the car and Brittany drives home. The traffic is bad because that extra half hour Santana was there really makes all the difference and though Brittany remains calm, Santana can’t handle the fact that no one knows how to drive. When the finally get to the house, it’s long past dinnertime so Santana knows her mom already fed Liam and she and Brittany will just order something after he goes to bed. All is quiet when they go inside, with Liam sprawled on the floor with a coloring book, working to use his right hand, and both Max and Oliver in Maribel’s arms on the couch.

“Sorry we’re late again, Ma.” Santana apologizes immediately as they walk in the door. “You know you can just stay here if you want so you don’t have to drive all the way home in traffic.”

“I appreciate that, Santana, but you know I’m okay driving.” Maribel smiles. “You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Mama, Mommy Noodle, come look at my pitcher.” Liam pops his head up as both Brittany and Santana take a baby from Maribel. “Isn’t it nice?”

“It’s so nice, bud.” Brittany grins. “Can I bring it to my office?”

“Well now I gotta make Mommy Noodle one too.”

“I would love that, Sir. Thank you.”

They say goodbye to Maribel and get the twins in the tub—after Santana gets her bra off—while Liam keeps coloring. While Santana is nursing, Brittany goes to bring Liam upstairs for his bath and once Max and Oliver are down for the night, she climbs into Liam’s bed and waits for him to come out and put his pajamas on. It always makes Santana smile when he comes in to do that, his wet, dark hair sticking up everywhere as he dances around and once he’s done, he climbs up into the bed between her and Brittany.

“Mama?” Liam looks up very earnestly at Brittany.

“Yeah Li?”

“Did I grow in your belly like Maxie and Ollie grew in Mommy Noodle’s belly?”

“Well...” Santana watches Brittany take a deep breath and she reaches over to grab her hand. “No, you didn’t grow in my belly.”

“So who’s belly did I grow in? We didn’t even know Mommy Noodle when I got borned so I couldna grown in her belly.”

“You’re right, you didn’t grow in Mommy’s belly. You grew in my sister’s belly.”

“You don’t got a sister.”

“I did have a sister, until you were a baby.” Brittany struggles with tears in her eyes and Santana doesn’t know what to do.

“Where’d she go? Did she go to the moon?”

“My sister was your mama, before I was your mama.”

“How was she my mama? I don’t know her. Why’d she go away?” Liam begins to panic and Brittany lets go of Santana’s hand so she can gather him in her arms.

“There was a fire when you were just a little baby. Remember, that’s how you got burned?”

“That’s why that boy called me a monster.”

“And you’re not. We were very, very lucky that you were safe even though you were burned. But your other mama and your daddy died in the fire.”

“I don’t know what that means, Mama.”

“When someone dies, it means we can’t see them anymore.” Brittany explains gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not always around us.”

“They don’t want to see me?”

“Oh no, Li, they would love to see you growing up so big and brave. But before they died, they made sure that I would be able to take care of you and be your mama too.”

“And Mommy Noodle?”

“They would have loved Mommy Noodle.” Tears run down Brittany’s face and Santana reaches over to wipe them away.

“Mommy Noodle did you know them?”

“I didn’t know them, Sir, only from stories that Mama has told me.”

“Tell me a story, Mama.”

“I’ll tell you the story about the day you were born. My sister, your first mama, was so excited that you were coming. I was working at the hospital in Boston and I found out that it was time for you to come. I went downstairs to where the babies are born and your mama was sitting in the middle of her bed, arms wrapped around her big belly and singing to you. Your daddy was watching her the whole time with the biggest smile on his face because he knew very soon he would get to meet you. Grandma and Grandpa were there too and we left to give your mama and daddy some privacy. Then, your daddy came running into the waiting room shouting that you were born. We got to go in the room to see you and your mama handed you to me and said ‘Liam, this is Aunt Brittany.’”

“That’s silly that she called you Aunt Brittany. You’re just Mama.”

“But I wasn’t your mama yet, I got to be Aunt Brittany first for a little while.”

“You don’t have to be Aunt Brittany again, right?”

“I’m going to be your mama forever, Li.”

“What if you die?” He asks, his whole face scrunched up.

“I’m going to try very hard not to do that, I want to see you grow up, and your brothers too.”

“Are you gonna die, Mommy Noodle?” Liam looks up at Santana, eyes filled with confused tears.

“I really hope not, like Mama, I’m going to try very hard not to.”

“I don’t remember my other mama or my daddy.”

“You were very little when they died, but they loved you so much. They would be so proud of how big you’re getting.”

“Can I see a picture of them?”

“Of course you can.” Brittany takes out her phone and scrolls until she finds a picture of her sister, her brother-in-law and Liam on the day he was born. “There they are, and that’s little baby you.”

“My other Mama has black hair like me and Mommy Noodle.”

“You’re right, that’s where you go it from.”

“I’m sad I don’t remember them.” 

“I’m sad about that too, but I promise that I’ll tell you any stories you want so you can know them, even though they’re not here.”

“Okey Mama.” Liam rubs his eyes. “I’m sleepy.”

“Go to sleep, love.” She lays back down on the bed with him curled into her side. “I’m right here.”

“I’ll leave you with him.” Santana mouths, understanding that Brittany needs the time. “I love you, Sir.”

“I love you, Mommy Noodle.”

Kissing Liam on the head, Santana retreats down the hall to her bedroom. She looks over at Max and Oliver sleeping and thinks of them and Liam and how she can’t imagine not seeing them grow up. It hurts her heart to think of Olivia, torn away from her baby by tragedy and missing out on such an amazing little boy. She feels tears spring to her eyes, but she knows that she can’t cry. She needs to be strong for Brittany when she comes out of Liam’s room and instead, she settles for stroking Max and Oliver’s little heads. Her Max, her strong boy that sometimes doesn’t get as much of her time because she’s so worried about Oliver, her Oliver, her little fighter, named after the woman that brought his big brother into the world. Those three boys, they’re her whole world and she watches two of them until she hears the door creak open.

“Hey.” Santana whispers. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m better than I thought.” Brittany sirs down on the edge of the bed. “He knows now.”

“He does.”

“It didn’t change how much he loves us.”

“I didn’t think it would, Britt.”

“I’ve read horror stories about kids who find out they’re adopted. And this is just...a different thing all together. I couldn’t even tell him that Liv died saving his life.”

“You will when he’s older.” Santana assures her. “That’s a lot for a little boy.”

“I’m glad he knows, it feels like a weight off of me. I’m sorry I’ve been just...distant since we got back from Boston.”

“You’re going through a lot. You’re always there for me when I am.”

“I know, but I like to hold it together.”

“Babe, even through all of this, you’ve been cool, calm and collected.”

“I’ve never had any choice but to be. When I was a kid, I was the oldest and I watched out for Liv, then I was so focused on college and medical school and then Liv died and my mom was falling apart and Liam was in intensive care and they needed me to do what I’d always done and then...”

“And then came me.” Santana says softly.

“Santana, that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Britt, I know I’ve needed to lean on you probably more than is fair.”

“You’ve had a lot in your life.”

“So have you. But you manage things better than I do.”

“In the time I’ve known you, you’ve gotten infinitely better at managing things.” Brittany takes Santana’s hand. “And just like I don’t resent Liv or my mom or Liam, I don’t resent you. I’m glad that I can be there for you when things get hard.”

“Sometimes I just wish I was more...I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t even know if it’s less of something or more of something. I guess on some level I thought that getting my boobs fixed would fix me, and then when that didn’t, I thought getting pregnant would. I’m sorry, I’m totally derailing the conversation about what happened tonight.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad it’s over. And for the record, I don’t want you to be more or less of anything. I love you just as you are.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (14)

CHAPTER 14: Even The Devil Has A Heart 

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: I said there will be everything in this series, didn’t I

Warnings: yeah...brace yourselves. Just don’t curse me ‘cause I’m already a little cursed on the inside

Word count: My brothers and sister have been keeping me busy these past few days. So it has been nice as well as exhausting. I have changed my office for a few days. It’s...cool. Yeah, I mean for now, yeah. And I really need a drink. Hopefully this weekend.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Ygritte has laid out the table for dinner. Loki's favourites wait for him. All things light. Soups and salads fit for a king. A bowl of glass noodles rests in the centre of the table. That one has been made specifically for Kira. It hasn't been often that she has told Ygritte what she prefers but when she did not stop complimenting the ramen Ygritte had made for her once, she made sure to keep something pan-Asian for her favourite kid on the table. To go with the food, fresh beer and iced tea in three flavours wait in glass jugs, making the woman proud of her arrangements. Content with the table, she goes to Loki and Kira's rooms to ready them before they arrive, turning on the geysers and lighting up a scented candle to help them ease them into sleep after the long journey. Of course, it wouldn't be easy ever since the incident with Robert, but she has to do everything in her power to make sure they rest well and have enough energy the next day to go to war with that cursed creature that did this to her fine boy.

With every last bit done and dusted in both rooms, she finally moves out to the hall to hear the same scratching noise echo through that she heard two hours ago. All she can do is sigh and walk towards the front door to find Fenrir whining and carving new patterns in the wood of the door.

"Fenrir! Stop ruining the door. They'll be here when they're here."

Fenrir outrightly ignores every word Ygritte says, carrying on with his mission of wood destruction.

"Do you really want your father to put you in time out?"

Now that seems to catch the wolf's ears as he puts his paws down, looks at the door, looks up at Ygritte, looks back at the door, scoffs and walks towards the back to go to the lounge, stops midway as his ears catch a moment, comes back in two huge steps and skids to a halt just as the lights from the SUV light up the walls in the entrance.

The door barely opens when Fenrir is lunging towards Loki, catching him in his own style of hug, licking him clean.

"Yes, yes! I missed you too. Now get off before I throw you out," Loki declares, hugging his wolf and petting him.

"Welcome back, Master Loki."

"Thank you, Ygritte."

Ygritte looks behind him to watch Heimdall standing and judging the wolf, who clearly isn't happy to see the Watcher either.

"Master Loki, where's Miss Kira?"

"She's coming home with Kol."

Ygritte smiles in acknowledgement, stepping aside to let the men in, looking at the night outside. The skies have gathered thunder clouds in a matter of minutes and the wind chimes around the estate are going off at every strong gust teasing them, alerting the grounds of the storm that is about to come. Even though she trusts what Loki says, her heart seems to be feeling a nauseating feeling, forcing her to close the door till about three inches are left, letting the soft lights from the driveway form a straight beam into the entrance hall. Doing that, she walks away to carry on with her work.

Heimdall notices this. When their ancestors had gone through the biblical famines in old history, a group of men had sought to find anything their families could live on. The women and children were left in protected shelters, where the women took to intricate- and impressive- measures to protect them and their children from the cold and the predators. But in order to let their men know they were alive and it was safe to enter the shelter, they would keep the entrance open with the fire on- the fire having to be fed after considerate intervals. And so began a tradition. Later on in the wars, the men and women would leave at least one door open when their partner was out and it was truly unknown if they would return. Heimdall can feel the same patience and anxiousness in Ygritte's actions. When he watches her leave, he turns on the porch light and walks away to his observatory.

.

Too loud.

Your heartbeat is too loud for you to make out anything that is going on around you.

Breathe.

Breathe, Kira, breathe.

Deep long breaths help a little, calming those thumping beats enough to make sense of the sounds around you. The sounds outside the walls where you've been kept sound thin. Heavy vehicles seem to hum around the huge hollow building. The walls and floor are cold and it smells like the outskirts of the city- the pungent smell of sulphur in the air too familiar to be breathed in this long; the only relief being the periodic wind forcing its way through whatever hole that you cannot see, bringing with it four seconds of freshness and the smell of rain.

Where the fuck am I?

From what you can recall, after being literally clad in darkness, you were forced up into a vehicle and brought to the outskirts on quite the bumpy road. The henchmen surrounding you had been hard at work, ignoring your anxious muffled cries yet keeping you in place whenever you tried to struggle with the zip ties keeping your hands tied in front.

There had been too much commotion wherever the vehicle had stopped. Sounds of heavy metal being thrown on thick concrete, wooden crates being opened, cries of moving the 'packages' away in local languages. The black fabric was no help in letting you make out the figures under the orange lights walking around the premise. You, amongst all the noise, were forced by your arm inside a building, the door- or whatever ominous frame closes with a metallic clang- shut behind you.

So, here you are, after taking careful steps towards the wall in God-knows-what direction, sitting on the cold floor, your hands limp inside your lap, your body realising the tiredness after the rush, your brain going into a shutdown.

What did I do to deserve this? Your sore muscles and bleeding scratches ask you.

You fell for the wrong man, a voice inside your head whispers. You try not to ignore it but it's like a demon attached to your back whose presence is heavy even though it's invisible.

The solitary confinement does give you a minute to gather yourself, mentally. How long have I gone missing? Someone ought to look for me, right?

You feel your body slide down the wall a little more, the cold touch of the wall on your neck dissipating the hotness gathering there. And before you know it, the basic instincts take over, instantly putting you to sleep.

You don't know how long it's been when you jerk at the clang of the door opening- five minutes, ten, an hour, the concept of time is not even a question anymore- and the sounds of multiple footsteps proceeding towards you.

You think it's bad to not know who these people are that are approaching you while keeping you in complete darkness till the footsteps stop a few feet away and no amount of concentration can help you concur what exactly is going on in this situation. And the accelerated thumping of your veins does not help.

You do not notice when your knees came up and close to your chest to wrap you in an invisible protective shield against the strangers in the room. But just as that happens, a lone pair of footsteps walk towards you, their echo a prick inside your just woken up brain. A low grunt follows the touch of strong arms grasping onto yours and picking you up without much effort before nearly dragging you away from the corner to stop dead somewhere; not before you find yourself bumping into what seems like a table. The same set of hands that brought you here undo the complex clasp at the back to take away the black fabric from over your head to reveal the gentle hollow eyes of Billy Russo smiling at you three feet away.

.

"I owe you my sincerest apologies for the way over the top charades to get you here. Though I'm not really sure if you'd have come with me if I'd asked you to."

You rub the bruises on your wrists where the ties were a minute ago, flashing a judgmental look at Billy for the comment he makes.

"You shot Robert."

"Well, I wasn't planning to," Billy states with a simple shrug and tilts his head at you with the look of sympathy in his eyes that is inciting all the wrong emotions inside you.

"Oh, so, you wanted me dead." The sharpness of your voice seems to add weight to the betrayal you're feeling right now.

Billy narrows his eyes in contemplation. "No, not really. No. I just wanted to-" he takes one step closer to you, visibly surprised when you don't flinch even a bit- "let the fact graze past your boss that I could've taken your life if I wanted to. Really simple strategy. Don't blame me for Robert tryna' be a hero, sweetheart."

The disgust your belly feels at his addressal leaves a sour taste in your mouth. "His security is tighter than before. I really don't get how you plan on getting past that and for what reason. Just because he didn't a business deal with you, Russo?"

"Aw, we'd just started on the first name basis!" He exclaims, taking another step towards you- forcing you to move back and away from him and his deceiving face. "And come on! You're smarter than you show the world, Kira. You know how a sturdy castle can crumble with the right blow at the right spot. It just so happens that you are the right spot when it comes to Loki Odinson, the Messiah of the third world countries!"

The distance is closed again. You do not hesitate to step back. "I'm just his assis-"

"Enough." His voice is low but the tremble it sends through the hollow building makes you second guess that slight smear of courage inside your heart. "I'm tired of hearing it. How aren't you? Have you seen the way that orphan looks at you? Like someone looks at their precious pet. Admiring them, showcasing them to the world and feeling proud when others stand in awe of their cute little slave-"

"You're going too far-"

"Glaring at the people with the stare of most violent death to anyone who looks at their pet with an intention they deem inappropriate. I mean-" he steps towards you, forcing you into the wall at the back- "I know he's killed me at least ten times in his mind since I've met you."

The perfect white smile is ominous at best, chilling your insides. His dark eyes gazing you with a haunted lust add to the dread.

"He does not-" you graze away his fingers trying to play with your stray hair- "like me. If that's what you're implying."

"Mm-hmm," Billy hums, not at all fazed by your hands trying to keep his away from you, "then how do you explain him not signing the deal with me? Hmm? Last I heard he and Solaris were this close to closing it on my name. Why does. A man. With such a powerful sway. Let his assistant make decisions for him?"

"Wha-"

"I know it was you who stopped him from closing on Anvil Corp, Kira."

The words should not hit as hard as they do in your gut but the shade of malice swimming in Billy's eyes seems to take control, wanting to reduce you to nothing. "I know you were the one who swung the deal from the Adachis in your favour."

"I had nothing t-"

"You had everything to do with this, Kira!" He shouts, failing his hands as he does a frustrated three-sixty. "Everything!"

"You had to go and be all sweet to their daughter, be the nicest person on the planet with them. The bonus? You and Loki being all heart-eyes in each other's presence. Ugh!"

He comes back to put his arms on the wall around you, trapping you in without so much as a window for a thought to escape. "You ruined our entire plan."

You want to be diffused into the wall for it sounds better than feeling the microscopic jolts of uneasiness from his stare lingering over your skin and hot breaths trying to tease your existence into withering away.

"And to think I nearly started questioning my motives in seducing you." His thumb grazes your jaw. His fingers plant themselves on your neck before you feel the force in his hand mercilessly turning your face to look at him while he presses himself against you. "I nearly started to think of you, Kira. I started to dream what it would be like to take you home. To wonder what it would be like to tie your hands and bend you on my table, ripping off your clothes one by one and fucking you till I made you cry. Ohhh...to force my cock in your mouth till you licked my orgasm clean. You really did a number on me, Kira."

The restraints are crumbling to the last bits when you feel his erection grinding against you. That's it. You cannot take it anymore.

"I'd rather die than let you fuck me," you hiss through your teeth.

Billy's eyes go wide. His face blank. Laughter roars through the room followed by his hand slapping the wall.

"Oh you never cease to amaze me, do you?"

Billy bites his lips through the smile still lingering on them. One hand goes away from the wall to gesture at the two men clad in black camo to walk away. And they do. Leaving you alone with this scum.

"You'd rather die than fuck me, hmm?" He whispers into your ear, inhaling the scent of fear coming out from you before kissing your forehead tenderly.

Your fists try to drive his chest away but his hand takes your wrists in them, letting his perfectly manicured nails dig into your skin to remind you of the dormant pain still lingering in there. The other hand has found its way into your trousers, fingers entering your folds to watching you grit your teeth and feel your muscles clench in rebellion at his touch.

"Ah!" He whispers, "let's see how you call upon death to get you out of this."

It is a split-second decision through the pain to find your knee making an impact with his balls, bringing him down groaning and pushing him back as his grip loosens on you. "You are a psychopath! No wonder your own mother hates you so much," your lungs shout.

The mention of his mother breaks something inside him; like a vial of toxins crushed under pressure to let them mingle in with the rest of the solution.

Even as you try in vain to run towards the door, he is catching you by the waist to throw you at the table.

All you can see is red in his eyes when you get up. All you see is the face of a mad man before his fist makes an impact with the side of your face.

.

"Aaah! It's so good to be back home!"

"Tell me about it."

"Friday! Put on something soothing, please. And get the fire started."

The hall livens up with soft jazz music as Pepper cocks her brow at the crackle of a fire in her fireplace before turning to Tony.

"Wow," she mentions, wetting her lips, "for someone who hosted a freaking convention, you seem not tired at all."

"No, you hosted the convention," Tony asserts as he fills two glass with champagne, "I just popped by to say hi to all the people I invited."

"Right," Pepper nods smirks, taking her glass from Tony and waiting for him to settle down next to her. Tony scooches as close to her as possible before putting his arm around the headrest of the couch and clinking his glass with hers.

"To Miss Potts and her work in making this expo the most successful thing yet." Tony smiles with his eyes.

"Why thank you, Mr Stark," Pepper mentions before raising her glass a little, "to Stark Industries. For having the most generous man running the company with the happiest employees."

Pepper rests her head on Tony's arm, making him smile his softest smile. He lets his arm embrace her, his fingers making patterns on her sleeve.

"So, Miss Potts," Tony coos into Pepper's ears, "are you dead tired or do you have enough energy for an entertaining shower?"

Pepper bites her lips to restrain the giggle. "Oh, I don't know Mr Stark. Are you really up for a round or do you plan on passing out midway to the bathroom like last time?"

"Ooh! Cocky much! You do have the energy."

Pepper giggles, giving Tony a long kiss on his lips.

"How about you turn on your favourite playlist while I warm up the water for you, Miss Potts."

"I'd like that very much, Mr Stark."

Giving another peck on his cheek, Pepper gets up to go towards the music system, undoing her hair bun on the way while Tony collects the champagne glasses to get up and walk towards the bathroom. 

"Fri-"

The words leave Pepper midway as she watches the screen in front of her, her eyes squinting in the gesture of finding out what exactly she was seeing. Two seconds later the very same blue eyes are going wide with a low gasp escaping her lungs.

"Oh, my G-TONY!"

.

The hot pressured water eases the muscles in Loki's back, lightly scarring the already decorated skin. Everything except his head gets this torture. The heat is turned off to be followed by the cold current that numbs his skull before disappearing at the turn of the handle. Towel wrapped around his waist, Loki walks out to the ring of his phone on the bed, his heartbeat quickening at the thought of watching your name on the screen, only to be disappointed to find the exact opposite energy calling him.

Loki accepts the call and puts it on the speaker at the very same moment Heimdall opens the door to his room.

"Stark," Loki greets the man, making Heimdall pause midway, preventing him from speaking.

"Where is she?"

Loki's heard Tony enough time to let his ears know which emotion Tony is pouring at that moment. And the amount of poisonous rage bubbling on speakerphone has been heard only once before- a time neither of them talks about. The voice carries rage and frustration. Not to mention a hidden pain that would drown thousands at any moment if Loki does not answer it correctly. The question, by this time, can only meant to be directed towards you. But how does Tony know about you so quickly? Has the news already been informed?

"Kira's fine. She's on her way home from her examina-"

"She is NOT fine, Loki!"

"Tony she's f-"

"Her heart rates' high, Loki! Her vitals are worse and her blood pressure is all kinds of abnormal!"

The confusion hits before the surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"YOU SON OF A-"

Loki can hear Pepper's voice trying to calm Tony down to retain an ounce of common sense to talk to him in a language that makes sense.

"Loki," Tony comes back, this time one breath cooler, "Kira is not fine right now. I just got an alert about her being in an emergency. So, tell me where she is."

The restraint in his voice is loud and clear. Loud enough to tell anyone listening that he would come out of the speakerphone and strangle someone right this very moment.

"Her phone's off. I can't locate her."

Loki turns around to find Heimdall looking down at his golden crystal balls and phone in either hand, suddenly clicking a switch inside Loki.

"The pendant I gave her," Tony calls out from the phone, "it has a beacon. But it'll take me two minutes to activate it. You guys better hurry because her vitals are not looking good."

"I'm on it," Heimdall states before turning to Loki, "you stay here in case-Loki? Loki?!"

All sounds feel like one streak of white noise being drowned out by shallow breaths increasing with every passing moment. The legs are on the edge of giving way any second while the neck burns like a firepit from hell, sweating and steaming away the stray water on the skin.

"Ygritte!" Heimdall shouts out for the woman before coming back to Loki, "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. You're okay. She'll be fine. Hey. Hey! Look at me! Look. At. Me. Kira will be fine. I'll bring her back. Okay?"

Loki, breathless on the floor by this moment nods halfway, pushing away Heimdall's hands from his arms, gesturing him to be out of the room.

"Loki..."

Tony calls out for the man- no poison this time.

This voice, Loki doesn't like.

"Stark," Loki's trying to breathe through his airless aching lungs, "Stark lis-listen-"

"I'm not going anywhere till you find yourself. Breathe before you speak. I can't hear you through your wheezing anyway."

Loki hates the voice that reminds of the father he did not have.

.

The handkerchief cleans up the blood sticking over the lean fingers in multiple strokes, having to make a little extra effort to get the fabric to wipe away the piece of skin caught under the nails; not to mention the dried blood resting in between the foreskin and those recently manicured pieces of french art. It really is a task. How did he ever make it through those old army days without caring for the perfection that was him is really surprising for Billy. The handkerchief is folded to bring the clean side over and wipe off the blood dripping from wounds made down his throat. A curse leaves his lips to having found his flawless skin marred by a lowely woman.

"The car is ready, sir."

Billy looks up at the soldier he has hired for a few green bucks, scoffing and smirking at him before throwing the handkerchief. "Clear the area. Leave that trash."

The soldier walks away along with five other men, leaving Billy to turn to the unconscious figure lying on the ground in its own blood.

He sits down next to it, takes out a little wildflower from his jacket pocket and puts it beside the hand that flinches a little at the closeness of the man.

"It’s a shame really. You choosing death, I mean. We really could’ve had it all if you wanted, Kira."

He tilts his head and sighs before giving a farewell smile.

"Because death was still going to knock on your door later."

Getting up with one long look, etching his artwork in his mind, he walks away with a giddy tune being whistled on his lips, leaving you on the edge of eternal unconsciousness, the violent pain waiting to tip you over any moment.

.

Second-last chapter of Kira

[spectacularkkubi]

@ 18 or long before that

Eunbi falls out of love on her seventeenth birthday.

Wait no, hold on, that’s not right. Eunbi falls out of love long before then – before the arguments and the Incident and the angry silence – but this is when it all comes to a head.

She’s sitting in her backyard with Chaeyeon, feet kicking at the dirt as he runs his fingertips up and down her arm. It’s cold, enough that icy residue bites at her bare feet. She’s happy. With Chaeyeon, they’re so often fighting that she’s never really truly contented, but tonight she lets herself enjoy the breeze and look up at the glimmering stars.

She rests her head on Chaeyeon’s shoulder. He pulls her closer and says, “Eunbi, I’m seeing somebody else.”

Two days later, Yujin takes her to a friend’s house party, and Eunbi gets the drunkest she’s ever been. Wasted.

She doesn’t remember much afterwards – only a lot of alcohol, telling a stranger about her relationship problems and crying in a toilet – but she remembers Kang Hyewon cuddling up against her, pressing her lips to Eunbi’s neck, and Eunbi thinking Huh. Maybe.

Yujin dragged her away, of course, said something about Eunbi being too drunk to function, and so Eunbi doesn’t think about it again for a long time.

On Tuesday, Sakura arrives late to homeroom, spills coffee on herself, and only misses being marked absent by a mixture of bribery and intimidation of the homeroom teacher. She’s a sub, anyway; doesn’t care that much about retaining the class’ respect or anything, so it turns out okay.

She’s nearly late to English and next period finds out last minute that she has an AP Algebra test she hasn’t studied for. By lunch, she’s exhausted to the point where she just collapses next to Eunbi at the table and doesn’t say a word.

“Sakura,” says Eunbi. When Sakura doesn’t reply, she pets at her arm. “Sakura. Kkura. Are you okay?”

Sakura grunts.

“Have you had a bad day, sweetheart,” Eunbi says, stroking her head. “Tell momma Eunbi about it.”

“Eunbi unnie, you have no clue how weird that is.”

Eunbi just laughs. “Tell me about it, Kkura.”

Sakura complains for a solid thirty minutes about everything she can think of. Mixing Korean and Japanese words which confused Eunbi a lot but when she runs out of steam Eunbi rubs her back and Sakura blurts out, “AndMinjoobrokeupwithmelastnight.”

Eunbi says, “Oh.”

Sakura says, “Yep.”

Eunbi seems a little lost for words. Sakura steals one of Eunbi’s chips, just to be spiteful, and Eunbi says, “But you two were so happy.”

Yeah, of course that’s what Eunbi thinks. But Eunbi didn’t see the way Minjoo looked last night – beautiful, furious, and fucking crushed. “I guess we had different interests.”

“As in?”

“As in I was interested in somebody else.”

Eunbi raises an eyebrow. “You have feelings for somebody else?”

Sakura just shrugs.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me? We’re best friends, Kkura-yah!”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” says Sakura, “and don’t call me Kkura-yah. Let it go.”

Eunbi, to Sakura’s shock, actually drops it – if only temporarily. Eunbi says, “I’m so sorry, Sakura,” and hugs her tight, and then Yujin and Nako and the others suddenly appear, as if beckoned.

“Can we come sit down now,” whines Yena. “Eunbi unnie said we couldn’t.”

Sakura laughs, but it’s a little choked.

“What’s up, Kkura unnie?” Yujin asks, looking concerned.

Sakura tries to say something like It’s fine or Don’t worry about it but the words get stuck in her throat. She grabs her bag and rushes out of the cafeteria, because the worst thing in the world would be for all her friends and schoolmates to see her cry.

She finds her way to the bleachers and collapses down, putting her head in her hands. All she can hear is Minjoo’s I thought you loved me, how could I be so stupid and All this time, you’ve been lying to me? and Sakura’s not all this time, Minjoo-yah, no, please.

Which is a lie, of course. She’s been in love with Eunbi for about three years, and being in love with your straight best friend isn’t something you ever really get over.

Sex is one thing – but emotional infidelity is just as bad, or at least Minjoo seemed to think so. She stormed out of Sakura’s house, so, so angry and so, so sad, and Sakura hadn’t followed her, because there was nothing left she could do or say.

It only takes Eunbi ten minutes to find her, and she suspects the girl gave her a headstart. She doesn’t say anything as she sits beside Sakura. She doesn’t touch her, knows sometimes Sakura doesn’t like to be touched, especially when she’s upset. Sakura’s heart breaks a little and she holds out her hand; Eunbi takes it, knotting their fingers together.

“What happened,” says Eunbi, barely a question.

Sakura just shakes her head and Eunbi sighs, resting her head on Sakura’s shoulder. Sakura can’t stop looking at their hands clutching each other in between them, the paleness of Eunbi against Sakura’s skin, the blue of her veins.

“It will get better,” Eunbi says, because of course she knows.

“I know,” Sakura says, except she doesn’t, she doesn’t know at all.

=====

Sakura plans nothing for her weekend, purely to allocate at least two days to feel sorry for herself. Sakura’s parents are gone for the weekend, and Indra doesn’t live at home anymore, so she has the house all to herself. Of course, it’s about six on Friday night and Sakura is about to order some Yukhoe when the doorbell rings.

Eunbi stands there with a plastic bag of food in one hand and a bottle of Soju in the other. “I thought you could use the company. Also, I convinced a sunbae to buy me some alcohol because you needed it.”

Sakura lets her in, because how can she not, and says, “What food do you want? Wait, let me guess – chicken, you're so boring.”

Eunbi grins. “You know me too well, Kkura.” She lets herself into the kitchen to grab two shot glasses and makes her way upstairs while Sakura orders. She finishes ordering and follows Eunbi upstairs. Eunbi is already organised on the bed with two shots already poured, food spread across the bed, and Netflix on the TV.

“Chicken will be here in twenty,” says Sakura, and she grabs a shot off the bedside table and throws it back without preamble.

Eunbi looks delighted. “I see we’re starting right away.” She downs her own shot and only coughs a little. “I hope you’re ready for a night of fun and adventure because that’s exactly what this is gonna be.”

As it turns out, there isn’t that much adventure – they end up staying in and just watching shitty Netflix movies, because it starts to pour with rain outside and the temperature drops dramatically. She cries about Minjoo for about an hour, talking about their best memories, about finding Minjoo’s clothes everywhere, about Minjoo’s stupid gorgeous face. She loses steam around ten o’clock, when she stops being determinedly sad and starts just being really, really drunk.

Around midnight thunder begins to roll, and Eunbi burrows against Sakura for warmth, cold hands pressed to Sakura’s stomach.

Eunbi says, “I’ve been considering it, you know.”

“Considering what?”

“Girls.”

Sakura’s mind blanks out and she says, “What.”

“There was – Hyewon, last year, or earlier this year, I don’t know, and…” Eunbi brushes her lips against Sakura’s shoulder. “I think I might be bi, you know? Boys are great. Girls are great. Everybody’s great.”

“Have you…”

“No, not yet,” Eunbi says, and then she must be drunker than Sakura thought because she adds, “I was hoping you could show me. Kiss me. Whatever.”

Sakura must also be drunker than she thought, because all she says is, “Okay.”

Eunbi crawls over so she’s straddling Sakura, and Sakura can’t do much but stare up at her, and she’s beautiful. Holy shit, Sakura is so in love with her best friend, and so terrible, and it hurts, and –

Eunbi kisses her.

It’s gentle, at first; unsure. But then Eunbi seems to realise it’s not that different to kissing a guy – just softer, sweeter – and it gets a bit more heated. Sakura manoeuvers them so she’s on top, and Eunbi looks up at Sakura through her eyelashes and fuck. Her lips are all pretty and bruised, and her hair’s a mess. Sakura kisses Eunbi’s neck, with just the hint of teeth, and Eunbi moans.

The world spins a little bit, Sakura thinks holy shit I’m drunk, and she rolls off Eunbi to bury her face in her pillow.

When she turns her head to the side to look at Eunbi, Eunbi is watching her. There’s something in her eyes, something a little adoring that Sakura can’t quite name yet. Sakura clears her throat and says, “So what do you think?”

“Yeah,” Eunbi says a little breathily. “Definitely bisexual.”

=====

It’s a process. They don’t really talk about the kiss again, mostly because Sakura is getting over Minjoo and Eunbi is – well, respecting that. Of course, about a month later, Eunbi rushes to their table at lunch and reveals that she is in love.

“Her name is Chaewon and she’s gorgeous,” Eunbi says. “She’s younger than us and she's a kpop trainee and she said she can help me with auditions if I want to and we can share apartment once I graduated.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nako says, and she takes a swig of her red bull.

Eunbi ignores her. “You should see her, Kkura, she’s so amazing. You have to meet her, seriously – all of you, but especially you, Kkura, because you know how much it means to me what you think.”

Yujin actually facepalms. It’s good to know Sakura has some people on her side.

Two weeks later, Eunbi comes to Sakura’s house sobbing. “She said she’s so sorry, but her friend confessed her love and she’s The One or some shit, how dumb is that? How can you just give somebody up like that?”

“I don’t know, Eunbi unnie,” Sakura says, and tries not to think about the irony. “She doesn’t appreciate how amazing you are.”

Eunbi sighs and hugs Sakura tighter. “This is why I love you, Kkura,” she says, sobs subsiding a little. “Why can’t I just date you? You’d be the perfect girlfriend and you’re already my best friend.”

Sakura says, “Yeah, why not,” and Eunbi doesn’t reply.

When she looks down, Eunbi’s fallen asleep, mouth hanging open.

Sakura sighs.

=====

There isn’t anyone like Chaewon again, but Eunbi tears through men and women like she’s trying to make a point. Not just sex, but she’ll get fantastical crushes for very short periods of time and insist on telling Sakura all about them.

One Saturday night, Sakura gets a message from a very drunk Eunbi.

hys name is Myungsoo and I am in luv

Unnie, go to sleep

I cant sleep hes so pretty Sakura I wanna ruin him

Then go do that, Eunbi unnie, and don’t talk to me about it.

he's so gorgeous Sakura

do you think he likes me

well u don’t know him but if u did

im likeable right

Then, ten minutes later: Kkura ya, do u think im a slut

not just a sex slut but like

an emotional slut

Sakura runs a hand over her face. No, Eunbi-chan you’re fine. But why are you texting me about this?

Bc ur precious to me

And I love u

Like honestly so much babe

More than anybody else

Sakura throws her phone across the room and pulls the covers over her head. She doesn’t fall asleep for a very long time.

=====

Eunbi tries to text her apologising, even if she doesn’t quite know what for. Sakura ignores her all weekend, and goes to the library for lunch on Monday, avoids Eunbi in the hallways. By Tuesday she’s back to normal, joking with Eunbi, and she ignores it when Eunbi tries to ask.

On Tuesday night she goes to the movies with Yujin and Yena, because they’re the only others who enjoy romcom movies just as much as Sakura. They watch something that makes Yena actually cry. Afterwards they get ice cream and walk down the boardwalk, and Yujin says, “Have you considered actually, you know, telling her?”

“She doesn’t –” Sakura hesitates. “She might not exactly be my straight best friend anymore, but she’s still not interested.”

“How do you know that though,” Yujin says, not exactly a question.

Sakura just shrugs, and Yujin sighs. Yena says, “Leave her alone, Yujin,” because they’ve had a kind of bromance ever since Yena cried on Sakura’s shoulder for about four hours about Monty’s ‘stupid ethereal beauty’.

They’re as bad as each other, really.

“It’s okay,” Sakura says. “I’ll get over it.”

Yujin snorts, and she’s right.

She’s right, because Sakura has been in love with Eunbi for years now, and she’s not over it. Sometimes it dulls, like when she was dating Minjoo, but it’s always there. She thinks she’s safe, and then Eunbi is there, kissing Sakura’s cheek and pressing up against Sakura’s side, and Sakura falls in love over and over and over again.

Every time, it hurts even more.

But she’ll get over it. Probably.

Maybe.

*****

The week before Sakura turns eighteen, Eunbi is reunited with Chaeyeon Collins. It’s a bad idea all around – Eunbi’s relationship with Chaeyeon was unhealthy at best, generally toxic. They go out, and it’s not a date, except Chaeyeon confesses his love for her and says he’s no longer with that girl.

The next day, Eunbi doesn’t touch her lunch at all, the word maybe hidden somewhere beneath her tongue. Sakura can hear it.

Sakura catches her after their last period walking towards an unfamiliar silver car. After a second glance she realises it’s Chaeyeon in the driver’s seat. She says, “Eunbi, no.”

“Sakura,” Eunbi says, and her eyes are pleading, like she’s preparing for a fight that hasn’t even started yet. “I still love him.”

“No, you don’t. You just think you do.”

“It will be different this time, you don’t get it.”

“Things like that don’t change, Eunbi.”

“You –”

Eunbi stops, looking at something over Sakura’s shoulder. Sakura follows her gaze just in time to see another girl, a year above them, get into the passenger seat of Chaeyeon’s car. She’s pretty and blonde and so Eunbi, and it makes Sakura sick to her stomach to see it. Chaeyeon pulls out of the parking space and they’re gone in the blink of an eye.

Eunbi swallows. “Don’t,” she says.

“Eunbi.”

“Don’t, please.” She’s crying now. “I can’t take it. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m a mess, I know it, but you should have let me go, I could have confronted him –”

“Chaeyeon’s not worth it, Eunbi,” says Sakura, gently as she can. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Maybe it wasn’t your choice to make,” Eunbi says, and she sounds angry. “Maybe I need to make my own mistakes. You’re my best friend, Lex, not my girlfriend.”

And wow, the words are like a slap to the face. Eunbi couldn’t have made it hurt more if she’d actually tried, and she looks immediately contrite when she sees the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re right,” snaps Sakura, “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m just that girl who happens to be in love with you.”

She doesn’t give Eunbi a chance to reply, turning on her heel and rushing off to the bus stop. It would have been more dramatic if, you know, she could drive theatrically away. Instead she just stands at the bus stop as it begins to rain and lets out a choked sob that has passersby staring at her weirdly.

She manages to hold it together until she’s inside her empty house, and then she slides down with her back against the front door and drops her face into her hands.

Her phone buzzes, and she turns it off.

You should have let me go, she hears Eunbi say.

Sakura runs a hand over her face and begins to cry.

*****

She doesn’t go to school the next day, and then it’s the weekend, and she doesn’t see anybody for two days. Sunday morning Yena comes over with Yujin and Raven, and they don’t talk about it, just watch trashy television until Sakura feels a little bit better.

The pit in her stomach returns the second they leave, though.

The doorbell rings around five, when Sakura’s making dinner. She considers ignoring it, but eventually sighs, turning off the stove and walking to the door. She knows who it is even before she opens it.

“Sakura,” says Eunbi, and she looks surprised, like she wasn’t quite expecting Sakura to answer.

“Yep,” Sakura confirms, but she doesn’t move out of the way. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I was angry at Chaeyeon and I wanted something like that again, you have to understand, and I didn’t mean to push you. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have – if I had any idea of your feelings, I wouldn’t have said something so horrible, God, I’m such a terrible person.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Eunbi laughs a little, and her eyes are watery. “You’d be right, definitely, you’d be so right.”

Sakura sighs and steps out of the way. “Come on then.”

Eunbi moves past her into the house cautiously, like she’s half-expecting Sakura to suddenly change her mind. Sakura walks back into the kitchen, expecting Eunbi to follow her. She’s right. She finishes dinner in silence and plates enough up for both of them. They eat quietly, with the soft sound of the TV in the background.

After that they move to the sofa, and Sakura sits pointedly on the other end of the couch. Eunbi keeps looking at her like a wounded animal, but Sakura refuses to give in so easily. She’s – she’s not just angry, she’s tired, too.

“Minjoo broke up with me because of you,” Sakura says eventually.

Eunbi turns her sad eyes to Sakura and says, “I thought so – well, I didn’t think so, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I wondered. Like, this last couple of days. I always wondered but I never – yeah.”

Sakura snorts. “Okay, Miss AP English.”

Eunbi makes a move as if to punch her jokingly in the shoulder, then pulls her hand back as if burned. Sakura feels a little guilty, seeing her so hesitant. Sakura holds out her hand, and Eunbi hooks her fingers through hers, just like that day.

“So, this past weekend, I’ve been thinking,” begins Eunbi.

“This doesn’t have to change things,” Sakura interupts, and Eunbi kisses her.

Sakura doesn’t kiss back at first, too shocked, frozen. Just when Eunbi is about to pull back, Sakura pulls her back in. The kiss is all teeth, furious and a little desperate, but it gets gentler, softer.

They separate, and Eunbi says, “In case you didn’t realise, I’m kind of in love with you too.”

“You realised that just this weekend?”

“Not all of us can be as self-aware as you,” Eunbi says. She swallows. “I always knew that. There was. Something. How could I not? But I didn’t want to face it.”

“You’re what? Ashamed?” The words come out a little sharp.

Eunbi shakes her head. “No, no, of course not. I was – scared. I knew you were out of my league. I didn’t think I stood a chance, so I ignored it. I mean, I considered it briefly, and then there was Minjoo and…I don’t know.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sakura says frankly.

“Yeah, I know.” Eunbi looks up at her hopefully. “I don’t suppose kissing is a thing that there will be a repeat of?”

Sakura snorts and pulls Eunbi in again.

“Happy birthday,” Eunbi murmurs against her lips, and Sakura just laughs.

*****

Sakura falls in love on her eighteen birthday.

Okay, that’s not quite right – she falls in love the second she meets Kwon Eunbi, but it’s the day Kwon Eunbi says she loves her back.

“I kind of love you a ridiculous amount,” says Eunbi, pressing kisses into Sakura’s skin. “It’s awful.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sakura says. “That’s pretty embarrassing.”

Eunbi hits her with a pillow. Sakura doesn’t remember ever being this happy.

[tragicluver]

I’m Timothy, Here’s My Review

Hi, I’m ‘Timothy’. That’s not my real name, but I'm using it here because I wrote up my story for Joshua's site and I wanted to post about it here too. When Joshua posted my story on his blog, he graciously changed my name and that of the love of my life. He called her Megan, which is funny because I think the name really suits her!

I wrote my story for Joshua after he cast a spell for me and it worked. It change my life actually. I hope it's okay submitting this here, I know you want to collate stories and reviews from people who used Joshua's free love spell service. I wanted to tell you a bit about working with Joshua for your review site, so this is more a review than my story. If people want to read my story, then it's on Joshua's blog.

I can't actually remember how I found Joshua's website. I started by reading his story, then I read some of the stories from people he had cast for. Magic wasn't something I'd ever really considered before, but I wasn't against the idea. I thought it would be worth a try. That said, it took me a while to pluck up the courage to fill out the form and ask for his help. It's silly because it's not like I had to pick up the phone or meet him face to face. I was just sending words to a stranger, a bit like I'm doing here filling out this submission form on Tumblr! I think it was the fact I was putting my situation into writing. It made it more real. 

Speaking of filling out my situation, Joshua said on his site that most peoples requests come down to the same thing: they love someone who either doesn't love them or who can't or won't be with them. He said any extra information is redundant and not to include it unless it was out of the ordinary and pertinent. My situation seemed to me to be different because the woman I was in love with, although we had previously been together, was now married to someone else!! So when I plucked up the courage and filled out the form, I told him a bit about that.

I got an email straight back (it must have been an auto-reply it was so quick), saying my submission had been received and that Joshua would get back to me with a decision after he had had time to read it. I guess he gets a lot of requests, so I didn't get my hopes up.

He wrote back to me about a day or so later, and said he was taking on my case. I felt an immense sense of relief — clearly I'd got my hopes up without realising it!! On the down side, he said he was very booked up and I was going to have to wait almost a month for the casting. At that point I started to wonder if there wasn't someone else who could cast my spell more quickly. Now my mind was open to the idea of using spells, I was ready to look elsewhere.

So I looked around, and I'll be honest although there are a lot of people out there saying they will cast spells, they all look...how can I put this politely? Dodgy. Suspect. Like used car salesmen. They make a lot of claims but if you look closely you can see they don't hold up. One woman, I won't mention her name because that wouldn't be fair of me, but she had a big website with a forum and everything. In the forum lots of people were singing her praises. One woman said "xxxxx has cast over 2 million love spells!" I thought, hang on a minute, do the math. She must be casting a love spell like, every ten seconds or something! The whole thing literally didn't add up. It put me right off this apparently well-regarded love spell expert.

So after all that research I came to the conclusion I'd stick with Joshua. Something about him seemed genuine. He wasn't asking for money, and he had taken the time to study my case and to get back to me. I had waited seven years for Megan (it's all in my story!!), I could wait a bit longer.

Joshua kept in touch with me during the waiting period, letting me know he hadn't forgotten about me and checking I still wanted the spell cast. That was reassuring. When the day of the spell arrived, well, I didn't sleep much. I felt this buzz of energy that could have been the spell, or it could have just been my own adrenaline from the anticipation.

Josh had warned me that his spells took a whole day to cast, so I had to wait until the next morning before I got his email. He sent quite a long email telling me all about how it had gone. The main thing was he said everything had gone well, there were no problems and he was confident of a positive outcome, to use his words. But he also cautioned that love is something that takes time to nurture, not something that can be forced in a day. He said I'd have to be patient and wait for a result. I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time the wheels were in motion — it was happening!

Even after the spell, Joshua kept in touch. He sent me a follow up email a few days later with some tips on how to stay positive and how to help the spell. It was all reassuring and I was grateful for his attention. He must be a busy man so it meant a lot that he didn't just cast my spell and forget about me.

The spell worked. Again, I don't want to repeat what I already wrote for Joshua, you can read my whole story on his website. For this review, the main thing to note is that it took a couple of weeks for the first signs of something happening, and then things moved very fast. I have absolutely no doubt it was the spell that made Megan fall back in love with me. Things she told me about how she had been thinking of me, how she had had an 'awakening', all the dates matched up perfectly with the spell. Everything had changed for her within a day of Josh casting it.

After that I reached out to Josh firstly to thank him, of course, and also to ask if I could share my story on his website. The success stories he published there had been a great source of motivation and reassurance for me while I was waiting for my spell, and I thought the least I could do to thank him was share my own. He agreed, and said he would make sure to change all the names and not to put in any details that could personally identify me because once you've written something on the internet, it's there forever. He's very big on the confidentiality of those he casts for!

If I had to give Joshua a rating out of ten, I would say 9.5. I'm only taking off the half point because I don't like the colour scheme of his website! Nobody is perfect and I never give anyone ten out of ten for anything, so I have to nitpick somewhere. I highly recommend Joshua and his free love spells. I've never had a love spell before so I can't compare his service to anyone else's. All I can say is it worked for me, and he was professional and attentive throughout the process, and Megan and I are very, very happy together as a result.

[naefnan]

Puzzle book

This was made as a gift for a Secret Sanders in Twitter (and I’m going to say it, I was super nervous about all this). It’s my first time writing and publishing in English (because English isn’t my first language) so… yeah. NERVES, what else what do you want me to say?

Anyways, my person was  @mostlysandersidesposts so I hope I did a decent job with what you requested. I know that maybe it’s really rough but I’m a little proud of this.

I hope this can make you smile at least once! 

Words: 2441

Pairings/ Characters: None, LAMP platonic, they are just kids, Remus, and maybe I forget Deceit (oops)

TW: Maybe insecure thoughts (If you think I need to add another one just tell me)

Summary:  An adventure can bring you more than just your lost favorite book.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“It’s not here!”

With some echoes, a worrying exclamation bounced in an almost empty classroom.

“I’m certain that I left the book in my seat…”

A chaos of papers, books and notebooks was forming in a seat at the back of the room and the culprit seemed to have no intention of stopping his search.

Logan didn’t talk to many people in his class. He was in third grade, but he didn’t have a group of friends. Well, in full honesty, he didn’t have friends. Period.

He wasn’t bother by this. He preferred to do the projects alone, play alone, without annoying kids playing loudly or meddling on his stuff.

It was easy this way. It was… fine.

Once per week he would usually bring a book to the school to read it in the breaks. It helped him keep his mind busy.

Sometimes it was the wonders of the science’s world like the cosmos, the biosphere. Other times it was just interesting novels, mystery and suspense… or even cunning detectives.

But his favorite book was something different. Never, in all this time, he had dared to take him to school for the fierce fear of losing him.

But that week he was in a good mood.

And he thought that it wouldn’t happen.

And it happened.

“I knew it was a wrong choice…”

“What was a wrong choice?”

A voice in the door was the one that took Logan out of his inner struggles. Curious, unexpected, with a head slightly tilted to the side and a smile.

Logan, tense, just turned his head.

He didn’t want anyone to get into his problem; well, he didn’t want to have a problem, to begin with. But there he was, one of his classmates approaching him, about to get into his problem.

“Sorry, I came here just for my snack.”

Shorty, light brown hair, dark glasses, very similar to the ones he uses, a mess of freckles under his eyes and definitely very, very confused as to why there are papers everywhere.

“Uhm… Do you need some help?”

“No, I’m fine by my own. Thank you.” Logan replied sharply.

“But you seem… a little troubled there.”

This wasn’t going anywhere. Logan was tired, he just wanted to read his book, he just wanted to forget this… thing he was feeling in his chest.

Maybe… just once.

He sighed, having resigned to what could be another bad decision. “On Monday I decided to bring my favorite book to school, but apparently, I lost it,” he explained.

“Oh,” the boy replied, “that doesn’t sound good at all.”

There was a silence. Then…

“I’ll help you find it!” the freckled boy declared enthusiastic.

Now Logan was the confused one. “Why would you do that? I’m just a stranger to you.”

“Yes, but it is something valuable to you…right?”

Logan nodded slowly. “Very.”

“Then I’m helping you! Like my mom always says: Join and conquer”

“Actually, that’s not how the saying goes.”

“Really?” The boy’s mistake didn’t prevent a smile from forming on his face. “Well, it works anyway” he shrugged.

“No, I think it doe-”

A greeting hand interrupted Logan. It was filled with joy.

“I’m Patton Lockheart.”

After a moment of hesitation, he returned the gesture. “Logan Carson.”

“See! Now we’re not strangers anymore.”

That afternoon was pretty sunny for an autumn. The cheerful screaming of the other kids pierced through the classroom, where the sunbeams touched the feet of both children.

✿ ✿ 

The two of them searched the room from top to bottom, but there was no clue where the precious book could be. Under all the seats, where they keep the school books, in the teacher’s seat, even behind the curtains. In a couple of minutes they were hopeless and ready to give up.

“Wait a minute. Logan, have you read your book in any other place other than in the classroom?”

“Oh, yes I have. When the others get too noisy here in the class, I go to a special place outside.”

“Maybe you forgot it there! If we look in that place or ask the people nearby I’m sure we’ll find it!”

No, that couldn’t be. Logan was sure that he hadn’t taken his book outside that day. But Patton wasn’t exactly on the wrong track. Maybe asking if anyone has seen or heard about a lost book could help.

“Patton, that is-!” The taller boy, impressed by the idea, slipped a gasp before finishing his sentence, then he regained his composure. “While the chances of my book being at that place are low, you may have a good idea of ​​how to get it back.”

“Really?” Patton jump up and down, happy to help.

“But, it’s the schoolyard! It could take metaphorical hours. We don’t have that much time.” Logan explained.

But Patton was already one step ahead. They decided to continue the searching in the lunchtime.

✿ ✿

“Don’t worry, he’s perfect at finding stuff.”

“OH MY GOD! Remus, please, come here! Don’t run with that in your mouth!”

There was an exasperated voice ringing on the other side of the wall.

“Here it is!” Patton pointed to the door that was now right in front of him with a confident face. Logan swallowed hard and ask himself if following Patton had been a good decision.

An adult woman slammed the door open and came out with messy hair and clothes full of paint.

“I’m going to take a break…” And then she disappeared.

With the same confidence that his face showed, Patton peek through the door into the classroom and asked with all the power his lung offered him.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Roman. Roman de la Cruz.”  

“You vookin’ fo’ mah brotha’?”

A boy full of dirt and band-aids appeared under the nearest desk. Even with a scissor in his mouth he showed a gigantic smile. “Fe was gong to thi bafroom”

“Excuse me, what did you just said?” Logan was bemused with this boy’s appearance.

“Oh, forry…” The boy realized that the scissors made it difficult to understand him and took them off in a second. “He will be back soon, don’t worry.”

“Logan, this is Roman’s twin, Remus.”

The dirty boy stand up and greeted the two boys with the scissors still in his hand. “Hi! What are you doing here, Pat?”

“Logan lost his book this morning and I’m helping him find it. We wanted to ask for Roman’s help since he’s a really good finder. Do you think he will accept to help us?”

“I’m sure he will, we’re not doing anything anyways. Also, Roman never says no when someone needs help. He can be such a piece of stupidity sometimes but he sure is a better person than I am.”

“That is ridiculous. No one is a better person than anyone. You have your own strengths and weaknesses, just like Roman.” Logan responded serious. Remus looked at him surprised, but genuinely glad.

“Thanks, nerd. Although the stupid part is very real.”

“Stupid? What are you talking about Remus?” Another voice appeared behind the duo. “Oh, hi Patton! What are you doing here?”

A kid very similar to Remus but a lot more presentable showed up. Like his twin, Roman’s clothes were slightly dusty and his hair was just messy curls.

“Logan Carson. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Wow, no need to be so formal, nerd.”

Logan leaned to Patton’s ear. “Is he really that good and that necessary?”

Patton giggled and nodded. “Can you help us with something, Roman?”

“First of all, I heard that nerdy. Second, if it’s for you Patton, sure, tell me, how can I help?”

Patton and Logan explained everything to Roman and he immediately accepted. Soon, the three were already looking around the schoolyard and asking everywhere.

Roman turned out to be very effective. He had a vibe that made him stand out among the other children so they never ignored him. And although Logan at first hadn’t believed that he was a good finder, he really was. In a few minutes, they already knew that someone had been seen with a book that had the same characteristics of Logan’s book and they were heading to the place where this person could be.

Logan was, maybe, a little, jealous.

✿ ✿

“How did you know the twins? They are in fourth grade.” Asked Logan while they were walking.

“We are his neighbors!” Roman got into the conversation. “We play with Patton after school sometimes. Well, more me than my brother.”

“Why?”

The freckled kid got nervous and started fidgeting with his fingers. “Remus is a little… intense… but he is nice!”

“Intense?”

“One time, he put three chickens in his house to see if they got along with his dog. Nobody knows where he got the chickens or how one of them got trapped on the roof.” told Patton.

Roman started laughing so much when he remember that story that he stopped walking to look at Patton. “My mom had to chase the chickens AND the dog because they were making a disaster in my house. It’s funny now but Remus got grounded for a whole month.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I don’t understand how Remus does what he does. He has his jokes and his crazy stuff… And I’m just… dull. I mean, I don’t get good grades, I’m not good at any sport, I don’t know how to make jokes…”

Nobody said anything in that instant. Roman had this melancholy smile that made the heart hurt a little. And before someone said anything Roman continued talking.

“Sorry, it’s just that I’m actually glad that you needed my help, Patton. I’m not good at many things, but at least I’m proud to say that I’m very good at finding thing-”

Just when Roman had started walking again, something had stopped him. A hand in his hand.

“Thank you.” Logan murmured. His hand squeezed the other firmly.

Roman smiled. This time, there was proud in his lips. “It’s the least I can do.”

✿ ✿

Without realizing it, they had already reached the destination. It was weird because none of the three kids knew that this place existed. This hidden corner of the school with moderately tall bushes.

The group of searchers went a little further into the corner, peeking through the bushes, to find an unexpected surprise.

There, sitting with his legs glued to his chest, there was a little boy. In the child’s hands, the dark cover of the book of “Puzzles in Wonderland”, with the radiant golden details in the corners of the pages and the riddles taken from Alice’s world that Logan loved to solved.

“My book!”

The scream frightened the boy, who dropped the book in an instant.

“AHA! The culprit was this delinquent all along!” Roman pointed at the boy angrily and as if he was ready to attack.

The boy was trembling from top to bottom on the floor and looked at the trio in confusion. “Your- Your- Your book? This- This is your book?” Words were lost in the stuttering.

“Why did you steal the book, thief? Where did you get it from? Do you know the punishment you will have for stealing?”

“I- I- I-” Tears were forming in the terrified eyes of the child.

“Okay, Roman, Roman. Calm down. You are scaring the kid.” Patton stopped Roman from throwing himself at the helpless boy and crouched beside him. “What’s your name?”

“Vir- Vir-… Virgil.”

“Okay. Virgil, why did you have Logan’s book?”

“I- I didn’t know it was someone’s book. I just found it here in my place, well it’s not my place but, I thought… well I didn’t really think, it’s just that… I- I didn’t know it was yours, I’m sorry…” his breathing was choking and he was hiding more and more in his hoodie.

Logan took a quick look at the book to confirm that despite the fall it had had before, it had no scratch.

Then, an idea crossed his mind.

“It’s okay.” Logan said, crouching down to take the book and see the panicked boy. “I’m not upset. It’s not your fault my book went missing, right?”

In a calmer voice the boy whispered. “Yeah”

“Do you like Alice in Wonderland?” he asked again.

Virgil nodded with his head looking to the floor.

The glasses boy offered him the book. “Would you like to solve some puzzles with me?”

“But-” Virgil talked again, concerned.

“Believe me. After all this day, you would be doing me a favor if you say yes.”

The now quiet kid thought for a moment in his answer and after a few seconds he nodded again.

Roman made a shocked face. “Are you going to forgive this delinquent? After all the work we’ve made?”

Logan smiled, settling to open the book in the grass. “Such a piece of stupidity sometimes,” he recalled.

“Hey! I heard that!” The dramatic kid crossed his arms and was ready to leave but then he changed his mind when he saw that Patton was also joining in the fun. “Move over, I also want to see the book!”

“You’re not a little curious of how your book ended up here?” Virgil asked, a little uneasy.

Logan just sighed. “That’s for another day.”

✿ ✿

“Logan Carson. I can’t believe you just skipped a class! I never expected this from you!”

The teacher was furious and her heels sounded repeatedly in the empty room.

Logan wasn’t paying attention. He was just looking at the window, wondering how his day had started with a problem and ended up becoming a ‘I skipped a class to read a book with a bunch of strangers’.

You’ll see… Logan didn’t talk to many people in his class. He was in third grade, but he didn’t have a group of friends. In full honesty, he didn’t have friends.

But an adventure can bring you more than just your lost book.

And now it was easy this way. It was fine.

And Logan, for one second, didn’t regret this.

All this. The lost, the searching, the help, the angry teacher, the feeling in his chest.

The feeling that he was… alone. That no one wanted him as a friend.

Because that feeling was no longer there.

Because he knew he wasn’t a ‘know-it-all’ for his good grades.

He wasn’t vain for talking with big words.

He wasn’t a cold hearted robot because it is difficult for him to interact with others.

He was a cool guy too.

He was a funny guy too.

He was just a kid that wanted friends that could understand him.

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Forty-Nine: Calex

Not Enough Lollipops

           Tension eased in Calex’s chest.

           “Oh titans, it’s a zombie,” the pile of Pax blankets squeaked. Pax’s head popped out of his bedding, looking a bit too close to the squirming kitten pile in Will’s arms. Calex could only see from Pax’s nose up, as he kept the rest of him buried thoroughly. His black and golden eyes were gleaming with hope. The crazy spikes of his overgrown fauxhawk spiraled out in wispy swirls. “You’re alive! I think! Please tell me you’re alive and not a ghost with a dead kitten! That would be way worse. Does that mean Ghost Boy isn’t spokes and shadows?!”

           Although everyone said that Will had died, Calex never saw the body. The idea of him being dead never really solidified and Will looked very much alive right now.

           “You,” Will growled. Pax squeaked and disappeared back into his pile of blankets. “You should be sleeping on your back. The position you’re in is going to disrupt the healing of your shoulder. You’ve already permanently lost mobility of one hand, do you really want to lose mobility of your whole other arm?”

           No response came from the Pax pile. Calex had to wonder if that dodgy prick was pretending to sleep.

           But the words hit hard. Permanently lost mobility.

           Calex tensed each muscle on his body. Although he was sore, he could feel how painful it was to move all of his limbs. When he glanced beside him and Merry, he saw a stack of bloody bandages, clean ones, and a pinkish tinted bowl of water.

           Will’s tired blue eyes narrowed at Leo. “This isn’t for a prank, is it? I have a lot of patients to tend to.”

           “Kitten cannons,” Leo said, “We’re testing new defenses since our old ones failed.”

           Will sighed and handed him the bundle of mewing kittens. “You’re lucky Chiron told me I needed to get out of the infirmary for fresh air.”

           This crowded room, Calex assumed, shouldn’t qualify as fresh air. He feared what the infirmary looked like.

           “Our party pony is up?” Merry squeezed Calex’s shoulder and said the question his mind was too slow to put together.

           “Yes, he’s been busy tending to the wounded.”

           Will did a quick examination of Lapis’s leg. Sloppily, he cut the pant leg away, revealing a deep gash that was stuffed shut with red sand. Will made a face, giving Lapis a look.

           Lapis raised an eyebrow and glanced to Sadie.

           Sadie cleared her throat. “I, uh, may not have thought to tend much to him. Being a villain and all.”

           Will sighed.

           A reverence quieted the room as Will cleaned and bandaged Lapis’ wound. Calex noted how Will didn’t hum or sing. Calex wondered if his healing powers didn’t bode well with Will’s resurrection. Calex assumed it had more to do with the number and severity of the wounded. Will probably couldn’t waste his powers healing minor cuts and scratches or dodgy blokes like Lapis.

           After Lapis, Will started at one side of the room and went down the line. He widely skirted the covered birdcage in the corner, glanced over Euna’s slumbering form, gave Axel a confused glance, then paused by Calex.

“You’re going to have some serious scars,” he said, gesturing to the pile of bloodied bandages beside Calex. “Merry’s been at your side cleaning your injuries for the last day, but it’s like something sucked your skin off your face and parts of your arms and legs. For you, bed rest isn’t as vital, but you will need to keep your wounds clean. Once you’re well enough, I expect you to report to the infirmary to help me. Your experience at a clinic is invaluable since we’re down so many healers.”

           The words were hollow: a doctor’s report. Calex remembered the shattered structure of the Apollo cabin and wondered if anyone had gotten out alive.

           Will’s blue eyes examined Merry. Their intensity softened. “Merry, are you—”

           “I’m fine, Doc,” Merry said, her voice shaking with the thinly veiled lie. “We’ll talk about that later. Not ready for that downer yet.”

           Before Calex could ask, Will had already moved on to Kally. He knelt down, delicately lifted the sheets around her arm.

Calex glanced at Merry. She touched her cheek and mouthed the word, “Later.”

Merry might open up more in private. He hoped so. Calex swallowed and sat up to inspect Kally.

Kally’s arm was wrapped from her elbow down.

           “No one is allowed to touch this arm. Assuming you two are leaving like you planned…” Will glanced at Leo and Sadie.

Leo gave him a thumbs up. “You got it, medic. Don’t you worry. The Valdezinator will be right back.”

           “Some of my mates from Brooklyn House can clean up this camp as fast as you can say the word, ‘Order,’ and we have a healer,” Sadie said. “And I want to see my brother panic when Leo comes with me to pick them up.”

Will looked back to Merry, Calex, and Axel. “With them gone, you’ll need to make sure Kally doesn’t touch her arm or move it when she wakes up. She has two broken ribs and her opposite hand is fractured, so she won’t want to move much anyway, but the third degree burns in her right hand required a skin graft from her leg. Don’t let it smudge.”

           Calex swallowed. He and Merry nodded. Merry began to tremble.

           Will pointedly skipped Pax and walked to Dr. Claymore. The middle-aged man set his book into his lap and raised his eyes to the healer.

           Will frowned at Alabaster’s still form as he replaced the IV bag. “He should have been up.”

           “Oh, he was, for a period of time,” Claymore agreed. He pulled the edge of his jacket open, revealing several syringes beside a pistol. “Do you really think he’d let himself get bed rest here?”

           Will sighed, closing his eyes. “Fine. Just let him wake up next time. Sherman, Clovis, and the Stoll brothers all wanted to talk to him.”

           “Alabaster will not appreciate their idea of streamers, get-well cards, and singing balloons,” Dr. Claymore warned, tilted his book back open.

           “Take that up with the Stoll brothers,” Will said. Then, he added, “Without using your pistol.”

           Dr. Claymore snorted something about the art of subtlety.

           The son of Apollo walked to the door, paused, reached into his pocket, and stepped back to Pax’s sleeping bag. He set a lollipop at the edge of Pax’s bed. “I found an extra one,” he said.

           Something poked out of Pax’s pile of blankets. It took Calex several seconds to recognize it as a hand. There was a massive blacken spot in the center of the palm, fading to gruesome greens and purples. The rest of the hand was swollen to the point of looking like a poorly made jello-prop. Pax didn’t grab the lollipop like Calex was hoping. Instead the dumb bloke used the side of his hand like a rake, dragging the lollipop into the depths of his nest.

           “Thanks,” Pax said from the inside. “Now I don’t need to sing the lollipop song for the next ten hours.”

           Will sighed again. “I’ll be in the infirmary if you change your mind about treatment.” He returned his gaze to Leo and Sadie, who were fawning over the kittens. “I’ll let the others know you’re heading out soon.”

           As soon as Will left, Sadie folded her arms across her chest and smirked at Leo. “We only needed one kitten.”

           “Yea, but who doesn’t want a blanket full of kittens to lighten the mood?” he asked.

           Axel nodded his head. “Kittens can add a certain amount of happiness and mischief to any situation.”

           Sadie carefully scooped a kitten from the pile and held it towards Axel. “Bast,” she chided.

           Calex flinched when Axel inhaled sharply. One of his hands clutched his chest wound while the other fumbled back onto the sleeping bag to catch himself from falling backwards.  

           Meanwhile, the orange and black kitten in Sadie’s hands grew. Sadie gentle set it onto the floor. At almost the same time the paws touched the ground, they had shifted into hands and feet.

           A woman knelt there. She was beautiful, with black hair and caramel skin. Her eyes were similar to Axel’s, glistening lamplights with slits down the center. A leopard-print leotard clung tightly to her gymnast body. Her gaze was both amused and concerned as she examined Axel.

           “Will the real Mr. Stoic please stand up?” Merry whispered playfully.

           “Don’t move too much,” Bast warned. She leaned closer to Axel, nudging his head and shoulders around to investigate his wounds. Calex remembered Axel trying to decapitate Aphrodite for less, but their leader moved obediently. He looked confused, disoriented, and a little sickly. His eyes flashed around the room, taking in everyone’s position. His chest fluttered.

           “I partially stayed to assure you had strength to recover. You’ll have more scars as honoraries for being such a seasoned warrior. But please, do take care of yourself. Our kind isn’t designed to process the burden of guilt for so long.” Bast ended her investigation by curling a finger behind his tufted ears.

           Axel shook his head, his eyes focusing on her. With a grimace, he sat up, squared his shoulders, and raised his chin. “Thank you.” His mouth tried to form a word, but didn’t seem to know what to say. “That was a massive gamble, but without your help—”

           Bast’s smile turned exclusively to amusement. She leaned forward and licked along Axel’s jaw line, ending at his ear. Sadie gasped and Axel went silent.

“Let me know if things don’t work out with that praetor,” Bast said, “And, regardless, don’t be a stranger.” She took his hand and used her finger to write several glowing hieroglyphs on his palm. “You can use this to contact me if you want to make some more intra-cosmic magic, my handsome Tomcat.” She ended by booping his nose with her finger.

           Axel’s face flared to bright red.

           Leo let out a low whistle. Merry, Calex, Pax, and Lapis all choked on laughs.

           When Bast rose to saunter to Sadie’s side, Sadie swatted her arm. “Bast!” she said gleefully. “You ruined the poor boy! How have I never known you to be so devious?! How have you not told me stories!”[1]

           “I try to keep my kittens out of that part of my life, but you should know all cats are mischievous,” she said with a massive grin.

           Sadie rubbed the remnants of tears from her eyes. She managed to stop smiling when she returned her gaze to Calex. “You better keep that promise. If you haven’t given Gretchen a ring by the time we get back, I’ll add you to Leo’s new lizard collection.”

           She pointed to a paperclip cage at Leo’s waist containing a tiny gecko.

           Calex nodded his head. “Right.”

           Bast, Leo, and Sadie left with that parting salutation. Considering they were in a room with Lapis Pax and the Triple A Chimera, he couldn’t believe they would leave them unguarded.

           “You’re up,” Leo said to someone in the hall. “And let me know if you need me to make some special restraints for our friends. I’ll make sure it smells bad and plays annoying music.”

           Two praetors and a centurion walked into their room. [2]

           Calex tensed. He could feel Merry do the same. He could see Axel pale. All he could think about was everything they’d been unjustly blamed for over the last few months. But, was all of it really unjust? Axel had confessed he and Pax had tricked Leo into recrafting Kronos’ scythe. Euna had killed a dozen mortals. The Triple A Chimera had worked for Kronos. Alabaster, Euna, and Axel didn’t do much to hide their disdain for the gods, and Calex, Kally, Merry, and Pax had actively been protecting them.

           “Time to finally decide what we’re going to do with you,” Reyna said, unsheathing a knife to twirl it between her fingers.

 ***

Okay, last time I have Reyna twirl a knife for dramatic-end-of-chapter-effect, I promise XD Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :D Stay tuned for Kally’s chapter, Satyr Butts and Catching Up.

 ***

  Footnotes:

[1] So, Bastet wasn’t just the goddess of protection in Egypt. She was also a goddess of fertility and physical pleasure, something Riordan—in his middle grade series—understandably skirted around. During Bast’s festival, women were freed from all social restraints to sing, dance, drink, and—yes—lift their skirts to show off their genitalia with pride. One of my former housemates worshipped Bast and loved doing just that no matter how often it sent one of our more reserved housemates into a panic.  

[2] How many Romans jokes start like this?