#and this is not even mentioning that against all odds. this love triangle is well written and I even love

[thestarlightforge]

Did a Spapel run of SNW with my sibling & friend today and might I once again tip my cap to the intimacy coordinator, bc (/genderneutral)

GIRL— 😭

[rallentando1011]

about donnie making fun of Rom coms. What happens if s/o like them, but in a way where they watch them to make fun of them and it makes them and Donnie reflect on their own relationship without meaning too? 😂 . “It’s so bad. This love triangle. I gotta see how this trainwreck ends! All 3 are terrible and deserve each other”. “Geez I would hate that if a guy did that to me”. “Oh! He deserves better”. S/o does openly swoon over really sweet gestures sometimes though. “Oh. He gave her a library and fixed it up 😭 “.

The song is Nothing - Bruno Major, it does mention alcohol in like one line as well as making out but those are NOT in the story at all - just wanted to preface this with that (thanks for the request btw! I am working on all of them still I promise-)

Nothing

(rise Donnie x gn reader)

“Track suits and red wine

Movies for two

We'll take off our phones

And we'll turn off our shoes”

The evening opened at the lair.

A breezy night, the wind feather-light and warm, the sky had been dim and earth damp with a fresh rain, the frigid conditions of winter thawing into a complacent spring.

Below the concrete confines of the sewers, the weather was just as drippy, the continuous drips and drops of water trickling with a postnasal quality, drumming peacefully throughout the lair.

A dreary morning had bled into a dreary day had bled into a now dreary evening. With the dispelling weather, you had found it drudgery to even perform basic tasks like getting out of bed and dressing yourself and eating. But you had to. And you did.

After getting through the necessities and chores of the day, you had bound to the lair, renewed from your climatory blues with the expectation of good company and no obligations. Sounded good to you.

What you hadn’t anticipated was walking into the lab to see your “company” sitting, hunched over his desk, busy at work, with webcore music playing over the speakers and a rom-com, of all things, playing on his PC.

“Psh,” you half-laughed, the energy behind your amusement not completely convincing. You worked your way beside him and leaned against his desk. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh,” Donnie, just the man you’d been looking for, startled and slowly, as if trying to avoid detection, moved a hand to shut his screen. “Hey, I didn’t see you there.”

Before the computer screen could shut, you nudged it back up. “You like these movies?”

Donnie paled, sitting up straighter, lips pressing into a flat line. “Absolutely not. They’re just good background noise.”

You hummed. If his posture and lack of alertness was anything to go off of, he’d been at this a while. He could use some R & R, and honestly, you wouldn’t oppose.

“Well, in that case, would you like to watch some ‘background noise’ with me?”

He slumped back down in his chair and looked at you blankly. “I am quite obviously in the middle of something. I think we both already know the answer to that.”

“And how long have you been at that?”

There it was: guilt.

You nudged his shoulder, flashing a grin at him. “Come on. We’re getting snacks and taking a well earned break.”

“But-”

“No sir, none of that. We’re going. Projector room. Now.”

“But-”

“First one there chooses the movie.”

That impetus was enough to spur both of you into motion.

“We'll play Nintendo

Though I always lose

'Cause you'll watch the TV

While I'm watching you

There's not many people

I'd honestly say

I don't mind losing to

But there's nothing

Like doing nothing

With you”

Unsurprisingly, he beat you to the projector room. Sure, he was a genetically enhanced mutant turtle and the odds were stacked heavily against you from the get go, but you were still salty about losing your own bet.

Not as salty as you were about his choice of “movie” not being a movie, instead being playing Super Smash Bros.

And especially not as salty as you were about getting irrevocably obliterated.

Round after round of the game, you had been infuriatingly greeted with screen after screen declaring your loss and all but screaming how terribly you sucked. Normally, you got the one up on him at least once, but with how drowsy your motor function was today, not to mention how you kept getting caught up in how invested he was but that was irrelevant, the game was not gaming.

Furthermore, you tried to pin your inopportune streak on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., who had taken up residence on your lap after retrieving your and Donnie’s snacks and drinks of choice from the kitchen, but Donnie had disproven that theory. By holding his controller higher to simulate the space the drone took up and proceeding to desecrate you again.

You groaned and slumped down the couch as he once again laughed victoriously, boisterously. Seriously, his ego needed to be humbled.

“Another round,” you demanded, half-dead on the couch. “I got, uh, distracted.”

Donnie halted his gloating, tilted his head down at you and the little drone, though the smug grin had yet to clear his face.

You knew what was next, probably your favorite and least favorite part of your dynamic - banter.

“I know you’re only looking at me to have some semblance of an excuse to lose, but I’ll take that as a compliment of both my rugged good looks and superior gaming skills.”

You feigned injury with a hand over your heart. “Man, that is a harsh accusation. I am wounded. Mortally wounded.”

“Your Yoshi will be the wounded one after I annihilate you in this next round of Smash.”

“Oh, you are on.”

“Dumb conversations

We lose track of time

Have I told you lately

I'm grateful you're mine

We'll watch The Notebook

For the 17th time

I'll say ‘It's stupid’

Then you'll catch me crying”

After a few more times of crushing you in Smash, it apparently became boring. Either that or your pouting convinced him to hand the reins over to you and let you pick a movie.

Finally, you could relax.

Head on his shoulder, his arm around you, a plush blanket resting on your laps, a borderline unbearable romantic comedy on the projector, it was blissful.

“Hmm would you look at that?” you commented on one particular scene. You felt Donnie shift next to you, raising an ever so slightly judgmental eyebrow. “The love interest did something wrong and then compensated by making a library. And spending time with them. And apologizing.”

He stared at you.

You stared back. “Looks like someone could take notes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Donnie blinked, and you smiled.

“Oh, nothing.”

“We're not making out

On a boat in the rain

Or in a house I've painted blue

But there's nothing

Like doing nothing

With you”

“I would die if you ever did that to me.” You shuddered at the absolutely foul scene unfolding on the television and sunk a little closer into his side, second hand embarrassment seeping into your bones. 

“Good connotation or bad connotation?” he pondered, all too genuinely. It made you want to gag.

“Good or bad?” you asked, incredulous. “Like, the worst connotation. I mean, if you showed up to my work like that I would actually spontaneously combust. Deceased. No hesitation.”

You plopped unceremoniously sideways onto his lap, the back of your hand dramatically resting on your forehead.

“That’s what spontaneous means,” he deadpanned, the arm that had been over your shoulder slowly slinking back to his side.

“I don’t need called out on my redundancy right now,” you jabbed an accusatory finger at him, looking up, “I just need you to promise to never do that.”

“Okay, okay,” he conceded with a content grin. “I’ll try not to show up to your work with some overly pedantic display of affection.”

You scowled.

“So shut all the windows

And lock all the doors

We're not looking for no one

Don't need nothing more

You'll bite my lip and

I'll want you more

Until we end up in a heap on the floor”

The room had grown dim, illuminated only by the faint blue on the projector screen. You blinked yourself awake from a half-asleep stupor as you realized the movie had come to a close. 

“Hey, are you still up?” you whispered groggily, noting his closed eyes and shallow breathing.

“Unfortunately yes.” His eyes peeled open begrudgingly.

“And you’re not working on anything?”

He seemed visibly more awake at that observation. “Huh. That is correct.”

“Hehe. I finally got you to be unproductive.” You poked his cheek jestingly, still lightheartedly.

“Yep. I concur - you got me.”

“And I finally got you to have a good time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You sat up, incredulous. Sure, it hadn’t been an eventful night by any regard, but it had surely been enjoyable.

“Just that all of the characters are stupid,” he elaborated with a gesticulation of his hands. “Just- all of them are total dum-dums.”

“Well, yeah,” you agreed with a shrug. “That love triangle was destined to fail from the start. They’re all horrible people and deserve everything they got.”

“And watching that is enjoyable for you?”

“Yeah, it just makes me appreciative of what we have.”

Donnie paused, reflected at that. “Huh. That’s… an incredibly introspective view.”

“So, you enjoyed the movie?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You could be dancing on tabletops

Wearing high-heels

Drinking until the world

Spins like a wheel

But tonight your apartment

Had so much appeal

Who needs stars?

We've got a roof

But there's nothing

Like doing nothing

With you”

Busy personalities beget busy schedules, and who would want to be anything but? If the choice is between being mundane or multifariously vibrant, isn’t the choice obvious?

Yet sometimes the hustle and bustle and pressure build up, workloads stack up, a devastating fatigue sets in. And the best thing to do together is absolutely nothing.

“No, there's nothing

Like doing nothing

With you”

[a-little-revolution]

Totally feel free to let me know if this has already been discussed already! But , in your personal opinion, do you think the dwarfism pride flag should have more contrasting colors? I love that there's finally a flag to represent the community and it looks great, but from far away it might just read as a single block of green.

The only reason i even mention it is because i remember that some edits were made to the original disability pride flag as well once it was pointed out that the zigzag pattern could be serizure/migraine inducing. Which was easy to do since the creator of that particular flag was on tumblr.

Do you know if the dwarfism pride flag creator uses tumblr as well?

Or do you think that maybe its lack of contrast (therefore lessened visibility from far aware or to low-sighted folks) isnt really a problem? I wasn't even sure if it was really an issue or not lol, but I figure i'd ask your opinion just for the heck of it.

Hello! For those who aren't familiar, the dwarfism pride flag (design by Jon Morato and Margo Drew) is as shown above, and more information on the flag can be found here!

Photo Description: the dwarfism pride flag hanging vertically over a plain white background. It includes multiple shades of lime green and yellow blocks in varying sizes put together to make a sort of brick-like pattern.

(Note that the following is only my own personal opinion of the flag, and not in any way a critique or offence against the creators!)

I do agree that I would enjoy the flag more if there were more contrasting colours, and that it would be more visually accessible if there were. I would also love to see a triangle of the disability pride flag incorporated in it, similar to the inclusive LGBTQIA+ flag. Additionally, I worry that the colour green representing dwarfism has the potential to reminding folks of leprechauns.

All this to say, though, I really enjoy having a dwarfism pride flag come into popularity! For a long time it was only the ribbon - which left me with an odd feeling since often ribbons are associated with conditions that we're aiming to cure (like cancer or other illnesses). I hope that our flag continues to grow and evolve as our community does!

[sunlightmurdock]

Safe Zone | 0.5 | Bradley Bradshaw and Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: A team of elite naval aviators holding down the fort at the North Island Air Base while they wait for reinforcements after a virus sweeps the continental U.S. - only, it’s been three months and no one has shown up.

Warnings: Warnings: gore, death, violence and pretty graphic mentions of all things zombie related, love triangle, (18+, minors dni), angst etc

…

Rooster checks his watch again. It’s a couple of minutes past eleven, you should be here by now. He’s standing on the inside of the front fence, waiting for you to turn up so that the two of you can start the shift.

The heat from earlier today lingers in the air, feeling heavy around him. It’s dark out and the temperature will start to drop any minute now, but it’s still hot enough at the moment that Rooster finds himself uncomfortable in the sweater he chose to wear.

This is arguably the most important post. Survivors and the dead turn up here regularly, it’s important to keep it manned at all times— this is not the kind of job that it’s okay to show up late to. He starts to doubt himself. Maybe he has given you too much leeway here. It’s still a job.

He’s technically your boss, he should have been more strict with you.

He glances down at his watch again.

A foot presses into the front of his shin, hands pressing into his back. Rooster yelps softly as he’s thrown forwards. He groans as he lands on his front unceremoniously, his chin hitting the tarmac. You grab his wrist and tuck his arm behind his back whilst he’s still stunned.

It’s twisted upwards uncomfortably. You rest your knee on his forearm to keep it there.

“What the fuck?”

“Say you’re sorry.” You tell him. Rooster grumbles, trying to wriggle out of your grasp. He’s a big guy, and you know he’s strong. If it came down to just lifting weights, he could certainly win this competition. But here, you’ve caught him off guard and used his weight against him, he has no leverage to throw you off of him. You push his arm further up towards his shoulder blade. He gasps.

“Fuck, ow - I’m sorry!” He cries out.

You release him and stand up. Rooster leaps to his feat, rubbing his shoulder, staring at you bewildered.

“What - what the fuck? - What am I sorry for?”

“You said I wouldn’t be able to take you.” You reply, shrugging softly.

Rooster’s lips part. He opens his mouth to argue, squeezing at the aching muscle in his shoulder. You smile sweetly at him, then pull yourself up onto the front wall platform. He stares after you.

He wonders if it’s weird that that made him even more attracted to you than he was before. He pulls himself up and rests his elbows on the railing, shaking his head.

“You fight dirty.” He comments - his tone doesn’t give away whether or not he feels upset about it. You stand at his side, giving a soft shrug of your shoulders.

“Dirty or not, knocked you on your ass, didn’t I?”

His lips quirk slightly. He nods his head, staring out at what used to be San Diego. It’s still weird seeing it so dark. Some of the lights were still on until last month, he guesses the grid went dead sometime recently.

Their generators will keep them going for at least another eight months before they even have to rely on the back up fuel.

“You did, you did.” He nods.

There’s a moment of quiet between you.

“But now that I know we’re playing dirty…” Rooster mumbles, giving a soft shrug of his shoulders. You chuckle quietly and move to sit. He watches your attention turn towards the skyline.

As much as Rooster still finds it odd to look out on the remnants of San Diego, he realises that this is your first time seeing the city for what it is now. Your old life is well and truly gone, faded into the darkness that’s out there now.

Rooster sits at your side, unsure of what to say. He allows you your moment of mourning.

“I can see my old apartment building from here.” You say finally.

He lifts his head and follows your gaze, “Really?”

“Mhm. Logan Heights.” You raise your arm and point towards your past. Rooster knows that neighbourhood well, he’s been around there a lot.

Sitting on post with Rooster is easy because he wants it to work. He wants you to like him. The conversation flows naturally and the night is quiet, everything goes like Rooster hoped it would. Finally, once your shift’s over, he tells you he’ll walk you home, like you both know he has been planning to do all night.

“You don’t have to walk me to my door, Rooster,” You scoff as you drop down from the ladder, turning to look up at him. “This wasn’t a date.”

Rooster crouches, then uses one hand to brace himself as he drops down after you. He straightens up and lifts his brows slightly, taking a few steps into your personal space, “It wasn’t?”

You stand firm, squaring your shoulders, lifting your chin as you shake your head. Practically taunting him.

“So I don’t get to kiss you goodbye, then, huh?” He asks softly, close enough that his hips almost press into yours. You look down at the fraction of space between the two of you, then back up at him. You don’t answer, leaving him to read the signals all by himself.

Half-sure that this is going to end with you tackling him again, Bradley leans forwards and presses his lips to yours, leaning his body into you. His arm tucks around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Chest to chest, you lift your chin, moving your lips against his.

Rooster’s arm tightens around you, he pulls you impossibly closer, his tongue grazing your bottom lip just slightly.

You pull back and look up at him, still held close against his warm frame. He watches your lips quirk up slightly into a soft smirk and almost sighs in relief.

“Alright. Goodnight.”

He releases you instantly and takes a step back to put some distance between you. He’s blushing a little. Maybe at the fact you wouldn’t let him deepen the kiss, or maybe at the fact that you let him kiss you at all.

“Goodnight.” Rooster agrees, though it’s nearing 4am. He stands in place and watches you walk back towards your block. Part of him hopes that you’ll glance back, but you don’t. He doesn’t mind, he still kissed you. You kissed him back.

He waits for Yale to show up and take over, then heads back to his room. After a quick shower, Bradley catches a couple of hours of sleep and wakes up in time for the noon meeting with Admiral Simpson and the senior staff.

Phoenix notices that Rooster’s chirpier than normal as they walk into the meeting room together, but she doesn’t question it. She’s already heard from Bob that Rooster’s got a crush on one of his new volunteers.

Everyone takes their seats.

Jake is well-rested but visibly less chirpy. He doesn’t like being benched because of a swollen eye. He feels better already but Admiral Simpson won’t let him do anything until Doctor Shaw signs him off as fit to work again, which won’t be for a few days.

Jake sits opposite Bradley and considers knocking that smug smile right off of his face. He’s growing tired of seeing it, knowing that his chances with you are growing slimmer every day.

Admiral Simpson begins the meeting with a couple of barked updates, then hands over to the team for any relevant information they might need to share.

“Sir,” There’s an uncharacteristic solemnity to the way that Mickey begins that draws attention from all corners of the room. Even with his swollen shut eye and his blurred vision under the fluorescent overhead lighting, Jake can see the fear on his friend’s face, the subtle gray undertone to his usually warm and tanned skin. “We lost contact with Oregon last night.”

There are three bases that have held out this long in Oregon state. They’re smaller, fewer survivors — significantly less supplies, but also a smaller surrounding population. Two Air Force, one Army. All three disappeared into radio silence overnight.

The room is silent as Fanboy explains. That’s the second state to disappear in a week. Washington before this, they stopped broadcasting four days ago. Rooster presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Their generators could’ve failed, there’s probably a reason for it. Jake’s more of a realist.

If there was an issue with the generators, the chances that it would’ve affected all three bases at once is borderline impossible. The North is gone. Jake accepts this fact in silence. He knows that it’s harder for his teammates to accept.

He sees the way that Bob fiddles with the gold band on his ring finger, blue eyes focused on the wood of the table, brows scrunched together in silent worry.

The meeting covers all of the usual bases. Supply intake, weekly reports from the squad on their staff and any incidents that occurred. Fanboy’s news lingers heavy in the room, it’s a short meeting, everyone heads their own way afterwards.

“Hey, Seresin!”

Jake turns as he slips his sunglasses onto his face at the same moment he is called. He turns his head, lips quirking slightly at the sight of you on the grass ridge outside of the staff quarters. You’re wearing a sundress, which he hasn’t ever seen you in before, a book in your lap. Smiling at him.

He turns away from his original path, choosing you instead.

“Is it really that bad or are you just trying to avoid working with me?” You ask. Jake stands before you from where you’re sitting. His form casts a shadow over you enough that you lower your arm, no longer needing to shield your eyes from the sun.

“If you miss me that much, ask your Mom to sign off on my paperwork and I’ll get back to bugging you.” Jake answers playfully, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You tilt your head. There’s a peek of deep purple bruising under the frame of the sunglasses. “Can I see how it looks?”

Jake nods, crouching down so that he’s at your level and taking the sunglasses off of his face. He expects you to gasp or wince. Instead, you stare at him calmly. His cheekbone looks tender, his eye even more so. It’s healing, though. Still, it looks painful.

You reach out and touch his jaw, avoiding his bruises all together. Jake stares at you, surprised by the touch, doing his best to put on a poker face as good as yours.

Truthfully, you know that you shouldn’t be touching him like this. It’s going to give him the wrong idea — he and Bradley are going to get in their heads about all their masculine bravado, and really neither one of them is going to get you. You shouldn’t lead them on.

You know guys like Jake. You have dated guys like Jake. Hard shell, gooey centre. You know there’s a softness in there somewhere. The way his eyes study your face as you stroke at his jaw tells you that there is. But, that hard shell always gets them into trouble. It’s never worth it.

Still, something draws you to him in a very different way than you’re drawn to Bradley.

Bradley’s upfront and outgoing. He’s told you he wants you before and you know he would happily tell you again if you needed any kind of reassurance on the matter. He’s warm, but you know there’s a part of him you’re not seeing just yet.

With Jake, in an odd way, you find yourself a little bit more comfortable.

His guard is very much still up. He knows that you’re sneaky; he’s half-expecting you to go for his keys or something right now. Knowing that you’re both keeping your secrets, it’s enough for you to trust his judgment, if nothing else about him.

“So, you can’t come back to work until my Mom says so?” You ask, brushing your index and middle fingers along the sharp curve of his defined jaw, feeling the beginning of stubble starting to grow.

Jake nods his head calmly.

You lean closer to him, Jake brings himself slightly forwards to give you easier access. He considers if you’re going to kiss him, out here in front of all of these people, or if it would be more like you to pull a knife on him. His jugular is exposed to you anyway.

He smells good. Almost intoxicatingly good, the closer you get. You trail your fingers along his skin, he feels your touch grow featherlight as you ghost over his bruised cheekbone. Jake doesn’t flinch in the slightest.

You aren’t sure if it’s because he trusts you not to hurt him, or because he knows that he could handle himself if you tried.

“Well,” You’re able to speak more softly now that you’re this close to him. Jake likes the sound of your voice when you speak gently like that. You brush your fingertips delicately over his swollen cheekbone. “Then, I’ll see you at work tomorrow morning.”

Jake’s lips quirk slightly. Maybe you do like him after all.

“It’s a date.” Jake agrees. If he had two functioning eyes, maybe he would have winked. You almost smile at him. Jake stands upright, nodding his head politely, “Enjoy your book.”

You watch him walk away and know that he’d like to look back at you. To confirm that was real and that it just happened. You pick your book back up and turn your attention towards the pages, giving him the courtesy of being able to take that single glance back over his shoulder.

…

@momc95 @shawnsblue @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @zbeez-outlet @harper1666 @abaker74 @xhangmanlover @xoxabs88xox @cowboybarbie @ohtobeleah @top-gun-rooster @blue-aconite @laracrofted @bioodforbiood

[txemrn]

Déjà Vu

Chapter 2

New? Check out the first chapter HERE! (Go ahead; you're not late. Sure, we can wait.)

Series Summary: After an unforgettable night with a stranger, Princess Eleanor finds herself caught in a secret love triangle between a noble and a commoner.

Chapter Summary: Drake attends dinner at the palace, and even though some things will never change, he discovers quickly everyone has moved on without him.

Pairing(s): Liam x Riley; Bertrand x Savannah; Maxwell x m!OC; Olivia x Amalas

Word Count: ~4885

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only 🔞 language (like, a lot); references to infidelity, pregnancy; teasing/bullying

A/N: Welcome to my Crack Fic! If you are new, hi! Thank you for joining us! This story takes place approximately 2 decades after TRR/TRH. I have made some canonical changes (they will be mentioned). Characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry! This was not Beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Drake

The gentle purr of the engine beneath my grip of the steering wheel shoots pleasurable waves of pure octane ecstasy. My nerves ignite with palpable electricity, coursing through my every cell. The cream leather interior is like butter against my skin, and the scent of luxury leaves me completely intoxicated.

Lucky little shit.  

I still can't believe my nephew–my fucking nephew–owns this beauty. How many twenty-four-year-olds own an Aston Martin Vantage convertible? I wish I could give him more shit about it, coming from such privilege as being the oldest son of a duke, but Bartie has more than earned it. 

He may not have exactly been planned, but he was the answer, and essentially the savior, of Ramsford. Back when I lived in this God-forsaken country, some twenty-odd years ago, Ramsford was in financial ruin. My brother-in-law, Bertrand, Bartie's father, scraped, scrapped and pinched every monetary morsel to keep them afloat for years.

Then along came Bartie: finished the top of his class at some preppy private institute at Stormholt with a degree in finance, and in just three fucking years of working with his dad… well, that little shit has an Aston. 

I'm actually very proud of him. Surely he knows that. We weren't much for talking over the years, but I'd send cards telling him I loved him, and I'd ask about him during video calls with my sister.

Judging that I am sitting in his custom-painted cherry-red luxury car right now? Yeah, Bartie knows I care the world about him. The fact that he's going to allow me to drive it? Fuck, I don't think I even trust myself, especially on these European roadways. Sure, I learned how to drive in Cordonia, but that was over two decades ago. And it wasn't a stickshift.

Can't be that hard, right?

I study the mechanism of the gear shift, comparing it to a quick Google search on my phone as I wait for my nephew to return to the car with a necktie–my suggestion.  Afterall, we're heading to dinner with the royal family… A.K.A. my childhood best friend, his daughter. And his wife.

The love of my life.

Eh, don't feel sorry for me. I'm over it. Seriously. And besides, technically, Liam had first dibs on her; but then again, he had first dibs on several other women at the exact same time, social season and all for his highness, the fucking crown prince of Cordonia. Whoop-de-do.

He's the one that asked me to look after his hot American suitor during his own personal season of The Bachelor. Are you really surprised I fell for the chick? The guy was never around. And Riley and me? She... she was fun, smart. She was fucking hilarious, gave those noble bitches a real run for their money. And yet, she was still kind and caring. She was easy to talk to; I found myself opening up to her in ways that… well, no one else could. 

Riley Brooks. I guess you could say she's the reason I never settled down with anyone. No one–and I mean no one–ever measured up. 

Oh well. That was a long time ago. And she made her decision. Him. And even though he was like the brother I never had, I… I couldn't. I just couldn't sit back and watch them play house and build a life together. Well, for Liam, it was real. 

I had fallen for her. But so had Liam. I knew that if I stayed–if I had stayed, the secret of Riley and me wouldn't end. Shit, if it didn’t end after they said, "I do," when would it?

Time heals all wounds, right?

Bartie opens the door, and slides into the passenger seat with two neckties in hand, both black as he holds them up to his crisp white oxford. "What do you think?"

"Think about what? The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? You look like a fucking mormon," I jest as I point to the one with a subtle matte paisley design. "Why are you fussing about this anyway?"

"Just cause," he passively offers as he stares in the visor mirror, knotting his tie. "I'm speaking with King Liam privately after dinner, and… well, I just want to look alright."

Sensing his raw nerves, I pause for a moment, watching him fidget anxiously with the garment. Jesus, when did my baby nephew become a fucking man?  I smile, placing my calloused fingers on his shoulder. "You do, kid." I fasten my seat belt as I turn my attention to the dash. "So, how do I put this thing into drive?"

------

It’s surreal walking into the palace after so many years away. White marble floors. Crimson curtains with gold accents.  Childhood memories flood my mind of our sword battles on the grand staircase, pretending to be blood-thirsty pirates. Or when we would gallop through the secret labyrinth of corridors deep within the estate, charging on our make-believe stallions like mighty Spanish conquistadors. 

We would always sneak to the kitchen between meals to taste the desserts being made for dinner–unless Ms. Marta was working. That fucking old hag. Most of my ass whoopings were from her tattling on us. 

Liam was a fucking weirdo on our kitchen raids.  We would slip through the window of the bakehouse, and when we would confirm that the coast was clear, he would always head straight for the pantry to a bag of pistachios. We're talking about a place that had every sweet, every chocolate, every cookie imaginable, readily available in sealed containers. And he chose nuts. 

I always had my eyes on a nightly staple in the palace: warm apple pie. They were made daily, and I could always find at least one cooling on the window sill. 

Fuck, now I'm salivating over a fucking pie.  

To this day, I humbly have to admit that Cordonia apple pies are the best–don't let the taste of a raw ruby fool you. Something about the bitter compounds reaching a certain temperature causes… something-something to do something… ah, hell. Tell you what. If you're that curious, ask Liam. I mean, I'm assuming he's still a nerd–

"Drake!" 

I startle at the greeting, instantly recognizing the tall, broad-shouldered blond striding closer to me, wearing… an apron? The fuck? The apron has the phrase, 'I love you a bushel and a peck'.

Oh, yeah. He's still a fucking dweeb. 

His outstretched hand takes mine as he shakes it before pulling me into an embrace. "It's so good to see you, old friend," he pats my back before standing back to take me in.

He looks so different, but undoubtedly, he still looks like Liam Rys. Stray pieces of silver litter his perfectly styled, perfectly placed waves. His strong jawline and high cheekbones were cut more razor-sharp by his more mature, thinned face. His strong chest and the swell of his biceps made him look like a fucking Greek god. Lucky bastard. It's like turning forty didn't wreak havoc on his appearance or metabolism, save for a few fine lines around his eyes and smile.

"Bartie," Liam smiles endearingly, "always a pleasure." He extends his arm to my nephew before the scared kid had a chance to bow. I could see the flood of panic in Bartie’s eyes, but I gave him a reassuring nod as he hesitantly took his majesty's hand.

Don't worry, kid. I won't tell your daddy about your ‘poor manners’.

"Please," Liam rests his hand on my shoulder while turning to guide us to the queen's hall, the largest dining area in the palace for private parties. The room boasted an impressive, custom eight-meter-long table that could easily fit twenty-five guests comfortably. "Come, come. Everyone is just being seated." We follow him down the east corridor when suddenly, the savory aroma of roast and… something garlicky teases my senses. Liam obviously caught the delicious waft too, turning back with a devious grin. "I hope you brought some hearty appetites. Riley and I have something special for you tonight."

Riley. Why does the mere mention of her name make me–shit. Get it together, Walker. You're over it.

As expected, my closest friends during my time in Cordonia are all present along with their families. Well, 'friends' might be too strong of a word to use on this crowd. They were nobles and friends of Liam. I was friends with Liam. Ergo, we were friends. Sorta. 

My sister Savannah and her husband Bertrand were sitting at the end towards my right, speaking in hushed tones to one another. They came separately from Bartie and myself from their estate since, well, there wasn't enough room for them and the triplets. Yes. You read right. Triplets. As in three babies at once. They had tried for years to have more children with sadly no avail, and it took a terrible toll on their marriage. I still remember Sav's tearful call five years ago, revealing to me that they were separating. I was preparing to hop on a plane to execute my brother-in-law's accidental demise for breaking my little sister's heart when I got a second call a few weeks later. They were pregnant. I got a call a week after that. I had three nieces on the way.  Sydnie, Stella and Simone: the cutest little shits you've ever seen… and not just because they have their uncle's dashing good looks. 

I'm talking about me, their uncle. Not their other uncle.

Maxwell Beaumont–said other uncle– was sitting next to his brother Bertrand. He officially married Baron Friedrich von Lehndorff twelve years ago when Cordonia overturned their marriage clause of traditional unions. One hundred forty-eight same-gender couples came forward that day to be legally married; Max and Rich led the way to the Capitol. They became a beacon of light and love, not just for Cordonia, but to the world. I remember reading about their march for equality and their victory in my local paper. Maxwell and I weren't necessarily best friends, but a sense of pride bloomed in my chest, seeing him do something so incredible and bold with his life.  

He and Rich have a 9-year-old daughter Gia and 4-year-old son Ollie, both adopted from South Korea. Don't tell them I told you, but I follow their TikTok. Those two are fucking adorable.

Across from the Beaumont-von Lehndorffs is the Scarlet Duchess herself. Olivia Nevrakis. And… I almost can't believe the sight myself–

"Hey, Walker!" She waves, a smile growing on her face.

What. The. Fuck. Was she… happy to see me?

She stands up and makes her way around the table of guests to greet me. 

With a hug.

Shock number two: she’s touching me in a friendly manner. But that's when I was hit with shock number three.

Is she? No, no… she can't be. Is that a–?

She must've seen the curiosity etching across my face as I stared down at a rounded abdomen that just pressed up against me during our embrace. She instinctively cradles her belly and giggles.

Giggles. 

Was I in the Twilight Zone?

She married Amalas a few years after I moved away. I wasn't surprised; the few times Livvy and I hooked up felt odd, like something was missing. I mean, not that I didn't satisfy her. That was never a problem for me with women. Turns out, ol' red was looking for a queen. 

Together they serve as queen and queen consort of Monterisso, and apparently are known for creating quite a riot at international events. I'm not surprised. They have four children: Macaela–Amalas’s daughter with her late husband–Josefine, Joaquin, and Joseph.  And then baby Timothy will be joining them soon. Because that name makes sense.

I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious. It's been over twenty years, and everyone seems to have grown up. Had families. Changed the world. And what did I have to show? Nothing. I mean, I did have quite a successful construction company that I developed with almost seventy employees under my leadership, but… well, that went under thanks to my business partner fucking me over. Fucking twat-waffle. 

But is this really what my life comes down to? Is this how you would sum up my life? Compared to childhood friends, I was still nothing. And here I was again on the coattails of Liam.

An abrupt delicate tink to a wine glass echoes over the various conversations and children squealing, silencing everyone as we turn our attention to the head of the table. 

And there she was. Just as breathtaking as the last day that I saw her.

"Drake," she gasps as I pull her into the dark shadows behind the barn. "We can't. Not anymore." 

I shake my head, her eyes refusing to meet mine. I took a step towards her, but she instinctively shifts, her back pressing against the wall.

"Brooks–"

"Rys," she interjects, the correction like a serrated blade piercing my skin. A sob escapes her as rivers course down the planes of her velvet skin.

Placing my arm against the splintered wood next to her head, I lean closer to her, capturing her intoxicating scent. My hand slips up her neck, my fingers tenderly lifting her chin to look at me, to captivate me with those ocean eyes.

My thumb caresses her rosy lips, feeling her breath hitch. I flutter my mouth across her wet cheeks, my feather touch kissing away her tears.

But we suddenly freeze.

"Riley?"

Liam's smooth voice carries over the moonlit pasture, drowning out our abilities to hear the bustle of the reception.

"Riley…Don't–"

But it's too late. Before I could stop her, she was gone.

I blink. Casually shifting in my seat, I glance nonchalantly around me. Whew, everyone is still staring at the head of the table. No one seems to notice that I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.  I nervously scratch through my stubble before grabbing the water glass in front of me. I take a longass sip of water, but when I pull the glass from my mouth, two crystal-blue orbs with long, flirty lashes are locked on me.

Fuck, I choke on the water on my attempt to swallow it down. I start coughing violently as Maxwell starts patting my back.

"You okay there, Drakey?"

I finally take a gulp of air, and glare at him. "Yes… and it's Drake, Maxi pad." Okay. I admit it. It was childish to retaliate by calling him the name me and some of the other guys called Maxwell growing up. But to my surprise, he laughs before finger-gunning me.

"Good one, Drake. I haven't heard that in years."

I turn back to our royal hosts just in time for Liam to give me a friendly nod, as if to ensure that I'm okay without creating more of a scene. But when I glance over at Riley, she quickly averts her eyes, slipping her hand into Liam's. 

Jesus Christ. If that was a sign of how things were going to be, her cowering and treating me like I'm some kind of criminal for something she did willingly… something she pursued… fuck that. Send me back to Texas.

"We brought wine!" Rich singsongs, pulling out two large bottles from a nearby refrigerated wine rack. "Who'd like–?"

I refused to let the poor bastard finish.

"Me."

------

I can't remember a single time in my life where I have been so positively and exuberantly grateful for Maxwell fucking Beaumont. He fended off the anticipated awkwardness and helped the dinner conversation progress, making the casual assist to include me in this special meal that was supposedly in my honor. 

I'm not saying the others were rude to me, Liam especially. He was treating me like a long lost brother, like the prodigal son that has finally returned home. And I'm not going to lie: it felt good to be reunited with him.

But Riley couldn't even look me in the eye, and judging by the flashes of guilt and her over-eagerness to leave the room every chance she got, I know she never told her husband the truth about our relationship.  He had his suspicions. And I owned up to falling for her, thus the ending of our friendship and me moving to Texas. I mean, I thought it was the end…

But, I didn't just fall for her; it wasn't pining for her from afar, hoping she would give me the time of day.

We were in love.

"This was absolutely divine," Savannah sings praises, taking a sip of her tea. Everyone begins chiming in with their sentiments, thanking the royal couple for the delicious meal. Yes, they prepared it. I know; I was impressed myself.

Individual conversations continue through dessert and coffee when suddenly, the ring of a phone interrupts us into silence.

"Excuse me," Amalas whispers with the phone against her ear, "I need to take this. It's Josie."

Liam and Riley flash looks of concern at one another. "I hope everything is okay," Riley says softly as she twirls her necklace between her fingers, turning to her husband with a more hushed tone. "Did Ellie text you?"

Liam is already looking at his phone, but he's casually shaking his head, appearing more relaxed than his wife. His gaze catches my curious look as I try to put the pieces together of what's going on this evening.

"Josie–err, Josefine–is out with our Eleanor and Madeleine's daughter Bethany this evening." 

Ah, that's right… Josefine must go by Josie, Amalas’s second daughter, her first daughter with Olivia. Shit, I can’t keep these spawn straight….

"Crisis averted!" Amalas sweeps back into the room, placing her cell into her pocket. "The girls said the restaurant was too crowded, so they're going over to the Vancoeur's for a–" she imitates an American valley girl, "girls' night."

"Vancoeur?" I mutter, turning to Maxwell. "Did he… reproduce, too?" The idea sounded ridiculous. What woman lowered her standards that low to sleep with that bastard?

"Yep," Maxwell responds, "he has a beautiful daughter." He takes an obnoxious sip of his espresso. "You know, Bethany, the girl that's out with Eleanor and Josie."

No. Fucking. Way.

"I thought Beth was Madeleine's kid?"

"It is." Maxwell chuckles as mischief glows in his eyes. "Oh Drakey, you missed it. Maddie and Neville were actually married for about ten years." Pulling a napkin up to his mouth, he lowers his voice. "Rumor has it she was about to lose what was left of her inheritance, slept with that weasel, then faked a pregnancy to get him to propose." He snickers. "I wish I could've been a fly on the wall when her fake pregnancy turned out to be a real pregnancy."

"What the–?"

"Mhrmm," Maxwell bounces his eyebrows, "she claims she had no idea." He stares at me intently before rolling his eyes and gesturing with his hand a dramatically large curve over his stomach. “Agnes, my seamstress–can you believe she’s still working for us? Well, anyway, that woman can work absolute miracles…” He takes another sip of his drink.  He quiets his voice while he averts his eyes, slowly crossing his legs. “There was no hiding that bump.”

I shake my head in disbelief, chuckling under my breath when suddenly, I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I whip around quickly, pulling my body away, when I see–

"Shit, Li–"

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he offers a friendly smile.

I blow away the air I had quickly sucked in, willing my heartbeat to slow down. I guess I'm still a little on edge being here, but fuck, that scared me.

"I thought before you left tonight, we could discuss, um… arrangements. For you."

"Yeah… yeah, of course." Following his lead, we start to make our way to the exit for privacy.

When Liam invited me to Cordonia, he was very specific that he wanted to help me get back on my feet. And I believe him. I know his generosity is genuine; he doesn't have any ulterior motives or some secret vendetta against me from the past. At least I hope he doesn't. But this isn't a vacation for me; part of the deal was I needed to work. I'm not sure if that meant finding temp jobs or something more long-term. 

“Do I smell imported cheap whiskey?”

I stop short of the door.

Fuck me. Leo Rys. Liam’s older brother and notorious international womanizer. The man just turned fifty last year, and it’s like he unlocked a new group of admirers, especially now that he’s sportin’ a little silver around the edges these days. 

He and Liam are complete polar opposites. Apples and oranges. Night and day. If Liam was thoughtful and selfless… well, you get the gist. And clearly by his entrance, I’m discovering that some things never change.

As if his deep bellow wasn’t warning enough, his black leather boots announce his presence as he struts across the polished tile, his arm hooked around his helmet. He slaps his free hand on my shoulder, squeezing it firmly as he obnoxiously sniffs me.

"Cheap whiskey… and… is that a hint of beef jerky and cow patties I'm detecting?"

"Good to see you, too." Jackass. I slap his chest before pushing him off of me. I may have used a little more force than I should've. My bad. 

"Am I late for dinner?" He slaps Liam on the back before walking towards the kitchen.

Liam sighs. "Just… a little–"

"Ahh, don't worry," he stops to kiss Riley on the cheek. "I'll serve myself."

As Leo disappears, Liam and I give each other a knowing look before leaving the room as well.

------

"Trust me, you're going to love what Riley has done with the guest quarters."

Liam and I had a good talk. A really good talk. We didn't have to say it, but it was clear: we missed each other. We missed our camaraderie, the confidence we had in one another. He was the first person I called when Dad died; I was the first person he called when Leo abdicated. We grew up and became men together.

But then Riley Brooks happened… but, I'm guessing you know that by now.

Liam has already a number of jobs for me to sift through, several carefully picked out that would play to my strengths with architecture and construction. But since these jobs were either on the grounds or here locally in the Capitol, he insisted I move into one of the private guest quarters with its own private entrance and balcony.

'You don't need to be making that drive from Ramsford everyday.' He's right. It's quite the journey, not to mention I don't exactly have a vehicle of my own here. So, I'm back in the palace. Ain't life a bitch?

"Now I hope you don't mind all-electric. The gas lines and how they were designed don’t–"

"Beggars can't be choosers, love."

Her words are like ice, the sharp chill making even her husband shudder. 

"Riley–"

"What?" She giggles under her breath. "I was joking." She turns a venomous stare towards me. "Drake knows I'm kidding. Don't you, Drake?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah," I play along, "good one."

"Love?" She slips her hand around Liam's arm, lowering her voice into a whisper. "Bartie Beaumont has requested to speak with you privately."

"Oh!" Liam brightens. "Sure. Of course." He gives me a pleasant nod. "Excuse me, Drake. And, please. Feel free to look around."  He begins to make his way towards the dining area, Riley following in step behind with no acknowledgement to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I needed a moment to myself anyway.

"Actually," Liam turns on his heel, waving a finger in the air. "On second thought, Love?" He smiles lovingly towards Riley, placing his hands affectionately on her shoulders. "How about you go show Drake the renovations you made?"

Shit.

------

Riley barely spoke two words to me besides pointing to the obvious fixtures and control buttons in the guest suite.

Light... Refrigerator… Bathroom… 

"This, uh, looks really nice," I try to converse, combing my fingers through my hair. "I never thought I'd see the day this room would have a–"

"We don't have to do this." She walks out of the room and into another part of the suite.

Why was she being such a frigid bitch? 

Fuck, I need a smoke.

I take a deep breath, shoving my hands in my pockets as I stroll back out into the hallway of the apartment.

"Is there anything else you needed to see?" She swallows thickly. She tries to remain stoic with a stiff bottom lip. Her jaw ticks… but her glare betrays her as something else brews that I … can’t quite discern.

But then, without warning, Riley's eyes roam down my body, catching on the crotch of my khakis before returning to my face.

Eyes up here, your majesty.

She clears her throat, pretending I didn't just catch her checking me out. "Um, anything else you wanted to see… of the suite, that is? Because, uh, we should probably –" she shuffles backwards, pointing aimlessly behind her, towards the door.

"You go on ahead," I tell her. "I'm gonna check out the balcony if you don't mind."

A heated swirl of rouge ignites on Riley’s cheeks. She nods, turning on her heel quickly without saying a word, and exits the apartment in record time. 

Thank God. I don't know what just happened, but… this is a very interesting turn of events. Does she still have feelings for me?

No. Stop.

Shit. Maybe moving in is a mistake.

I make my way outside, and damn. The view from this balcony is stunning. It actually overlooks the Cordonia countryside, which means less lights from the city and plenty of stars to be seen at night. It's... actually a nice reminder of home.

Taking a seat on the balustrade, I pull out a cigarette and nestle it between my teeth as I search for my lighter. I pat my pockets, both in the back and front of my pants before checking my shirt.

Shit. Can the universe just pass me a fucking bone?

I slump over, resting my elbows on my knees. Holding my hands in front of me, I begin to pick at my calluses as the events of the evening replay like a movie reel in my head.

But suddenly, there's a snick, then a spark; then a single flame is held in front of me. Fishing my cigarette out from behind my ear, I fix it between my lips and lean into the fire. I pull heavily, deeply until the familiar burn touches my anxious nerves, and I blow away my initial puff.

"You know smoking can kill you."

I raise an eyebrow at the deep voice, taking another inhale before blowing it in Leo's face.

"Malaka."

I chuckle at his insult, watching that smug grin pull out his own cigarette to light. He leans against the side of the balcony before hoisting himself up onto the balustrade.

"So," he licks his lips, looking at me inquisitively. "How does it feel to be back in lovely Cordonia?"

I look at him, scrunching my face. Really? That's the best you can do? I look back down, flicking some ash on the ground.

"How does it feel–" he blows smoke over his shoulder, "--being back close to Riley?"

My head shot up.

"Ohhh," he snickers, "that got Walker's attention really fast."

How the fuck does Leo know? How the fuck does Leo know anything? I can feel my heart begin to pound, my eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"Now hold up, Walker," he holds up his hands in defense. "I come in peace. I don't care that you fucked my sister-in-law once upon a time… okay, fine. Maybe just a little–"

"What do you want, Leo?"  I interrupt, irritation baited in my voice.

He looks down fidgeting with his fingers.  When he turns back to me, he has an indiscernible expression on his face, as if a wave of vulnerability is crashing over him.

"I know it can be… challenging, you know? Moving back to Cordonia after a hiatus, and I figured tonight was probably a lot for you."

And now Leo is trying to have a heart-to-heart with me… What the fuck happened to these people while I was gone?

"I thought maybe… you could use a friend."

"Well," I stand up, taking a step away. "Thanks. I appreciate it–"

"I mean it," he holds a hand to his chest. "Say–" he jumps to his feet, sandwiching himself between me and the door. "What are you doing tonight?"

Besides leading the exciting life of letting my nephew drive me back to his parent's house, eating a bag of Doritos in my boxers and getting shit-faced?

"There's a new club opening in town tonight. Tons of people. Who's who. VIP–" 

"Thanks, but–"  I try to shove past him, but he stops me, putting his hands against my chest.

"Six full bars, and–" he wiggles his eyebrows. "Lots… and lots… of fresh Cordonian-grade pussy. How do you like them apples?"

Like I said, some things never change.

"C’mon, Walker… you in?"

~🖤~

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------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

[ya-world-challenge]

Book Review: The Conqueror's Saga by Kiersten White (🇷🇴  Romania)

[image 1: book trilogy covers: And I Darken, Now I Rise, Bright We Burn. On each cover a spear slashes through an object: a flower, a necklace, a pomegranate; image 2: map showing modern Romania; image 3: the view from Poenari castle in Romania - the walls of a stone fortress drop away to a steep mountainous landscape covered in green; source: wikimedia]

And I Darken; Now I Rise; Bright We Burn

Author: Kiersten White

YA World Challenge for 🇷🇴 Romania

I've seen some criticism of this series by Romanian reviewers, one of which is Lada's name (which I agree is odd), and others that are to be expected when you take a national hero (Vlad the Impaler), gender-flip him, and write him in love with the leader of an empire that oppressed your nation for centuries. So it's important to acknowledge this series as pure fiction. It did have me flipping through Wikipedias of the the real historical characters mentioned, many of whom I had never learned about before.

While much of the series (1 and 2 especially) take place in the Ottoman Empire (modern Turkey), the series follows the point of view of two siblings from Wallachia, a historical region of the modern state of Romania.

Review

Lada and her brother Radu are left as hostages of the Ottoman Empire as children to keep their father "loyal" as a vassal. I loved Lada's character from the beginning: strong-willed, possessive, brutal even as a child, and "ugly". The character-building was expert and the way the author weaves relationships and motivations in a complex tapestry, against a backdrop of a rich world.

And I Darken builds the siblings' relationship with the future sultan Mehmed, setting up that messy love triangle, and a scheme to get Mehmed on the throne. While Radu falls for Islam, Lada is never not wholly dedicated to Wallachia.

With Now I Rise, oh lord, the gay angst!... dear Radu. With Lada gone off to find support for her kingdom, Radu is left with his angst. We see the battle of Constantinople, and interconnected politics around Eastern Europe as Lada raises her army and searches for allies.

Bright We Burn, and Lada is ready to go full-on Impaler. The action was great, until... the entire climax and ending. I felt the finale really cheated Lada and did not serve her character. I didn't feel that book 3 lived up to its title. (And god, what a cringe epilogue!)

I have such mixed feelings about this series because it is incredibly well-written and engaging throughout, with an epic world and depth of character. But I dislike the ending the more I think about it. Without spoilers, I can just say that I think the whole feminist theme built up through the book fell apart in the end.

Books 1-2 I would have rated 4.5 stars, but Book 3 ultimately pulled the rating down.

Other reps: #muslim #gay #m/f #lesbian side characters #orthodox christian

Genres: #alternate history #drama #romance #adventure #war

★  ★  ★    3 stars

SPOILER rant under the cut:

In Book 2, the gunpowder lady said something to Radu - that Lada would be the type to go out with fire. With a title called Bright We Burn, I fully expected to see Lada going down as brightly and destructively as a meteorite, taking herself out with everything. What a disappointment.

The ending and Lada's forced 'submission' to Radu, by him taking away every last thing she had, under the guise of *compassion*, quite rankled me. It took away all the independence of her character that the series had built up from the beginning, and replaced it with nothing.

And. The. Kid. That epilogue. No, just no. I hate that such a promising series had to end with the cisheteronormative notion that "you must bear progeny to have a legacy". Fuck that. It completely threw away everything that Lada was just to have this "oh cute she acts like her mother" moment. 🤮 That and Radu vandalizing the church floor with his weak, misogynist scratchings.

It could have been so much better.

[sturniolotwist]

brother games

sturniolo triplets au

warnings: angst, mentions of violence

---

The arena was eerily silent, the air thick with tension. The Sturniolo Triplets—Matt, Chris, and Nick—stood in a rough triangle, each covered in dirt and blood, their faces etched with exhaustion and determination. They had survived against all odds, outlasting the other tributes, but now they faced an unthinkable choice: only one of them could win the Hunger Games.

Matt, the eldest by mere minutes, looked at his brothers, his heart heavy. They had always been inseparable, supporting each other through thick and thin. The thought of turning against them now was almost unbearable.

Chris, ever the optimist, tried to force a smile despite the gravity of the situation. "We made it this far together. That's something, right?"

Nick nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Yeah, but what now? We can't all win."

The Capitol's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, reminding them that only one victor could be crowned. The weight of that reality pressed down on them, making the air seem even heavier.

Matt took a deep breath, stepping forward. "Guys, listen. We knew this moment would come. We've always been stronger together, but we have to face this."

Chris shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "I can't do it, Matt. I can't fight you. I can't fight Nick."

Nick clenched his fists, trying to hold back his emotions. "This isn't fair. We've fought so hard, and now they want us to tear each other apart."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sounds being the distant calls of birds and the rustling of leaves. Then Matt spoke again, his voice steady but filled with pain.

"I have an idea," he said, looking at his brothers with determination. "What if we refuse to play their game? If we all stand down, they can't make us fight. They need a victor, but maybe we can show them that they can't break us."

Chris and Nick exchanged glances, understanding what Matt was suggesting. It was a risky move, but it was their only chance to defy the Capitol and stay true to each other.

Nick stepped forward, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder. "I'm with you, Matt. No matter what happens, we stick together."

Chris nodded, joining his brothers. "Together."

The three of them stood side by side, facing the cameras that broadcast their every move to the Capitol and the districts. They dropped their weapons, holding each other's hands tightly.

"We refuse to fight," Matt declared, his voice strong. "We won't give you the satisfaction of watching us destroy each other."

For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing but silence. Then, the voice of the Capitol crackled through the loudspeakers once more, filled with frustration and disbelief.

"Very well," the voice said, begrudgingly. "For the first time in the history of the Hunger Games, we declare three victors."

The relief was overwhelming. The triplets hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces. They had defied the Capitol, choosing love and loyalty over violence and death.

As they were lifted from the arena, the cheers of the crowd echoed in their ears. They had not only survived the Hunger Games, but they had also shown the world that even in the darkest of times, unity and love could prevail.

Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that they had each other's backs. The Sturniolo Triplets had proven that they were not just survivors, but champions in the truest sense of the word.

[agnesandhilda]

okay I finally have some time to break down the parts of your newest chapter that I had the most thoughts on

But he didn’t expect the mountain of stuffed animals on the second bed, and he didn’t expect the bookshelf overflowing with worn-out fantasy novels at its foot either

<- I loved this detail! it communicates who isagi's mystery roommate is so succinctly. and btw I am eager to see how ness and isagi get along when they're forced into close proximity with each other. I believe they're both able to behave decently well when they're not on the field, but there's nothing that'll put two people at odds faster than sharing a space. do they have different domestic habits that get on each other's nerves? I feel like isagi is much less tidy than ness somehow

also of course ness is the kind of person to have a bed covered in stuffed animals. he's sanrio girl coded... for better or for worse

But he should have known there would be a lone mirror next to the empty one; only a few people would be so eager to see themselves first thing in the morning. When Isagi set his bag down on his own side of the room, he wondered how well the cleaners washed the sheets after Michael Kaiser left.

<- AGONIZING LINE. I feel like the isakainess relationship you're setting up here puts all of three of them in this triangle dynamic whether they're physically together or not, and this is a delicious way to lean into isagi and kaiser as narrative foils. isagi supplanted kaiser as a player in the pxg game and now that he's been formally recruited to basmün he has literally taken his place. and there is no WAY that isagi filling in the lead striker role kaiser previously had isn't going to be surreal and uncomfortable, not to mention living in his "tomb," so to speak. kaiser is haunting the narrative and he's not even dead and I love it. also I guess this means that isagi and kaiser have technically shared a bed now? lol

“Uh.. Ich… go Sie… sagen Abendessen?” Isagi pointed to an imaginary watch on his wrist and pushed the air to mime the word “later”. 

Ness shook his head and got up. He closed in on Isagi, their hair close enough to brush against each other. Isagi’s breath faltered for a moment, and he cursed himself. Did he really let a height difference of an inch or two affect him this much? Ness’s fingers grazed Isagi’s cheek as he reached for Isagi’s earbud and took it off. His lips curled into a small, almost mocking smile. 

“Konzentrieren Sie sich lieber erst einmal auf Englisch, Yoichi.”

“What?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Exactly,” Ness said in English. He shoved the bud back into Isagi’s ear and pushed him toward the door. “Tell Grim he owes me for ruining my favourite shirt.” 

<- this doesn't just apply to these lines exclusively but thank GOD you considered the logistics of the translator earbuds those things haunt my every waking hour. they can't possibly be wearing them all the time. no one would want to be wearing them all the time. and for the kind of relationship development you're aiming for here it's really bad if your leads' ability to communicate is predicated on something that can run out of battery. the little asides to isagi and the other basmün players taking out and putting in their earbuds when they need to are realistic and refreshing.

and ness taking isagi's earbuds out and talking to him in german is such a rude, overly-physical (don't think I didn't notice him getting all up in isagi's face like every other homoerotically obsessed rival character in this manga) way of illustrating the issue. it's bitchy. it's fun. he would totally say that.

“I was never close with the rest of you either, but you still know my name.” 

“Yes, but you’re Yoichi Isagi. We would have had to be asleep to not have noticed you.” 

“Kaiser and Ness cursed your name every night.” Benedict Grim pushed his long locks over his shoulder to focus better on the Pac-Man machine in front of himself. 

<- ...cursed his name every night? I mean, I'd believe it, but that's a pretty charged way of describing it. this makes me interested in how the regular basmün players, who tbh start falling off the face of the earth pretty soon after their introduction, perceive isakainess (here and in canon). did they notice kaiser's weird rival-watching sessions in the av room? were any of them brave enough to say anything about it?

as a general note I'm happy you included basmün players besides ness and kaiser. I have nothing against fics that focus solely on their main pairings but the ensemble cast you've got going here makes their world feel bigger and more real. also I desperately want one of them to have a live slug reaction moment at whatever isakainess has going on later.

His hair was about the same length it had been before he joined Bastard Munchen. His dye was faded. If his limbs had lost all their definition, Kaiser’s face had become too defined—he could almost see where his eye sockets ended and where his cheekbones began. Though he lost access to his make up a long time ago, the corners of his eyes were still red.

<- how long has it been since kaiser's hospitalization? when he mentioned losing muscle mass in his legs I initially hoped he was catastrophizing, because even if I love to see kaiser upset (and I do! a lot) I draw the line there for some reason, but his hair having grown out indicates it's been months at least. and there's no way this—especially the changes to kaiser's body—wouldn't devastate someone who puts so much pride in his self-curation. having blue hair is a part of his personality!

He grabbed his hair and held it up. 

Ah, I see. This is what most people feel when they look at their fathers. 

<- I don't have anything smart to say about this I just wanted to let you know that this line made me physically recoil. I can think of nothing in the WORLD that's scarier than looking in the mirror and seeing your father.

“They made us use 3-in-1 body wash.”

“I’m sure that must have been horrible for you.” 

“You can say that again,” Kaiser grumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat.

<- this is an offhand line but honestly yeah I DO bet he hated the hygiene situation specifically. there's no way mister hair-color-to-match-his-tattoo (and that tattoo in turn represents his ideal version of himself!) doesn't feel a very specific kind of disempowerment at not being able to choose how he cleans himself/curates his appearance that a character like, say, isagi (who is prideful but doesn't connect that to how he looks), would not.

The women who had a strange fixation with his rivalry with Isagi Yoichi were compassionate enough,

<- it's me. I'm women who have a strange fixation on michael kaiser's rivalry with isagi yoichi. :D

currently I think it'd be neat if kaiser clawed his way back into basmün somehow (maybe after isagi motivationally taunts him into it? idk I've just been thinking about that line you put in the second chapter about how isagi wants kaiser to be well so isagi can "devour [him] properly") so that he and isagi and ness can have an emotional standoff that fills any room they enter with vibe arsenic, but realistically speaking it's going to be rockier than that. but I liked this I want to see where this goes 👍

I haven't started reading yet but I hope you know that I made the poggers face irl when I saw your isakainess fic had updated

i'm so glad 🥹🥹

[spiderdreamer-blog]

GARGOYLES: THE TOP TEN EPISODES (WITH FIVE HONORABLE MENTIONS)

It is not an exaggeration to say that Batman: The Animated Series is as influential as The Simpsons in changing the face of American TV animation in the 1990s. Its dark, noirish aesthetic, complex writing, and stellar voice cast paved the way for action cartoons to evolve and grow. Even Disney felt the need to branch out at the time, calling on Batman episodic director Frank Paur and a development executive/former DC comics writer named Greg Weisman to create Gargoyles, which ironically started life as something far more akin to their typical comedy-adventure Disney Afternoon lineup. But Gargoyles was no mere Batman copy, quickly developing its own identity with a focus on a then-unique serialized consequences-driven narrative, an ever-growing fantasy/sci-fi kitchen sink, and medieval history. It has its flaws; namely, I am much less interested in secretive world-shaping societies than Greg Weisman continues to be even now, and it inevitably runs up against production realities of the time now and then. But it holds up remarkably well on the whole in its ambitions and complex characters. With that, today I'll be looking at what I think are the top 10 episodes of the series. Though given its nature, multi-part stories will be treated as one episode.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

"GRIEF":

The Avalon World Tour arc has always been the most...divisive section of the series since it aired. And I can see both sides of the argument. On the one hand, it was a much-needed expansion of lore and worldbuilding, serving a useful purpose in showing that there were many other heroes and gargoyle clans around the world. Goliath and his clan felt less tragically alone. And many of the episodes by themselves are genuinely excellent (two are on the list proper, for example). But on the other hand, it arguably didn't need to be as long as it was (though some of this can be blamed on the initial airings getting clogged up with reruns because of the production schedule), and many of them sideline our main characters for clear backdoor pilot spinoff leads, not all of whom are terribly interesting. "Grief" avoids most of these problems by offering a unique setting in Egypt (you knew they had to go to the Sphinx eventually), progressing the story of the Pack, and the guest characters are compelling because of how well they fit into the series' larger themes. A Wings-era/pre-Monk Tony Shalhoub is wonderful as the Emir, a sad, angry man who only wants to see his son again, while Tony Jay is marvelously imposing as Anubis, who basically functions as a more morose version of Terry Pratchett's Death with lines like "Death is always pointless. That is the point." A great little tale, showing off the strengths of the World Tour rather than its weaknesses.

"HUNTER'S MOON":

It might seem odd that I'm putting the televised series finale here rather than on the list proper. And being fair, it IS great, thrilling and tragic in equal measure; one cannot help but wince audibly when one character echoes another's weakest moral moment. But it's here primarily because while it's a good finale, it clearly sets up so much MORE story that got fucked up so badly in The Goliath Chronicles that Weisman had to basically toss out the whole thing when he did the comics, and I'm admittedly not as hot on the whole X-Men racial metaphor "what if we had a gargoyle KKK" stuff as I used to be. Plus, it's a little harder to take the Hunters seriously when they look so Liefeldian in retrospect. Still, this keeps things personal, and has a lot of great character beats, such as Goliath sliding dangerously close to a Demona-like mentality only to back away at the last moment, Xanatos coming in clutch, and a love triangle that feels refreshingly adult in how it's handled. Credit is also due for the voice performances by Diedrich Bader, Scott Cleverdon, and Sheena Easton as the Canmores. They have to cover a lot of emotional ground, accents, AND feel like siblings; Cleverdon in particular does a great job of suggesting one possible journey and then swerving wildly in the other direction while keeping it consistent.

"A LIGHTHOUSE IN THE SEA OF TIME":

This is admittedly not necessarily the best episode on a technical level. The Sunwoo animation is functional but not spectacular, and the action scenes lack a personalized touch. But the message of the show (READING GOOD) is as pertinent as ever, and handled with remarkable insight rather than feeling preachy. By keeping it character-based in Broadway's initial disinterest, then awe at what he comes to see as "precious magic", and Hudson's shame, it avoids sounding like an after-school special. Jeffrey Robbins in particular is a great character who could have felt cloying thanks largely to a warm, naturally wistful performance by Paul Winfield. We also get our first real hints to the tragedy of MacBeth's past as he speaks eloquently of the dream of King Arthur and Camelot, and magic that was stronger than anything "except the human heart".

"LEADER OF THE PACK":

David Xanatos is one of the best cartoon villains in history, and part of the reason why is he barely feels like A villain at times, even before character development starts to kick in. He does some pretty bad things, make no mistake, but Jonathan Frakes' performance and the writing always keeps him on the side of compelling and likable. As well as dangerously smart and capable. At the time, he stood out among the crowd because he so rarely delved into petty sniping or needless aggression towards his enemies or minions...and that only made him more dangerous. This episode shows that plainly, with him playing both the Pack and the clan like fiddles in terms of getting them to fight just so he can get his girlfriend Fox out of jail early. There's other good stuff here too, like Lexington having to learn a lesson about prioritizing his family over vengeance, but the meat is that wonderfully diabolical feint. It's clever, it's stylish...it's Xanatos.

"AVALON"

Your mileage may vary on this one, admittedly. As a big bad, the Archmage lacks the complexity and depth that most of the other antagonists have; he's ultimately a pretty standard evil world-conquering wizard. But they have quite a bit of fun with those conventions (he has to be prodded by his future self TO conquer the world instead of merely Scotland), and when you hire the legendary David Warner to BE your cliched evil wizard, you bet your ass he's going to chew all the scenery and have a blast while doing it. There's also another great Scottish history flashback, and important character development for characters like Katherine, Tom, and the Magus, who becomes one of the most heroically sad figures in the entire series. Add in a newly important character in Goliath and Demona's daughter, Angela, some fun action scenes, and the entrance of THE King Arthur into the fray, and it's a strong story all around.

(Though one thing that gives me pause now that didn't then is that Tom and Katherine eventually get into a romance after they met when the latter looked like he was MAYBE 10 and she was already getting handed off for marriage as an older teenager. I get that when you spend 1,000 years on an age-slowing magical island, that sort of thing becomes academic after a while, but even so...)

And now, for the full list.

10. "THE SILVER FALCON"

This is mainly on here because of my personal tastes. I LOVE detective fiction and noir movies, that shit is like candy to me. And kid's shows taking on these never-out-of-style genres tends to lead to fascinating results, such as in my all-time favorite movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. It helps that this IS genuinely really excellent in its construction: snappy animation, clever writing, and sharp on-the-move pacing. It's ironically the most Batman-esque episode they ever did, with a mystery involving old-time crooks, but Broadway and Elisa as a team help it feel distinct. They were always one of the most underrated pairings, and the story gets good comic dividends out of Elisa's frustration at what she sees as childlike antics while Broadway is trying to earnestly prove himself as a detective. Naturally, he does, and this is a good showing for Elisa too, brave and stalwart in the face of gangsters like Tony Dracon, sleazy as ever.

9. "FUTURE TENSE"

I don't think even people who despise the World Tour arc can slam this. It's a genuinely unsettling story that's like a magician's trick in keeping you looking at one hand while he's actually up to something completely different. This is probably one of the most harrowing apocalyptic future stories ever told in Western animation. Bombshell after bombshell drops, keeping us and Goliath emotionally off-balance as the urgency ratchets up to a fever pitch. And even considering how far we've come in depicting this kind of content with more graphically violent stylings since, it's still chilling to watch cyber-Xanatos coldly murder his own son and gut-wrenching to watch a blinded Broadway die as he thinks he sees the sun.

Even the final revelation, which it plays fair with (a lot of little things increasingly don't add up), feels less like a relief and more another sadistic twist of the knife. Was it a dream? Or a prophecy...

8. "SHADOWS OF THE PAST"

Even if this hadn't kicked off the World Tour in earnest, they would have had to do a Goliath Actually Deals With His Trauma story at SOME point. And this is a damn good showcase for it, with atmospheric, moody animation as we return to Scotland and the literal ghosts of the past. As Goliath gets gaslit, the eerie horror ramps up, as does the suspense about what he might do under these influences towards his fellows, and it's honestly a pretty brave position to put your protagonist in: vulnerable, but still very dangerous to those around him. Bonus points for a posthumous redemption of the Captain, one of the most sympathetic supporting characters, and a darkly ironic final shot.

7. "THE EDGE"

The big mission statement on Xanatos as a character. Far from looking towards vengeance on the gargoyles or punishing subordinates for beating him in sparring (one of my favorite Frakes deliveries is easily his dead-serious response of "I'd fire you if you did" when Owen queries if he should pretend to lose), he wants to know if he still has the mental and physical edge to keep doing his thing. Which puts him in rather marvelous parallel with Goliath, still brooding over having to move to the clock tower and leave Castle Wyvern behind. Both seemingly prevail here...and both are also lying to themselves JUST a smidge. It's wonderfully subtle characterization, and another key factor in Xanatos differing from other villains at the time. Rather than hating and envying Goliath, you kind of get the sense he wants to BE him (or, if you're a fanfic writer, other possibilities open up) when he speaks glowingly of him being "the greatest warrior alive". Has some damn good action too, especially the Statue of Liberty climax.

6. "THE MIRROR"

A fan favorite, and it kind of killed me not to put it in the top five. This is perhaps the greatest show of Gargoyles' range, a merry, unabashedly romantic reality-bending farce that tweaks the characters' typical self-seriousness. Even Demona, usually so fearsome and angry, becomes a figure of comedy here as she's endlessly frustrated by Puck twisting her words and obeying the letter but not the spirit of her desires. Puck himself is a star attraction, with free-flowing animation accompanying his every move and a killer voice performance courtesy of Brent Spiner, an entire dimension away from Data: hilarious, but with just the right undercurrent of plummy menace that hints at the REAL chaos he could unleash if properly motivated.

5. "EYE OF THE BEHOLDER"

The first real cracks in Xanatos' armor, both figuratively and literally, come about in this awesome Halloween episode. It's shadowier than usual, with a great monster in Were-Fox just absolutely tearing up the town as Xanatos tries to stay in control but finally has to cede it...and admit to himself that he truly cares about at least one thing other than money and power. It's a good showcase for Goliath too; he may not be a mastermind type, but he's cleverly adapting to Xanatos' tactics while still ultimately showing that he's an uncommonly decent guy at his core in working to save people he has no reason to. Also features the most iconic shipper moment in the whole shebang with Elisa and Goliath as Beauty and the Beast.

4. "DEADLY FORCE"

AKA "The Gun Episode", and even now, it's some incredibly harrowing shit to watch a main character accidentally shoot another to the point where she very well could have died. Even beyond the message and imagery (which is refreshingly nuanced rather than being simplistically "anti-gun"), this is an incredibly important character episode: Elisa's family is introduced in a way that shows she is not merely the gargoyles' sidekicks, but a person with her own life. And Broadway evolves from a seemingly typical fat-character-who-eats-a-lot into a figure of regret and anger; if you never thought Patrick Star could be frightening, Bill Fagerbakke's powerful performance here will disabuse you of that notion. Also features some prime material for Owen Burnett, Xanatos' ever-stalwart right hand man, calmly fighting and maneuvering through situations, and Goliath beginning to recognize just how important Elisa is to him.

3. "THE PRICE"

I love when shows do unusual character pairings, and this has possibly the series' best as Xanatos and Hudson square off: the cocky immortality-seeking businessman versus the patient, tired old soldier. It's handily the late Ed Asner's best showing as Hudson, with his gravelly tones never straining too much for effort as he considers Xanatos' arguments and offers his own matter-of-fact perspective. Xanatos, for his part, is genuinely needled for once, unable to offer convincing counters to Hudson cutting through his bullshit, and quietly impressed by his fortitude. The B-side is great too, with the snowy atmosphere adding a lot to the NYC settings, and Robo-MacBeth offering some genuinely formidable fight scenes. Not to mention Elisa's CMOA when she saves a mid-air stoned Broadway from doom with some well-placed shots and a carpet truck. Badass.

2. "CITY OF STONE"

The only reason this isn't number 1 is because while the present-day story is good, it feels more "typical" outside of landmarks like Xanatos and Goliath uneasily teaming up for the first time and Demona's iconic, quiet breakdown. Not bad, not at all, but the true meat is in the flashbacks to her and MacBeth's backstory, fully laid out across time for a true Shakespearean tragedy. Far from the murderous tyrant of the Bard, MacBeth is a good man himself beset by paranoid kings and allies, with no one truly convinced that he could be as loyal and honest as he says he is. And the scope of Demona's hatred and its consequences is laid bare here, with a certain set of scars becoming iconic in their repetition. John Rhys-Davies and Marina Sirtis pull out all the stops here, with the occasional glimmers of happiness and light underscored by the doom we all know is coming, especially if you know Scottish history. We believe MacBeth wholeheartedly when he says that he's just so tired in the present. So much pain and grief could have been avoided...but the tragedy, of course, is that the grinding wheel of fate for these two is inevitable.

"The access code is...alone."

1. "AWAKENING"

Multi-part pilot episodes were generally Disney's stock-in-trade for their initial run of shows, and I can't say most didn't JUSTIFY their length (though if you're wondering, outside of this, the best ones are Gummi Bears' single-episode "A New Beginning", the two-part "Darkly Dawns the Duck" for Darkwing Duck, and DuckTales' five-part "Treasure of the Golden Suns"). But Gargoyles had easily the strongest one out of the gate in how it used the length to carefully, step-by-step set up this world, these characters, and the conflicts that will play out across the tapestry. While some figures like the Trio are clearly held back a bit for later, they still make an incredibly strong impression, and Goliath gets an arc here that is so elegantly constructed in taking him from tempered optimism through despairing cynicism and back around again. Elisa Maza proves a "strong female character" with Salli Richardson's naturally smooth performance giving her empathy and toughness in equal measure. Xanatos puts a strong foot forward with his initially mysterious motives that can still seem genuine, already regretting that he has to potentially waste resources that he can't control. And the supporting cast is already rich, with figures like Princess Katherine, haughty, then regretful and seeking redemption, the Captain, whose road to Hell was paved with good intentions, and the Magus, arrogance brought low by grief. Even a seemingly one-note brute like Hakon is well-drawn in his simplistic mindset. And the visuals are insanely memorable too, with fluid fight scenes, meticulous character behavior, and a unique take on NYC nightlife that sets it apart from the brooding, haunted Gotham.

Gargoyles may have aged, but in most ways, it's like a fine wine, and something I've grown to appreciate more even with my criticisms over time. I hope this list is proof enough of that.

[ellitx]

Chapter 5: Reticence

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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art belongs to _01ki_

word count: 3.5k

           Night had fallen fast upon the ruins. The hours that had gone by that were previously painted with hues of red, orange, and pink had all but faded leaving only a matte black canvas with no stars to be looked upon.

           The darkness was thick and only a small source of light had allowed you to see a limited portion of your surroundings. Other than the darkness and yourself all that seemed to exist was the cold wind that brushed against your bare skin.

           Cold water soaked your whole body, almost freezing as it went. Your face is drenched, the drops coming together to run into your eyes and drip from your chin. You released a shaky sigh and lowered yourself even further at the lake to cool down your burning face.

            Today was rather… eventful, so to say. You bit your lower lip remembering the time you had gotten intimate with him. It made your heart race and face go burning hot just reminiscing those scenes that happened an hour ago. You sunk yourself even more until your entire head was submerged by the cool waters. 

           Stop thinking about it!

           You scolded yourself and shut your eyes tightly to erase the salacious thoughts breaching your head. Truth to be told, you still can’t believe if it was real or just a fragment of your imagination. If it’s the latter then you should be ashamed of yourself for having thoughts such as that.

           Forgive me father and mother and to the Celestia! You cried internally and buried your face in your hands. The water did not even help you to cool down your already burning face, sinking yourself further and deeper into the lake.

           But even so, you can’t help but remind yourself how much Venti had poured his love onto you. His kisses were desperate and needy, clinging and holding you close to him in fear of losing you. Your fingers lightly traced the edge of your lower lips faintly remembering how his lips brushed against yours.

           The beating of your heart raced and you lifted yourself, gathering the air you needed after letting yourself doused underwater. Another sigh spilled from you as you gazed upwards and stared absently at the blank canvas of the midnight sky.

           A promise to stay together…

          A sudden worry about your wisp friend has entered your head. You do wonder if he has really disappeared or not. It feels odd he’s missing in the group as the three of you are always together. You pray to the Celestia that he’s fine and safe, hoping he’ll come back to the two of you.

           Your mind fades into dullness and everything is a foggy illusion. The quietness of the spring calms you; taking your mind off of things. All the things you honestly are unconcerned about. It’s the water. Your mind swirls, and it’s like standing on an everlasting waterfall. Ever so beautiful, but it can never last.

           You blinked and your scrutiny went towards the stream, noticing a turquoise light shimmering underneath. A brow arched from your front in curiosity, letting yourself sit properly to get a good look at it.

           Like a butterfly that was tranced by the sight of nectar, you were attracted to the mesmerizing glow of the waters. Unable to turn away, you reached for it and felt your own fingers roaming on your leg.

           Your leg…? Now that you take a closer look at it, with a little bit of trouble observing in the dark, there were marks circling around your thighs. A light teal jagged pattern surrounded it combined with little shapes of triangles and diamonds.

           The calmness that once blanketed you was now replaced with turmoil. You can feel the uneasiness in your chest waiting to take over. Perhaps it only wants to protect you but there really isn’t any danger. It sits there like paste propelling you towards anxiety you just don’t need.

           You let out a slow controlled breath and attempted to loosen your stiff shoulders. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm yourself and say the marks have no effects on you— or so you think it was. 

           Though it was once again discarded the moment your eyes cast towards your chest and shoulder. A shape of a diamond was plastered right above your chest, with little triangles left on the edge. You were definitely sure they weren’t there before yet the marks continued appearing that almost coated half of your entire upper body.

           A sense of dread washed over you at the display of these unknown symbols that appeared out of nowhere. Maybe you should go back to Venti, you’ve been staying here for who knows how long now, not to mention there are monsters lurking here that might attack you. 

           You’ve cleaned your body already and you don’t want to make him wait for you any longer. Standing up, you wrung your hair and let the chilling waters drip back to the stream. The fact that the marks glowed even more peeved you that it might attract attention from anything wandering nearby.

           Unfortunately, the gods didn’t heed your pleas of hoping no one will see you. Your body shivered when you felt eyes piercing right through your back, watchful and almost too engrossed. You covered your chest and turned around to see any entities within your call.

           Your throat bobbed in fear and anxiety, hastily grabbing your clothes in an effort to hide your bare self. It didn’t do much to cover you entirely, but it was still enough to obscure your front. 

           “Venti…?” You shakily asked out to the quiet ruins. You already expected only silence to greet you until a familiar chiming of a bell reached your ears. As the light drains away there is barely enough even for shadows. Whether you like it or not, the darkness comes and under it everything in this forest is hidden. 

           Even the stars and moon cower behind a dense layer of cloud, giving the air that tincture you associate with the world before a storm. 

           Your ears become sharper and your mind paranoid, every snap of a twig is a predator, even if it is a fawn. For each aroma, your brain jumps to the most fearsome thing it could be and your body prepares for flight, fright, or freeze.

           For the most part, you just freeze. Running will give your position away and you’re not much of a fighter. All you can do is wait while the blackness comes and pray that the dawn is not far behind. 

           You settle in for a wait but it’s only minutes before a strong gust of wind charged at you. You shut your eyes and held your feet onto the ground, clutching onto the cloth as your hair fluttered against the air.

           The small chiming was louder than before, almost close to you. You slowly opened an eye, taking a peek up to the time that white dotted eyes were staring at you. You shrieked in alarm and fear, startled by the small creature abruptly appearing right in front of you.

           Your feet slipped in sheer panic, accidentally causing yourself to fall down and swamped yourself by the chilling waters of the lake.

—

           “Th-thank you…” You muttered before taking the dry cloth offered to you by your dear wind wisp friend. It indeed surprised you to see Barbatos was here all this time. You thought he had suddenly vanished during the war against Decarabian as Venti had never really mentioned or talked about him when you were with him.

           Well, it was a little bit of your fault you never asked about his whereabouts. Still, you were relieved and glad to know he was still alive and well all these years. A small smile crept to your face before patting his head in thanks.

           Barbatos nuzzled on your hand then looked at you expectantly before flying over your shoulder. You blinked in confusion then giggled before carefully handling him on your palm and putting him down.

           “Stay right here, okay? I’ll go change for a while.” You stood up from your kneeled form and headed behind the tree. However, your little friend followed after you making you stop in your tracks and furrowed your brows in worry.

           Barbatos tinkled in delight and continued cuddling on your shoulder to erase the frown glued to your face while he rubbed himself against the diamond symbols on your skin. You awe in wonderment when a faint glow emitted from both you and him, though now was not the time to be amazed. You don’t want to get yourself cold from this breezy air, and as much as he was being cute and all, you still need to dress.

           “I’ll be really quick! Just stay awhile for a bit.” You pleaded and this time he reluctantly abided by your words much to your relief. You made your way to the large plant as you hurriedly slipped your arms on the sleeves and tied the back of your dress, untucking your hair after that as you flipped it over your shoulder.

           You placed a hand on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart against it. It still scares you what these designs on your skin are, though you do feel some sort of aura mizzling over you.

           A pang of throbbing pain in your head struck you; it seems like you’re exhausted. The headache told you it was time to rest someplace quiet, to ride out the storm within your brain, for in time pain does ebb.

           There are days tiredness comes in both forms, physical and mental. Your body really needs to rest as well as your mind, to get rid of the anxiety swarming your entire being. Without rest, your body will spiral into exhaustion.

           A yawn escapes from you and you notice Barbatos from the corner of your eyes peeking behind the tree. You gave him a tired smile and motioned for him to come closer to you. 

           You really have to look for Venti, you don’t know how long you’ve been making him wait for you. Albeit you’re really drained and sleepy, you have to force your legs to carry you in search of the said bard.

           Barbatos took notice of your fatigued state and tugged your sleeves in a struggle to make you stay awake and catch your attention. “We… We need to find Venti.” You mumbled as another yawn evaded.

           He furiously shook his head and urged you to sit down on the ground, making angry jingling sounds. As if he’ll let you wander in this kind of time. It’s already late and dark, not to mention how tired you look so far. 

           You sink down onto the ground and rest your back against the rough trunk of the tree. The sleepy feeling must be how Teyvat feels when the summer has passed when it needs all those months to regenerate and come back in the spring.

           The small creature flew over to you and settled himself on your palms. The tunes that he played to you to dreamland is a song you’ve heard and thousand times before and never enough. The chords are like a well-worn path, one your brain follows along willingly.

           The mellow tinkling lulls you to sleep. In moments, your body relaxed, breathing steadily.

           After making sure you were dozing off and in deep sleep, Barbatos took his chance to nestle himself on your neck. He can’t believe his powers drained out after marking you, and it’ll take a whole day for him to recover and revert himself back to his human form.

           He didn’t think ahead and carelessly poured out his Anemo powers onto you just to let the symbols design your skin. He channeled himself onto you, letting the small wisps of wind gradually restore his powers.

—

           The reverberation of a wistful sigh grabbed his attention, perking his head at you in silent concern.

           Your eyes wandered everywhere, almost like a frantic search. Barbatos doesn’t need to ask what— or rather who you were looking for. It was already obvious to know who it was. It’s none other than him— or should he say, Venti.

           You puffed your cheeks, slightly vexed your lover has left you all alone. “He even promised to stay with me… and now he’s breaking it?” Hearing your muttered words made him panicked as he swung his head, trying to defend “Venti” in his current form.

           A series of continuous wailing of a bell made you look at him before giving a mirthless chuckle and fondle his hooded head to calm him. “Maybe he just went somewhere to do something…” You said cheerlessly, gazing over the waters of the lake to distract yourself.

           You shouldn’t think of things like that. You know he won’t ever do that to you and he never will. You looked over at Barbatos and propped your chin on your palm, playing with his little antennas.

           “Well, at least you’re here with me~ I really miss you a lot.” Your laughter was so free and pure, so childish despite the one you recently gave that sounded so empty and hollow. It came to his ears in a tickle and bounce— and it was only the moment he could do nothing but join in such generous mirth.

           You leaned back and placed your hands on the ground to support your body as you looked up to admire the blue sky. The sensation of calmness and serenity wafting through you eased your mind and body, taking in the gentle breeze of the old ruins.

           The tiny elemental being watched you in admiration. Your eyes blinking from time to time that allured him, allowing your lashes to flutter softly. Your eyes are simply spellbinding and captivating that he could get himself lost in there.

           He unconsciously floated to you and snuggled himself on your hands. The memories of you and his friend being together made his heart wrenched in shame and guilt of what he was doing. He thought he was already sure the feeling that caged him was already absent, and yet here it was again coming back to humiliate him, one that he absolutely resented.

            Your hums created a wordless melody of sweet-sounding harmonies, echoing in the winds to send it along to the other side. Until your next words that created a song had battered him with hurtful misery. 

           “Fly, fly away. Like a bird in the sky. See the world on my behalf, to the heavens may you fly.”

—

           The sky was black tranquility married to the poetry of stars. It was the softness that called your body and brain to rest and let the heart go to its steady rhythm. Night came as a reward of sorts, a restfulness above to calm the soul.           

           The two of you traveled to the garden you once slept in, hoping Venti would be there. You’ve been waiting for him to come back the whole day and there was still no sign of his presence greeting you. You were nodding off as you continue and patiently await, expecting him to come back to you.

           You pulled Barbatos close to your chest, absently staring off at the cecilia flowers he had come to collect for you. The petals shined brightly under the moonlit sky. Indeed it was beautiful and radiated elegance because of its pure colors and one of a kind flowery, though a feeling of sorrow ran through you the more you looked at it.

           Fiddling the stem between your fingers, you brought it close to your nose, breathing in the fresh scent that reminded you of him. You were getting drowsy and drowsy as time flew by, each second felt like an hour the more you waited.

           The collection of various flowers placed on the ground cushioned your fall as your petite body collapsed. Your wisp friend let out a frightened chime and summoned the winds to immediately check up on you.

           A sense of relief washed away his worries that you were simply asleep and tired. It’s already time and he can feel his energy recovering— enough to alter himself back to his human form. It was all thanks to your anemo energy within you that allowed him to transmit the vitality from you to him.

           He glided to the bushes, facing the small pond as it mirrored his appearance. A gentle gust of fresh air blows around him, the leaves dancing with the winds in his direction.

           He has always loved the wind, for it comes to him so boldly, touching his skin. In soft breezes, it is finer than silk, smoother than water. In the gales it sings through the trees, sending loose leaves on a dancing fun air ride, hypnotic and beautiful. Almost like how the crowds have gathered around him to listen to the strumming of his lyre.

           Today is almost still and he found himself in silent anticipation. His gaze went back on the rippling water, reflecting his appearance once again. Turquoise optics stared right back at him, eyes casting downwards to his chest while his fingers trailed over the same marks drawn on your body.

            His pale skin allowed the symbols to gleam even more in the garden. Its teal light granted him to feel the Anemo ran through his body, the powers returning him once more in need to go in search for the true beholder of the winds.

            Venti turned his head to look at your sleeping form. His eyes glued to the pattern on your thigh, faintly glowing that matched with his. Now, where were his clothes? He remembered he left it here before he was reverted to a little elemental wisp. 

           His hands reached for the white top that draped on the tree’s branch, slipping his arms on the sleeves and slowly buttoning up his shirt before leaving the top open to observe the marks drawn on his chest. The more he looks at the patterns inscribed on both yours and his skin, the more his heart raced in incitement and interest.

            His hands hovered to his mouth to hide the wide smile and blush that clambered up on his front. This is bad, really bad. He was smiting for you all over again just like before. It reminded him that he was the one who covered you with these and how much you enjoyed it when he was creating it for you.

           His throat bobbed before shaking his head to erase the thoughts, letting himself focus to get dressed. Venti had finally finished wearing his attires, leaving the cape and midsection outfit left on the ground, not bothering to wear it anymore. He carefully approached your unconscious form and knelt down to brush your hair away that had fallen from your face.

           Your soft skin felt ticklish as you squirm in your sleep when his fingers brushed your cheeks. You slowly opened your eyes revealing the kindly tranquil of [eye color] orbs and met gaze with him.

           Your entire body system awoke, the exhaustion was all but gone when you immediately pulled him into a tight hug. Venti wrapped his arms around you and cradled you in his arms, kissing your head as a greeting.

           You buried your face on the crook of his neck and clutched onto his shirt firmly. "Where have you been?" Your voice wavered when you asked if he could faintly hear your soft sobs against him. “Sorry for the sudden disappearance. Something… came up.” His words trailed off causing his excuse not to be really effective which he already expected to happen. 

           There’s nothing he can do about it when he is in that situation, but he was very reassured that he can finally hold you close to him. Not being able to show his affection for you was unbearable especially how you were so worried about where he had gone off to.

           The subtle kisses on his neck made his focus go back to you. Every time you place them there, he knew he’d adore you for all time. Those sweet kisses on his neck made his heart quivered as he pulled you close to him and lifted your head to meet with his gaze.

           The pout on your face induced him to want to shower you with kisses and apologize for leaving you all alone. His lips pressed against your head then close to your eye, from your nose to your cheeks then down to your lips.

           He was firm and gentle as he pulled you in, burning your lips with his mouth. You can hear the soft whisper of his breath as he exhaled. Venti inched closer and encircled his hand with yours, lightly pushing you down onto the ground as he penned you between him.

           His mouth moved downwards leaving a trail of kisses on your skin until he stopped on your neck. You whimpered as your body shuddered when he lightly nipped on it, giving small sucks that had you released a small cry.

           Even without telling a soul, it was common knowledge that both of you were lovesick and amorous. It was in the way your gaze lingered on one another, the way your voice became softer, and in coquettish smiles that he’d never worn before whenever he’s with you.

[theneondemonx]

JUDAS | JJK

Part Three

▽ summary: you’ve always been the type to focus more on your academic career rather than to chase after boys. Kim Namjoon, however, managed to pierce right through the walls you built around yourself and before you knew, you found yourself being the girlfriend of the world’s biggest band’s leader. Nothing and no one can come between the two of you.. or at least this is what you believe to be true until you meet Jeon Jungkook.

▽ genre: angst (there will be tons of it), love triangle, smut, fluff

▽ pairings: idol!namjoon x fem!reader , idol!jungkook x fem! reader

▽ words: 4623

▽ warnings: angst, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, nipple play, swearing, mention of anxiety issues

(Part 1) (Part 2) [⏵playlist]

Finding a date for Jungkook was for sure no piece of cake. You knew every girl would gladly give her right arm for a chance with him, but that didn’t make things any easier for you. Not only you had to find someone who might actually match with him, but you also had to trust the girl. It wasn’t just the fact that you wouldn’t set him up with a fangirl who might have brought the whole thing on twitter. You were gambling with your own relationship by taking this choice. You and Namjoon had often talked about the possibility of going public, but always felt like it wasn’t the right time to do so. Having to deal with his fame was already hard enough without having the pressure of millions of people analyzing your every move and possibly sending you hate or even death threats. You weren’t ready to face that kind of attention from the public, and Namjoon wasn’t also. He didn’t want you to suffer from the consequences of a life you didn’t really choose for yourself. That was his job, not yours. He would never ask you to carry such a burden just because you fell in love with him. This plans, however, could easily go south if you introduced Jungkook to the wrong person. Nothing and no one could give you the certainty that this girl might not wake up one day and decide to spill the tea on you and Namjoon just to get some attention or some money from the press.

I’m sticking my neck out here.

Was it even worth it? Was Jungkook really worth all the trouble you were going through to help him reconnect with Namjoon? And on top of that: was he really serious about it or was he just messing with you to piss him off even more? There was no way of telling. But you kinda felt sorry for the guy after what he told you. You knew he had it coming, but you also were the type to believe that people should get a second chance at making things better. Even assholes like Jungkook deserved a shot.

We all make mistakes. We all do stupid shit all the time. Some are worst than others, sure, but it’s unfair to be eternally defined by our worst moments – unable to escape from those.

You decided to bet on Jungkook against all odds, knowing oh too well that the thing might blow up in your face at any moment. But still, you wouldn’t really feel at peace with yourself if you turned your back at his explicit cry for help. So you gave it your all, ignoring the fact that the anxiety of what might have gone wrong was keeping you up at night.

It was during one of those night that you decided to be the bigger person. You took your phone and texted Namjoon to meet at your place. He answered almost on the spot, saying he was on his way.

When you heard the doorbell ring, your rushed to the door, quickly glancing at your reflection in the mirror to make sure you weren’t a complete mess. You rested your hand on the door handle, closed your eyes, took a deep breath and opened the door.

Namjoon was looking at you with puppy eyes, like he had just been kicked in the ass all the way to your place. Seeing his face full of sorrow made your heart skip a beat and all your composure went straight down the drain.

“Baby..”

He didn’t finish his sentence. You quickly raced towards him, stepping on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He enveloped you in his warm embrace, adjusting every muscle of his body to fit perfectly around yours while placing gentle kisses on your head.

“I’m so sorry, Joon. I’m so so sorry. I’ve been so unfair to you.”

“I’m sorry too, baby. I should have told you since the beginning. None of this would have happened. But I trust you, ok? I really do, you have to believe me.”

You distanced yourself from the secure place your face had found in the crook of his neck to look at him with watery eyes full of love, placing one hand on his cheek.

“I know. I know you do.” You whispered, trying to calm his paranoia.

Being so similar to each other, you knew Namjoon had spent his days overthinking everything he had said and done. He for sure convinced himself of the fact that he did everything wrong and that he had all the blame for what happened.

But you don’t. We both acted like two idiots.

“You just wanted to protect yourself. I get it.”

You smiled coyly, placing a kiss on his lips before stepping back. You didn’t, however, let go of his embrace.

“Come in now, before the old man next door starts spying on us from the peephole.” You shivered ironically, widening your eyes with a look of terror. “He really gives me the creeps sometimes.”

He laughed, pushing you inside the apartment and closing the door behind his back with a kick. He didn’t give you the time to do anything else: he was already jerking off his jacket and throwing it on the floor. He suddenly cupped your face, starting to kiss you with passion and getting rid of your clothes on the way to your bedroom. You, of course, did the same with his, moaning against his lips at every step until you found yourself naked with your back on the mattress.

“I missed you so much, Y/N.” He whispered against your soft skin, making it burn with anticipation at every gentle kiss he placed on your body while he made his way to your inner thigh with his lips.

You let out a moan when you felt his tongue flicking around your clit. His fingers took a firm grip on the back of one of your knees, pushing it higher and placing your leg on his shoulder while wrapping his soft lips around your sensitive nub.

“Joon..” You sighed in pleasure, throwing your head back and arching your back when he let a finger slip inside your wet folds, immediately followed by a second one.

“You taste so good, baby.”

When he curled his fingers inside you, starting to pump his digits on your most sensitive spot, you couldn’t help but moan loudly, grabbing his hair with your fingers to keep his head right there where it was and raising your hips closer to his lips.

“Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t. If anything, he went down on you with more passion, bringing you closer to your climax until your eyes rolled back and your legs started shaking from the waves of pleasure he was giving you. You grabbed the bedsheets with your free hand, letting out a loud moan melted with the sound of his name.

When your muscles started relaxing from the built up tension, you signaled him to come closer to you, wrapping your hands around his neck to kiss him deeply and switch your positions on the mattress. You placed your knees on both sides of his body, taking his hands in yours and guiding them above his head while you started grinding yourself against his hardened cock.

“Fuck.” That’s all he could say when he felt your slick on him producing those lewd sounds he loved so much to hear.

It was easy for him to free himself from your grip, bringing your chest closer to his face in order to take your nipples in his lips and swirl his tongue around it while he grabbed your ass with both hands. He started guiding the hypnotic movements of your hips on him, moaning softly against your skin before sinking slowly inside your wet core.

You let out a gasp, taking in his whole size before starting to ride him with a slow pace. You wanted to feel every inch of him, every bit you missed during the last week. You loved to feel him come undone underneath you, to know that you were the only one who made him feel like that and that he only had eyes for you no matter how many hot chicks he might meet everyday. You trusted him. You knew he loved you and you only. And you for sure didn’t take that for granted.

“I love you, Joon.” You whispered on his lips, with your voice low from the heavy breaths of pleasure.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

That was the sweetest makeup sex you’ve ever had in your whole life. Your bodies intertwined like they were made for each other, like two complementary pieces of a puzzle. This is what you and Namjoon were – what everyone who knew you couldn’t help but notice and praise: you were so perfectly made for one another, so similar. There was never much mystery between the two of you: you just understood each other, and what you didn’t understand, you figured out easily.

When Namjoon felt your walls clenching around him, he grabbed your ass tighter, speeding up the pace of his thrusts until his cum spilled inside you accompanied by a rasp moan which had the effect of bringing you closer and closer to your climax. 

You came undone in his arms, letting you wrap him securely in his embrace.

You spent the rest of the night cuddling and talking about nonsense, until you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, forgetful of whatever made you fight.

Or at least you thought you forgot, until you woke up in the middle of the night, putting on Namjoon’s shirt – which on you was basically a dress – to go in the kitchen and grab a glass of water. It was there that you left your phone earlier.

You quickly skipped through the notifications while filling up your glass, frowning when you saw Jungkook’s name. He texted you at two.

What the hell did he want that late at night?

You opened the chat out of curiosity just to find a picture of the book you gave him a few days ago – Elective Affinities by Goethe. A small passage had been highlighted with the light strokes of a pencil. He drew a parenthesis near the Captain’s speech about the metaphor between elective affinities in chemistry and human relationships. But there were a few lines, from another character, which were actually underscored.

« Unhappily, we know cases enough where a connection apparently indissoluble between two persons, has, by the accidental introduction of a third, been utterly destroyed, and one or the other of the once happily united pair been driven out into the wilderness. »

He then just texted you a cryptic: “You sure got a fancy way of sending subliminal messages, miss smarty pants 😉”

When you gave him the book, you didn’t think he might actually read it, and for sure you didn’t stop thinking about the plot and what he might gather from it. You just mentioned Goethe’s work in your lecture and the book happened to be on top of the pile when you talked to him after class. There was no ulterior motive or subliminal message. You just did it for the sake of the comeback.

You decided not to text him back and deleted the picture and his text altogether. You didn’t think about it. You just did it, for some reason.

“I’m here, I’m here. Oh my God, sorry for being so late. I got stuck at work. I’ll spare you the details.”

You rushed like a hurricane inside the empty art gallery, giving Marco two quick kisses on the cheeks before handing him a cup of Starbucks’ coffee.

“Here. I got you coffee to make it up for the wait.”

Marco was Jimin’s hot Italian boyfriend and he was a gallerist. They got together way before you and Namjoon even knew each other, and everyone thought they wouldn’t last more than a couple of weeks. After all, Jimin was known for being the biggest flirt of the group: he never showed any interest for a serious commitment. Or at least that was true until Marco came along. After three years, here they were, still going strong and planning on getting married.

Marco was a sort of best friend to you. When you got with Namjoon, you didn’t really know how to handle all the stress that came with his fame, and you suffered from insomnia for at least a couple of months due to that. You were anxious about everything and you found yourself overthinking every move you made. You didn’t even hang out with your friends, during that period, being too terrorized by the possibility of letting something slip.

Marco was the guiding hand you didn’t know you needed. He had gone through all that alone, and knew exactly how you were feeling. So he helped you. He listened to your nonstop rants even when you called him late at night; he wiped away your tears, wrapped you in a blanket, gave you a cup of hot chocolate and watched episodes after episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race with you. He was always there to talk you out of your paranoia and give you advice, or to just stay silent when that was what you needed. Without him, you wouldn’t have made it in one piece, or at least you would have had to make it alone in the hardest way possible.

But beside his caring nature, he was actually cool to hang out with. He was smart, intellectual and very calm. In a way, he was really similar to you. Which meant he was more or less the opposite of Jimin. Still, you couldn’t picture a better couple than theirs.

“Ok, calm down, Y/N, it’s not a job interview, we’re just hanging out between friends.”

He laughed it off, showing you the way to the latest installment he made. It was a collage of photographs with closeups of different body parts, some undistinguishable from the others. You looked at it in silence for some moments, drinking up your coffee while observing every detail of the pictures.

“I like it. It has a very modernist feel to it.”

“I know. I took some inspiration from Claude Cahun. Which is why I called you here. I thought you might help me pick some pieces of prose and poetry for the first exhibition, making it an artistic experience through different literary media.”

Your eyes sparkled with joy at Marco’s proposition and you nodded vigorously.

“Sure, I would love to. When I get home I’ll send you some stuff I think might be of use.”

“Perfect. I knew I could count on you.”

You smiled brightly at him, raising your cup of coffee in a toast-like manner to seal the deal.

“Beside this.. how are you doing, Y/N? Jimin told me about the situation with Namjoon. Are you guys ok?”

Of course Jimin told you. He really can’t keep his mouth shut, can he? 

You gave him an eloquent look and he immediately understood what you were thinking, laughing it off with a shrug.

“You know how he is.”

“It’s fine. As long as he keeps it between you two there’s no problem. I would have told you anyways.”

You sighed, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Things with Joon are.. okay, I guess. We made peace and I guess we came to understand that we acted like two idiots.”

“You guess or you’ve actually talked about it?”

You could feel his side look while he was taking a sip from his cup. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. I texted him, he came to my place, we said sorry and we had sex.”

“Ok, so you haven’t  talked about it.”

No, you didn’t. It wasn’t like you and Namjoon had problems talking about your feelings, but if you could avoid it and just try to understand each other, you’d definitely take that road.

“I don’t think there was the need to say much.”

“Mh.. I don’t know about that. I think you are relying too much on your similarity. But communication is the key to a healthy relationship. Sometimes it’s better to clear the air and face an uncomfortable conversation, instead of letting it settle on the inside, hoping it won’t blow up in your face later on.”

He was right. Now that he pointed it out, you realized that you were still back to zero. You didn’t know what to do, how to act when Jungkook was around and if it was even okay to be around him or mention him. Which was pretty alarming, since you promised Jungkook to help him reconnect with Namjoon.

“Yeah.. speaking of communication. Can I ask you for a piece of advice?”

“Shoot!”

“But you have to promise not to tell Jimin.. or anyone else.”

He nodded, drawing a cross on his heart with his fingers. You trusted him. You knew he could keep a secret if he was asked to.

“Ok, so.. Jungkook came to visit me in University the other day.”

The horrified look on Marco’s face was enough for you to start waving your hands, rushing for an explanation.

“Oh God no, it’s not what you think. He didn’t hit on me or anything – or at least I don’t think he did.” He just implied I was hot, but he probably flirts with every living thing. “Still.. I panicked because, you know..”

“Someone might have seen him.”

“Exactly!”

There were so many things that could have gone horribly wrong in what Jungkook did. A part of you still felt like a mediatic cannon ball might hit you at any given moment.

“However, I was saying: he came to visit me and long story short he asked me to help him reconnect with Namjoon and the rest of the members.”

“And let me guess: you said yes.”

You looked at him with a mortified look, without saying anything. It was already enough of a response. He sighed, shaking his head while taking another sip from his cup.

“Hey, don’t judge me! I think he might actually be serious about it. He also asked me to set him up with a girl in order to make it look more reassuring in Namjoon’s eyes.”

“To make it look more reassuring in Namjoon’s eyes.” He quoted you, stressing every word while looking at you as if he was implicitly asking if you were listening to yourself.

You rolled your eyes.

“Look, I know how it sounds, but the girl it’s not the point. He just needs to get through Joon’s defenses and have the opportunity to make it up to him.”

He raised his hands in surrender.

“I trust your judgment, Y/N.”

Yeah, doesn’t really look like it, tho.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake? Because a part of me feels like I’m betraying Namjoon’s trust, but the other feels like it wouldn’t be fair to deny Jungkook the possibility to make amends. I don’t know.. who am I to choose if he deserves or not to be forgiven?”

He staid silent for a moment, ruminating on your question. Marco wasn’t the type to talk just for the sake of saying something. He actually pondered every aspect of a situation before giving his honest opinion on the matter. Which is why you asked for it.

“You know why I don’t really hang out a lot with the other members, Y/N?”

It was a rhetoric question, so you didn’t respond.

“It’s not because I don’t like them. I do. But the problem with bangtan is that they suck you in if you let them.” He paused. “It’s not like they do it on purpose. I don’t think they even realize it, actually. But by now you know that hanging with them – even just one of them – is something that comes with very strict rules and sacrifices.”

Yes, you knew. Most people might have thought that dating a bts member was a dream come true, but it wasn’t. You and Namjoon could never do the small stuff that normal couples did: walking down the streets while eating an ice cream, going to the movies, posting a cute Instagram story together or hanging out with a large group of friends. You knew that when you finished your PhD, he wouldn't be there to cheer for you at your graduation. You also knew that if you were to attend a wedding, you had to show up alone. And those were just the small things – the stuff you actually had to face on a daily based. But what about the tours? What about the months that you were bound to spend apart from each other while he was giving concerts all over the globe?

“It’s a clear cut situation if you don’t put some boundaries. You either get suck into their world or you decide to stay outside of it. That’s why I decided to put those boundaries: because I wanted to keep my life, my gallery and my friends. I wanted to live as normally as I could without letting my relationship with Jimin define my whole identity.”

He took the last sip of coffee, walking towards the closest bin to throw the cup away before coming back to you.

“I’m not saying that you are making a mistake. I have no way of knowing. I’m just advising you to tread lightly on bangtan’s ground. You shouldn’t get too involved in their drama. It will consume you. I’ve seen it happen before.” He paused. “Remember, Y/N: the group will stand no matter the hardships. The seven of them are in it for life, but anyone else around is replaceable.”

Just this one time. I’ll keep my word and then I’ll draw the line, especially with Jungkook.

That was the promise you made to yourself after you spoke with Marco. You knew he was right and you knew that if you didn’t put some sort of boundary, you would end up losing Namjoon. 

You kept repeating those words in your head, biting your nails while waiting for Jungkook to come open the door and let you inside his apartment. You told him you had found some possible matches for him you’d like to discuss and he invited you there around nine pm.

When he opened the door, he smiled at you brightly, inviting you to come inside with a simple nod. He looked quite relaxed, wearing comfy clothes and a towel around his neck. His hair was still wet from the shower he must have taken after rehearsals.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, sticking his head out from the open fridge.

You shook your head. “No, I already had dinner.”

So he just took the chicken salad he had waiting for him in the fridge and sit right in front of you.

“I finished the book, by the way. I liked it. Except for the ending. Way too tragic. They could have figured things out.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Is he seriously talking about an immortal literary masterpiece like it was some sort of cringey teen drama?

“Maybe you just didn’t get the point.”

He shrugged.

“I’m fine with it. There will always be stuff I don’t get.”

Which, for a person like you, with the need of analyzing and understanding everything, was quite frustrating. So you just sighed, shrugging slightly.

“Moving on to the main subject. I thought about the whole date thing and I found a couple of girls you might get along with. They are both my colleagues and, most importantly, they are trustworthy and discrete.”

“Ok, just choose one and set a date.”

You looked at him, baffled.

“You don’t want to know a bit about them and choose by yourself? You don’t even want to know what they look like?”

He looked up from his plate, his mouth full of chicken.

“Are they hot?”

“I think they’re cute.”

“Ok, so they’re not hot.”

You rolled your eyes, taking your phone out of your pocket and looking for one of the girls’ Instagram profile. You clicked on her name, turning the screen towards Jungkook.

“Her name is Maya, she comes from Colombia. She majored in Linguistics. She is a movie buff and she does pilates. Very extroverted and a heavy weight when it comes to drinking. Also-..”

He stopped you, putting his hand on top of yours and looking you straight in the eyes.

“Y/N.. I don’t care.”

You stared at him, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“B-but.. you asked me to find you a girlfriend.”

“Any girl will do. I just want to look less threatening to Namjoon. I’m not really looking for a girlfriend and even if I was, I for sure wouldn’t ask you  to find me one.”

You retracted your head, locking the screen of your phone and shoving it back in your pocket.

“Then why did you even invite me here in the first place?”

He shrugged, leaning against the chair.

“Do I need a reason?” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe someone’s written permission?”

Jeon Jungkook had the power to confuse you more than some of the most complex literary works you had studied during your academic career. Whenever you thought you had got a glimpse of his true personality and motives, here he came, raising more doubts and questions in you.

“Am I allowed to hang out with you if I want to, or should I need an alibi?”

It was obvious that he was again hinting at the fact that Namjoon had quite an ascendent on your choices, especially the ones you made regarding him. And it annoyed you, obviously. In part because it was kinda true.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Jungkook: we..” you pointed at the two of you, swiftly moving your index finger in the space between you “..are not friends.”

“Never said we were.” 

He said calmly, without breaking eye contact. The way he stared at you was way too intense for a casual conversation between two people who barely knew each other and you started to feel an inch of discomfort. 

“And even if I wanted to be your friend - I don’t, by the way - it wouldn’t be possible, right?”

He laughed, sarcastically.

“Come on, Y/N. You are a smart girl, you can’t possibly believe Namjoon would let me come anywhere near you even if he were to forgive me.”

“You don’t know that. He is not like that.”

He is not so possessive.

Your words were a mere whisper, as if you weren’t sure yourself of what you were saying.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I know him way better than you do. He forgives but doesn’t forget. Ever. I can only hope for parole with him.” 

He paused, tilting his head to the side while staring at you with a smirk.

“Anyway.. all of this would only matter if I actually wanted to be your friend. And I told you: I don’t.”

You didn’t want to be the one to escape his gaze, but you did it anyway, probably because you felt like you didn’t really want to inquire any further into his words and intentions.

“Then I guess there will always be stuff I don’t get, too.”

Even though, unlike you, I’m not really fine with it.

You collected your purse, standing up.

“I’ll text you the details of the date and the official version to give Namjoon. Don’t fuck it up.”

That said, you turned on your heels and went straight to door, leaving the apartment without even saying goodbye.

taglist: @namjin-fangirling-again 

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 5

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Plagg panics because Lila's the devil incarnate and Lila learns that Gabriel Agreste is far stupider than he seems.

Adrien fondly flicked through the pages of The Pun-thagorean Theorem (Making Math Funny!) textbook. Plumes of dust wafted up his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint and his mouth to contort into the longest face known to man to avoid a hacking fit, but he smiled afterward nonetheless. The book was withered beyond measure, sure, but within its decaying jacket, it held the fleeting whispers of a previous life. A life before his mother went missing. When she enjoyed teaching him math with puns and pieces of candy while his father clung to the confines of closed doors. When her jokes graced the halls and her smiles left behind a fog of golden joy in her wake.

Adrien’s heart thudded with longing.

But he was determined to push back the feelings he had kept buried deep, deep, deep within his heart. So deep that he often forgot they were even there until they reared their ugly heads like a Hydra from the deepest recesses of the sea. Every time he thought he dealt with it, thought he had cut off its head and could breathe for just a second, two heads sprouted in its stead, determined to grip him by the ankles with their jagged teeth and force him to drown in his debilitating lack of self-worth.

He shook his head violently, as if that could shed him of his intrusive thoughts.

Hopefully, this book would help Lila. And then she’d leave. And then he could skip the anime and just take a fat nap. Keeping the Hydra at bay was exhausting.

Correcting his posture, Adrien approached his classmate, noticing straight away she had moved to his desk chair. Odd. But he was willing to roll with it.

Ha. Get it? Desk chair. Roll with it.

He pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter at himself.

Kagami had called him a clown, but Ladybug, as it turned out, appreciated his sense of humor. And if Lady-friggin’-bug--Commander of Wit and Creative Mastermind--thought he was funny, he must have been a damn comedic prodigy.

Plagg recognized that love-struck look on Adrien’s face and had to physically restrain himself from making barf noises.

“Are you ready to start, Lila?” Adrien said. Oblivious to Adrien’s whereabouts, Lila started and spun to greet him. (Was he always that quiet on his feet?)

“Adrien! You found the book.”

“Yep! Why don’t you take a look at it before we start?” Adrien smiled as he passed the book to her.

Lila returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Adrien idly wondered if she had ever meant a smile in her life. She pinched the book between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a moldy sock. “Wow, Adrien, this book is so . . .”

A silence lingered as Lila racked her vocabulary for a word less insulting than crusty.

“Old?” Adrien offered, tilting his head.

Lila tittered unenthusiastically. “Yes, old.” She draped the book onto Adrien’s desk and poked at it. “How long have you, um, had it?”

“It’s been in the family a while.” Adrien hesitated. He didn’t really want to mention his mother to Lila. Lila was poisonous. She spun every piece of information she caught into a sticky web of lies like it was second nature. He didn’t know if he could stomach hearing lies about his mother.

So he bit down on the story of his mom before it could tumble from his lips. Even though he so badly wanted to tell anyone who would listen. His father never afforded him the opportunity to speak about her. His friends at school avoided the topic like the plague.

Come to think of it, Marinette was the only one of his friends who tried to help him see her movie that fateful day the press tried to pass her as his girlfriend. (Which he wouldn’t have minded, honestly, but she always seemed hellbent on them being just friends, so he accepted it.)

Ladybug, the other important person in his life, saw his mother on his desktop during that one akuma attack and commented on her smile. Those two girls (er--women? Which term was more respectful?) were the only people he truly felt safe around. Safe enough to turn his back on the Hydra he always kept a watchful, tired eye on and just enjoy the breeze of the ocean as it caressed his cheeks and messed up his perfect hair.

No, the subject of his mother wouldn’t scare them away. They could handle it.

But Lila was no Ladybug, and she definitely was no Marinette.

Behind them, Plagg was practically pulling his antennae out. It had been at least eight, maybe ten minutes since the akuma alert and his kid was none the wiser. And it really didn’t help that he just saw Ladybug and Rena Rouge pass by Adrien’s gigantic glass wall in a blur of red and orange.

But it was hopeless! He couldn’t get the message to Adrien without being seen!

Or . . .

Or could he?

“‘What’s Pythagoras’ favorite instrument?’” Lila read aloud. Her eyes darted over to the blonde leaning against the desk beside her. He bit his lip and his eyes were doing something weird. She had never seen that emotion on him.

“Go on,” Adrien pushed, his eyes practically sparkling. Huh. Was that emotion . . . eagerness?

She cleared her throat and turned the book upside down to read the answer awaiting her at the bottom of the page.

“‘A triangle.’”

Adrien giggled. What he wanted to do was slap his knee and let the whole world know he found it funny with a booming laughter that rivaled Tom Dupain-Cheng’s, but he knew that was un-gentlemanly.

Lila quirked an eyebrow.

Adrien sobered immediately. “You know,” he tried. “Since a triangle is an instrument and the theorem is about right triangles.”

Lila’s stare was unrelenting.

Adrien coughed. “So the triangle is his . . . favorite instrument.”

Lila stared for a bit longer than necessary before letting out a glaringly obvious fake laugh. Adrien was more offended that she thought that laugh was believable than that she didn’t find the pun funny at all. “Ha. That’s, like, so funny, Adrien. I can tell already that this book is going to be a big help.”

Adrien’s shoulders drooped a little. He hadn’t expected her to fall to the ground in ceaseless mirth, but he hadn’t thought her to be such a brick wall either. “Right. Well, why don’t we start with number one? Do you have your notebook or do you need a spare piece of pap--?”

The sound of the television coming to life cut Adrien’s question short. Lila’s eyes bulged out of her head and the sight would have been comical had it not also meant that Plagg was being a nuisance. Again.

But honestly, when was he not?

Lila burst from her seat and sprinted to the television. “Were you standing on the remote or something?” Lila queried, her voice high-pitched and grating to Adrien’s ears.

Adrien scratched the back of his neck. Think, think, think . . .

“Um, my room is haunted?”

Lila gawked at him wordlessly, gripping the back of his sofa. “You posted something about that on Instagram, but I thought you were, I don’t know? Making it up?”

Because you would be an expert on that, right, Lila?

Adrien plucked the remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the television, his thumb barely brushing the power button when the words from the newscaster reached his ears and sent chills down his spine.

“New akuma . . .”

“Ladybug and Rena Rouge on the scene . . .”

“Chat Noir yet to be spotted . . .”

Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. Furrowing his brow, he ran to his phone and ogled its empty notification list. Why hadn’t he received an akuma alert? Was the Ladyblog acting buggy?

Adrien had to come up with an alibi and fast. Lie like the wind, Bullseye.

He scooped up his cherished pun textbook and shepherded Lila to his bedroom door despite her protests. “I’m so sorry, Lila! I, uh, just remembered I have to practice piano for an extra hour today.” The television droned on about the deadly, unstoppable, mind-controlling, threateningly large, new akuma behind him. The hair on Adrien’s neck stood up with every added adjective.

“You’re not seriously sending me out into the city where the akuma is?” Lila exclaimed.

Oh. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Um, sorry, Lila, but I’m sure you’ll be fine! You’re Ladybug’s best friend, right? She’d never let anything happen to you.” Adrien smirked inwardly at that. Lila was failing miserably at hiding her disgust for his spotted partner when he shut the door--politely--in her face.

Quickly, he propped up his phone on the piano and navigated to his voice memo app.

“I deserve extra cheese,” Plagg drawled, hovering to the side of Adrien.

“For nearly exposing yourself to Lila?” Adrien remarked bitterly.

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “No, for figuring out how to get your attention when Lila was clearly undermining you!”

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks. His finger hovered above his latest piano recording while his mind raced. “What do you mean, Plagg? I didn’t get an akuma alert. That’s not her fault.”

Plagg scoffed. “Uh, you did get an akuma alert. That--that menace got rid of it!” Plagg folded his arms across his chest, clearly much angrier than he would ever admit. “She got rid of the notification so you wouldn’t see. Even when she doesn’t know she’s doing it, she’s sabotaging Ladybug! You can’t let her in your room anymore, Adrien.”

Adrien stiffened. So Lila was far worse than he gave her credit for. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. Harmless snooping, he could live with. Interfering with him protecting his lady? Unforgivable. She did that when he was Chat Noir and he thought he had learned his lesson.

Apparently not.

“We’ll talk about this more later, Plagg,” Adrien finally decided. A moment later, the soft melody of a piano piece danced around the room. His eyes wandered to the whiteboard on his wall that had twelve tally marks souring its otherwise pristine surface. Plagg followed his gaze and looked back at his kid with a frown and drooping brows, tail and antennae betraying his melancholy.

Adrien pointedly ignored Plagg’s Pity™ look. “Ladybug’s already cleansed an akuma twelve times without needing my help. Let’s not let there be a thirteenth. Claws out!”

Meanwhile, from the other side of Adrien’s door, Lila simmered, jaw clenched, mouth dry. She didn’t have an inkling why Adrien had concocted such a ridiculous excuse, but she was ninety percent sure it had something to do with Ladybug.

It always came back to that impudent roach.

Lila dragged her feet all the way to the main staircase with every intention to vacate the Agreste premises, but a quick sweep of the mainroom revealed the bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. And interestingly enough, neither was that dreadfully stoic assistant Adrien was so fond of. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her when she first entered.

Empty. The room was deliciously empty.

And Lila had never seen the inside of Gabriel’s office.

Smirking, she decided she would have to correct that.

Just in case she got caught, Lila inconspicuously flitted around the room in an attempt to appear like she wasn’t on a mission. She fawned over trinkets and leisurely “admired” the boring paintings accosting the walls before her twitching fingers rested on the door handle.

She waited with an ear pressed against the wood. Silence had never tasted sweeter.

The room was . . . well, it left something to be desired.

Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be a fashion icon?

His interior design made her want to gouge out her eyes with a plastic spork.

Lila gingerly let the door fall into place behind her, the hinges creaking only slightly (a billionaire or whatever he was could afford to professionally oil his door, she assumed) before her feet carried her to a mustard yellow tapestry. The woman adorning it she recognized was Adrien’s mother. The photos of Adrien to her right were all edited from photoshoots. Perfect. Unblemished.

Lila supposed she could overlook Adrien’s pitiful sense of humor. Adrien was still great eye candy, and his reputation made him an even tastier prize.

The scent of cologne and disinfectant mingled, battling each other for dominance and the result was only a bit nauseating. Orange light seeped in from the windows, the tendrils of luminance touching everything in the room but the wall with the tapestry. It was golden hour apparently.

Unable to help herself, Lila brushed her fingers along the edges of Gabriel’s touchscreen, searching, searching. Ah. There. A ridge. A power button, perhaps? With the tip of her fingernail, she pressed it and . . .

Of course, the thing would be password protected.

Maybe Adrien’s birthday?

Wait. Did she even know Adrien’s birthday?

Lila shrugged and turned on her heel. She was curious, but odds were she would never be able to guess Monsieur Agreste’s password. Unless . . .

Slowly pivoting to face the screen again, she tried typing something crazy and, albeit, a little stupid.

There was just no way. It was a waste of time to even try.

She tapped a green enter button.

The waiting screen consisted of the outline of a butterfly slowly being filled in and then repeating. Interesting. She wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel to be a butterfly guy. But if she thought about it really, reeeeally hard, she could just barely recall a few designs Adrien had modeled that sported a butterfly-like logo.

But whatever. This butterfly waiting screen meant nothing. There was still no way.

There was absolutely no way the password to the great fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste’s personal computer was “password.”

Was there?

She idly tapped her nails on the screen, the clack-clack-clack echoing around her in the frustratingly barren room. The anticipation ate away at her until . . .

Bingo. The screen unlocked, and the light shining on Lila transitioned from the black of the waiting screen to the blue of a schematic.

Lila snorted. “Seriously? I’m no Max but even I know that’s the most brainless password known to man.”

Closer inspection led to a fascinating revelation. The schematic wasn’t actually for a building or even a design. There were photos of her classmates and their . . .

Their hero personas? Interesting. Could he have been planning a Superhero line? How did he even find out their identities?

Wow, there was Nino as Carapace and that one girl Kagami as Ryuko. Max as some horse-looking hero she honestly had never seen in her life. Kim as a monkey. Unsurprising. Some guy with blue highlights who she’d only seen around Marinette. And Alya . . . as Rena Rouge.

Lila clenched her fists. Her nails left indentations in her palms.

She didn’t have time to stew over this infuriating morsel of information, however, before the floor beneath her began to tremble. Wasting no time, she sprinted to the middle of the room and was surprised to find the floor now still. Had she imagined the earth quaking?

What sounded like mechanical whirring had her spinning on her heel to face the painting. Her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of a hole in the previously-unmarred tile. From the dark pit rose one bonafide, Barney-colored supervillain, his back facing her.

“Nooroo, dark wings fall.”

Instantly, a waterfall of purple and white glitter illuminated the room. The light was so intense, Lila had to lift her arms and shield her retinas. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribcage.

Any sane person would have run away at the sight of a supervillain in their classmate’s mansion.

But not Lila.

Lila quite liked Hawk Moth. She more than shared his distaste for the superhero duo and was overjoyed whenever he graced her with the opportunity to fight them as an akuma.

She was even more overjoyed to find out her boss and Hawk Moth were not just cut from the same cloth . . .

They were the same cloth.

The man otherwise known as Gabriel Agreste stood before her, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he grumbled, “Blasted children. I’ll get your Miraculous one of these days--”

“Um, Master?” a tiny voice interrupted.

Lila had never seen such a thing. Was that a bug? A fairy?

“What is it, Nooroo?”

Upon Nooroo’s silence, Gabriel turned around and was incapable of hiding the shock on his face when he found Lila Rossi trespassing in his office.

“How much did you see?” he demanded, scowling.

Lila tittered behind her hand. “Even if I hadn’t seen everything, Hawk Moth, I’d still be asking you what on Earth that thing is.” She jabbed a manicured finger at Nooroo.

Upon seeing his computer on and unlocked, Gabriel lifted his chin and sneered at the fifteen year old girl who had evidently outsmarted him.

Understanding, Lila shook her head. “You really are a boomer,” she mused. “‘Password’ is the least intelligent password you could have picked.”

“I thought it was clever, Master,” Nooroo meekly added.

Desperate to get control of the situation, Gabriel folded his hands behind his back and stood until he was at his full height. “So now you know.” He dared not move from higher ground. “I can’t imagine you thought it’d be smart to confront an adult man who’s shown he has nothing to lose.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have, like, a son?”

Gabriel’s gaze was unrelenting.

Lila almost pitied the oblivious blonde boy. “Whatever. I just wanted to snoop around your office. I couldn’t have possibly dreamed a juicier secret. Paris’s beloved and esteemed fashion designer doubling as its masked terrorist?”

Gabriel bristled.

Feigning nonchalance, Lila perched upon one of Gabriel’s long purple benches and crossed one leg over the other before leaning an elbow on her knee and resting her cheek in her palm. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Scandalous.”

“I could make your life a living hell, young lady,” Gabriel began, but Lila held up a hand, halting him in his tracks.

“No need to get defensive, Monsieur. You have nothing to fear from me.” Lila stood then and crossed the room to stand on equal footing with Gabriel. While the top of her head was far beneath the man she addressed, her confidence made her a formidable contender. She leaned forward and peered up at him. “In fact, I want to help.”

Gabriel’s fingers twitched. He knew she liked getting akumatized, but this was unexpected. His initial reaction was to shut it down. This should have never happened. He had to ensure her silence but keep her far from involved.

His curiosity, however, got the better of him. He was a businessman at heart, after all.

“Help how?” he pressed.

Lila smiled crookedly.

Hook.

“You’ve akumatized me before and we’ve caused great chaos together.” Lila fiddled with one of her foxtails as she circled Gabriel. “Can you imagine if we actually strategized an akuma?”

“Are you implying my previous akuma were unplanned?”

Line.

“Not at all!” Lila mended, already sensing that Gabriel’s pride was a sore spot. “But you catch your victims when they’re unhinged, laden with their own emotions. How many times has an akuma put their own needs before yours?”

Lila turned her back on Gabriel then and moseyed toward the benches once more. She let her hand trail along the fabric of the cushions, waiting for him to take the bait . . .

“I’m listening.”

Sinker.

“What if your akuma’s goals were aligned with yours? Everything would be calculated. Predisposed. And--” Lila couldn’t prevent the smile from bleeding into her voice “--I’ve never had a sentimonster assist me before.” Lila stopped moving but remained facing the window. The sun was nearly set now.

Heels clacked against the tile. Approaching. Lila steeled herself.

“I don’t suppose you’ll join my assistant and I out in the gardens, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Lila grinned from ear to ear. Oh, she could just imagine the taste of Ladybug’s fear when she loomed over her, fingers pinching her earrings and just ripping them from her lobes. Would the joy blooming in her heart be overwhelming, like a banana overpowering the flavors in a smoothie? Or would it slide down her throat like her mother’s hot chocolate? Rich, creamy, satisfying, and scalding all at the same time . . . but faintly nipping at her vocal cords from the traces of cinnamon?

Was it unbecoming to hope Ladybug’s ears would bleed?

“I would love to.”

Unbecoming or not, it was her greatest desire, from both the deepest and shallowest crevices of her soul.

-----

I just released Chapter 7 over on AO3, so if you're itching for more, go check it out here and leave me some love in the comments. Comments are jet fuel for my creativity 🥰 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

(5/?) Previous | Next

[comphersjost]

All For You (4 times you tried to tell Brady you loved him, and the one time Matty did it for you) ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

reahi, i had an idea and opened a document and i couldnt stop writing, this is what came out. it was edited but i made a lot of changes after, so please forgive any mistakes, typos, plot holes, etc. enjoy :)

Finally fed up with pining over your best friend from afar, you enlist the help of Matthew to help you get the guy - you’re just not really sure who the guy is anymore. Or: 4 times you tried to tell Brady you loved him, and the one time Matty told him for you.

word cout: 5.1k (sorry lmao)

warnings: a LOT of angst, like a lot. smut, nothing as wild as ive written before, car sex, cockwarming, etc. etc. usual cussing, love triangles ig? alcohol, super brief mention of weed, mentions of sex while drunk/high

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

I.

You tried to take Matty’s smile and what was supposed to be an encouraging nod to heart, and let it boost your with confidence. But it didn't. It really, really didn't. You could see Brady on the other side of the room, smiling down at your mom the way he always did. It was that smile he reserved for your parents, the charming, boyish, smile. It was the same smile that got your parents to let you out of the house late in high school even though you were grounded. It was the smile you got to see sitting on your rooftop just a little too tipsy at 2 in the morning. The same smile you wished you could kiss right off his face. 

Brady glances up from your mom’s face for a moment, and catches your eyes. His smile widens impossibly, and you watch him excuse himself from your mother. She smiles knowingly at you, a gentle sparkle in her eye as Brady finds his way towards you.

You latch onto him as soon as you're in his arms, pressing yourself to him, closer closer closer. “Hi,” you hear him mumble against the top of your head. 

“Hi, B,” you breathe back, barely audible over the chatter in the room. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, buttercup,” Brady beams down at you, squeezing your shoulders again. 

Your throat dries up as you stare up at him. You always loved the way his eyes crinkled shut when he smiled big like he was now. A tiny part of you wants to say fuck it and stand up on the tips of your toes to kiss him full on the mouth. You feel yourself swallow, your mouth opens and you want to get the words out, just like Matthew said you could. 

“Listen, Brady I-” 

“Y/N I want you to meet someone.” 

You and Brady spoke at the same time, and rather than let you finish your sentence, Brady lets you out of his arms, resting his hand against your lower back and leading you somewhere deeper into the house. 

“I want you to meet my friend,” he continues, “I know you haven't seen anyone since… but anyways, yeah I think you might like him.” Your lips remain parted, the words stuck in your throat. Of all the things you expected coming to the Tkachuk house tonight, of everything you could have thought might happen during your plan to confess your feelings to your best friend, an off-handed mention of your piece of shit ex-boyfriend and Brady attempting to set you up with someone was far from it.  

Your eyes are hazy, your focus far from the situation at hand, even as you let Brady introduce you to his friend. You barely remember the poor kid’s name, too caught up in trying to keep your shit together. Your eyes find Matthew’s, hating the sympathetic smile on his lips. 

You don't want his pity. It just makes you feel worse. You turn abruptly to Brady’s friend and stop him mid-sentence. “I’m really sorry,” you say, “I just don't think this is going to work out, I have my eyes on someone else.” He doesn't say anything as you walk away, bee-lining straight for Matthew. 

You grab his forearm, ignoring his protests when you drag him out to the backyard. 

“Why did he do that?” you say once you're outside. “Why did he introduce me to someone that I could date? What if you're wrong, Matty? What if he doesn't like me like you think he does?” 

Matthew didn't have an answer for that. He did know one thing though. 

“Then he’s an idiot, Y/N, and he can't see a good thing, a great thing, even when she's right in front of him.” You let out a wet laugh, trying your best not to read too deep into what Brady had tried to do tonight. Instead you let him tuck a strand behind your ear and pull you into a comforting hug, the both of you unaware of Brady’s eyes on you, a smile tugging at his lips at the thought of you two together. 

II.

Ottawa playing a game against Calgary meant you had to cancel any and all plans you had for that weekend. The whole Tkachuk family couldn't make it from St. Louis, but you living in Calgary made up for it. You were shaking with excitement - you hadn't seen Brady in a month and a half, since that horrible attempt at telling him how you felt. You hoped that this time would be different. 

The arms that wrap around your waist in the middle of the hotel lobby are all too familiar to alarm you. 

“Hi, buttercup,” comes the soft whisper, and you can't even attempt to fight the smile that pulls at your lips. 

“Hi, Brady,” you whisper back, feeling Brady loosen his hold on your so you could twist around in his grip. “You've been gone too long.” 

“Hmm, I know,” Brady hums, kissing your hairline gently. “I'm sorry I'm not visiting as much, you know it has nothing to do with you right?” 

“I know, Brady,” you reassure him. “I just miss you.” I love you. The thought is screaming in your head, begging for you to let out.

I love you I love you I love you

“Just say the three little words, Y/N, tell him how you feel.” Those were Matty’s words, just this morning when you had a crisis about seeing Brady again. You paced across the floor of his living room, the walls and tables all over his apartment covered in jerseys and odd paraphernalia he’d acquired over his time playing in the NHL.

“I can't, Matty, what if he,” you gasped for air at the idea, “what if he doesn't love me back, I don't think I could handle that.” 

Matt had laughed at you this morning, assuring that to the best of his knowledge (and he knew his brother pretty damn well), Brady was in love with you too. Besides, he'd said, even if he wasn't in love with you back there was nothing you could do to make him want to stop being friends with you. 

Brady pulls away from you, preparing to head to whatever restaurant you were supposed to meet Matthew at. 

“So, Brady, there was something that I-” 

“Hey, what's this?” Brady’s curious expression made you pause. He tugs the fabric of your sweater down a little by your chest, exposing your collarbone, and a dark purple mark you hadn't meant for anyone to see. Your blood runs cold, knowing exactly where that's from. 

Matthew had given it to you, when the both of you had gotten just a little too wine drunk and you'd ended up in his lap. It was ironic really, you'd been discussing how to drop more hints to Brady about how you feel about him. He'd been helping you with that dilemma since the summer. And then last Sunday, you'd been over at his place for dinner, and the night had ended with him grabbing handfuls of your ass while you whined desperately against his mouth. 

There was no way you could tell Brady how you felt now, not with him having just asked about the bruise his brother had left on your skin. 

“You and my brother finally getting it on?” Brady says suggestively, a shit eating grin on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You feel like a deer stuck in the headlights. 

“Why would you even say that?” you snap, ignoring the way he recoils, lips parted and eyes wide in surprise. “Come on we have to go meet your brother for dinner.” 

III. 

You and Matthew had bought your plane tickets home for Christmas together, deciding that it made more sense since you both lived in Calgary and were going home to the same neighborhood. Brady’s flight was coming in the day after. You’d been spending most of your time at the Tkachuk house, lounging around with Matthew. You’d hung around their house to stay out of your mom’s way, knowing having people around would only just stress her out as she prepared for your whole family to come home. 

Today was the day Brady’s flight was coming in. Chantal and Keith chose to spend the day out shopping before heading to the airport to pick up Brady late in the afternoon. Taryn was spending the day at her friend’s house, leaving you and Matthew alone in the house.

Which, you should have known it was a bad idea. You swore it was nothing between you and Matt, you swore it was just about Matt helping you get the guy, get Brady. But it seemed like the more you, Matt, and alcohol were all involved, you ended up in precarious positions. 

Today you chose not to drink, hooded eyes watching Matt take another drink of whatever liquor he’d chosen this time, before your gaze slid back to the pipe in your hand, lighter dangling between two fingers. You knew how this would end, you and Matt would get wasted, you’d fuck, rough, hard, fast, desperate, and then you would go back to pretending it never happened, went back to him helping you with getting Brady to notice your interest. You didn't talk about it, and you were almost always some kind of inhibited. 

You refused to fuck Matthew in his childhood bedroom, arguing that it was bad karma. He laughed at you then, a soft laugh, clear of any indication that Matt is drunk out of his mind. The laugh is too innocent of a laugh for the way his voice lowers after it ends. He talks you into it, seduces you more like. He’s got you sliding into the backseat of a beat up old Toyota Corolla, his first car (“And how exactly is that any better than your childhood bedroom, Matty?). He tells you that you have hours alone in the house before anyone comes home and you might as well pass the time. 

The talking and seducing turns into heated, sloppy kisses. You giggle against his mouth, tugging at the curls at the back of his head while avoiding the thought that you swore to yourself you would tell Brady how you felt when he got home tonight. But then Matthew’s lips trailed away from your mouth, over your jaw, your cheek, the curve of your throat, and any thought of Brady was gone. 

The messy kisses turned into you riding Matt, his old car rocking back and forth as you bounced on his dick. He kisses you to quiet his moans. No one was supposed to be home for hours but, just in case. He's got you whining desperately while you clench around him, his giant hands squeezing your hips. He guides you up and down on his cock, relishing in the way your body moves the way he wants without a fight. 

I bet Brady couldn't fuck you like I can. 

The thought flashes through his brain before he can stop it, and then it's like someone put a red tint on his world view. You belonged to him. Matthew’s possessive rage has him fucking harder into you, his hands falling from your hips to your ass to slam you forcefully down on him. Growls fall from his lips, the thought of his younger brother fucking you making him intent on bringing you to as many orgasms as possible. That thought is also what made his teeth come down on your skin. He sucks and bites into your skin all over your chest, leaving marks that would expose that you were having sex with someone to anyone who saw - that would expose you to Brady. 

You let out almost a squeal when you cum, clenching around Matthew’s cock and sobbing desperately. You don't see the smug grin on his face when he watches you cum, only letting him keep doing what he's doing because it just feels so damn good. 

Matt follows through on his mental promise, fucking you through as many orgasms as he could (5, the last time he checked, he lost count). His hands flex over your ass, sighing contentedly as he pulls you so that you sink all the way back down on his cock. He pulls you to his chest, nuzzling into you as the two of you doze off. 

Brady finds you that way, seeing the way you’re nuzzled into his brother’s chest through the windshield. The fact that he only saw you through the windshield protected him from seeing the most incriminating part, Matthew’s cock, still stuffed all the way inside of you. He can still see the bare skin of yours and Matt’s shoulders, so he opts out of waking you up, instead heading towards his room to shower off that airport smell and nap, a devastatingly pretty blonde attached to his hip. 

When you wake up, you feel groggy, but more sober than before. After you moaned pathetically when Matthew lifted you off of his cock, the two of you snuck back inside the house, managing to get you out the door and back to your house, and Matthew to his room. When you and your family made their way over for dinner later that night (the hickies and bruises on your skin successfully covered up), you feel your heart twist in your chest at what - or rather, who - greets you there. 

“Y/N! Hey!” Brady sounds so excited, so you humor him, hiding the way it feels like you're about to explode into a million little shreds. “This is my girlfriend, Autumn.” 

And - you really can't hate her. She's so nice, so incredibly kind and radiant and you really don't blame Brady for not taking his eyes off her the whole night. You didn't even know he was bringing her. Matthew catches your eyes, shaking his head sadly and mouthing I didn’t know. 

You shrug, your gaze falling back to the design on the carpet, how the spirals of each shape in the carpet almost mirror your heart, spiraling out and falling apart before your eyes. 

Matt’s gaze remains on you. Something about seeing your skin clear and bare after he had taken such good care to leave as many marks as possible didn't sit right with him. It made his gut twist; he wanted everyone to know. He wanted Brady to know. 

You hate the unpleasant feeling in your gut every time Autumn says something. And you really hate the way Brady smiles apologetically at you when you pulled him aside to say “You never told me you were seeing someone.” 

You just had to get through this night and then it was back to Calgary. 

IV.

Of all traditions your family has with Tkachuks, the vacations are your favorite. 

You're in California this offseason, renting a house in some random, tourist-attracting beach town. Both your families had always done something similar to this (letting the boys take care of a large chunk of it now that they're on NHL salaries), renting 2 houses and splitting you up between the parents and you and the Tkachuk kids once you were old enough. 

Brady had broken up with Autumn in May, which you couldn't be more thankful for, knowing that had that not happened she would've been on this vacation. “Nothing terrible happened,” he assured you over the phone that day. “She's an amazing girl, she really is, she's just...she's not the one for me.” 

You were glad he couldn't see the smile that pulled at your lips at those words.

As for Matthew...well, you'd barely done as much as look at him since Christmas, not wanting to fall back into the habit of sleeping with him whenever you managed to get drunk enough to forget Brady’s existence for half a second. 

But now Brady and Taryn are at the beach, meeting up with some friends they somehow convinced to drive up from Orange County, and you were laying outside in the rented house’s backyard on one of the pool chairs. You’d opted to stay home this time, having spent almost every minute of this vacation attached to Brady at the hip. 

It was pathetic, almost, the way you followed him around. Matt thought so, at least. What he thought was even more pathetic though, was the way Brady had the perfect fucking woman in front of him - pining after him even - and he still couldn't see it, no matter how hard you and Matt tried to make him. 

Matt hates that he finds himself wishing that the whiny voice you used to get Brady to do things you wanted was following him around instead, like the incessant bug he'd teased you about being when you whined for the millionth time to Brady that it was hot. 

Brady had looked at you all soft in the moment, leaning down to kiss your forehead before placing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “Not hot enough for you not to cuddle with me,” he’d said, your giggles prompting him to tickle your sides until you'd both forgotten about your complaining. 

“Y/N, you left your water bottle outside,” Matthew says abruptly, adding on a “by the way” so you two would stop staring at him like he interrupted something. Like he wasn't even supposed to be there. 

“Oh,” the realization makes you frown, and the pout that accompanies your furrowed brows almost make him combust from how cute you look. “Didn't know you noticed I left it out there.” 

Brady keeps his arm around you as he lets you take him back outside for the water bottle, making you miss the way Matt whispers “I always notice.”

- 

You briefly wondered what Matthew was doing, before the question was answered for you by a soft sensation against your knee. His lips trailed up your thigh, nosing at your skin before pressing another open-mouthed kiss into your thigh, making your eyes flutter open briefly. It's hot, your skin feels like it's on fire, buzzing, like you're vibrating from the inside out. 

Even with the sun washing over you the way that it is, the fire you feel on your tanned skin, Matthew’s lips make you burn. He makes you ache, the way he hasn't touched you like this in months. 

“Everyone is gone for the day,” he murmurs against you, kisses becoming more frequent across your hips. “All of them. I could fuck you and make you scream and no one would know.” His words make you shudder, your back arching as his lips traveled upwards, teeth coming out to mark you up all over your tits. “So pretty like this baby, when I mark you up like that.” 

You know that if you don't stop him now, Matt will get you in his bed - he would get you in his bed and then from there he'd take you apart with his fingers, his cock, his mouth. Then he’d use that same damn mouth that got you into bed with him to talk you into staying there. And as much as you love Brady… you can't resist him. You place your hand on his shoulder, his skin is warm, and it takes everything out of you to push him away. 

“Matty, stop, Matthew, stop it.” Suddenly you can feel the sun back on your skin, Matthew having retreated from you completely. 

“What's wrong?” he says softly, “Please, what did I do?” 

“Nothing,” you lie, closing your eyes again so you wouldn't have to look at him as you say your next words. “I'm telling Brady how I feel. Tonight. No matter what happens I’m telling him tonight.” 

“Oh. Good luck, then, I guess.” That's all Matthew says, then there's a shuffling noise and silence. Then the slam of the sliding door to the kitchen. 

You shift uncomfortably and turn your thoughts back to Brady. 

It’s later, when you’re curled up against Brady’s chest with a random movie playing on tv that you get cold feet. It’s just you and him, on the couch of the first floor of the house. Matthew is God knows where, and Taryn still hadn't gotten back from her friend’s house. This moment on the couch with him is perfect, it feels so domestic. You don't want to ruin this moment by telling him how you feel, and potentially - probably - being rejected. 

You promised yourself. 

You take a deep breath, ready to blurt out those three little words, and then - 

“So, you and my brother huh?” Brady murmurs, eyes remaining trained on the action scene on the screen in front of him. “I know you got defensive last time I mentioned it but you guys are good together, and I'm glad you finally see it.”

You feel like you can't breathe, your throat choking up. You want to cry, yell, scream, something to just let him know that you love him. 

“Actually, Brady -”

“Hey, don't worry it’s okay,” Brady laughs, reassuring you and pulling you closer to squeeze you. “I promise, I've seen you with him, and I think you guys are good together, don't worry about it.” You fall silent, not really knowing how to work your way out of this one. 

“We’re not together,” you say quietly, and you had the way Brady’s hum of acknowledgment sounds like he doesn't believe you. You give up on telling him tonight.

+1 

The expression on Brady’s face drops when he meets your eyes across the table. You were just so tired. And you knew that he could see it in your face. What with work absolutely kicking your ass, to the point where you were barely able to get this week off to come home to St. Louis. It’s the end of summer, which means you and Brady were about to go through months of hectic schedules and voicemails that say “Hey, sorry I just missed your call, life has been crazy lately.” Your gaze falls from the lines of Brady's face to the seat at his right side.

Autumn smiles at you, and you hate the way the warmth that radiates from her feels like a knife twisting deeper into your gut. You hate yourself for how much you hate Autumn, you know she doesn't deserve it. Brady catches your eye again, a brief flash of recognition sliding across his face before it's gone. You'd been avoiding him for the past three days since you got here, and you almost felt guilty for it. 

Matt’s hand gripping your thigh draws your attention away from Brady. He squeezes your thigh, smiling reassuringly at you and bumping your shoulder gently. It’s when Autumn finally stands from the table, smiling sweetly at Keith and Chantal, that you release the breath you'd been holding in all night. Brady says he's going to walk her out, a car waiting for her outside to take her to the airport back to Ottawa. 

You don't fight it when Matthew tells you to head downstairs and he and Taryn could take care of the cleaning up. You curl up on the couch in the basement, stealing Matt’s Flames hoodie off the back of a chair and a blanket from the closet. Your eyes flutter shut to the muted noises of the dishes clinking together. 

You let your eyes flutter closed, only opening them again when you feel a warm heat slide in beside you. You hum when Matt kisses your temple softly. 

“You okay?” he nudges you gently, stealing the end of your blanket to cover his legs. 

“Yeah, just tired,” you mumble back, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in. You know Matthew knows better than to believe your blatant lie, but you're okay with the way he chooses to move past it and not make you talk about it. 

The two of you lounge on the couch silently, Matt switching on some Netflix show he’d been watching after you heard Taryn say she was going to bed. You tried not to think about how long Brady was taking upstairs with Autumn. 

They'd gotten back together over the summer, she’d reached out to him before he left for the off season, which he failed to mention until it was nearly over. Against both yours, Matthew’s, and Taryn’s advice, Brady had bought a plane ticket back to Ottawa, saying that he might as well give it a shot. 

Matthew had held you when you cried that night, Taryn bringing the two of you water and food when it was clear you weren't leaving his room, much less his arms. 

He wanted to hold you right now too, god how he wanted to hold you. But he couldn't, not with Brady due back any second from waiting out front for Autumn's ride. He couldn't risk Brady seeing the two of you, not again. 

Brady had made comments here and there about Matt’s relationship with you. No matter how much Matt insisted that the two of you weren't involved, Brady wasn't convinced, insisting that he was okay with it. 

But right now, in this moment, he wanted to believe him. Matt’s hands ached to touch you, hold you, draw patterns on your skin, he yearned for it. He wanted - he needed to make sure that you knew that everything was going to be okay. Just as his resolve starts to crumble, his hands twitching in his lap as he begins to reach for you, a voice comes from the stairs. 

“We should talk - right?” Brady is talking to you, making you open your eyes to look at him. “Like - things are weird, have been weird, and we have to talk about it right?” 

You nodded silently, shifting in your spot so that you're sitting up, any physical contact you had with Matt now lost. “Yeah,” your voice comes out small, a whisper, and then stronger, firmer. “Yeah, we need to talk.” 

This is it.

The silence in the room is almost unbearable, and you're unable to choke the words out. Brady stares at you, while you stare down at your hands. Matt refuses to look at either of you, gaze trained on the wall behind the TV, jaw clenched so tightly that if your eyes were on him you'd tell him he was about to break his teeth. 

“Is this about you and Matt?” The words come out of nowhere, and it feels like you've been slapped. 

“What?” Matt’s head snaps towards Brady, as does yours.

“No, really,” Brady says, “Did you guys break up oh something?

“What are you talking about Brady?” You can't stop the frustration from seeping into your voice. “That's not what this is -” 

“‘Cause you know I’m okay with you guys together,” Brady continues obliviously, “I keep telling both of you that it's fine but I don't get why you insist on-” 

“Oh my god you idiot!” Matt’s outburst shuts Brady up pretty quickly, leaving the younger brother staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Matt looks at you and his eyes are sad, regret and apologies already written all over his face for what he's about to say next. “She's in love with you.” 

He speaks so quietly you almost don't hear the second part of his statement. 

“And I’m in love with her.”

Time screeches to a halt. You're convinced it's a dream, nearly pinching yourself to prove that it is. Brady is staring at Matt now, and you're staring at the ground. 

“You're lying.” You don't believe the words you're saying either, and neither do Matt and Brady. 

“I love you.” He's telling the truth, you can hear it in his voice. 

“Stop.”

“I love you and you love him.” 

“Stop it!” 

“I love you, and, fuck - Y/N, it’s simultaneously the best and worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me.”

“Please! Matty, please! Just stop!”

“Is he telling the truth?” This time it’s Brady. His voice quivers with every word. Like he doesn’t want it to be true. “You're in love with me?” 

You wrap your arms around your torso, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping - praying - that when you opened your eyes, this would all be over and you'd wake up in your bed. But when you opened your eyes again, you were still on the couch in the Tkachuk’s basement, blanket tangled between you and Matt. 

“You should have let me tell him,” you say to Matt, ignoring Brady’s question, still lingering in the air. “I wanted to be the one to tell him, you knew that.” 

“Well, he hasn't been letting you, now has he?” Matt snaps back at you, the regret showing up on his face almost instantaneously. “Baby…” 

The name slips out on accident, he doesn't mean to say, and he sure as hell doesn't mean for Brady to hear it. 

“Okay, what the hell is going on here?” Brady finally yells, fed up with being kept in the dark. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” 

“I don't-” you start to say, trying to say it before Matt does. 

“She loves you, okay?” Matt grabs your hand for a moment when he starts to speak, giving it a squeeze before taking his own hand back again. “She loves you in more than a friend way, and we’ve spent nearly the last year trying to get her to tell you but every time - every time Brady! - some stupid shit happens, like you trying to hook her up with someone, or - oh, I don't know - randomly springing your girlfriend on us!” 

“That was one time!” Brady argues, “Besides you were the only one who knew Autumn was coming, why are you even mad?” You flinch at the mention of her name, but freeze at what comes after. 

“What?” 

Matt looks like he's been caught red handed - and he has, really. He just didn't mean for you to find out this way. He didn't mean for you to find out any of this the way that you just did. 

“I can explain -”  

“Please don't,” you stand up just as Matt is reaching for you. “I don't want an explanation. I don't - I just want to - I’m going home.” 

While Brady doesn’t even look at you, Matt nearly lunges for you when you walk away from the couch. Walk away from him. He hates the way the thought stings. He barely manages to brush his fingertips against the red fabric of his hoodie before you're halfway up the stairs and the door to the basement slams shut. 

[topazy]

What we found

Parings: John Murphy/ OC

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter: eleven

Cora

I sat up with a groan, gripping my head as the dimly lit room I was in started to spin.

Murphy kneeled beside me. "Hey, take it easy. You’ve had a nasty fall."

Fall? I couldn’t remember falling. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realised I was inside a cave, and the only light was coming from a small fire. "How did I get here?"

"John carried you," Emori said before sitting down beside me. "Do you remember anything that happened?" I shook my head. "You saved us from reapers."

"And took a beating in the process," I snorted. It wasn’t the first time that I’d been beaten in a fight, and I doubted it would be the last. It was strange that a reaper knocked me out but left me alive.

I raised my hand to scratch my neck and almost screamed when I felt something move. Frantically, I began shaking my hair, watching the different twigs and dried leaves fall out. My face began to burn as I felt embarrassed. "I thought it was a bug."

Murphy smirked as Emori continued to stare at me with a worried look. "You were asleep for a long time. I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up."

"Oh, thanks for not leaving me to die." Neither of them replied, and we sat in awkward silence. "What are you guys doing here anyway? I thought you wouldn’t be back in Polis."

Murphy shared a look with Emori before he answered. "We didn’t want to be tied down."

"Fair enough."

Emori stood up, "I’ll get you some water."

Once she walked to the other side of the cave, and began rummaging inside her bag, Murphy turned to face me and spoke quietly, "I know."

Puzzled, I raised my brows. "You know what?"

"I saw your blood."

Oh fuck. Chills spread through my body as his words sank in. I leaned forward, "Does Emori know?"

He shook his head. "No, but you owe me an explanation."

"I owe you nothing," I snapped.

"I risked my life trying to get you back to camp."

I turned away from him and smiled at Emori when she handed me a bottle of water. I found it odd that Murphy dropped the subject when his girlfriend sat back down beside us. I had just assumed he would have told her. Luckily for me, he didn't. I couldn’t tell either of them anything, they would just betray me. Everyone always did.

Murphy

"You said there'd be food here."

Emori leaned her head back against the wall, and let out a sigh. "There should be. These woods have always been good to me. Now there are not even bugs."

"Well, fortunately, I'm not hungry enough for that to be upsetting yet." I grimaced at the thought. "I actually kind of miss Polis. They had this drink there-sweet, made out of sheep's milk-"

Emori shot me a look, "Ontari gave this to you?"

"Yeah... I told you it wasn't all bad."

What did she expect me to say? No. The food was terrible? I wasn’t going to lie to her.

"You told me you were trying to survive." The tone of Emori’s voice through me. She was mad at me.

"I was."

"What else wasn’t bad?" She asked, turning to face me. "John, sex?"

The question made me feel physically sick. I’d already made it clear I didn’t like anything that happened. Why couldn’t she be more understanding? Why didn’t she believe me when I said all I wanted was to be back with her? I glanced over at Cora, who was pretending to sleep. "Emori," I sighed quietly. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine. Then let's not."

Standing I dusted off some of the dirt that was sticking to my clothes. "I didn't have a choice, ok? Emori. I didn't have a choice."

She looked up at me and panicked, "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go to Arkadia."

"What? Why?"

I shrugged, "I'm a better thief than I am a hunter."

"I'll come with you."

Emori looked hurt as I shook my head. "No. I'll draw less attention alone,"I pointed over to Cora.

"One of us needs to stay here with her."

"John…"

"It’s our fault she got hurt," I squeezed Emori’s shoulders. "She saved our lives, then we saved hers. I’m sure she’ll want to go back to wherever it was she was going in the first place."

A part of my hope was that what I said was true. The other part? The part I was desperately trying to ignore, wanted to know everything about her.

Emori

I watched in silence as Cora continued to chop at her hair with a knife she had pulled from her boot, before throwing the braids into the fire. It was strange, but I had a feeling her actions had a meaning behind them.

The light from the fire only illuminated the small scars that covered her face and neck. Remembering what John had told me about her, my stomach began to turn. The way she had healed her own wounds while they hid in the bunker sounded agonising. I understand Cora did what she had to, but I personally don’t think I could have. I opened my mouth to ask her about it, but stopped when I heard footsteps.

"Oh, finally." Seeing John approaching, I went towards him and threw my arms around him. I knew he was capable of looking out for himself, but I still worried.

He pulled back from me with a worried expression on his face, "Emori."

"John, what's wrong?"

"It looks like we may need my people, after all." He gulped down. "There's a storm coming. When it hits, we need to be on the right side of that door."

Oh god, this definitely wasn’t part of our plan. "So we make ourselves useful."

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly. I've already started working on Abby. Come on. I'll explain on the way." He glanced over at Cora, who still hadn’t lifted her head. "What is she doing?"

Cora was now running her fingers through her tangled, messy hair that stopped just under her ears. I leaned into him and whispered so Cora wouldn’t hear me. "She’s been like this since she woke up."

"Has she said anything?"

I shook my head. I didn’t want to feel paranoid, but I didn’t like John's genuine concern in his voice. We hardly knew this girl and he cared more about her welfare than most people he grew up on the ark with.

John took a few steps forward. "Cora, I think you should come back with us."

Cora scoffed, "No thanks. I’ll take my chances in the cave."

"Bellamy’s been looking for you."

Finally, lifting her head, Cora looked up at us with a wide-eyed expression. "You spoke to him?"

"No," John let out a sound of frustration. "I spoke with Abby, and she told me he was asking you before meeting some spy from ice nation."

"Fine," Cora stood. "We should go before it gets dark."

John looked disappointed. I wasn’t sure if it was because Cora was leaving with us, or how her face lit up when he mentioned Bellamy.

Notes: I love Emori as a character, and hate that I’m dragging her into a love triangle. But never fear, I’m going to write her an alternative happy ending

[gaitwae]

The Blessings of Damsels [|] Batman x OC

read on AO3!

Warnings: Slightly open-ended, hinted love triangle. 

Length: 8.4k

Summary: A short timeline of how Charlene Park got over Clark Kent and set boundaries with Bruce Wayne.

=-=-==-=-==-=-==-=-==-=-=

=-=-=

The wind felt exquisite on Charlene’s skin, calming her racing heart. It wasn’t every day where her life flashed before her — she had been left under a pillar near LexCorps, then saved by an angel named Superman. Her eyes, shut tightly and pressing away tears, helped her forget exactly why you couldn’t go back to Metropolis. It had been a week, and, yet, here you were. She was hiding from someone too important to her. Charlene was hiding from shaking buildings and crumbling roads and screams and glowing rocks and a reporter who kept disappearing every time that Superman kept showing up. 

She was done with the lying and the rejection.

She didn’t plan on jumping from the rail where she was standing. She didn’t want to hurt herself. She just wanted to see something else. 

So, in search of new scenery, of something alien to her, Charlene went to the most dangerous city in America. Albeit, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, it was something that at least distracted her. Central City was just too far to drive, and Gotham was supposed to be the sister city of her home. She could just forget about this man who had worried her sick, she could just relax and listen to the cars run and the flags flap and smell the sulfur and petroleum and the flowers in the box on the building beneath her. Way up on this rooftop, she let her surroundings melt away her fears.

Char sat on the ledge of the roof, setting her fingers under the concrete lip.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” a deep voice said, startling her. The stranger set a sleek, covered hand on her shoulder to secure her. “People jump all the time. I hope you’re not looking for an escape that way.” 

“Um,” Char started, trying to find her voice, “I wasn’t going to jump. I was just trying to get over someone.” She cleared her throat and dusted her clothes off. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Not that it’s important… but he’s kind of important in Metropolis. I had to leave.”

There was a hum from the man who was behind her. Char looked up, seeing a black cowl and stubble dotting a square jaw and set lips. There was a familiarity to him — not that she knew him, but that she had seen him somewhere before. Charlene felt… well, not safe, but there was something comforting about him. As she looked closer, she noticed a large silhouette of a bat was weaved into the fabric on his breast.

Batman.

“How important can he be? He’s not Lex Luthor, is he?” the vigilante asked. He sat down next to Char, setting his cape underneath his legs so it flowed beneath him. His lips twitched upwards, but not quite. 

“He’s one of the biggest writers for the Daily Planet newspaper,” she said, laughing sadly. She felt like an idiot. Why was she spilling her guts out to this stranger? “Clark Kent, such a dork, but he’s always in the building. I work with him. I’m a newscaster —”

“Charlene Park,” he filled in. He turned to look at her, bright blue eyes gazing into her own orbs.

Charlene blushed. She wasn’t surprised. This was the Batman. He was crazy smart. Who knew how much he knew about anyone at the Daily Planet. Rumor was, Superman worked there, so of course, he might have known something about it. “You know my name. Creepy.”

He gave a slight nod as if agreeing with her. “You said it yourself. You’re a newscaster. I make it my job to watch the news.”

“For Metropolis, too?”

What a stupid question, of course for Metropolis too —

“Yes,” he said, patient and friendly. “Superman lives there. I have to know if I ever need to interfere. If he was ever mind-controlled, I need to be able to step in and save the world. The other members of the Justice League aren’t capable.” Each word that came from his mouth didn’t seem arrogant or rude at all. Batman was almost… melancholy. 

“So… you’re all by yourself?” she asked.

“I have my kids. They’re trained pretty well,” he replied. He turned his gaze out to Gotham City. He had a firm stare, unwavering and determined. Her heart dipped, sorry for him, impressed by him, and so… so weirded out, too.

Charlene looked out at the city, too. “I don’t have kids. I don’t have anybody. My parents died when I was young, I was never adopted, and I don’t have siblings.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Clark was my friend back in Smallville. It’s just been so odd, recently. He hasn’t been around as much, he’s been tailing Lois Lane, and I’ve been breaking my own heart over and over.” She sighed. “Don’t get me wrong — Clark’s a great guy! But…”

“That’s why it’s hard to get over him,” the Batman supplied. He bowed his head. An understanding was hidden beneath layers of quiet. “I don’t know what it’s like to be in love with some kind of Clark Kent, but I know what loneliness is, Miss Park.”

“Char.”

“Char,” he corrected himself. 

She cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. “Do you still feel lonely? With your kids?”

He shook his head a little. “Not as much, no. There are times I feel lonely, but I’ve been blessed. Your blessings will come, Char.” He turned to look at her. “I hope that helps.”

“It does,” she said, smiling. “What makes you so sure I’ll have blessings? I mean, you coming to talk to me seems heaven-sent, but that’s not a guarantee.” Charlene twisted her hands together, now restless. The Batman took his time to collect his answer.

“You’re a woman in her mid-thirties who still pines over her high school sweetheart,” he started. “You had one good thing, and it either ended or you grew apart. You built others up instead of yourself. You’ve waited patiently for what you want — but not for everything. You let some things go for others. You fought for everything and you’ve sacrificed it all. The foster homes were nothing, and yet it was the worst thing to live through. A kid with no one made herself into a someone, even if it was half of a someone.” The Batman rested on his elbows. “You’re too scared to let people go, but you’ve accepted people letting go of you or setting you aside. Char, you’ve got to have something coming to you.”

Charlene was stunned. How did he know all these things? Was she that obvious? Was she an open book? Or was that the hero of Gotham doing his job, once more? Oh, she couldn’t tell. Her skin prickled from both his sheer guesswork and the chilling night air. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Wow. You got all that just by listening to me for a few seconds?”

“And from feeling it myself or seeing my kids struggle with it.” He unclipped his cape, standing up. He wrapped it around her shoulders. The Batman stood close, but not too close. This was all too surreal. Charlene didn’t know how to feel. This stranger was becoming less and less of a stranger. She knew he wouldn’t want to be too close, and it was foolish to think that they would be close. This was just a weird talk about Clark Kent on a Sunday night, on the ledge of a rooftop. Being in love with Clark Kent was the least of her worries, anyway.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t protest. She waited about thirty seconds before saying anything. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Her larynx didn’t want to cooperate. 

How to phrase this?

He set a hand on her head, signalling for her to continue. 

“If I wanted to talk to you again, how would I be able to do that?” she whispered. “I feel as if you’ve understood me more in ten minutes than my shrink has in years. Not to mention, you might be able to relate to me more than my shrink can. You said you felt some of this stuff yourself. Are you an orphan, too?” 

“That’s more than one thing,” he said. He looked down at her with a glint in his eyes. “Just go back to Metropolis. You’re needed there.”

Charlene stopped. Of course. Right. She put her palm to her forehead. “You’re right. I’ll have to just face Clark like normal.” She barked a laugh. “You’re a hero, Bats.”

“Good to know.” 

Char stood up. “You might want this back, won’t you?” She flapped the cape around her shoulders. She felt silly. She didn’t know this man. She knew nothing about him, and she was talking to him like she was talking to Clark. She wasn’t a writer; she wasn’t an interviewer; she was a reciter. This was all new to her. 

The cowled detective hooked a thumb in his belt. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel room — you can return it then, Char.”

=-=-= “The Batman Incident” was what Charlene came to remember that night as. It was fresh in her mind for weeks, as fresh as the minutes she had lived through it. Any time she felt crisp cool air on her neck, any time she was alone at night on her balcony, she was instantly reminded of the interaction. Charlene didn’t ache or wish or anything like that, but it didn’t stop her from trying to figure out why the moments felt so real compared to anything else she had been through. Out of all that, she had been now, instead of Clark’s hurt bothering her the most, it was the Batman’s words ringing in her ears. 

Char was sitting at Clark’s desk with the writer himself, now. He was leaning against it, scratching his head and playing with his glasses. Kent was antsy. He groaned, turned, then slapped his hands against the desk with a deep, deep sigh. “I can’t believe Lois caught an interview with Bruce Wayne. Wanna know the weirdest part?” he asked. He looked into Char’s eyes, pure confusion dressing his face.

“What’s ‘the weirdest part’?” she asked, repeating what he said exactly how he had said it. “She’s gotten interviews with the president of McDonald’s, before, Clark, I’m not exactly surprised. Lois is talented.” Char reached over the desk and grabbed a cup of coffee that had been nearly emptied, though had enough for her pleasure. She didn’t need to be an anchor, today. It was supposed to be her day off. She wouldn’t have even come in at all if Clark hadn’t asked her.

Charlene really needed to stop doing things because Clark asked. 

“The weirdest part was how he never accepts interviews. In fact, he asked if Lois still worked at the Daily Planet.” He shook his head, pinching his nose. “He asked if we could hold the interview here, otherwise it wouldn’t happen… oh, sometimes I think billionaires hate me…”

“Makes sense,” Charlene agreed. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Why wouldn’t they hate reporters and journalists? They could be talking with Superman or Batman or Wonder Woman.” 

Clark laughed dryly. “You have no idea how much I wish I was having an interview with Batman. Instead, I have to deal with Bruce Wayne.”

“Lois is having the interview with Wayne, Clark. Calm down. It’ll all be okay.” Char stood up, patted his back, then sat back behind his desk and took a long sip of his coffee. “Besides, Bruce Wayne can’t be that… scary…” She trailed off. She saw the elevator to the writing room open.

The man walking out of the elevator and toward her was not who she was supposed to be seeing. She might have been bad at recognition in general, but she remembered that square jaw, those blue eyes. She hoped against hope she was seeing things. “I take it back,” she whispered to Clark. Her old friend kept shooting his eyes back and forth between her, Wayne, and Lois Lane, trying to put the pieces together quickly. Charlene stood up, a smile tugging up her face at the sight of the man she wasn’t supposed to know. “He’s terrifying.”

“Charlene —”

“Mr. Wayne,” she greeted, speaking louder than Clark intentionally. “Welcome to the Daily Planet. How are you, this morning?” She extended her hand outwards to take his. Mr. Wayne took it, gave it a firm shake, then smiled broadly at her. 

“Charlene, right?” he asked, squinting his eyes and setting a hand on her upper arm in a friendly manner. His suit was about as straight as wrapping paper; shiny like it, too. He was just missing the Christmas bow.

“Yes!” she grinned. She set her hands on her hips. “Charlene Park: a lowly newscaster. I hope you like the Daily Planet and find some friends, here.”

Bruce smiled. “Then I suppose we’re friends already, Miss Park.”

“I guess we are,” she said. “Friends are life’s greatest blessings, aren’t they?”

“They are, I agree.” Bruce Wayne let go of her, moving back to Lois Lane. He kept his eyes on hers. He clapped his hands together lightly. “I have an interview to complete. It was nice meeting you, Char. I hope to see more of you.”

“Best of luck, Mr. Wayne.”

When Bruce Wayne walked away, Clark folded his arms tightly over his chest. “That was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen — and I’ve seen my dad in daisy dukes.”

Char cocked her head, trying to stifle a snicker. “Clark, c’mon. It wasn’t anything. I’m fine, really.”

The man fixed his tie, taking the empty coffee cup from his desk over to the office kitchen. As he walked past her, he said, “I’ll believe it when you don’t giggle at the billionaire.”

“Maybe he looks funny!” Charlene offered. 

“Har har!” Clark called. “I’m sure that’s it.”

=-=-= The interview with Bruce Wayne was done and over within record time. Charlene had never seen Lois so happy before. Bruce, on the other hand… Charlene had no idea someone could hide such a smile behind two eyes. 

She was shaking. She didn’t know if she was happy, mad, excited, or scared that she knew the man behind the mask all the way back in Gotham City. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what emotion she was feeling… or if she really wanted to know the man behind the mask in Gotham City. She kept replaying the Batman Incident in her head. She didn’t want to relive it. She didn’t want to have a vigilante smile at her and know exactly who she was pining for. 

Yeah, she still hurt for Clark. It wasn’t going to go away so quickly. But billionaire Bruce Wayne didn’t need to know that. 

She let her mouth run twice. She needed to keep a lid on it the next chance she got. To make sure she didn’t even risk it, Charlene packed up and left early. She was at home without another run-in with Bruce. 

Boy, did that make her feel worse. She felt terrible, cowardly. Running from her problems was just another thing Char found herself doing constantly. She had made herself some pasta, wrapped herself in a bathrobe over her T-shirt, and sat with a mug of sweet tea in her lap. 

Her newspaper clippings of the Batman littered her coffee table. Every award-winning article written by Clark was framed up. Her old dog was sitting next to her, chewing on his toy without a care in the world. For being a coward’s safe space, it was very comfortable.

“Real brave, Charlene,” she mumbled into the ceramic as she took a sip. She switched on the TV, hoping for white noise. “Just hope I was wrong about Wayne…”

“That depends on what you think you’ve found,” said the last voice she wanted to hear. Char exhaled through her nose.

“Come in,” she called. “Don’t just hang around in the shadows.”

The Batman slipped out of her bathroom door, cowl on and frown deep. He was regal and knightly, feet apart and shoulders taught. “Char,” he greeted.

“I was hoping you could tell me if I was wrong, actually.” Charlene sat up, putting her mug aside. She beckoned him over. He sat down next to her. “I just never noticed how similar the Batman is to Bruce Wayne.”

“Similar?”

“Like your eyes are the exact same shade of blue,” she reasoned. “And you wear the same aftershave, too.”

“Charlene,” the Batman said quietly, “anyone can have similar aftershaves and blue eyes.”

“Not everyone in Gotham knows who I am.”

“Not everyone in Metropolis knows who I am, either,” he countered. “Do you really want to know who I am?”

“I know Clark is Superman. Part of the reason I’m furious with him is that he lies to me.” Char made sure her emphasis was on lies. “The allegations would be too crazy for anyone to believe, trust me.”

“There are too-crazy people in Gotham that can’t know,” he answered. “I’m sorry. Even if I trusted you above everyone, your position makes it hard for me to tell you.”

“My position?” she repeated.

The dark knight looked at her as if it were obvious. It was, but she didn’t understand why she couldn’t at least hear the truth from him. “You’re a friend of Superman’s and a newscaster. I have responsibilities, a lot of them. My kids, my city, my assets.” He said assets, not money. He was a businessman at his core, even if he had the heart of a lion there, too. 

“Just tell me if Bruce Wayne can answer me, then.” Charlene stuck her hands under her arms. “Since the two of you already know I know.”

“Charlene,” he said quietly, roughly. She turned her head away. She felt insulted. 

It took her a second to realize it, but the Batman was pleading. He didn’t do it the same way Clark did. Clark would soften up, not set up defenses. Clark would take her hand, not give her space. Clark wasn’t anything like the Batman. He just sat, frozen, waiting his turn patiently. 

She had to be patient with him, too. She wasn’t a superhero. She didn’t know what this was like for him, but she could still be patient. So to help, Charlene waited, too, for what seemed like forever. She took his hand and squeezed it. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t recoil. The hand was limp despite her grip and she couldn’t say that she blamed him for it; she was thankful he didn’t rip his fingers away so soon.

“Why did you agree to an interview?” she whispered. “And… and don’t say it wasn’t you. Lois doesn’t talk about me, I wasn’t wearing a nametag, and Bruce Wayne has no reason to be watching the Metropolis Daily Planet Newscast outside of the financial updates.” 

“I figured it was time for an interview,” he answered. The Batman didn’t deny it. Bruce didn’t deny it. He kept his eyes away from hers. “I remembered that you worked there. You owe me after that talk, so I came to collect.”

“You think you’re funny,” she said with a smile. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness… Lois will be grinning ear-to-ear for weeks because of you.”

“I was supposed to be meeting Clark, anyway. I figured the pitstop might be worth it.” Bruce’s lips twitched again. Char grinned broadly. He removed his cowl then faced her. “You could really tell it was me because of the eye color?” 

He seemed more at home in his bat armor. He was comfortable in this grey/black getup. When he wore the crisp suit, he seemed fidgety, but when he was sitting next to her, his muscles weren’t so tense. His eyes didn’t dart all over. He was at rest as the Batman.

“You do a good falsetto, but yeah, it was the eye color.” She stood. “Can I get you tea? Or are you going to disappear?” 

Bruce pressed his lips into a line. “I don’t know how long I can stay.  I have to drive home tonight… and I’m not the type for this sort of domesticity.” 

“I won’t tell anyone you’re docile,” Charlene promised, crossing her heart. She took her cup and went into the kitchen. “As long as no one knows about me, no one can hurt me or my family — there is no family to hurt.”

“You’ve thought this through?” he asked, footsteps not far behind hers. He stopped in the doorway. “May I?” He pointed to the kitchen wall lined with the cupboards and appliances. Charlene nodded. Bruce poked around her cabinets and her drawers, casually picking something up every now and again. She didn’t mind — he was getting to know her. He was a detective. She had nothing to hide, and he had everything to see. Win-win. “Impressive.” 

“I’ve been dying to see you, again,” she teased. “You could say I’m crazy for you.”

“Not really my type,” he mused. Char could hear items jangling around behind her. “Desperation isn’t my style.”

“But stopping a girl from jumping — when she wasn’t — is?” She poured another cup of tea, looking back at the dark knight. He was holding a spatula and studying it carefully. He pretended as if he hadn’t heard her.

“My son, Damian,” he started. He set the spatula down, digging for something else. “He wouldn’t admit it, but he would love to rescue a damsel in distress. I think he would like you.”

“I’m a damsel in distress?” she laughed. She set a teabag in the cup, doing a one-eighty to face Bruce. “Who are you? Some kind of prince charming?”

“The term is ‘knight in shining armor,’” he corrected. He closed the drawer he was meddling in. “The prince is the kid from Smallville, Kansas.”

“I’m from Smallville, Kansas.” Charlene walked over to him. Bruce was still standing rigidly. She didn’t know if he knew how to relax. Could he relax? Was it even physically possible for Bruce “the Batman” Wayne to relax?

“I’m from New Jersey.” He crossed his arms, rubbing his fingers together. 

“Hey. You don’t have the Jersey accent,” Char pointed out. She pulled his gloves off gently, setting them on the counter. She went to get his tea. “Let it steep for about thirty more seconds.” She set the mug in his hands. They were so large that the orange cup seemed like a plaything compared to a real item.

“I never said I interacted with New Jersey,” he said dryly. “I just lived there. I was raised by my butler.” 

“Does Detroit have any superheroes?” she wondered aloud. Bruce waved the tea under his nose, scrunching his nose upwards. He took a sip without glaring at the tea again. “Your butler sounds like a wonderful man. He raised you well.”

“I’m lucky.” He paused for a moment. “Aquaman, the Green Lantern, and Amazing Man live in Detroit. Why are you asking?”

Charlene patted his shoulder, throwing away everything he had just said. Truth be told, she just wanted to hear Bruce’s voice. “Not many kids are lucky.”

“Three of my boys are adopted,” he said quietly. He rubbed the mug that she had given him. “I give to adoption centers. It’s important to me to give kids homes where they’re loved. Clark Kent’s only known family’s love, and that’s what drives him. What drives me is the chance to make sure all sorts of people never have to worry about losing it.”

“I admire that,” Char murmured. “I wish I had a family of my own, but I just don’t have the time.”

“Someday, you’ll find the time.” Bruce gave her a smile. “I promise.”

Charlene smiled back. His small smiles were infectious. “I’ll hold you to that, Bats.”

=-=-= “Hey, Charlene?” Clark called from the living room. She was too busy combing her hair out and fixing her gown. She had received a letter in the mail (honestly, who does that anymore?) from Bruce, inviting her to a charity gala with him. She almost gave Clark a heart attack when she started laughing triumphantly at some paper. He wasn’t particularly happy that Charlene was going for a night on the town with Bruce Wayne, billionaire bachelor supreme. “Are you okay up there?”

“I’m fine, Clark!” she called back. “I’m just seeing a friend, tonight. Tell Martha and Johnathan I won’t be able to come to dinner tonight. I’m going to a foster care fundraiser with Bruce Wayne. I’d think you’d be coming to interview some of the guests there since you were adopted, too.”

“I can’t! I don’t have any way to get in. It’s private, Char.” Clark was starting to sound impatient. “Are you going to meet him or is he going to meet you?”

“He said he would pick me up!” she answered, finishing her eyeliner and walking downstairs. “Does that bother you, wonderboy?” She gripped the rail, fanning out her yellow skirt around her legs. She wore simple copper chains and glass earrings — nothing expensive, but classy enough that she didn’t look like a bum. Charlene knew Bruce liked his reputation (not a lot, but still) so she thought she would save him a few steps. No jewellery, no dresses. He would just have a friend tonight.

Clark’s eyes flew open wide. His cheeks colored. “Wow… you’re going like that?” He puffed his cheeks and took off his glasses. “You look…”

“Terrible?” she fretted.

“Like an angel. Like Wonder Woman,” he said quickly. He looked down at his lenses and quickly wiped them with his shirt like they were going to melt off his face. “You’re gorgeous. Wayne is going to love it, Char.”

“Thanks, Clark.” Charlene walked over and kissed his cheek. The writer wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest. He felt warm, he felt like home. She never had to worry about being something more than she was around Clark. But Bruce knew how to take her walls down. Charlene was better off with a friend than with someone who had never noticed her. Suddenly, she got an idea and pulled back to see Clark. “You should ask Lois out! I heard she likes the boys in blue.”

He stopped. “‘Boys in blue’? She knows?”

After meeting Bruce a few more times, she finally gained the courage to confront Clark about the whole Super-gig. She made sure she wasn’t going to be blown off — so sure, Char almost confessed her years-old feelings to him. She couldn’t have lived through that, even with Bruce’s support. They had talked through the deception and somehow managed to build better trust between themselves. She almost forgot why she had originally left Metropolis for that fateful encounter with Bruce Wayne.

“Clark,” she scolded gently. “You haven’t told her?”

“Listen, I’m working on it —,” he started, holding his hands up in defense. His feet slowly removed themselves from the floor. Charlene set her hand on her hip, pinching her nose. 

“You promised she would know before she kissed you, again.” 

Another reason why Charlene absolutely could not tell Clark she liked him. Lois, caught up in the rush of being a damsel, kissed her rescuer unabashedly in front of half the staff of the Daily Planet. Charlene’s heart didn’t break for the first time; it didn’t mean it didn’t crack a teeny, tiny bit. 

“I know I did —” There was a knock at the door. Clark’s face fell into a scowl. He tucked his knees up to his chest, silently moving toward the door, and straightening his clothes out once he reached his destination. “Wait there for a moment, Char.”

Charlene crossed her arms. “Clark.”

Clark opened the door. Bruce was standing on the doorstep with a single pink rose. “Hi,” he said, giving his signature subtle smirk. “Is Charlene ready? Tim’s not too patient behind the wheel.”

“Hi,” Clark greeted warily. He kept his fingers curled around the door. His gentle manner was nearly nightmarish. Every breath was a slow calculation of how to kill a billionaire and get away with it. Charlene sighed deeply into her hand. Clark continued despite her wordless sass. “She’s ready. You better know that if you hurt her —”

“I wouldn’t do it without a positive benefit,” Bruce swore. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s dancing between two ladies. Save the shovel talk.” He pat Clark’s shoulder, pushing him aside and out of the way. When his eyes hit Charlene, his jaw dropped. She had never seen that reaction before, so her temples tingled from slight self-consciousness. “Char, you look beyond stunning. You’re shining.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up Charlene’s throat. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” She grabbed her clutch on the side table where Clark was standing. Quickly, she hugged him in a farewell. “Bye, Clark.”

Clark released a big breath, hugging her back once more. He set her back next to Bruce. “Bye, Charlene. Bruce.”

“Clark,” he responded in kind. “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.” Bruce put his arm around Charlene’s waist. “There won’t be any need to play hero; if there is, I’ve got all I need within reach.” With that, Bruce took Charlene out of the foyer and into his limousine. 

“That was weirdly intense,” Char commented. With the knight’s help, she sat next in the back of the cab. “Did he make you uncomfortable?”

Bruce took her hand and set the rose in her grasp before sitting down next to her. “No. He doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Okay. Clark is very protective; I didn’t want you in the hospital for saying the wrong thing.” Charlene played with the rose in her hands, resisting the urge to breathe in the sweet aroma. The cab of the limousine was warm, spacious, and smelled comforting. It took her a second to realize it smelled like Bruce: his aftershave, his cologne, and a hint of something metallic. Her cheeks heated at the realization. 

How close had she and Bruce become? So close she knew exactly what Bruce smelled like? So close that she wasn’t nervous about the speculations tied to being on a billionaire’s arm? She looked at the rose petals. The color always meant something — Bruce always meant something. Pink… Why couldn’t she remember its meaning outside of being her favorite color? Why? Did she just forget everything the minute Bruce smiled?

“Char?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, snapping out of her thoughts. She set the rose down next to her, clasping her hands over her lap. “I guess I got so swept up in the idea of an adoption charity… I forgot who I was going with.” She looked at Bruce with a half-smile. “Thank you for taking me to this. I have as much as I can give on me, tonight; I even sold some of my old pieces of jewellery for these kiddos.” Charlene laughed nervously. “It seems so little compared to what you have… will it even be taken? I’m not an elitist. I’m not even close to well-off.”

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. Something in his eyes softened, but she couldn’t pin what. He held her hand. “It’ll be taken. It’ll help someone, and any help at all can go a long way. You don’t have to worry about earning a position to give.” He tilted her head upwards, locking eyes with her. “You don’t have to earn anything. Not with me.”

She laced her fingers with his to signal her acknowledgement. Char couldn’t form words. She kept opening her mouth to protest but no sound came with the action — she felt helpless, yet all the same, she knew Bats would understand. Bruce let go of her hand to favor her face, instead. She leaned into the touch with a shaky breath.

“I’m not Clark, Charlene,” he whispered. “I’m not going to keep stringing you along; I won’t compare you to anyone or make empty promises. You’re more than a comparison.” Bruce brushed her hair out of her face, keeping those electric blues trained on hers. “You don’t have to earn anything from me. You don’t have to earn me.”

“I’m not…” Charlene stopped, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to talk about this; she didn’t want to beat around the bush, either. “Gosh, how do you know this stuff? Is it all estimation?”

“Observation,” he admitted. He kissed her forehead. “Cheer up. We don’t want your mascara to run just yet, do we?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath in to calm herself. She hadn’t realized her eyes were quite that full. “Bruce.”

He hummed, arching a brow. Yes?

“You don’t have to earn anything from me, either.” She kissed his cheekbone. The corners of his eyes crinkled, which made her smile. She rested her head on the dark knight’s shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

“But?”

“No ‘but,’” she hummed. “You’re a good man, and that’s all.”

=-=-= Saturday morning, three weeks after the gala, Charlene’s heart felt heavy and light at the same time. She couldn’t put the gala out of her mind: the party; the guests; the smiles on the Wayne boys’ faces; Bruce’s kindness. She was trying her best to think it all over. The waiters kept offering her champagne, but she declined every time. She didn’t drink out of anxiousness, yet the whole ordeal was a blur. Blurry, except the speech about the children, and the way Bruce’s smile widened every time she smiled back.

She was sitting at the window, holding a water bottle and gazing out into the street. It was raining. She had a few pink roses in a vase, all from Bruce. A note was attached, something like “Thank you for your support,” but it didn’t really matter to her. He was gentle in his own way. That was just the way the Batman was: gentle and swift, yet blunt and cold at the same time. How had she managed to stumble into his good graces? What if she brought down his reputation? What if she did the wrong thing?

The Wayne boys were very polite. Dick was making her laugh all night long, Jason knew how to talk old-money downlookers away, Tim was a good conversationalist, and Damian asked all the good questions. All the right questions. Questions like, “What’s your relationship with my father? Do you believe in this cause? Are you using my father? Do you know how to play Mario Kart?”

She almost couldn’t answer some of the questions. Were she and Bruce friends? Were they something else? Were they acquaintances? Was she being kept around because she knew who Bruce really was? When it came to Mario Kart and the adoption cause, she couldn’t say anything but “Yes!” enthusiastically. Every now and then, Bruce would come over to recharge. He seemed tired with all the interaction. 

Then there was the turn of the night.

The most vivid part.

Dancing with Bruce Wayne.

Charlene stopped herself from clawing over her heart. It was sinking deeper as she recalled the moment.

“You’re nervous, Char,” Bruce whispered into her ear. “Why?” The question was innocent, concerning. He kept a steady hand on the small of her back, swaying to the beat of the soft jazz band. He was a natural at it. Charlene did her best to hold onto him, gripping his shoulder and his hand. 

“I’ve never been to anything like this, before. Not even some kind of prom,” she laughed quietly. She looked down at their feet. Bruce was leading, but what else was new? The floor gleamed… Bruce’s shoes were worn, despite his money and status… Worn shoes said a lot about how he spent his money on himself. Oh! Beneath the suit, it was clear that he wore a compact utility belt — at least, it was after learning he wore one everywhere. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, at all,” Charlene continued. “After talking with your boys, it just made me realize how scared I was to be jumping into this life with you.” She cleared her throat as she prepared to tell him exactly what was on her mind. “I know I’m just on a leash to keep you guys safe. You really don’t need to worry about me.”

The dance halted. No one paid any attention to them, keeping up with the music and circling around them. “Is that what you think?” he asked. Amusement lined his words, as well as a vague hint of hurt. “You’re just a liability?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Charlene had answered honestly.

As of right now, she still felt like a liability. Even though Bruce had promised her she didn’t have to earn anything, her heart was having difficulty believing it. She looked over at her vase of roses. Were those flowers from him? Or were they a product of manners?

Was she seeing things that weren’t there?

Bruce had been so quick to answer her when she admitted her insecurities. He had taken his hand out of hers. “You’re not a liability.” He ran his hands through her hair, pulling her closer. “If you were a liability, I would have used other ways to keep an eye on you.”

Char’s heart was racing faster by the second. “Ba… Bruce…” She wanted to call him Bats. She wanted to say so many things, just then. She wondered if Bruce could feel her pulse through that utility belt he had under his suit. His eyes fluttered shut before she realized what was happening. She didn’t want to believe it was real.

With a never ending, agonizingly slow quickness, lips met hers. Moving, soft, warm lips met hers and drew a gasp from her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to reciprocate the best she could without losing her cool.

Now, three weeks later, she hadn’t talked to Bruce about it. She hadn’t brought it up. He didn’t verbally acknowledge it, so neither did she. A kiss with Mr. Wayne meant nothing. Not in public. Not when he had a false reputation of being a playboy. A kiss between them would have meant the world… but that was in the middle of a gala; in the middle of a party filled with people Bruce was supposed to impress. 

So, even though she loved that kiss, she was still confused about Clark and she was miserable about the manner it came about. She wanted to know the truth. She knew if she asked he would have an obvious answer and call her a fool for believing him. 

“Hey, Charlene?” Clark called. Her ears pricked back at the sudden noise. She stood up and walked downstairs, rubbing under her eyes to make sure there weren’t any tears. She hadn’t cried, yet, but she didn’t want to start crying over it, either. “Come here.” 

“What, Clark? Can’t you see I’m busy moping about — …what is that?” she yelped. Clark was standing with his writing tablet facing outward, a glower painted over his features. She could hardly care about his nasty expression, however. There she was, her yellow evening gown and Bruce’s hands laced in her hair, plastering the first article of the month. Big, bold words read: 

“Bruce Wayne Finds New Lover — Will It LAST?” 

“Who took that picture!?”

“You’re saying this is real?” he asked angrily. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. “Charlene!”

“I’m sorry!” she apologized, not really sorry. “We’re not lovers, anyway — it was one kiss. Who wrote the article?”

“You never kiss people you don’t know.” Clark turned the screen back to his face, scrolling down and shaking his head. “Jimmy wrote this one, I think, I recognize the alias. I should have known something was going to happen when I told him to follow you…”

“For the record, Clark, all I’ve ever wanted was to kiss you,” she snapped. “Bruce is just differe— you sent Jimmy to follow me!?” She was so engulfed in her defenses that she forgot she had just told Clark she had feelings for him. She didn’t even register the implication that they didn’t matter anymore. She was angry at Jimmy, and at Bruce, and at Clark. She grabbed a throw pillow and fluffed it furiously. She needed an outlet. “I can’t believe you.”

“It’s Bruce Wayne, Char,” he said. He set his tablet down on the coffee table. “He’s not exactly the safest guy to get involved with.”

“And neither were you! I appreciate the worry, but it’s misplaced.” She spun around to stick her finger at Clark accusingly. “For ten whole years I tried to tell you I was in love with you, Clark, so don’t even try to talk to me about what’s good for me! You hear? I can kiss Bruce Wayne if I want to.”

“You tell him, Char,” a small voice came from behind the TV stand. Charlene and Clark both froze. Charlene knew who that was. She did her best not to sigh.

Muffled, a much bigger voice complained, “Look what you did! Now we’re caught. Bruce is gonna —”

“Shh!”

Clark moved over and gently removed the TV stand. “Damian I expected, but you, Dick? That’s low. Spying on Charlene?” 

“She’s a friend of Father,” the young boy answered for his big brother. “After the gala, he went to brood in the Bat Cave and when he came up, he said she was going to be more involved.”

“I think he’ll be happy to hear you like him, Charlene,” Dick smiled. He extended his legs and sat like a toddler on the floor. “We came here on our own, by the way. We wanted to surprise you by picking you up and surprise him by bringing you to Gotham. We racked his schedule up with business meetings so that we could pull this off. Think of it as a rescue.”

“Surprise me,” she regurgitated. She wanted to cry, laugh, scream, and fall over all at once. “You wanted to surprise me.”

“Sure. Why not?” Damian shrugged. “But your friend, here, got in the way with all his mumbling and weird comments about our father. He’s scary but I could take him.” That comment made her smile. Damian taking on Clark. Dangerous, but it still tickled her mind.

“They were not weird —”

“Yeah, they were.” 

“Guys, guys,” Charlene interjected, “Bruce and I aren’t much more than friends. He’s just my knight in shining armor.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “If anything were to happen, it would be very slow.” She made sure each male looked at her. “Very, very slow.” 

“So he does make you happy?” Clark asked quietly. 

“He does,” Charlene confirmed. “It could be more with work. Relax, Clark. You’re not going to be walking me down the aisle so soon.” 

He squeezed his eyes tightly, confusion coloring his face. “So when you said you used to want to kiss me…”

“It’s mostly ‘used to,’ now, yeah.” Charlene’s mouth moved before she even filed how truthful the statement was in her brain. She sat down on the couch, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I hope that’s not an issue — I know you don’t approve of Bruce.”

Clark pursed his lips. He set his hands on his hips and looked at the two delinquents on Charlene’s floor. “The gala with you and Wayne wasn’t a full-on date. Was it?”

“He and I went to sponsor the same cause and spend time together as friends. It couldn’t have counted as a romantic date, anyway,” she said. “The boys spent more time talking to me than Bruce did.”

“I saw him kiss you, though —”

“Dick, shut up,” Damian hissed. “You’re not helping.”

Clark tried for a smile. “I just want you to be safe and happy, Charlene.”

Charlene nodded, feeling much better since the gala. She had made an impression on the Wayne family? “I know I will be.”

=-=-= Charlene, in the end, told the boys she wanted to stay at home and sent Clark back to the Daily Planet to do his work. She had a lot to think over. She took a seat in her loveseat and got comfortable. She had to sit there for a long while. A kiss with a billionaire, a concerned Kansas Chiefs fan, four young men who already looked up to her, and a melting pot of feelings. If this were a young adult novel, she would have already picked someone by now. She had roses in a vase that called her name. She had a heart that wanted her attention, too.

Her whole past screamed for her to let go of Clark Kent — she was learning to set those unrequited feelings aside. He had always looked out for her and been her friend. Sometimes friendship, in the end, was just friendship. Clark was in love with Lois Lane. By the looks of things, he was starting to grow closer to her. Stepping away from that, Charlene could see he was happy; for the first time in years, that didn’t sting as much as it had before. 

Then there was the new friendship: Bruce Wayne. He was more than a friend, but less than a romantic partner. His affection was a different brand than Clark’s in all the good ways. He brought some kind of freshness, a sense that she never had to pretend to be pulling herself together. She knew deep in her heart that Bruce would have a hard time being with her — she would find difficulty being with him, too. They had much in common, as well as a lot of differences. He saw through her, she saw through him. Charlene needed some kind of stability. She needed a friend that offered their hand instead of shared reliance. 

Clark was the bright summer’s day that you longed for in the winter; he was the smell of newly cut grass and the way a paintbrush head felt between someone’s fingers. He was khakis and ball caps and the colors in the sunrise. He had always been the simple pleasures in Char’s life. 

Bruce Wayne had already proved what he was. He was the necessity in life like the clap of thunder in the middle of the night or the hardwood floor on bare feet. Bruce was the crowded streets of Metropolis after dusk; he was petrichor after a much-needed rain, the thimble on your thumb, he was the flick of the light switch that you could never balance. He was the mundane, everyday wakeup call that life was buzzing everywhere around her.

That was the difference between Clark and Bruce. Charlene had always had Clark, but she could imagine life without him. When it came to the Batman, she had a hard time thinking about her life without the petrichor on concrete, the snippy wind on her ears, and the occasional clap of thunder. She didn’t need him, but he was her equal.

He was the equal. 

Not the hero. 

“I’ll have to tell him, then,” she sighed. Charlene buried her face in her hands. 

“Tell who what?” a gravelly voice came from behind her. His presence was close. Char leaned back and extended her hands. 

“You,” she said. Bruce pushed her hands back down, setting his own on the cushion behind her. “We need to talk about what happened at the gala, don’t we?” 

“I don’t see why,” he replied. “You know it was a public display of affection.”

“From the world’s Bruce Wayne,” Charlene countered. Bruce pressed his lips into a line. “Not mine.”

“I know. I figured if the world knew you were Bruce Wayne’s, it would give you a chance to find that time you wanted,” he said slowly. “The boys could teach you how to defend yourself. You’d always have a place at Wayne Manor.”

“But what about us?” she asked, turning to see him better. “C’mon, Bats, you know that kiss was a little more than just a well-rounded plan to turn me into a Bat-Person.”

The dark knight was still for a long second. “It was a moment’s weakness. Even if we wanted to pursue a relationship —”

“We both know we do.”

“— neither of us are ready for it.”

Charlene stood on the loveseat. She cupped Bruce’s face, holding his jaw with both palms. “I agree. I think we should take our time before we even worry about labeling this.”

“We cannot be involved.” He held her hands, prying them ever-so-gingerly from him. “You aren’t ready for the livestyles I come with. I’m not ready for that kind of —”

“Domesticity,” she said with him, nodding. “I know, I know. You don’t want to be a husband, I don’t want to be a wife. No, we can’t be involved, yet.” She rested on her forearms. “You can guess what that means.”

He smiled sadly. “You won’t come stay at Wayne Manor.”

“Not for extended periods of time,” she answered with the same bittersweet expression. Char stroked his cheek. He had been so open to her physical affection. “It wouldn’t really work the way we want it to.” 

“You mean Alfred will be asking about dress shopping?”

“I’ll be asking about dress shopping!” she teased. “Why are you here, exactly?”

“If I said that you no longer worked at the Daily Planet, what would you do?” he asked bluntly. 

Charlene stopped. “I would ask you to fix it, right now.”

He hummed. “You want Clark, still?”

“No,” she said defiantly. She crossed her arms. “I’m just not ready to date, yet.” Charlene was quickly learning how to own herself around Bruce. She felt at home, like he was at home in his spandex. Bruce made her feel like her own woman: strong, compassionate, and happy. If he could be her complement, she could do anything. Absolutely anything.

Bruce leaned in, smirking. Charlene hit him with a pillow, which he promptly caught. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Promise to try someday?” she teased.

“Maybe.”

[evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn]

5 Reasons Roman Is Infuriating (And Why I DO NOT have a crush on him)

Chapter 5: To A Land Of Our Imagination

Read on AO3 

Chapter 1

Word count: 3471

Tw: Wounds, food, swearing

~~~

Logan planned the second date two days after the first. A picnic in the imagination, that Roman insisted on helping out with.

It took them quite a while to prepare everything. A red gingham print blanket in a field of many flowers on a hill, the sight of a rather giant disney-inspired castle in the far distance, mountains enveloping the horizons; very picturesque, certainly. He even offered to set up an orchestra off the side for them, but Logan declined. Logan was worried that they would get sunburnt due to the realistic touch that he brings, but Roman insisted that wouldn’t happen. And then Logan insisted that he didn’t know that it wouldn’t.

The banter was probably what took the longest time. It started with the back and forth about the likelihood of a sunburn, and then whether Thomas would typically tan or burn, and then it spiralled into nothingness. Obviously Roman made zero sense, but Logan was still determined to prove his point.

“No, Thomas should not get a surgical beauty mark. It’s pointless and expensive when you could have the same results with the smallest amounts of makeup.”

“But it adds character! All of the glamor girls have beauty marks! And besides, why put in the effort of putting on the beauty mark every day when you can just wake up that way?” Roman rebuttals, and Logan cannot begin to express just how stupid that argument is.

“A few seconds of a makeup pencil and maybe some powder isn’t that much effort. What would be an effort is spending a ridiculous sum of money on something he might regret and want gone. It would be a waste of resources for something thought of on a whim. That money would also go into the beauty industry, the industry that profits off of one’s self-hatred.” He argues, because yes, in a world where hating oneself is so common and so profitable, the most rebellious thing one can do is to learn to love themself.

“Makeup is also a part of the beauty industry.”

“It’s nowhere near as harmful and expensive though. It’s not just about insecurities, but also accentuating features that you enjoy in yourself. It also happens to be an art form, so I’m surprised that you’d even try that useless fact.”

Roman huffs. He’s probably not that interested in the beauty mark, but sometimes impulse can make you do stupid things. He does however look upset, and Logan hesitates.

“You know what you can do with makeup?” Logan asks, and they look at each other.

“What?” He asks, still pouting.

“Make many beauty marks. And change their locations when you feel like it.” He offers, and Roman lights up like that very dangerous chemical reaction Remus and himself attempted on bonding day.

“By the fourth musketeer, you’re right!” Roman touches his own face, lost in thought. “You could switch it up daily!”

It took a while longer for him to acknowledge what they were supposed to be doing, and then they were touching up the flowers (which is when Logan notices Bells of Ireland, sticking out amongst the other flowers, and assisting in integrating them into the green fields, like the flowers just popped up amongst nature. He believes Roman had summoned them around for him, and he can’t help but smile.) and then heading to the exit so Logan could get the ‘object of his affections’.

“Are you going to be in the imagination?” Logan asks him.

“Well, duh. I’ll obviously be out of earshot, but duty calls, and I have quests to attend to! Can’t have a realm without it’s heroes, right?”

“I guess not.” Logan nods. Roman’s going to play immersive make-belief then. Very well. That does usually help with Thomas’s motivation. Logan thinks of asking to join him sometime, and then decides that would most likely end horribly. Maybe Dungeons & Dragons would be a better solution.

He leaves Roman at the doorway, going to retrieve Patton. It isn’t very hard; he finds him in the living room holding a picnic basket and smiling brightly.

“That really, isn’t necessary.” He points to the basket. “We have food at the location.”

“What’s a little more? Besides, I have a little surprise to help with the planning.” He leans in and fake whispers.

Logan blinks. “A planner?”

“No, even better. But don’t guess. You know your old Patton-ership Person can’t keep a secret for very long.”

Logan groans at the pun, and they head back through Roman’s door to the imagination. It isn’t long before they reach the flowery hills (Logan wanted it to be accessible, to avoid an awkwardly long walk), and he sits down on the large blanket. Patton coos at the view, and the enchanting flower fields.

“Is Roman here?” He asks, looking around. He sets the basket down.

“He said he wouldn’t be nearby, and I trust his word, but he is in the imagination.”

Patton lets out a sigh in relief and sits down. “Okay. I just know he’d be mad if he found out, buuut…” He opens the petite basket’s lid, and like the objects from Mary Poppins bag sprouts Janus, arms held out dramatically.

“What is up losers? I’m here to foil all of your plans.” He lightly steps out of the basket, and plops down so they’re all facing each other in a triangle. “By making them better. You’ll thank me later.”

Although Logan is surprised, he isn’t really bothered. He’s quite similar to Roman in the theatrics, so perhaps he’ll prove to add ideas that would give life and a charming flair to his own.

“Very well.” Logan pulls out a notepad from god-knows-where. “Welcome to the ‘date’.” He does quotation marks with his fingers, and Patton leans excitedly to Janus.

“I think that’s what we’re calling it now. ‘Date’, but you have to do the thing with your fingers.” He does the finger quotations.

“What a lame concept. I love it.” Janus smiles. “I’m absolutely dreading spectating this ‘date’.” He does the finger quotations, and adds a little more emphasis on the word. At least he seems to be having fun.

“So. First step: The goal.”

“Find out if Roman really does have legs.” Janus answers at the same time Patton exclaims “Marry a pretty prince!”

“That was not supposed to be a guessable statement. And both of you are wrong. Patton, we do not have legal documents and cannot legally marry. The goal is to ‘woo’ Roman.”

“There may be or may not be a very easy solution for this.” Janus suggests, lounging back and checking his nails despite his gloves.

“What would be that solution?” Logan narrows his eyes at him.

“Oh I don’t know… Tell him how you feel.” He looks at him face-on, dead-serious.

“But… He most likely does not feel the same way. Besides, he wouldn’t like something so… Insignificant. He’s embodied himself after a prince, for Newton’s sake.” Logan argues, heart clutching painfully (metaphorically, obviously. If someone’s heart clutches painfully in real life, he recommends they go to a doctor and get it checked), and looking off into the distance, calculating the odds of rejection. He so far has not detected any signs or repercussions in the romance, and with Roman’s celebrity crushes being people like Adam Driver and Orville Peck, how is he supposed to compare? He can make a schedule planner less important than a social engagement.

“Oh come on, cheer up champ! I’m sure he’ll love it no matter what you do!” Patton encourages, giving him thumbs up. Logan looks at him, unimpressed.

“But will he really? These… Unnecessary feelings have rendered me even less functioning around him, so psychologically speaking, I’ve been even less perfect around him. He lives off the idea of a perfect, film-like life. Disney prince… Disney Relationship, Disney prince partner. Why would he like me? I look like a teacher.” As Logan continues his rant, now up and pacing, Janus shoots Patton a knowing look, and Patton eventually looks at him with an unknowing look.

“What?” Patton asks quietly, as Logan rambles.

“You don’t know?” Janus looks surprised.

“Know what?”

“Roman hasn’t told you about… You know…”

Patton looks at him, attempting to decipher what he means. Eventually, he quizzically does a limp wrist.

“No!” Janus whisper-shouts, exasperated. “Of course he’s gay. I’m talking about something else.”

“I’m lost.” He admits.

Janus leans in and whispers into his ear.

“Oh yeah! He has.” Patton gives him a thumbs up.

“I need a new style!” Logan turns and points at them, and they both display their shock easily.

“Dear god no. You’d look more out of place than Remus during the cosplay phase.” Janus jerks back, appalled. (Besting Remus in being out of place while he was in Thomas’s cosplay phase is nothing to roll your eyes at. Stripper Kermit is only one of many horrendous ideas that Janus has had the pleasure of being scarred by.)

“But think about it. You often see someone in a new light when they go through a big style change, whether they’ve changed as a person or not. When we altered our outfits for the first time, it was like a fresh new start. We were new, and more impressive models of our past selves of just three seconds before.”

“I see your point kiddo, but that just isn’t you! It’ll work against you in the long run if you try to be someone that you’re not.”

“Agreed. Seriously. Not to mention you’d be boring no matter what you wear; might as well be more comfortable doing it.”

Logan considers it. He nods, and sits down. “Alright. Thank you for your encouragement. I’m still not going to tell him outright.”

Patton raises his hand. “I have an idea.”

“Alright, hit us.” Janus looks at him.

“If you are to hit us, do it gently please. And preferably on the arm. I quite like these glasses.” Logan nods, accepting his fate.

“It’s an expression.” Janus side-eyes him, and gestures for Patton to start.

“How about… We leave the idea of telling him directly as an option, but also make a plan? That way, you have many options to pick from!” He encourages, looking like a parent bargaining with their toddler.

“That wouldn't be unreasonable.” Logan takes out a pen, and clicks it on. “Now, why don’t we start?”

By the time they leave the imagination, Logan has notes full of ideas. It’s a little bit difficult to have the best brainstorms without a literal embodiment of creativity, but both of them are bad ideas to invite for different reasons, and not being in charge of creativity doesn’t stop the rest of them from coming up with creative thoughts. (If that were the case, the same concept could be applied to himself, and it would have probably killed him by now if he were the only one with an ounce of logic.)

He steps into Roman’s room. Nice as always, if not looking slightly blank. Maybe he’s just used to the disorder now.

He rips out a separate paper, and leaves it on Roman’s cluttered desk, to notify him in the future that he is no longer in his realm. He catches a glimpse of other papers on his desk, and is that-

“Poetry?” Obviously, Logan does not want to disrespect his privacy, but he does read the line he has seen. It was quite good. It seemed to be about jealousy, but he’s not the best at deciphering emotions, so he isn’t completely sure. He also catches a few typos.

He stands straight again, paces a little bit and just as he's about to sink out, he hears the imagination door open.

Roman stumbles in, heaving and drenched in sweat. He looks dull and lifeless, until he looks at Logan. It’s like a switch goes off, and he looks like his usual self again.

“Heading out?”

“That’s right. The date just ended.”

“That’s wonderful! How did it go?” He asks, strutting over, trying hard but failing to hide a limp.

“Are you alright?” Logan looks at him, and the standard first aid courses that Thomas has taken in his lifetime start kicking in.

"I'm-" And a poorly concealed wince. "Okay. Just a scrape from the dragon witch. Nothing a happy pappy prince can't handle."

"That's not something you usually say." Logan squints at him, taking a step closer. "Did you hit your head? You're starting to sound like Patton. I'm not leaving here until you let me help you."

"Ugh, fine." He flails out his arms, and then jerks them back in pain. "But seriously, how did it go?"

"It went well. Thank you for the Irish bells. We discussed things that one would do in a romantic setting, and then we dispersed. There will be another date fairly soon. I just stayed to drop off a note on your desk to inform you of our departure."

His eyes go wide. "My desk? Did you read any of my writing?" He asks, sounding panicked, with a hint of defensive nature.

"I did, actually. Not on purpose, I'm sorry. It was a poem that I believe is about jealousy. I read the third paragraph. It was quite well done." Logan bashfully admits.

"Oh. Thank you." He offers a small smile.

Logan suddenly remembers the wounds. "Now. Let's get to fixing you up. Do you have any cuts? Scrapes? Open wounds?" As he sits Roman down and checks over his injuries, he can't help but hurt a little bit on the inside. Roman's self preservation seems to have left him a long time ago, and he always gets reckless. He can't seem to let anyone see his weakness, and that's perhaps what he and Logan have most in common; although, Logan hasn't been injured physically in quite a while.

He finds a first aid kit (in Roman's nightstand. How concerning.) and helps patch up his wounds. Thankfully, Roman wasn't fully lying, as his injuries mainly consisted of bruises and mild cuts, but Logan made sure to take care of them all the same.

"I just realized." Roman whispers, eyes closed as Logan puts a band-aid on his arm.

"That's a new concept."

Roman ignores that. "You've done so much for me over the last while. To be fair, you always do things for me, but this week... Teaching me how to bake, leaving out cookies for me, which were heavenly by the way, thank you, helping with nail polish even though it was on your bed, this... It's quite a lot. I feel like I haven't done enough for you."

"Oh come on, don't metaphorically sell yourself short. This whole time, you've helped me set up my dates with Patton. Many of them, in fact. I had been nervous to tell him, and you helped me the whole way along. I am quite grateful for your contributions, Roman." Logan chuckles a little bit, because although expressing your gratitude for something that you don't care about may seem pointless, Roman still put in all of the effort. He did the planning, the setup and design, and wherever he was needed, he'd be. Logan had heard that he even managed to convince Remus to keep the funky business away from the 'dates'. That's quite a lot of work, and Logan appreciates every second of it.

"Nooo but that isn't enough! I want to take you somewhere special to thank you."

"Really Roman, that isn't necessary-"

"Thomas!" Roman screams into his ceiling. "You know how you're free in three weekends!? Yeah, well you're going to a planetarium now! Bring friends so you don't look like a loser." And sure enough, he can feel that Thomas has got the idea.

Logan's heart metaphorically explodes out of his chest with how strong it's beating. Thomas hasn't been to a planetarium in ages. It isn't really Logan's role to suggest activities on the fun side, so he's kept to himself, silently hoping for another side to bring it up. They have spare money for it. And here it is. In three weeks from now.

"That's... I don't know what to say. Thank you." He clutches the first aid kit to his chest.

"Well duh thank me, but it's okay. It's payback." Roman gives him two band-aid speckled thumbs up. "Consider it a date."

Uh-

Hm. Well, there goes Logan. On the floor. Dead.

~~~

"More sophisticated and logical word for fuck."

Logan slams open Virgil's door, just as he's putting the last details on his embroidered spider web jacket.

"Dude, what?" Vrigil turns to him, only to see Logan laying on the floor, malfunctioning.

He goes over to the lifeless form. “Logan… You, like, never come to me with your emotional problems. I can’t help people. Do you want me to tease you? Because I can totally tease you.” He pokes him, and Logan rolls over to face the ceiling.

“It’s because I never have emotional problems, Virgil. I believe in you to keep a secret however.”

“Is this about the planetarium Thomas just planned? Because I can totally see why he shouldn’t go, with all those people around, judging his every step, and the chance of being separated from his friends, or seeing someone familiar and it’s just awkward..”

“No, I agreed to the idea. I had wanted to go for quite a while.”

“Does it… Have to do with Roman?”

“Of course it has to do with Roman. Even now, he is still the largest thorn in my side.”

“Apparently you’re a masochist then. So, what’s up with him and the planetarium?” Virgil circles him, seeming bored but willing to hear the story.

“He was the one who suggested it. In fact he said to  ‘a date’.”

“Ahh. So you are here for emotional issues.”

“It’s not an emotional issue. I simply wanted to tell you that I think it is an optimal time to tell Roman about my newfound fondness for him.” He sits up, and Virgil gives him a hand to stand.

Virgil chuckles. “It’s not bad to ask for help, Logan. But that does sound like a good idea, or whatever.”

“Of course it’s a good idea.” Logan says, hand bouncing up and down at a rapid pace. He looks like he’s sweating. Virgil squints.

“But you’re nervous.” He observes. “And you want to talk about it with someone.” He holds up a hand before Logan can protest. “Ah-ah. Don’t lie to me on this one. Sit down.” He takes out a chair, and then looks at Logan. “You know what, maybe not in my room.”

So they go to Logan’s room, and he explains his plans, and some worries, and Virgil nods along and agrees.

“By the way, have you been seeing the way Roman’s been acting lately?” After Logan seems to have finished with ideas, and they were just sitting together, Virgil speaks up.

“No? Perhaps. He did want to make cookies, which is odd for him, and he called me kiddo, if I remember correctly.” Logan recounts the last few days. He’s not completely sure. Roman has always been a slight enigma to him.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. A few days ago, he came into the living room, and he was wearing a polo! If it weren’t for the colors, I would’ve thought he was Patton. And then.” Virgil stares at Logan, who looks impassively back at him. “Just yesterday, Remus told me that he dumped some of his posters into the trash.”

“Ah, perhaps he’s finally taking advantage of his wall space.” Logan says quite proudly, in a room where there are many cork boards on every left-over piece of wall he has open.

“No, you don’t get it. When’s the last time you’ve seen his room without posters?”

“To be honest, I don’t remember.” Logan admits. Virgil nods along, his eyes staring at him intensely. “Because I barely ever go into his room.” Virgil slumps. “Listen, Virgil, the concern is appreciated, and I support you continuing to collect evidence on this matter, however, it sounds like he’s trying something new out. I have no reason yet to be concerned.”

“Okay, whatever.” He gets up from his chair. “I hope you feel better, nerd. Catch you later.” He salutes, and just sinks out.

Logan continues to stare at where Virgil once was, thoughts jittering. Is Roman really acting that strange? He almost sounds like he’s trying to become Patton. Maybe he’s looking to renew his look for Thomas? He had been rather heart-broken when he misinterpreted Thomas calling him his hero. He also likes costume changes. Maybe he’s preparing something.

Logan hopes that Roman will be alright in the end. And that he himself will be as well. He takes a deep breath. He can do this.

~~~

Taglist: @crossiantgay