#answer our emails you cowards

[iamvegorott]

Was wondering if you could do angst 5 n’ 7 with Danti please?

5. "Why can't you love me back?" 7. "Leave."

---------

“Darky~! What are you doing for dinner tonight?” Anti asked after glitching into Dark’s office.

“I currently don’t have plans,” Dark answered, eyes on his laptop screen as he typed up an email for Google. 

“Let’s hit up that one Italian place. I’ve heard they have endless breadsticks.” 

“That sounds like a date,” Dark said, checking that Anti knew what he was implying.

“It sounds like a date because I’m asking you to go on a date.” Anti chuckled with a little eye roll.

“We don’t date.” 

“Yeah. We fuck. I’d like to add some more to that.”

“We can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“We can’t.” Dark only repeated himself, and he leaned back when Anti shut his laptop, keeping his hand on top of it so he couldn’t open it back up.  

“That’s not an answer. Why not? We’ve been fucking for almost a year at this point, and you know damn well the shit we do go beyond a basic ‘friends with benefits’ definition.” Anti was sick and tired of Dark avoiding his feelings, and this caused him to have to bury away his own. It was stupid. 

“I feel we fit that definition fairly well. It’s just sex. It’s us using each other for physical relief, nothing more.” Dark stood up and walked over to one of the many file cabinets lined up against one of the walls. 

“Bullshit that it’s nothing more.” Anti scoffed. “When we started this stuff, I completely agree with you. We had fun. And then we went off to do our own thing. But now? Now, we’re far past that.”

“Last I checked, we still did that.” Dark was doing everything he could to not look at Anti, pretending to be searching for a file. 

“Not really. Get your head out of your ass Dark and think.” Anti stepped towards the cabinets. “We kiss more, we cuddle, you play with my hair and rub my back. For fuck’s sake, we’ve taken baths together. That’s not just sex, that’s romance.” 

“Providing aftercare doesn’t mean anything.” Dark closed the drawer, pulling out a random file he didn’t need. 

“It does when I love you!” Anti finally snapped. “I dare you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you feel nothing. That your smiles and laughs were fake, that you don’t relax when it’s just the two of us, that you don’t care about me.” 

“Anti. You need to go.” Dark couldn’t face Anti, let alone look him in the eye. 

“You’re not running away from this anymore. Tell me. Tell me that you don’t care about me. That you don’t care about us. You’re not going to because you can’t.”

“You need to leave before you hear something that will hurt you.” 

“Just tell me that what you were doing was with your heart and not your dick! Just tell me the truth!” Anti felt the anger building inside of him. Dark was doing what Dark always did when it came to confronting emotions. And it was pissing Anti off. 

“Get out.” Dark spoke between gritted teeth, doing everything he could to remain calm. 

“Why can’t you just love me back!?” Anti cried.

“Leave!” Dark’s voice split, aura flashing and getting Anti to step back. Dark wished he hadn’t faced Anti to say that. He didn’t want to see Anti’s heart shatter at that moment. He hated that sorrowful look in his eyes and that he was the cause of it. “I’m sorry.” 

“Fuck you, Dark,” Anti spoke harshly before glitching away. 

“Damn it,” Dark grunted, scolding himself internally.

He was a coward. He was a fucking coward. 

----------

Next: Link

@bookwormscififan @brokentimewatch

Pinterest Prompts List: Link

[rj-drive-in]

Drunk Science Department:

Another in our continuing series of tales of scientists abusing alcohol.

INFINITY MEANS INFINITY © 2023 by Rick Hutchins

By the time I got to Boston, I was nearly frantic. It had been almost a week since Professor George had suddenly stopped posting on our common forums and five days since he had failed to show up for the regular Chat. His online friends had quickly become worried; the professor was as regular as clockwork. As someone who knew him IRL from several meet-ups, it fell to me to track him down, to make sure he was all right. After all, he was not exactly a young man and was as prone to accident or illness as anyone else.

But he did not respond to PMs or emails. He did not pick up the phone or answer voice mails. IMs and texts were equally useless. The mood on the forums began to grow more pessimistic. Of course, it was not unusual for people to lose interest in online chatter and drift away– it happened all the time– but this was uncharacteristic of the professor. We all felt that something was terribly wrong.

As luck would have it, I was to be in Washington on business the following week, so it was no trouble to leave a couple of days early and insert a layover at Logan into my itinerary. The professor had hosted one of our meet-ups, a mere eighteen months earlier, at a cookout on his property, so I knew exactly where he lived. It was a nice old home in Ipswich, less than an hour north of the airport by car. He lived alone.

My flight was late in arriving, as usual, but my rented car was waiting for me and I headed out without delay. Needless to say, throughout the trip I continued my attempts to contact him by all the usual means, but he remained as silent as ever.

When I pulled into his driveway about three oclock in the afternoon, his car was parked there and his house showed no outward signs of trouble. It was a two-storey home, more than a century old, weather-worn from the ocean and gray as a summer storm, but well kept up, its small, grassy yard ringed by high hedges. I walked up to the side door on the open porch that we had used during the meet-up and rang the doorbell. When there was no response, I opened the screen door and knocked on the glass window of the inner door.

For ten minutes I continued ringing and knocking, my knuckles rapping louder and louder with each attempt. I alternated back and forth between the glass and the wood, not sure which was louder; I began to fear the old glass would shatter. But nobody answered and there were no sounds from within.

I took a deep breath and considered calling the police. In my mind’s eye, I saw the professor lying dead on the floor of his lab, having been stricken by a sudden heart attack or aneurysm; or twisted and broken at the foot of the stairs or in the bathtub, having tripped or slipped. The sensible thing to do would have been to call the police, but in my heart of hearts I am the same as everyone else– a coward afraid of making a fool of himself.

So I tried the doorknob.

It opened. The door was unlocked. God help me, I thought. I was committed.

A kind of anxious fog engulfed me, a slow and surreal haze of fear, as I entered the man’s house uninvited. “Professor?” I called softly. Then more loudly, “Professor George? Are you home? It’s me, MandelbrotFan, from GalacticBBS.”

There was no answer. The side door opened into his kitchen. There was no overt sign of trouble. Plenty of dirty dishes in the sink, an unwashed frying pan on the stove and a green rubber trash barrel on the verge of overflowing were normal for someone living alone. There was a small pile of unopened mail and a newspaper on the kitchen table. The date on the newspaper was the day before, giving me my first cause for optimism.

I moved into the living room area, separated from the kitchen only by a stained-wood countertop, and toward the door leading to the basement. The basement was where the professor kept his workshop and that was where he spent most of his time, working on his invention. That was where I was most likely to find him.

The door was ajar– it was the old kind with a brass knob and a lock compatible with a skeleton key– and creaked softly when I pushed it open. I stood at the top of the old wooden stairs, homemade by a previous owner decades in the past, and was relieved to see the yellow glow of artificial light down there from off to the left.

“Professor?” I called again. “Professor George? Are you home? It’s your friend, MandelbrotFan, from GalacticBBS.”

There was no reply.

Taking a deep breath, I went down the stairs and made the hairpin turn at the bottom to face the back of the basement, the large area away from the furnace that the professor had turned into his workshop. It was much as I remembered it from my previous visit. Shelves of tools and parts against two walls, an old rumbling refrigerator, work lights hanging from hooks in the ceiling, black and orange extension cords and surge suppressors in a tangled web on the floor, the old couch and coffee table off to the side– and, of course, taking up the most space, the professor’s invention.

The couch was situated at an angle, its back toward me, so it was a moment before I saw that the professor was sitting in it, his legs stretched out with his feet propped on the coffee table. My heart surged for a moment, then was gripped by an icy fist of fear when I realized he wasn’t moving.

“Professor?” I said, but my voice came out as a whisper. I cleared my throat and then tried again, more loudly. “Professor? Professor, are you all right? It’s me, MandelbrotFan from GalacticBBS.”

For a second that seemed to stretch on forever, nothing happened. Then he stirred and pushed himself up, turning his head toward me over the back of the couch. Even in that first moment, I could tell that his face had become more lined, that his long hair and beard and mustache had grown more gray. He pushed his thick glasses up on his nose and peered at me, blinking, as if he had just woken up.

“Mandelbrot? Is that you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“We were all worried about you, Prof,” I said. Prof is the username that the professor is known by on all the science forums. “Nobody has heard from you in a week and you haven’t answered any messages.”

“A week,” he said slowly. “Has it been that long?”

Until now, I had remained standing at the foot of the stairway, but now I began to move cautiously forward. “Yes,” I replied. “We were afraid something had happened to you. What have you been doing?”

He gestured toward his invention with his right hand, and I saw that he was holding a half-empty bottle of liquor.

“My life’s work,” he said bitterly.

His invention– his life’s work– bore a vague resemblance to the time machine in the old George Pal movie. Okay, very vague. It looked more like a stationary exercise bike hooked up to a couple of gutted and re-purposed PCs and a 60s-era Hi Fi system. There was also a pegboard with a jumble of soldered wires and a dozen vacuum tubes. On one side of the machine there was a bank of six car batteries in series arrangement and on the other side another bank of four car batteries in parallel arrangement. On the handlebars were strapped an iPad, with the back pulled off, and a couple of controllers that looked like they came from an Xbox, all wired into the gutted PCs.

“The Dimensional Traveler?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Did it fail?” A generous question, since nobody really believed it had a chance of working.

“No,” he replied, with a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “It works. It works exactly as predicted, down to the last decimal place.” He sniffed and took a swig from the bottle and I realized belatedly that he was dead drunk.

I strayed casually across the basement to the machine and looked it over. It was humming quietly with power, but seemed to be in standby mode. The iPad screen was on and displayed a homemade status panel. The current location box said “37,132.”

Turning to face him, I almost cringed. He looked terrible. I took a couple of steps closer to him and held out my hand for the bottle, which he handed over without argument. I took a small drink and held onto it. Maybe he’d let me keep it away from him.

“Then what’s wrong?” I asked. “Obviously something didn’t go as planned. You’re not exactly celebrating.”

“It’s infinity out there,” he said quietly, with a shake of his head.

“Yeah,” I said. “An infinity of parallel universes. Alternate dimensions each just a little bit different from the last.” At first, in the nearby dimensions, the differences might not even be noticeable, but the effect would get more pronounced the farther you went– a different president in the White House, a different outcome to World War II, or maybe Rome never fell or dinosaurs still existed. You might be rich or poor or famous or even dead. If the theory was correct, all possible universes existed.

“You don’t get it!” he grumbled. “But I didn’t get it either. Infinity means infinity. The universes aren’t just parallel, they’re adjacent. They’re sequential. You can’t get from point A to point C without going through point B. You can’t go from level one to level ten without crossing the intervening eight.”

“But what difference does it make? You predicted that, right? You said there is no quantum interval of time between the dimensions. What did you call them? The Branes? It takes literally no time to get from one to another. The only passage of time is what you spend in a particular world, and that can be a fraction of a second.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It would probably only take an hour or two for me to get home.”

“Home from where?”

Another bitter laugh. “Here.”

That’s when the first chill of real horror began to creep down my spine. “You mean…?” I fumbled for the right words, the politically correct phrasing for what I was trying to ask. “You mean you’re not ‘my’ Professor George.”

He looked me in the eye then and smiled for the first time– I think he meant it to be comforting. “No. No, I’m not. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“It doesn’t matter at all,” he said.

“Where is he?”

“You saw the display,” the man on the couch responded. “He’s 37, 132 worlds away.”

A chill down my spine, an icy fist around my heart, flesh crawling, a wave of vertigo, a lump in my throat– you name the cliche, I had it. “Seriously, enough of this,” I said desperately. “Explain to me what’s going on. What’s happening? What did you see out there? Is my friend alive or dead?”

“Alive! Oh, he’s fine. If I’m okay, he’s okay. He might even come back. Not that it makes any difference.”

“Enough with the riddles! Please, explain!”

“All right,” he said. “Sorry. I’m drunk. I didn’t mean to be.” He sat up and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at me sadly. “Infinity means infinity. It really does. And the Branes, the dimensions, they’re adjacent, they fan out. You can’t cut in line. All possible universes exist. And even a fraction, the tiniest fraction, of infinity is still infinity. Do you understand yet? An infinity of all possible universes means an infinity of universes just like this one!”

[evolutiononthebrain]

some Limited Life Incorrect Quotes

Grian: I've been expecting you, Jimmy.

Jimmy: How did you do that without turning around?

Grian: Let's just say the first few people I did that to were not you.

-

Cleo: Scar noticed only today that they can label their email inboxes, but they took apart their entire laptop two weeks ago.

Bdubs: This reminds me of the Scar who couldn’t turn on the coffee maker, but remembers about 500 digits of pi.

Cleo: I’ll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same Scar.

-

BigB: Pearl...

Pearl: Oh no, 'Pearl' in B flat.

Pearl: You're disappointed.

-

Scar: What happened to Joel?

Jimmy: They died.

Scar: They what?

Grian: They died, but they’re okay.

Scar: …Can you please clarify?

Joel: Clarification is for the weak.

-

Scar: You have to apologize to Bdubs!

Cleo: Fine!

Cleo: Unfuck you, or whatever!

-

BigB: Why is there blood everywhere?

Pearl: I may have aggressively poked someone with a knife.

BigB: You stabbed someone?!

Pearl: No, no. I aggressively poked someone with a knife.

-

Joel: I think we should have glow stick juice injected in our bones when we're born, so if we break our bones, we get a fun little surprise.

Jimmy: What's the surprise?

Grian: Blood poisoning.

-

Martyn: Uh, I think I got your lunch. *Holds up a note that reads: ‘I am very proud of you. Love, Scott’*

Jimmy: Oh yeah. I didn’t think this was for me. *Holds up a note that reads: ‘Be good. For the love of God, Please be good.’*

*Jimmy’s note reads “I am very proud of you.” because Scott is proud he didn’t die first.

-

Grian: Look, Jimmy, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

-

Skizz: I just want someone to take me out.

Impulse: On a date?

Tango: With a sniper gun?

Etho: Both if you're not a coward.

-

Martyn, grinning: Before you were what?

Scott: Before I was-

Martyn: What?

Scott: Before I was inter-

Martyn: Before you were interrupted?

Scott: Cut me off one more time and I swear I'll-

Martyn: What?

Scott: *makes frustrated sound*

Jimmy, nervously: Stop that. Before they hurt you.

-

Scar: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Grian:

Grian: Why are you eating dirt?

Scar: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

-

Etho: Ducks are better than rabbits.

Skizz: What? Rabbits are adorable. Have you ever been in a fight with a duck? Ducks are jerks.

Impulse: Duck is delicious! Rabbit is all gamey.

Skizz: We’re not talking about flavor, Impulse!

Impulse: Flavor counts!

Skizz: Who carries around a duck’s foot for good luck? Anyone?

Tango: You wrap yourself in a comforter stuffed with rabbit hair. I’ll wrap myself in a comforter stuffed with duck feathers! Who’s cozier?

Skizz: Okay, but-

Tango: NO, NO, NO, NO. WHO’S COZIER?

Impulse: Then why don’t we take a rabbit, a duck, stick ‘em in a cardboard box and let them fight it out!

Skizz: BECAUSE IT’S ILLEGAL, IMPULSE!

Impulse: ONLY IF WE BET ON IT, SKIZZ!

Etho: I- Jesus-

-

Grian: Joel is so...

Pearl: Annoying?

Scott: Cute?

Scar: Funny?

Jimmy: Weird?

Grian: I don't know, maybe if y'all let me FINISH for ONCE IN MY LIFE, I'd tell you!

-

Etho: What's the most efficient way to burn calories?

Skizz: Exercise more!

Tango: Set yourself on fire.

Impulse: There are two kinds of people.

-

Scar: The results are in, I’m afraid you have updog…

Bdubs: What’s updog?

Scar: Cleo! Get in here, I told you I could do it!

-

And th-th-that’s all folks!

[ohanny]

another friday, another cutie pie episode! so here are my thoughts while watching the second episode:

kuea is absolutely not me because i would never check my email first thing in the morning, notifs be damned

also even if i did get good news, i would not have the energy to throw a full "blackpink in your area" on top of my bed

kuea: oh yes, i am a bit... sore lian: ¬‿¬

ugh, why can't you just talk to this man who just happens to be a supportive, relatively mentally stable, functioning adult who dresses nice, cooks you food, pulls out your chair and YOU ACT LIKE THE RETURNING HIDE AND SEEK CHAMPION OF 2022

lian: if you need help, you can always tell me me: IF ONLY

nonetheless, i've had a boyfriend for a decade and i feel as single as the last crushed pringle at the bottom of the tube of doom when zee looks at nunew

kuea, a lying liar who lies: kon diao texted me lian: i love you me: KUEA DO YOU FEEL EVEN A LIL BAD???

i love the mission impossible theme tune

nong diao squared ready to cover up crimes

yi can smell bullshit a mile away but unfortunately for him, he's also a weak victorian bitch who gets flustered by a cheek touch from a twink he (alledgedly) fucked in his car just last week

JUST SHOW ME PERTH YOU COWARDS chapter 2

diao is a good friend with a good brain cell. we all need a diao.

kuea: i have a lot to think about. me: you also have a lo to TALK about goddammit

meanwhile poor lian is just trying to plan his barbie dream wedding, oh dear

yi is here to be the best man but also to watch the world burn.

kon diao loves lists. kon diao is me.

the world does not deserve diao. this show certainly doesnt. if he was running it, again, it would be 5 minutes long. well, maybe 15. he would keep all the spicy bits.

this beauty clinic is totally not the sponsor of this series.

the totally not sponsoring intensifies

"how do i look?" EXACTLY THE SAME AS YOU DID 30 SECONDS AGO YOU BABY SKINNED MOCHI OF PERFECTION

i will never not mishear this as "cosmic-exo entertainment" and i am not sorry

uh-oh, their barbie dream weddings are NOT the same

lsakjfkasljfafj a nuer x syn intermission! and nuer has a less questionable shirt on!

you two (ಥ﹏ಥ)

but props to syn never hiding his intentions and props to nuer respecting his choices even if they make him a sad boy. SOME PEOPLE could never

hia yi is eternal suffering personified even at a cake tasting and quickly becoming my favourite.

foei: oh is it too crowded? do we need more room? the gays: *offended*

salaldkjf i am catching vibes. pls tell me they will grey's anatomy this and diao and yi will end up getting married in the barbie dream wedding horror show while kuea and lian elope in korea

"you can make the final decision" says lian, not having any idea they like the polar opposite things.

he is a smooth bastard though. "ah yes, my favourite wedding singer will be too busy being my husband"

"oh no, how will our suits match if we cannot see them?" you dumbo, you have kon diao, the wedding planner extraordinaire. he has a list for that.

diao has been calling out bullshit since birth at this point.

yi: ah yes, they are so compatible. diao: dude, they can't agree on anything. yi: which is not my problem.

yi really be like "pfffft, let them talk it out between them" as if we have time to be here for the next ten years. he really couldn't give less fucks, lol

DIAO LEGIT IS LIKE IZZIE PLANNING MERDER'S WEDDING

how can he answer cosmic-exo in that suit. go change.

oh, the straights are at it again

lian: thank you yi: oh, you already picked a suit? lian: yes yi: wow, i am so helpful. you are blessed to have me tolerate you.

i love how nunew's voice gets so much deeper when he switches to english

IF ONLY YOU WERE THAT EXCITED ABOUT YOUR OWN WEDDING

kuea: what should i do? me screaming at my tv: TALK TO YOUR MAN

diao is seriously like baby yoda and syn doesn't need to become a monk. he just needs to hang out with diao more for some deep wisdom and then keep living in sin.

nuer is a sweet understanding angel and syn is a pouty baby and i could watch these two forever

"it's our wedding, not just mine." except you have NO IDEA you're not getting your wedding but an industrial scale keerati legacy production

yi: see? they're totally on the same page diao: ...

who is this random laxatives lady and why does she look like she's about to place a curse on kuea?

lian: you pick kuea: i am fine with everything narrator: he was not, in fact, fine with anything

diao turn of the tap for fucks sake, it is very obvious you are not paying your own bills in this economy

diao: my dog is so smart yi: your dog is literally an idiot

oh god here we have hia yi talk about marriage and kasdjflkafj they might kiss and i can't believe i am about to say this but at this point diao needs to worry about me cooking that cockblocking dog :D

WE HAVE A STAIRCASE WITH A HAND RAIL? IN A BL?!?!?!

lian: *trying* kuea: cosmic-exo is calling, byeee

look at his sad eyes, he KNOWS

"why am i talking to a doll?" BECAUSE IT IS MORE LIKELY TO HAVE AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION WITH YOU. you deserve better, boo.

lian: aren't you kirin already kuea: but i could be cosmic-exo kirin in korea. lian: okay. kuea: ... wait what?

OH FUCK SCREW THE WEDDING WAS THAT PERTH I JUST SAW?!?!?!?

[laurabwrites]

Plotting out loud, because I can. astolat/GoT fanfic edition.

So I’m going to do some plotting here, because if I can’t build a sequel plot to an AO3 fanfic on Tumblr, where else am I going to build it? My head? I’ll never finish it that way!

Right so, Winter’s Crown by Astolat, which is fanfiction of Game of Thrones. This thing consumed me for the 4 or 5 days it was being released. It’s a damn good thing Astolat posted two chapters a day because I was refreshing my email waiting for those chapter notifications two or three times an hour and then injecting several thousand words into my veins the second that notification hit.

Just as a programming note. I’ve read the first third of the first book in Game of Thrones. Most of my knowledge of the series has been absorbed by osmosis from my partner and general pop culture saturation. Moving on.

I loved Winter’s Crown.

I also took one look at the ending and said “well, they’re going to be in a civil war within the year.”

Again, to be clear, the ending was perfect for the story. I’m just also sure that if the story continued we’d be into a war for the Iron Throne, like the main series is actually about.

Here be spoilers for Winter’s Crown.

So, our set-up for the sequel is that Robb is still the King in the North, with all the magical power that crown from the Children of the Forest invested in him. He’s promised/engaged to Shireen, Stannis’s daughter and only heir. You know, the niece of Robert Baratheon, the King of the South/Seven Kingdom (except whoops Robb declared the North independent, so I guess it’s Six Kingdoms now?). Robb is also currently fucking Jamie Lannister. Jamie Lannister who was Robert’s Hand before uh... declaring? taking service? with Robb. (There was magic involved.) Who also probably didn’t actually explicitly break up with Cersei before following Robb out of the throne room on Robb’s orders after the declaration of independence. 

ALSO, Stannis has already said to Robb that he intends to declare Robert an oathbreaker as the Protector of the Realm. Which from a strict reading of the situation, Robert WAS. Which Robb has already lain on Robert with the force of magic behind it. Here, I’ll quote: “I name you false kind and false friend, oathbreaker and coward, and may you end your days in the shame and misery your treachery deserves.” Which, as far as I can tell the only witnesses who aren’t Robb’s people are Robert, Cersei, the children, Margaery Tyrell, and a small handful of goldcloaks/Kingsguards. So, I doubt that bit of information is getting publicized by anyone in that room. Which Stannis was not.

Basically, I see war coming from two fronts. One, Stannis declaring Robert an Oathbreaker, which is politically tricky because either Stannis has taken himself out of Robb’s service and is making a play to be the king himself? OR he’s calling Robert an Oathbreaker as one of Robb’s sworn liege lords. Which, yikes. Plays right into the narrative that Cersei has built up for herself: that Robb wants power and will march on the South with the Wildlings and/or Stannis’s men at arms and/or the Lannister men (answering to Jamie).

I think if Cersei left the North alone after the Long Night and Stannis was very clear he was not one of Robb’s lords, Robb and the North would be happy to sit out a war and just work on recovering from the Long Night. Because, again, yikes, about half the population that survived the initial rise of the dead froze to death. The North is not in any shape to be going to war.

But I don’t think Cersei can put herself in someone else’s (Robb’s) shoes and believe they won’t act like a politically duplicitous cunt after power and only power. So she’s going to want to go to war to strike first and protect her own power. And also to pay back the “betrayal” of her brother/lover (Jamie) abandoning her. Also Stannis’s betrayal of swearing to the King in the North. But I think she’ll care about Jamie’s more.

And I think Robert isn’t strong enough, morally, emotionally, etc. to stop her. 

So... I tend to think that Stannis at least wouldn’t kick off a war until he could secure his supply lines. Supply lines which after the Long Night freezing a significant portion of the country would be in terrible shape. Especially since the largest supply of excess grain is the Tyrell’s and Cersei has that on her side since Margaery Tyrell is married to Joffrey. 

End result is that I think Cersei will kick off the war and Stannis will lay the charge of Oathbreaking as a response. To you know, weaken/divide her forces as much as he can.

What Cersei may not have is a competent General. Robb, Jamie, Stannis, and Tyrion are on the side of the North (whether or not Jamie and Tyrion can stomach fighting their sister and niblings/children, those two at least aren’t on Cersei’s side). Tywin is MIA from Winter’s Crown except as a brief aside in the past tense and may or may not be dead in this iteration of the world. The best General we can reasonably project to be on Cersei’s side is her Uncle Kevan. Who did see the dead with his own eyes, so that might change his thinking on if the charges of Oathbreaking are true and who that means he should fight for.

Meanwhile, Robb/the North has six direwolves, at least 3 giants, Brienne of fucking Tarth, Jon Snow, Jamie Lancaster, Tyrion Lancaster, AND, most importantly, every single hero and every foot soldier of the Long Night who survived who’s willing to be called to arms again (they’d probably all like to just go home and recover, but damn, if their king is calling, these are the people proven to show up when called). A significant portion of that army are Wildlings who are now released from their oaths and will most likely head back home over the Wall. But! There will also likely be a significant number who stay (*cough* Tormaund making eyes at Brienne) and can function well as a scouting force. 

So the North has an army that trained and trauma bonded through the Long Night together. Morale/belief in each other and their leaders is going to be high. The Boltons are all dead due to events in Winter’s Crown and the Freys are possibly all to mostly dead, so Robb is not going to be stabbed in the back by traitorous liege lords this go around (no Red Wedding here!). What the North doesn’t have is food. 

So, what they need is to get the intelligence of Cersei attacking quickly and to haul ass South where they can pillage food.

As a side note, I am assuming that Danerys does NOT show up with dragons at any point to turn this into a three-way fight. She is not mentioned at all in Winter’s Crown, not even the aside Twyin got, so I’m working off the assumption she’s dead or busy on her side of the sea and will not be appearing in a relevant time frame to this completely hypothetical sequel fanfiction of fanfiction.

So, questions I would need to answer, for myself, before writing: 1) What does Varys choose to do? In GoT, he is canonically more loyal to the realm and thus the people living in it than whoever is on the throne. We know he’s still the Master of Whispers in the Winter’s Crown iteration of the world and was able to slip a number of spies/potential assassins into Robb’s camp. Assassins who were routinely thwarted by Brienne and Tyrion, but all it takes is once. And people might be more willing without the magical terror of the oncoming Long Night/Night’s King. Robb still has the magic invested in crown however, so maybe not. Essentially, I think Varys would be a strong asset for Cersei if she utilizes him (she didn’t earlier because he was telling her information that didn’t fit her world view). And therefore what he choses to do would be important. Tyrion at least knows Varys is the spymaster and to work to counter him.

2) Is Joffrey enough of a cruel bastard to still get offed?

3) Does the accurate parentage of the royal children come out?

Well, this is a lot of thinking about the state of the board at the beginning and not much thinking about ‘plot’ isn’t it? Maybe thinking about a theme would help me out here.

The theme(s) in Winter’s Crown is(are) oaths, the costs of them, being a ‘worthy’ person, and when to adhere to an oath. So I would want this hypothetical sequel’s theme(s) to flow naturally from that. Meaning... the consequences of adhering to your oaths when your opponent doesn’t. Good job brain, the theme is the Prisoner’s Dilemma and what shame and misery is the natural consequence of treachery. 

Okay, cool, now I have the overall arc of my plot: a sudden swift victory on Cersei’s side (she seizes the first mover advantage) followed by the slow build to victory of Robb’s side. I picture this slow build to be Robb focusing on the smaller battles and alliances that builds a solid alliance to suddenly at the end sweep Cersei off the board. I’d focus on getting smaller lords on their side and peeling away minor but consequential logistical goods from Cersei’s side (armies march on good boots kind of thing) while Robb keeps his army out of direct confrontation with Cersei’s, nibbling away at their numbers in hit-and-run tactics, or swaying the men to withdraw their oaths to their lords and take up service with Robb, or just picking the terrain a battle happens in very carefully.

Too bad I don’t trust my writing chops to write a drawn out war story complete with military campaigns yet... Ah well, into the ideas pile it goes.

[sweetestlamb]

Put On A Show

Summary: Cha-young goes to her high school reunion and brings a certain mafia guest. 

Author's note: I heard someone wanted a on top and in control CY so here it is! I already had this idea about a HS reunion so I simply combined the two ideas and got this smutty brainchild. This is rated E for extremely dirty so read at your own discretion, I planned on writing more fics of them pining but I really do love a women in control so I took a break from my cockblocking to fill this prompt. Hope you enjoy ;) 

Dear class of 2005,

That time has come once again, our class reunion! This year's reunion will be held in the Phoenix Hall in honor of us all rising from the ashes of this pandemic and being reborn stronger than ever before! Tickets available for purchase below. There are separate tickets for food and drinks and this year's theme will be luxury: a life of decadence. We look forward to seeing you all.

Cha-young skims the email that had initially landed in her spam folder, only the name of her old high school attached in the subject line catches her attention enough to make her open the otherwise nondescript email.

Another high school reunion.

She had been evading these gatherings like the plague itself, ever since the last time she'd made the mistake of going to one. She had just landed her job at Wusang Firm and finally felt confident in herself, in high school she'd always been the loud one and the weird one but now she was a lawyer and a damn good one if she said could say so herself. Nobody could dismiss her now or jokingly remind her of the bowl cut she had sported before, she was always the butt of their jokes and she was tired of feeling small beneath their condescending thumb. She finally had something worth bragging about. 

She'd stepped in with a smirk on her face, tight black dress and heels clicking as she walked waving at people she knew but didn't deign important enough to stop her entrance for a chat. The buffet table was her sole destination but she'd been intercepted by familiar annoying high pitched voices, Chang Ae-ram and Bom Min-he, the popular girls in her school and the banes of her existence both rushed over to her with drinks in their hands.

They never had anything kind to say to her and seemed to seek her out simply to put her down or remind her of how much of a “pathethic loser” she was in high school, as if she hadn’t been the one living her life. 

The verbal sparring began almost immediately, with them all battling for lead in the "my life is going great" contest, coyly listing their accolades and accomplishment and assertively she told them both about her new job at one of Korea's most successful and well known law firm.

"Oh." Ae-ram answered with a tight smile that pulled her surgically enhanced face into a wrinkleless grin. 

Score.

She sipped her drink feeling victorious as they both avoided her brazen eye contact. She had just opened her mouth to make her leave when a vindictive smile stretched over Min-he's face, "A job is so important but what about a family? Surely you don't plan on dying alone, how come you never bring anyone with you? We're all so sad that you don't have anyone still." She gripped the stem of her wine glass at the fake concern, suddenly the group was larger and everyone was congratulating Min-he on her engagement, the other woman waving the huge diamond on her finger in her face.

It was so vapid and stupid and she knew that it didn't make her any less of a woman that she didn't have a man but those words still burned. She had noticed that everyone was paired up and she was one of the only people who came alone, she'd been seeing someone before the reunion but at her mention of the gathering he had told her that "things were getting too serious for him" rolling out of her bed while tugging on his underwear and that had been the last she heard from him.

She'd spent the rest of the night on the outskirts avoiding her college mates and later stumbled out on her heels unsteady from the amount of liquor she'd consumed.

That had been her last reunion. She'd pointedly ignored all the invitations since then, the shame of that night still stinging all those years later. They only served as a reminder that she still had no one and regardless of how successful she was at her career she would be deemed undesirable by others.

It was such a fucking joke but she couldn't shake the insecurity despite knowing how false it was.

The sound of keys jingling near the front door knock her free from her reminiscing and she spins around to the sight of Vincenzo struggling to squeeze through the entrance with several bags in his arms, he never wants to make more than one trip- the overachiever. She nods her head in hello before trudging over to him without closing her laptop, greeting him easily with a peck on the lips freeing a few bags from his hands.

"Did you get my cookies?" She asks again despite the various text messages she had sent reminding him about her sweet treats, he rolls his eyes at her again swinging another bag into her waiting hands.

"Here. When I told you to text me necessities, cookies are not what I had in mind." He flicks her forehead lightly silencing her cry of pain with a follow-up kiss to the spot, she grumbles but stuffs the soft baked chocolate chip cookies into her mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk hoarding food for the winter.

Smooth as a well-oiled machine they put the groceries away, the sound of cabinets opening and closing the soundtrack for their movements. When everything is correctly put away, she makes her way back over to her laptop only then remembering what she'd been doing.

She stares at the screen contemplating her next move before she feels a familiar heavy weight on her shoulder, his breath is hot on her neck when he speaks, "What are you looking at?" He barely waits for her reply covering her hand on the sleek mouse, scrolling down to read the entire email. She waits anxiously in her seat as he reads the words out loud, obviously she had thought about him when she first received the email but her last experience had made her nervous about asking him to attend.

They hadn't been officially dating for long. They'd been too focused on taking down Babel and the aftermath had left them both with unanswered questions about the nature of their relationship. 

Only this time when she asked him the same question she'd been asking since he crash landed into her life unexpectedly, after everything  was over, he'd looked over at her and said in a small voice "Not if you want me to stay."

She'd been a coward and he had taken her silence as rejection and it had taken a dramatic and honestly cliché airport interruption, complete with her pushing past airport staff and screaming his name crying as they told her that the plane to Malta had already taken off.

She'd returned to her house with red rimmed eyes that widened into huge saucers at the sight of him in front of her house, large suitcase beside him.

Gasping she ran into his arms, as terrified as she'd felt that fateful night so long ago in the underpass. 

"I couldn't go."

He tugged her closer, burrowing his face in her thick hair and breathing harshly his voice was raw and rough like he'd been crying too.

"Because of me?" She asked shock laden in her words and that's when he drew away to stare into her eyes and with a defeated nod he said, "Because of you."

The rest had been history. He came inside with her and he hadn't left since.

"Are you going?"

She stills at the inquiry, head dizzy from the memories racing through her mind.

"What?"

He places a finger on the computer screen, "This reunion. Are you going?"

She feels a small sting in her chest at his words, with a sad smile she starts to shake her head in decline but then he chuckles, "We should go. I'll be your arm candy." He teases wagging his eyebrows in her peripheral.

Oh.

"You want to come with me?" She repeats stunned by his casual offer, this seemed huge for some reason and she could feel her heart pounding erratically in her brittle chest.

He finally straightens up walking off to the kitchen grabbing a cup, pulling the fridge open.

"Yeah I mean unless you have another boyfriend you want to bring with you."

She laughs at his joke but internally her blood sings, she didn't want to get her hopes up but now she can barely contain her happiness.

She can always count him to have her back.

Slamming the laptop shut she circumvents the chair running over to him, he looks at her with a raised eyebrow prying the cup of water from his hands she pulls him down into a grateful kiss. He hums low when she slips her tongue into his lax mouth, this kiss vastly different from the peck she'd greeted him with at the door.

She can taste the caffeine on his tongue, the strong flavor of his favorite espresso swirling around her taste buds, pushing him firmer into the counter she laps at his mouth eager for a deeper exploration. He melts under her touch letting her manhandle him and move his head as she sees fit, his complete surrender makes her hot under the collar.

It's with reluctance that she pulls away from his addicting lips.

She smirks as he sways into her body as if intoxicated.

"Sorry. We have to go soon, it's game night."

It's a weekly tradition at the plaza, tonight they're playing Taboo, it had been announced in the group chat that Mr. Nam had forced them to join. It was chaotic with so many different voices there but it made her feel warm, like they were their own little family.

He groans disappointed but nods slowly, adjusting himself discretely but not enough for her vigilant eyes. She stares at the hardon visible through the thin material of his sweatpants.

"Let's go before you get me any more excited." He grumbles, picking up the snacks he'd purchased for tonight. She smiles triumphantly at his back still in disbelief that she has that kind of power over the great Corn Salad, Vincenzo Cassano.

Game night is a success, filled with laughter and playful arguing. They all work together in pairs and their team loses horribly with her accidentally shouting out all the taboo words every time it's her turn. Mi-Ri and Larry Kang- from the dance studio make a great team using dance moves and inside jokes to solve their words in seconds much to everyone’s shock, they both adamantly deny any change in their relationship at the groups subsequent teasing.

Nobody believes them. 

Just like they hadn’t believed her and Vincenzo. 

They get home at midnight and both collapse before they can finish what they started earlier in the kitchen, but cuddling is great too. He’s always the little spoon. 

The reunion isn't a point of conversation again and she almost forgets about it completely until it's Saturday, the day of the event and she wakes up alone. It's not totally abnormal with him being a morning person but she still groans in annoyance at his disappearance. The bed is so cold without his body letting off heat like a human furnace.

The sun is high in the sky when she finally pulls herself out of bed much later, 12:45pm according to her phone and she sits up with a full body stretch, body popping and cracking.

"Vincenzo? Are you here?" She calls out to the empty house, receiving no reply.

With a sigh she goes to shower and brush her teeth, he should be back soon from wherever he went.

When she finally comes out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following her she pauses at the package on the bed. A huge white box catches her eye, the gold silken bow striking across the large rectangle. Taking a closer step she runs a finger across the smooth material in wonder.

There's a note and immediately she recognizes the distinctive penmanship.

Open me.

Not needing to be told twice she tugs the bow watching it unraveling before lifting the top of the box, peering inside with glowing eyes.

She lets out a soft gasp at the sight of the piercing white material that is almost perfectly camouflaged in the matching box. She lifts it with awe, watching material unfurl until she can see it clearly. It's a dress made from expensive fabric based on the its luxurious feel in her hands and her eyes widen at the cape that hangs lower than the dress itself.

"He was listening to me."

She remembers her group chat with the ladies from the plaza, sending them different options for her reunion and letting them help to pick it her outfit. She wanted something that would garner attention but that still felt like her, and that's when she'd seen it. The new Alexander Wang collection, all white blazer dress with a cape and button details, it looked like luxury and she knew it had to be hers.

The ladies had all been in agreement sending her thumbs up emojis and demanding that she purchase the stunning dress. She'd quickly added it to her cart but much to her dismay as she'd been entering her card information, that dreaded message popped up at the top of her screen.

This item is no longer available. Sorry, try again. 

Her heart had sunk and despite Miri's computer savvy and Yeon-Jin 's online shopping prowess they had not been able to locate the dress on any other site. It was sold out, everywhere.

Or so she thought.

Wordlessly she slips into the dress and surprisingly it fits like a glove, as if it was tailored just for her but that can't be.

"I'll zip that up for you."

She jumps at the dark voice behind her and then a chill runs up her spine at his fingertips on her bare back. He slides the thick curtain of her hair to the side to zip it up the rest of the way, their eyes meet in the full length mirror across the room.

"You look beautiful." He compliments easily, eyes caressing her body from her head down to her bare toes.

She feels like a goddess under his eyes.

"Where did you get this? It was sold out everywhere." She stares at him in wonder and he smiles at her gaping mouth, "I called in a favor. I knew a designer who owed me a favor." He shrugs as if it's nothing that he knows designers who are connected to the Alexander Wang, she's still not used to his influence.

Wait.

"Do you know Alexander Wang?" She shouts in surprise spinning to stare at him and his easy smile and open hand gesture is enough of an answer.

"I got your measurements from Mr.Tak. I wanted tonight to be perfect for you."

Her nerves have been shot all week, it's true that they haven't discussed the reunion at all but that doesn't mean it hasn't been on a mind even haunting her dreams.

She didn't want to be embarrassed again. She knew that she shouldn't let them get to her, she didn't have to prove herself to anyone but for once she just wanted to make them all eat those condescending words. She wanted to show them that she was the same weird girl from high school but she was even more now, also a successful woman and there was nothing wrong with being both sides of those coins. 

Without her even saying one word he'd been able to detect how important this night was for her.

"Thank you." She breathes tears glistening on her eyes, he wraps both arms around her waist beaming at her in the mirror.

"Don't thank me yet you didn't even see the shoes yet."

Without waiting for her answer he steps away to lift a pair of sparkling shoes from the box, the red soles immediately notifying her of the exorbitant brand.

She gapes at the shoes and then a smirking Vincenzo and then back at the shoes, "Are you crazy? Are those Louboutin's?" She asks the obvious question turning the shoes over to stare at the vibrant scarlet soles. A certain Bronxite’s voice blaring in her head about blood shoes. 

"They did say the theme was luxury. I thought these were just right for you." Squealing like a kid in candy store she sits down on the bed with both shoes in hand, but before she can slip them on he's lowering himself to his knees. The sight is enough to stop her in her tracks, her traitorous imagination running wild at the implications and possibilities. When he takes the shoes from her loose grip she merely watches as he slides the shoes onto her feet, just like the dress they too fit perfectly.

"I feel like Cinderella." She chuckles trying to break the tension and the swell in her chest but his bright smile only makes her chest constrict tighter, she doesn't know if she'll survive tonight.

"Hong Cha-young!" She freezes at the sound of Ae-ram's squealing voice only pausing for a moment before turning with a tense smile.

Here we go.

The woman is flagged by her usual posse and parrots, who are always ready to echo her biting remarks and she gulps down her dirty martini needing some liquid courage.

As if sensing her unease instantly Vincenzo takes the hand that was artistically placed in the pocket of his fitting white dress pants and curls it around her waist, grounding her with the simple touch. She turns to him and he greets her with a calming smile that she can't help but return.

I've got your back. He says with only a slight lift of his lips.

She takes a deep breath.

Ae-ram's smile dims as she gets closer to them, her eyes honed on the hand on her hip and she leans fully into the warm body pressed against her side.

Min-he speaks first, an equally constipated smile on her face, "Who's this? You've never brought anyone before. Is this a work friend?" She almost rolls her eyes at the ridiculous question, as if work friends would be this comfortable with each other. They're already finding excuses, grasping at straws and creating complicated solutions for something that is easy to understand simply because they don’t think she’s worthy of attention. That large hand tightens lightly before a light chuckle reaches her ear, “Vincenzo Cassano, lawyer and the lucky man who gets to call her my mine.” She fidgets in his hold blushing at his bold introduction and watching all eyes widen at them, nobody speaks at first clearly in shock at the revelation. 

“Vinshenzo? What kind of name is that?” Someone harps from the back of the crowd and she feels her hackles rise, yes she might have struggled with the pronunciation of his name at first but it felt petty and intentional right now not an honest mistake like her mispronunciation had been. 

But before she can unleash her anger, another old classmates breaks the tense stalemate.

“Oh you’re the Italian lawyer I heard about on the new, who took down Babel! Great job!” 

She had also helped with that, them being a team but nobody seems to care about that all focusing on Vincenzo, all herding around her Italian like he’s a celebrity and she watches shock as he easily wins them over. 

“Sì, ero io. Il piacere è tutto tuo.” Yes that was me, the pleasure is all yours. 

The group minus Ae-ram and Min-he all oh and ah at his effortless Italian despite having no clue what exactly he just said, she too is clueless at the quickly stated sentence but the mischievous smirk on his handsome face informs her of all that she needs to know, he is mocking them right to their faces. She hides a smile behind her hands, pretending to cough into her fingers. 

Wordlessly, the group separates based on sex-she watches helplessly as Vincenzo is tugged away in a boisterous discussion about the state of Korean football- and she is left alone with those harpies but unlike the other reunions suddenly she is the most interesting woman there, regardless of Ae-ram trying to steal the show with pictures of her new full breed dog. She watches amused as the other woman is pushed aside and she is accosted on both sides, questions firing off like rockets. 

“Where did you meet him?”

“Does he have a brother?”

“When are you getting married? You have to marry him!”

“Does he always smell that good?”

She turns flabbergasted to hear that question coming from Ae-ram’s right hand woman, Min-he and Ae-ram glares at her looking betrayed before she storms off with her professional head shots of her dog. She expects Min-he to trail after the spiteful primadonna but to her shock the other woman moves in closer, joining the firing brigade with their million questions about the handsome Italian. 

They all settle down when the man they are so curious about returns, hand back on her waist like that its resting place. 

Her ears ring from their coos and shrill “awws” but she leans into him nonetheless happy to have him back, already exhausted dealing with these people. 

Then she notes that the tone of the questions suddenly shift as they begin to bombard the Italian Korean all at once. There are....more flirtatious when speaking to him and she feels her blood curl at the unprecedented change. 

“Are all Italians this handsome?” Her eye twitches at the bold inquiry, subconsciously she feels her eyes narrow into slits as she glares at the woman who was brave stupid enough to ask that. The bitch blanches at her sneer but still flutters her eyelashes at Vincenzo waiting for his response, she clears her throat loudly answering for him, “He’s one of a kind and fortunately all mine. “ She can feel the smug bastard preening next to her practically buzzing from her compliment, and she quickly makes their escape, “Please excuse us.” Vincenzo smoothly tips his drinks at the women, “Addio,” he bids farewell in Italian arm still hooked around her waist as she sashays away, Louboutin's clicking on the marble tile floor. 

The scrap of Italian leaves them all in a frenzy, whispering wildly behind them. 

She drags them to the bar, ordering two shots of soju and another dirty martini ignoring his examining stare. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” She already knows the answer to her question, it’s written all over him and she tries to stifle the jealousy that wants to rear its  ugly head. 

He looks over at her with a lazy grin, trying to appear innocent. She isn’t fooled for one second. 

“Me? I’m not doing anything. I’m only here for you.” 

She scoffs at him, staring at his annoyingly handsome face and his gleaming white suit he discarded the jacket earlier and his arms have been distracting her all night. 

“You love the attention.” 

He rubs his neck before turning to her fully, leaning on the bar counter. 

“What? Are you jealous of the attention I’m getting? isn’t that why you brought me to make you look good?” 

She wants to deny it and laugh at him, but even now she can hear the voices in the distance all intrigued by the Italian and the bartender’s eyes linger just a minute too long as the smooth Lawyer throws his free shot back in one fluid motion. She should be used to it by now, everyone in a ten mile radius getting a hard on for the Korean Italian. She understands why he gets all this attention, he is gorgeous that was one of the many reasons that she had fallen for him too but sometimes it can be intimidating to be with someone that so many others desire and so obviously too. 

She wonders if she even deserves him. 

Was she enough for him? 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” He taps her on her forehead dragging her from her self-deprecation. “Do you know why they’re all so mean to you?” He suddenly asks and she stares at him before shaking her head no. 

Probably because she’s a hot fucking mess. 

“They’re jealous of you.” 

A burst of laughter slips free at this speculation and she watches as his face tightens, “You really don’t know do you?” His voice is liquid fire, smoky and dark like the tendrils from a cigarette. 

“What are you talking about?” She manages to get out despite being lost in his voice. 

“How sexy you are.” He leans over to whisper directly in her heated ears, she moans lightly at his breath on her skin. 

That is hardly ever a word that she has heard used to describe her, Hong Cha-young. 

Clumsy. Forgetful. Selfish. Loud. Demanding. Too Much. 

Those words she had heard all her life but never sexy. She was too strange to be sexy. 

“You’re smart and beautiful and you have a successful career. You aren’t afraid to be yourself and now you have me on your arm. You have everything and they wish they were you, they’re jealous.” He repeats firmer this time, rubbing a large thumb across her bottom lip and grinning down at her with barely contained glee. 

She starts to deny his claim but then she looks behind her and sees nothing but a sea of envy, women and men both looking at them and she notes not all eyes are on Vincenzo a few men seemed lost in the low cut dip of her dress and the miles of naked skin on display. 

She gasps at the hard line that pokes at her bottom when he leans into her back, standing flush her back to his front. She shivers when he leans down to breathily say, “Everyone is watching, why don’t we give them a show?” 

This is not like her, at all. 

She has never been a fan of public displays of affection, even screaming at horny strangers in the past to get a room but she feels all that restraint leave her body at his challenge. Driving her body back into his jutting erection she slowly grinds in perfect rhythm to the song playing over the stereo. 

She feels seductive as the music curls around her and she lifts her arms to wrap around his neck, bringing him ever closer and pushing back harder delighted at the groan that escapes his lips. He is coiled tightly behind her but he doesn’t move a muscle letting her have complete control over their interaction and she has never felt more powerful. Continuing to sway she leans back when he tightens his grip around her waist, mewling as his nose rubs at her earlobe and letting out a soft gasp when he blows on the tender flesh. 

When she peels her heavy lids open, there are so many hungry and watchful eyes on them. 

Ae-ram looks scandalized and she can see the woman pointing at them but she can’t hear a word that she’s saying the blood in her ears is too loud, drowning out all other sounds. 

It must be the liquor in her veins because seeing all the voyeurs only makes her bolder, before she can second guess herself she spins around much to Vincenzo’s chagrin but she silences him with a finger on his lip. 

“Follow me.” 

He arches a thin eyebrow but eagerly obeys her command when she tugs him in the direction of the bathroom. 

She hears several gasps behind her as she tugs open the door stepping inside, dragging him right behind her the silence is deafening when he closes the door behind them, turning the lock with a metallic snap. 

Her breath comes out in hurried puffs. 

What the fuck am I doing? She asks herself, wondering if this is what people call an out of body experience. 

“We don’t have to do anything. Their imaginations will do the rest.” 

He’s giving her an out. 

Gripping his hands tighter, she pulls him over to the toilet which is thankfully clean using her feet to slam the seat down before pushing down him to sit. He looks up at her with inquisitive eyes, waiting for her next move but lets himself be manhandled the second time this night. 

“Thank you for everything tonight,” she covers his mouth with her hands as she climbs into his lap, whatever words he had on his tongue evaporate when their groins meet. 

“I know I don’t say this enough, but I love you.”  

She has only ever said it once before and he’d been sleeping, they both knew he wasn’t truly asleep but he let her pretend and she appreciated it but there was no way she couldn’t say it now, tonight. He had been her prince charming when she had expected nothing. 

“Are you serious? You say it to me in her-” She pops open his pants button cutting off his stunned response and he stares at her, making her feel hot. 

“Talk later?” She begs and her request is backed by her hand disappearing through the slit in his pants and wrapping around his dick, the hot muscle twitching fiercely in her hold. 

He chokes out word that sounds like a jumbled “yes” and that’s all the consent she needs to stroke him harder, using his precum to glide her hand down from the tip to the base and then back up again, he lets out a punched out groan at her purposeful handling of his imported goods. 

Shifting back marginally, she gives herself more room tugging his pants down further to get a better look at the pretty pink cock, it’s standing at attention and weeping for her and rubs harder twisting in a corkscrew motion on the mushroom head much to his pleasure, he thrusts up into her hand and immediately she lets go. 

“Please,” he whines so prettily and she tsks at him, “Don’t move, you can only take what I give you. You said you were mine right?” 

She doesn’t know what has come over her but seeing all those women and men lusting over her boyfriend makes her want to remind them and him, just who he belongs to. 

She expects him to put up some sort of fight, instead he nods eagerly at her command stilling his hip and she can see the strain in his white knuckled grip on the toilet edge. 

“Good boy.” She praises and notes with stunned satisfaction the way his dick jumps at the praise too, interesting. 

She starts with a light pace, stroking with the barest amount of pressure before she starts to grip him tighter when he groans at the dryness of her hands she leans over to spit on his head, this makes him hiss and fight to stay still in her grip she rewards him with a kiss to his flushed red head. The wet sounds of her hands stroking his hot meat fills the small space of the bathroom and lifting one hand she grabs his tie using it to yank him into a hard kiss, he opens up for her immediately letting her tongue explore his mouth. 

She has never seen this mafia man so docile, it’s like seeing a lion behave like a house cat. 

With a hard suck at his bottom lip, she breaks their kiss leaving them to pant into each other’s mouth harshly. 

She didn’t know how far she actually planned on going but now nothing seems like enough, she needs more. 

Staring deep into his eyes, she stands up releasing her grip on him and he sighs watching her confused before she slides both hands under her dress and slowly pulls down her panties, they are tiny, white and lace, matching her bra and he looks mesmerized as they are pried down her legs. 

“Are you sure?” He’s still checking on her and she smiles at him, stepping out of the panties and cheekily putting them in his pocket, “Give them safe for me,” she doesn’t give him a chance to reply before sinking back down onto him, his dick is hard and thick but she’s so wet that he glides into her like they are two matching pieces of a puzzle.  An erotic puzzle. 

“Fuck!” He shouts when he bottoms out and his cock is completely encased in her tight walls, his voice echoes off the bathroom walls. 

She grabs his tie, making his eyes pop open and she watches amused as he sputters as she stuffs the expensive material into his mouth. 

“You’re being too loud.” She teases remembering all the times he had been the one admonishing her as she screamed beneath him. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” He echoes her words from spitting out the tie and she can’t deny it, so instead she rocks forward taking even more of him simultaneously shoving the wet tie back into his mouth listening to his barely muffled grunts. She rises up on the tips of her toes, her red bottoms giving her that extra bit of height, his hard tip popping free with a wet squelch before she slams back down onto him titling her head back and moaning to the ceiling. 

He’s being so good, not moving at all simply letting her fuck down on him and she can tell his control is slipping every time he grips her waist too tightly, painfully. 

She continues to ride him, chasing her own pleasure and whimpering when his blunt head slides across her engorged bead, rocking vigorously up and down as she feels the end drawing near. She tightens her hold on his shoulder, using him as leverage to ride him faster, his thighs tense under the weight of her body and her rapid pace. 

The wet smacks fill the air filthily and she feels dirty, absolutely nasty but instead of shame an intense wave of pride barrels over her. 

“You’re mine.” She whispers out loud to herself but he misinterprets the words and eagerly nods at the statement thinking she wants him to declare that he’s hers, “Yes I am yours, all yours,” and she loses her mind, pistoning herself rapidly on his lap before pleasure surges through her body, starting in her toes and curling up her thighs and she rocks her nipples into his chest through their layers of clothes, she muffles her cry in his throat roughly pulling at the skin there to silence her deafening screams. 

It’s only then that he breaks the rules, reaching up to grab her shoulders and yanking her down to meet his vicious upward thrust and waves and waves of thick streams fill her up until she feels it leaking at the sides. 

There is no sound besides their louds pants. 

Then two loud knocks make them both jump from their wrecked state, his softening length falling from her grip. 

“This is the only bathroom.” A voice calls out disgusted and with a gasp she stands up straightening her dress and running a hand through her hair before realizing that it’s still sticky, great. 

Vincenzo is a puddle on the toilet, legs spread apart and softened dick not yet tugged away, he looks like sin reincarnated and it takes everything not to initiate another round. 

“Come on lover boy,” she tugs him up pulling him up and zipping up his pants, then she moves him over to the sink washing her hands and making him do the same. Their eyes meet in the mirror and that’s when she sees much how debauched they truly look, when he turns to look at the hickey she sucked into his pale skin while trying to be quiet she finally feels the ability to be embarrassed returning. 

it’s huge and red, almost purple, covering the thick column of his throat and he winces when he rubs at it. 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away.” She apologizes but its for naught because he grins at her proudly, “You were just claiming what’s yours.” 

His words light another fire under her skin and it’s only the pounding on the door that stops her from jumping him again. 

When they finally pull the door open, none other than a blanched face Ae-ram is on the other side. The woman looks shocked to see them both standing in front of her and the gears begin to slowly turn and a bright blush rushes up her unnaturally high cheekbones while color evacuates the rest of her face. 

“Are you serious?!” 

She doesn’t stay to hear the rest of the woman’s snide remark, all eyes are on them as she walks over to the bar to grab her discarded purse and Vincenzo’s jacket, the bartender winks knowingly at them looking equal parts aroused and jealous and she chortles, winking back. 

He hands them two shots, “It’s on the house,” he looks them up and down languidly licking his lips and she slams back the bitter liquid before turning to Vincenzo, his lips are shiny and now wet under the bright lights. 

“Let’s get out of here.” She slams the shot glass on the counter, pulling him out the door. 

He hastily swallows his drink, letting her tug him out the door into the cool night air. 

“You didn’t let me answer you before, but me too.” 

She looks at him from the corner of her eye, the wind causing her to sober up and it takes a minute to understand what he’s talking about. She shifts awkwardly when she ultimately realizes nodding while looking away, their cab is three minutes away. 

“I love you too, Hong Cha- young.” 

As if she didn’t already know. It was too obvious after tonight. 

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Internet Friends

For Maribat March day 4 theme internet friends

Master List

It was peaceful for once in the manor. Dick, Tim, Damian, Steph, Cass, and Babs were all in the living room doing their own thing. However peace cannot last forever and the silent atmosphere was interrupted by one Timothy Drake-Wayne. 

“Guys come check this out!” He exclaimed, his phone facing the others in the room. They all gathered around the phone, some more annoyed than others. On screen was a video and Tim hit play. 

It showed a girl with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin motioning for someone off screen to come over. There was music going on in the background and the girl was obviously getting impatient. The figure came on screen and they were all shocked to see it was Jason. Then at the top of the screen the words ‘Doing this trend with my overprotective best friend’ appeared and now they were very confused. Jason had never mentioned this girl before.

The music stopped and the girl repeated the lyrics “Look at my ass, look at my thighs” as she turned around. But before she could turn around Jason picked her up and carried her off screen before the video ended. 

“What was that?” Dick asked after a few seconds of silence. 

“It’s a trend on tik tok that girls usually do with their boyfriends, but in this case Jason and this girl are just best friends.” Steph answered. 

“How does Jason even know this girl?” Dick pointed out, asking the question that was on all of their minds. Unfortunately, no one, not even Tim, knew the answer. 

Cass then spoke up, “Watch more.” She grabbed Tim’s phone and played another video, however this time it was Jason holding the camera. He came over to the strange girl who looked to be baking something. She looked up at him weirdly, asking something that couldn’t be heard because of the audio playing, luckily they could read lips. 

‘What are you doing?’ She asked

Jason responded with ‘Just listen.’ 

She turned her attention to the camera as the lyrics “That’s my best friend, that’s my best friend” played. Jason was moving to the beat and that seemed to convince the girl to also move to the beat. The song continued with more lyrics playing “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my best friend”. Then suddenly the lyrics “I just fuck her her from time to time” played and the girl whipped out her spoon and started whacking him on the head with it. She was screaming ‘LIES’ just before the video cut out. 

This led to them going on a spree of watching their tik toks. Apparently this was their shared account and both of them had separate accounts they planned to look at later. An hour had passed of them just watching their tik toks before they stumbled upon an intriguing one. The caption was ‘You guys asked for it, so I’ll explain. This is going to be my side of the story.’

It showed Margot, as they had found out her name was, sitting on her bed recording herself painting her nails a blood red as she talked. 

“Ok so you guys have been asking for this for a while so here it is. How I met Jason part one. And Jason will also be doing his side of the story, just so you’re aware, watch that after this. But this also takes place after the whole ‘Hawkmoth and Lila Incident’ so if you haven’t watched that storytime on my personal account, you should probably go do that.” 

One look at each other and they knew they were gonna look at the story afterwards. It was getting too good to leave now.

“So a long time ago I had a venting account on Instagram. Now I had many venting accounts, all with different usernames, including Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, all that good stuff but Instagram is where I met Jason. I posted something about how death could never stop me because I had died by the hands of an akuma before but ladybug’s cure brought me back to life. But then later on in the post I said something about how if this one boy, you all know who he is, couldn’t take a hint then I would rather let death take me than bother living in this mortal realm. Jason ended up seeing the post since we were following each other at the time and DMed me. Now he said and I quote ‘Yo, my username at the time, if you need me to come and beat this guys ass I would be more than happy too. I would gladly let death claim me as well without your shit posts to relate to.’” 

She had tried to make her voice sound deeper and had stopped painting her nails so she could do air quotes. “Looking back on it now, that is such a Jason thing to say, but at the time I was pretty confused and mildly concerned. And time’s up, part two will be posted right now.” 

“Wait, what the heck is an akuma and ladybug’s cure and why did she die from it!?!?!” Dick shouted once the video ended. 

“Dick you don’t know what she’s talking about?” Babs asked in disbelief. 

“Tt, Grayson, and I thought you were one of the smart ones in this family.” Damian scoffed. 

“Does everyone here, but me, know what she's talking about?” Dick questioned, getting yes and nods from everyone in the room.

“Okay Dick,” Tim began, “This is gonna be pretty unbelievable and complicated so I’ll try to explain it as best I can in a short amount of time so we can finish her side of the story before dinner. So while I’m explaining don’t interrupt me.” 

He waited for Dick to nod his head before continuing. “There are jewelry called miraculous that house mini gods that grant powers to whoever has the jewelry. Each miraculous houses a different god thus a different power. Miraculous themselves, including the gods bound to them, are neutral so they can be used for good or evil depending on who wields them. 

Hawkmoth and Mayura used the butterfly and peacock miraculouses for evil purposes and were basically emotional terrorists to the people of Paris. Hawkmoth was able to send out a butterfly with magic to a person feeling negative emotions and manipulate them to do his bidding. These butterflies and villains created by the butterflies were called akumas. If you were or became an akuma you were akumatized. Mayura was able to send out a feather with magic that also used negative emotions to create a monster that aided the akuma. The feathers were called amuks and the monsters were called sentimonsters. 

That was when the heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir also came along and fought Hawkmoth. Ladybug had the ladybug miraculous which granted her the power of lucky charm and miraculous ladybug. Lucky charm gave her an item needed to defeat the akuma and miraculous ladybug reversed all the damage a fight caused. She also had the task of purifying the akuma, turning it back into a butterfly. Chat Noir had the black cat miraculous which granted the power of cataclysm, which made it so he could destroy anything he touched. The 2 worked as a team for around a year before they brought in other temporary heroes who are not that important. Eventually all their temp heroes’ identities were outed and they could no longer use them so they were back to square one. 

However many people noticed that Chat Noir was not taking his job as seriously, he began sitting out battles, flirting with ladybug while there was an akuma, and even getting civilians killed, relying too heavily on ladybug’s cure. We’re not exactly sure what happened, we assumed she snapped because one akuma attack Chat Noir was not there. Instead, there was a whole new team of miraculous wielders including Murder Hornet wielder of the bee miraculous who had the power venom which let her temporarily paralize her opponent, Red Illusion wielder of the fox miraculous who had the power mirage which let him create illusions, Peridot Protector wielder of the turtle miraculous who had the power shelter which allowed him to create indestructible shields, Medusa wielder of the snake miraculous who had the power second chance which allowed her to reset the time line as many times as needed to win the battle, Mustang wielder of the horse miraculous who had the power voyage which let him create portals, and a new black cat holder, Midnight. 

The team took 6 months to defeat Hawkmoth and Mayura, who turned out to be Gabriel Agreste and Natalie Sancour. The Justice League tried to recruit them but they all wanted to live normal lives. Ladybug still checks in every 3-6 months to reassure everyone she still has all the miraculous. I don’t blame them, especially Ladybug, for wanting a normal life. This whole thing started when they were around 13 and ended when they were around 17.”

Tim then clicked on part two of her story, not even waiting for Dick to recover from the huge information dump. 

It was the exact same place she was at in part one, and she was still painting her nails the same shade of blood red. “Okay guys part two of how Jason and I met. If you didn’t watch part one go watch then return to this one. So picking up where we left off I Dmed him back and we ended up having a very long conversation about murder, people not understanding the word no, and spineless cowards. This went on for quite a while of us just messaging each other and eventually we gave each other our emails and then phone numbers. I gave him my phone number just before I moved out of Paris. After like 6 months of texting we planned to meet up at some park in New York that was near the apartment I lived at at the time. Now in hindsight that was a very dumb move on my part so to all the kids watching don’t go meeting up with strangers you meet on the internet. Do as I say not as I did. I almost regretted my decision to meet up with him because he is intimidating as hell! He’s like over 6 foot tall, with muscles the size of my head! I honestly thought that I had put myself in a very bad situation but thankfully he was just as nice in real life like he was over text. We ended up hanging out a lot more and long story short we’re best friends!” 

It was at this point that she looked directly into the camera with a glare that could rival Batman’s, stating, “Literally just best friends to all the people who think shipping us is okay!” And just like that, it was gone, “Anyways see you guys next video, bye!” 

And with that the video ended and the Wayne children, minus Jason obviously, were left wondering how they missed the fact Jason had a female best friend. One where they declared their friendship on the internet nonetheless!

“Well that was certainly something.” Steph commented. 

“Yeah, who knew Jason could have a non hero friend that we didn’t know about.” Tim joked. 

“So are we gonna watch Jason’s part?” Dick asked. 

“I don’t think we have time for that, but we can watch it after dinner.” Tim suggested, “Alfred is probably on his way to get us right now.”

“Tt, what do we do now?” Damian questioned. 

It was then that Cass stole Tim’s phone and started to play a new tik tok. And it showed Margot trying to teach Jason how to do the WAP dance. They were never letting him hear the end of this.

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

I am literally so sorry for that huge information dump with the miraculous. I did not expect to get that carried away while writing and by the time I realized it, it was too late and I had to post. Honestly because of how much I wrote I will probably use the miraculous holders names in a future fic, cause I’m lazy. :P Also if you wanna guess their identities feel free to! Anyways tomorrows prompt fic thing will be like a prequel for this one, it’s basically why Marinette now goes by Margot and why she lived/lives in New York. The prompt “Betrayal" will be connected to this as well. :)  Also sorry this was posted so late, I had things to do, that I still need to do...I hate procrastination

@maribatmarch-2k21

[platypanthewriter]

Guess Again

Day Four of Harringrove AUgust, Profession AU!  Steve runs into a hot guy named Billy on his plane flight back to Indianapolis, and Billy lies about what he does for a living, then, laughing, admits he lied.  The prize for this guessing game: an exchange of phone numbers.

Steve found his seat, in coach, because that was the only seat available on the overbooked flight into Indianapolis a week before Thanksgiving.  He shoved his carry-on under the seat, and wedged himself in the limited leg room, opening his laptop to answer the emails that had been pinging his phone before the plane was ready to take off, and he—blessedly—had to go into airplane mode.  

He barely even noticed the guy wedging himself in to sit by the window, and trying to get the damn table to stay up.  Steve typed away as the busted table mechanism flapped onto the guy’s lap over and over.  Finally, Steve grimaced, glancing over.  “You can use my table,” he offered, registering only that the guy was tattooed, and kinda...hot.  “I’ll put this away as soon as we taxi to the runway.”

“It’s fine,” the dude said, smacking the floppy table with a sigh.  “Not like there’s a meal on this flight.”

“You can lean in and share my pretzels,” Steve told him, grinning over, and was met with big, long-lashed blue eyes, an annoying mustache, and curls that curved around an attractively firm jaw.  

The guy nodded, and put the broken table away.  “...kind of a workaholic?” he asked, probably because it was nearly ten o’clock at night, and Steve was glaring at his screen and typing emails like his survival depended on a high word count.  

He snorted a laugh.  “I left them all until now,” he said, grimacing.  “They really don’t need my input, but if I replied earlier, they’d just ask me something else.  Something they could google.”  He narrowed his eyes at an email from a coworker who’d actually emailed to ask for exact details of what was allowed under the sexual harassment policy.  Talk to HR, he sent back.  Creep, he thought.  He finished the last of the replies, hoping he wasn’t sending anything too weird in his distraction, and closed his laptop.  “Um.  Sorry.  What do you do?”

“I sell life insurance,” the guy said immediately, with a toothy grin.  “I’ll sell you so much insurance on this flight.”

“Uh,” Steve said, blinking at him.  “Umm...oh.”

“That’s a lie,” was the dude’s followup, and Steve stared at him, starting to regret his offer to share a table, or catch the flight at all.  “I don’t sell life insurance, I swear.  I promise,” the guy said, laughing.  “God, your face.  I just...my job is...I started telling people I sell life insurance, so they wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I can just sit over here,” Steve offered, pretending to zip his lips.

“No, no, it’s, uh.  Sorry I lied.  Talk to me, it’s a long flight.”

“Why do you have to lie?” Steve had to ask, and the guy grimaced.  

“My job’s kinda awkward,” he said, laughing.

“Are you a...porn star?” Steve asked, trying to figure out what kind of job would get the worst people to talk to you, and the dude cracked up.  

“Jesus, no, but thanks for the ego boost,” he said, and Steve snorted a laugh.  

“Um.  What about…” Steve thought, opened his mouth, and then closed it.  “Can I guess?” he asked, grinning, and the guy snickered.  

“Sure.  Give it your best shot.  Just don’t tell me any horror stories.”

“Do you embalm bodies?” Steve tried, already holding back a tide of questions, like did you ever drop one and have to fix a broken nose.

“Nope!” said the guy, turning to lean more against the window, to face Steve.  “How many tries do you want before I just tell you?”

“Oh, no, no, lemme guess,” Steve said, thinking as they came around asking for drink orders.  “Horror stories...um.  Are you a soldier?” he asked, wide-eyed, and the guy laughed again.  

“No!  No, nothing like that.”  He leaned to see Steve’s ID as Steve pulled it out to order a beer, and Steve grinned.  

“I’m Steve.”

“Billy,” said his mysteriously-employed seatmate, offering his hand, and Steve flipped it over investigatively.  

“You don’t have those, like, love/hate knuckle tattoos,” he said, feeling like a detective.  “So...maybe not a biker?”

“I’m not a biker,” Billy snickered.  His hand was warm in Steve’s.  “Is that even a job?”

“Oh!  Oh!” Steve leaned forward, sure he had it this time, and Billy moved the armrest between them out of the way.  “A writer?”

“What?!” Billy laughed, which probably meant Steve was wrong, but he argued his point.  

“People tell you horror stories,” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “So—so probably everybody tells you they have a great idea for your next novel—”

“No, uh.  One clue,” Billy said, grimacing.  “They’re true stories.”

“True stories,” Steve said, going to cross his arms in thought, and realizing Billy hadn’t taken his hand back.  “Uh, what do I get if I guess right?” he asked, squeezing Billy’s hand, and Billy snorted a laugh, grinning like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“I dunno, I feel like Rumpelstilzkin, you want like my firstborn or—”

“No, nope,” Steve made a face.  “I got enough kids around, thanks.  Oh—” he blinked, realizing how that sounded as Billy started to pull his hand back, and lean away, “—not, like, I’m not a dad, I don’t have a wife and kids or anything.  I just have some little shitheads that come over all the time and eat all my popsicles and pizza.”

“Oh good,” Billy said dryly.  “I’d feel terrible if holding my hand ruined your marriage.”

“No other knuckles can fulfill me, now,” Steve said soulfully, and then when Billy burst out laughing, Steve couldn’t hold a straight face.  

“You know how fucking dirty that sounds, right,” Billy whispered, rubbing his face with the hand Steve wasn’t holding, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you to fist me on the plane,” he hissed back.

“Coward,” Billy shot back, and then they started giggling again, like they were ten.  

 “True horror stories,” Steve repeated, later, as they leaned together over the napkin on his tiny airplane table, where he was keeping track of the guesses he’d already made.  “True horror stories.  Are you a reporter?” 

“God no,” Billy said, making a face.  “Imagine this many tattoos in front of the news cameras?  We’ve got a ways to go before they allow that.”

“Oh, true,” Steve nodded.  “I mean, unless you worked for, like, a tabloid.  Circling everyone’s stomach in pictures and writing ‘BABY BUMP?!’ on it.”  

Billy jumped when Steve yelled ‘BABY BUMP’, and half the plane twitched and mumbled.  “Fuck no!” he hissed, laughing.  “Ssh!”

“Huh,” Steve said, studying the napkin.  “Oh!  Um,” he grimaced.  “Police officer?”

“No,” Billy growled, and Steve nodded, writing that down and crossing it out, and sipping his third beer.  “We never worked out what you got if you guessed,” Billy said, watching.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve agreed, nodding.  “Uh, what about...dinner?”

“We’re gonna land at like six in the morning,” Billy pointed out, and Steve fingergunned him.

“Breakfast.”

Billy laughed.  “I dunno if I’m willing to put out on our first plane trip together.”

“Lemme get you, like, bacon and eggs,” Steve said, leaning in and waggling his eyebrows, “—and my phone number.”  He smirked as Billy cackled, leaning his head in the window.

“Yeah, okay.  Gimme some breakfast sausage, Steve,” he said softly, the overhead reading light making his curls glow a little, like a halo.  

“Now I haveta figure it out,” Steve said, frowning at his list, and Billy’s fingers twitched towards him.  Steve grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and accepted another beer from the flight attendant.  “I wonder how many beers that is,” he said, prodding at the label with his thumbnail.  “I think they’re like ten bucks a pop.”

“I bet the alcohol will really help you think,” Billy said dryly, and Steve made a face at him.  

“Shut up, I got it.  I got it this time,” he said, tipping his head back for a long, satisfying drink of beer, and wiping his mouth.  Billy’s mouth hung a little open when he finished, and Steve licked his lips, grinning.  “You—you’re a doctor.  A—a doctor of butts.  A butt-doctor.”

Billy started laughing so hard, silently, that Steve was starting to wonder whether he could breathe.  

“I’m right, right?” Steve said, taking a triumphant swig, and Billy shook his head, wheezing for air.

“You mean a proctologist?!” he gasped.

“Yeah, and you understood fine,” Steve told him, annoyed.

“I’m not—I’m not a butt doctor,” Billy choked out, tears of laughter in his eyes.  “I don’t have a doctorate in ass—”

“Your loss,” Steve muttered, glaring at the napkin with the list.  “Man, my cousin is one, and he has some stories.  Dude, that’s everything, that’s every damn job.  Ever.  Do zookeepers get told horror stories?!  Oh!”  He pointed the beer bottle at Billy.  “Dentist!”

“No,” Billy giggled, his hair rising with static in the dry air of the plane, and sticking to the wall and window behind him.  He looked ruffled and fond, and Steve squeezed his hand again, trying to think of what he’d missed, before the plane landed, and he’d spent the entire flight guessing jobs, and Billy hadn’t even given him a last name.  

“Shit,” Steve said, then straightened again.  “No, okay, this time,” he said, the beer making his words a little soft around the edges, “This time I really have it.  You’re a Mickey Mouse person.”

“I’m a what now,” Billy said, still snickering.

“You know,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed.  “You crawl up the ass of one of those suits and let kids think you’re a Disney princess.”

“No, Harrington,” Billy said, breathlessly, as he shook with laughter.  “No, I do not.  Do people tell mascots horror stories?!  I don’t even want to know.  Which princess?  Just for scientific curiosity, Steve, which princess do I crawl up the ass of, in your brain?”

Steve tried to remember them all.  “Not Jasmine,” he said with certainty.  “Um.  Wait, Peter Pan?  Maybe?”

“Peter Pan’s not a princess,” Billy choked out, wiping his eyes as he tried to muffle his laughter.  

“Hrm,” Steve said, accepting another beer and huffing a sigh, but Billy leaned in suddenly and just kissed him.  His lips were warm and chapped, and Steve hummed happily against them.  Their teeth bumped, a little, because Billy was giggling so hard, and Steve was grinning so wide his cheek muscles ached.

“I���m a drug and alcohol counselor,” Billy said with a grimace, and Steve glared at his beer, betrayed, "—so, um, horror stories.  Yeah."

"I just have butt-doctor horror stories," Steve said quickly, trying to salvage the situation, and he shoved his beer behind him.

Billy laughed harder, shaking his head.  "I’ll still take that number,” he whispered, kissing Steve again—and snickering, his cheeks flushed.  “And breakfast?”

Here’s my other Harringrove stuff!  Or check out the Harringrove AUgust collection on Ao3!  Add something!  =D 

[mewmewchann]

The daily life of being on a computing course

Aka: things I have said or have heard other people say at some point during my course/look these quotes are golden and I needed to record them somewhere

A lot of these are chaotic and I thought you all would appreciate them If you think my DnD quotes are chaotic, y’all are gonna love these

~~

“Come to think of it, this course is kinda useless when 95% of our job is just looking up the answers on Google.”  

“You know what makes things better? Gatling guns”  

“It was about 20 minutes of this guy making dramatic gestures with no sound whatsoever”  

“DON’T EXPECT ME TO DO THIS! I HAVE TINY WEAK GIRL FINGERS!!!”  

“Coffee is not a balanced meal.” “It is if you aren’t a coward.”  

“If this fucking disconnects I’m gonna start killing”  

“There's a scary pile of emails looking at me and I think if I keep ignoring them, they'll go away.”  

“They used Comic Sans. A professional website, that our lecturer with at least 20 years of experience has used as a source, uses fucking Comic Sans”   

*hands over a chocolate bar* “You are a starving child.”  

*reclining in my chair dramatically* “Craaaawling iiiiiin my skiiiiiiiiin”  

“WHY IS MY HAND NOW THE ON/OFF SWITCH”  

“I only clicked one thing and it fucking killed everything”  

“How the hell did I pass? I don’t remember bribing anyone.”  

“Relational databases are the best thing since sliced bread!” ... ... “...Wait what’s so good about sliced bread”  

“...Did I seriously just do mental math in the context of disinfectant wipes”  

“I thought I’d live until at least 50. Turns out, I’m dying at age 20 because someone I’m peer reviewing doesn’t know basic grammar”  

“...Okay now the desk is the on/off switch-”  

“Sorry that your code isn’t working, but you have good taste in music.”  

“Are you okay?” “I think I’m dying” “...Yeah she’s fine”  

“This ran smoothly for most of its test run but then gave up at the end.” ... ... ... “I’m gonna name it ‘Game of Thrones’.”

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (2)

Autumn Serenade

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Ao3 | FF.net

--

Many hours later, the door clicked closed, and Marinette sat up straight in attention. “Adrien?”

“No girl, just me,” said Alya. “Did you sleep at the table all night?”

Sunlight poured in the window. 

“I guess I did.” Marinette rubbed at her eye, smearing her mascara. “What time is it?” 

“Morning time. Almost 8. I’m surprised Sunshine isn’t still here. I have expected to catch you both cuddling on the couch together. Did you just…fall asleep at the table?” 

Marinette didn’t answer, her eyes welling up with tears. 

“Marinette?”

“He bailed on me. Ghosted me. Not even a text.” 

“He what!?” She shrieked. “Why that dumb little—“ Alya whipped out her phone, and called someone, putting them on speaker. 

“He didn’t answer me, Alya, don’t even try.” 

Instead, Nino’s voice spoke over the line. “What did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget anything! It was that Best Man of yours!” 

“Adrien? What did stuffed-with-fluff forget?”

“He forgot Marinette!” 

“Marinette? He ghosted her!?” 

“Yes! He never showed! And he’s not answering any calls, so you better get a good excuse from him! He better be dead or in the hospital, or I’ll put him there!” 

“Alya…” Marinette said weakly. “I’m sure he has a good excuse…” 

“I’ll call him,” Nino promised. “I’ll figure this all out. He’s a good boy, I know he wouldn’t just…not call.” 

“I want to believe that too,” Alya said with pain in her voice. 

Then, Marinette’s phone rang, and she hurriedly answered it, not looking at the number. “Hello?”

“Hello Miss Dupain-Cheng,” said Nathalie.

“Oh, good morning.” 

“I’m calling to inform you that next week, you’ll be working from the office all week. Mr. Agreste is…feeling unwell.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you for letting me know. By chance, is Adrien there?”

“No.” And without anything else, Nathalie hung up. 

“Rude,” Marinette muttered to herself. “Something smells fishy.” 

Nino called back a minute later. “I can’t get a hold of Adrien either. He’s not answering his phone.” 

Alya frowned, arms crossed. “Fishy indeed.” 

“Well, he can’t avoid me forever. I am Gabriel’s intern, so I’ll corner him sometime.” Then a horrible realization came over Marinette. “Oh god, he didn’t actually ask me out!” 

“What? Did you daydream this whole thing?!”

“No! He asked me if I wanted to have dinner, and he said he had something important he wanted to tell me! But he never clarified that it was a date! I kissed his cheek! What if he panicked!? Alya, this is my fault!” 

Nino laughed from the other end of the line. “Dude, this is so not your fault. It sounded like a date to me. He still owes you an explanation. Regardless of what type. Don’t blame yourself.” 

“Nino’s got it right, Marinette. You didn’t do anything wrong. When he stops being such a butthead, he’ll come groveling. I promise.” 

“Yeah, well, we can only hope.” 

Through the trees

Comes Autumn with her serenade

Melodies

The sweetest music ever played

Autumn kisses we knew

Are beautiful souvenirs

A whole week of silence was torture. Marinette continued to go to work, and put on her big girl pants and acted like everything was fine. Gabriel only communicated to her through emails, and she was unanimously thrust into the leadership role in his absence. 

It was frustrating, annoying, and stressful, since she was not prepared to become CEO overnight. By the end of the week, she had run herself ragged. Fueled by coffee and fear of failure, she wrapped up her last project for the evening, and went back to the apartment. 

There, blessedly, Alya and Nino greeted her with hugs and leftovers. 

“Rough day?”

“Rough week! Mr. Agreste has been basically AWOL, and I’m the one filling in! He doesn’t answer my phone calls or texts, and answers my emails an hour after the fact. I’m exhausted!”

“And Nathalie didn’t say anything to you?” 

“Nope, she’s sealed up tight. Apparently, Gabriel is sick. But I can’t get any news about Adrien. Honestly, I’m about one mental breakdown away from breaking down the gates and demanding answers.” 

Alya chuckled. “No need to be so drastic, Marinette. Maybe both of them got the flu, and Nathalie is forbidding them from doing anything but resting. You know how strict she is.” 

Marinette kicked off her shoes and leaned her head back on the couch. “I know, I know, and you’re probably right. It might be best if I come up with a plan in case this ever happens again. Specifically Gabriel getting sick, not Adrien being a coward.” 

“It’s weird though,” Said Nino. “Adrien’s always been overly considerate. Even after all this time, he still asks too many questions about social faux pas. For him to just ghost you, for a whole week even; it’s concerning.” 

Marinette had tried not to think like that. Adrien being awkward and scared was so much easier to stomach than something tragic befalling him. 

And yet, if it had, wouldn’t she know by now? 

She took out her phone, and called Nathalie, much to the curious gazes of Nino and Alya. 

“Hello Marinette.” The woman greeted, as stoic as ever. “I was under the impression that you were done for the night.” 

“I am. I just...haven’t heard from Adrien all week.” 

“With Gabriel ill, Adrien has been busy, much like you. It wouldn’t surprise me that social calls would fall to the wayside.” 

“I was just...worried. Is he there?” 

“Yes. He’s fine.” 

“Can I talk to him?” 

“He’s asleep. He’s had a hard week. You’ll see him Monday, as Mr. Agreste wants you working at the manor.” 

“Oh, okay then. I guess...thank you, Nathalie.” 

“You're welcome.” The call ended. 

“So he’s not dead in a ditch.” Marinette announced. “Nathalie said he’s asleep. And I’ll see him Monday.” 

Nino frowned, though he didn’t say anything. 

It was just...odd.

As I pause to recall

The leaves seem to fall like tears

Silver stars

Were clinging to an Autumn sky

Monday morning, Marinette went over to the mansion. She rang the bell, and the gates opened. She crossed the quiet drive, the gates shutting behind her, and approached the door. 

There was usually someone there to open it to greet her, whether it was Nathalie or the Gorilla. Not this time. 

Marinette took hold of the handle and opened it herself, for the first time ever. She didn’t think they would mind, if the gate opened. 

“Hello?” She called. “Nathalie?” 

The lights in the foyer were off. And despite the large windows beside her, dark shadows hung in the corners like cobwebs. 

The house felt empty. Cold, and dark. The manor had always been cold, of course. It was picture perfect, sterile and modern minimal. But today it felt worse. Noticeably worse. 

If this is what it felt like at night when she went home, it was no wonder Adrien hated it here. 

The doors to Gabriel’s office were closed, and she approached, knocking gently. 

“Come in.” Said Nathalie’s voice. 

She was at her desk, but Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. “Good morning,” she greeted.

“G-good morning.” Marinette nodded. “I’m just letting you know I’m here. You usually greet me at the door so...” 

“You’ve been here long enough, I didn’t think such formalities were necessary.” 

“They aren’t! It’s fine, totally fine. Just...unexpected is all. Is Gabriel still ill?” 

“A bit. He may come down, but he may not. I will field all questions.” 

“Okay,” she nodded. She prepared to leave, but asked. “Is Adrien home?” 

“He’s working in his room. He’s very busy.” 

Marinette just nodded, and went to her own office down the hall.

It was a smaller room, used to belong to Emilie. Gabriel was very specific about how things were kept. The desk was Marinette’s, but everything else was Emilie’s. The bureau in the corner, the little settee, the curtains, it was all her design. Emilie had good taste, thankfully, and so the room was fine the way it was. 

Even with the light off, this room didn’t have that oppressive weight in it. 

She could relax, however slightly, and get to work. 

It was hard to concentrate on work when all she wanted to do was storm upstairs and demand answers from Adrien. At this point, she definitely felt like she deserved them. Date or not, she deserved a little closure as to what had happened, and why he had never followed up. 

In all likeliness, it would probably just be, “my phone died, and then I forgot to text you back.” 

But Nino’s comment about Adrien’s extreme consciousness really nagged at her. 

Before she knew it, it was time for her lunch break, and she took her sack lunch with her to Gabriel’s office. 

He still hadn’t come down, but Nathalie was there. 

“Nathalie? I’m taking my lunch now. Do you think I could visit Adrien?” 

The woman stopped her work and screwed up her lips, an expression Marinette had never seen on her before. She seemed to be thinking much too hard. 

“I will go see if he is able to handle company.” 

“Tell him I don’t want to bother him, and we don’t have to talk. I just want company.” 

Nathalie nodded, and stepped out of the room. Marinette followed across the foyer, before Nathalie harshly told her, “wait here.” 

She ascended the stairs to Adrien’s room. 

Love was ours

Until October wandered by

Let the years come and go

I'll still feel the glow

That time cannot fade

When I hear

That lovely Autumn serenade

Marinette never had to wait. Since working in the same house, they had developed a pretty open door policy. He was allowed in her office anytime, and likewise, she was allowed in his room, though she usually knocked first. Young men and all. 

But this was the first time anything like this happened. Was Nathalie just paranoid about her getting sick too? Or her getting Adrien sick?

Was Adrien still ignoring her, and let Nathalie in on it? 

What had she done to warrant this reaction? 

Finally, Nathalie came out of the room. 

“Adrien can see you for a little bit. But he’s busy, so try not to distract him.” Her tone was stern, in a way that made Marinette instinctively curl into herself. A sternness like she was in trouble. 

Seriously, what did she do?!

She climbed the stairs, and approached the door, knocking slightly. “Adrien?” 

“Please come in,” his voice called back. 

When she entered, she noticed the lights were out. He sat in his computer chair, facing her completely, sitting rigidly, and smiling. 

It was the fakest smile she’d ever seen. 

She sighed. “Relax. I’m not mad.” 

He blinked. “You…aren’t?” 

“I mean, I’m a little confused. Why didn’t you show?” 

He frowned. “I’m sorry, I think I’m the one that’s confused. What are you talking about?” 

She scoffed. “Last week? We were going to have dinner? You never showed or called?” 

“Oh. I…forgot.” 

“It was your idea!” 

“I…was sick. And I fell asleep. Yes. What day?” 

“Friday night.” 

His eyes widened. “Oh yes. That is exactly what happened.” 

She sighed as she sank into his couch, and opened her lunch. “I understand. I really do, but next time, could you return my calls? I spent a whole week in silence from you.” 

“Nathalie confiscated my phone.” 

This made her chuckle. “Okay, that’s an ironclad excuse.” 

He smiled, again, so fake. 

“So what did you want to tell me?”

“Tell you? I was under the impression that you wanted to talk to me.” 

“Well yeah, but on Friday. You asked me to dinner and said you wanted to tell me something.” 

He spun around in his chair to look at his computer. He scrolled through a document, and then turned back to her. “I don’t remember, I’m afraid. This past week has been…a bit fuzzy, to tell you the truth.” 

“What were you sick with?” 

His eye twitched. “Uh, cancer.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“Too severe? Strep throat then. Pneumonia. Bronchitis.” 

“You could just say you don’t know instead of giving me a heart attack, you know.” 

“Apologies.” 

“Why are you talking like that?” 

“Talking how so?” 

“Like, really proper.” 

“Is it not how I usually talk?” 

“Not when we’re alone…” 

He screwed up his lips. “Hmm. My bad. Too many period dramas while I was sick, I suppose.” 

She laughed. “Oh my gosh, like when we binged Sherlock together, and we couldn’t stop talking with British accents?!”

He grinned. “Precisely. Just like that.” 

“Man, had I known you were sick, I would have brought you some soup and given you company.” 

“Nathalie wouldn’t have let you.” 

“I know. It just kills me to think that you were alone all week.” 

“It kills you?” He looked horrified. 

“Yeah…I know you get lonely…sorry, I’m prying again.” 

He shook his head. “Just…the phrasing caught me off guard.” 

Marinette noticed from the moment she walked in, he had only once glanced at his computer. She was being a distraction, just like Nathalie had asked her not to. 

“Well, I heard you were busy, so I’ll finish my lunch in my office. But, we’re good right?” 

“What?” 

“Like, you aren’t mad at me for anything? I didn’t do anything wrong?” 

“No, you did nothing wrong. We’re great friends.” 

“Good!” 

Something was wrong. 

Love was ours

Until October wandered by

Let the years come and go

I'll still feel the glow

That time cannot fade

When I hear

That lovely Autumn serenade

She walked to him and kissed his temple, like he always appreciated, and she spared a glance at the computer screen. 

She only got a glimpse of the first line. 

‘Your name is Adrien Agreste.’

--

I can’t guarantee prompt updates for a little bit. I have some logistics to figure out, but I have a few chapters ready, so I figured I’d start posting! All the chapter titles are songs from my spooky halloween playlist that inspired this fic (and their lyrics will be in the chapters)! You can find that playlist here. The playlist will be updated as the fic goes on.

I hope to post the last chapter on Halloween!

[littlemissinvisible101]

From Replacement to the Original pt.1

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types

Relationships: Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne

Characters: Tim Drake, Janet Drake, Selina Kyle, Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Good Parent Selina Kyle, Somewhat good parent Janet Drake, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Selina Kyle is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Selina Kyle is Catwoman, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Child Neglect, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Was Robin, Protective Selina Kyle, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne had just woken up on his once-a-month mandatory rest day when he saw that the Drake Family Lawyer contacted him about a contingency letter left by his mother. Apparently, word of mouth travelled fast that he had come back from his supposed soul-searching trip around his parent’s favorite dig sites.

Mr. Fletcher had asked him when he was free to come get the letter his mother had left for him. Tim had wanted to get out of Gotham as soon as he could so he set up an appointment for that afternoon.

Tim had whipped together a quick breakfast and taken his antibiotics before he spent the rest of the morning finalizing his 2 weeks’ notice since Bruce had been able get back into Wayne Enterprises for the week. It had just been a little over a month since Tim had brought Bruce home from the Time Stream and while Tim had expected things to change, he had hoped it would be for the better.

Bruce hadn’t even blinked at the sight of Damian wearing the Robin suit. Hell, he had congratulated Dick for the way he had managed to keep Gotham and everything in line. Bruce had even found the time to fix up his relationship with Jason before he talked to Tim.

He didn’t even bother to thank Tim for saving his life and for taking over his family business. Instead, they talked business and acted as if nothing was wrong in front of the WE employees. If it wasn’t in business suits, then it was in the other suits when he called in Red Robin to help with a case. Tim hasn’t stepped foot inside the Manor in months.

If this was Bruce’s way of saying he didn’t need Tim anymore, he got the message loud and clear. After all, he was just the replacement, right? The pretender who forced his way into their lives and refused to go peacefully so he had to be kicked out. Well, here he was, bowing out silently out of their lives.

Tim had planned meticulously for how he would be able to leave without them noticing. In a week, he would submit his 2 weeks’ notice to Lucius Fox before heading on business trip to Japan to finalize a deal. He would be spending the next week there before heading to Austria for another week for another business deal. After, he would simply go wherever he wanted to go.

He preprogrammed a message to be sent to each of the Bats, as a farewell of sorts because even if they didn’t think of him as family, he still loved them as if they were his family. He had even prepared a message for the Titans in case they would ever need him again. They were the only ones Tim trusted enough to keep in contact with. Everyone else, even Alfred would have to be left behind.

Tim viciously pushed these thoughts to the side as he decided to enjoy a quick lunch before he made his way to talk to Mr. Fletcher. As he mindlessly prepped ingredients for a simple salad (because his immunity was shot so he needed all the help he could get), he wondered what would be in the letter.

His mother was not the touchy-feely type. She wouldn’t put something about them loving him. Most likely, it would be business instructions to ensure that Drake Industries would still be the empire that it had been under his mom’s command. Unfortunately for his mom, his dad had been the one to wreck the empire.

Tim had thought about reviving Drake Industries but had ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it. The amount of time that went into running a business wasn’t conducive to being a teenage vigilante and Tim wanted to be free to pursue the things he wanted in life. He had more than enough money to live off on and he had invested his money wisely so it had been turning a profit since he had left Gotham the first time.

Even if he continued his vigilantism, he had more than enough money to support himself. He didn’t need their help anymore, just like they don’t need him anymore. As he started cooking his breakfast, he marveled at how he had gotten to this point of independence from the Bats.

Ever since he came back with Bruce in tow, the rest of the Bats didn’t even bother to contact him unless it was for patrol or for a case. Oracle only kept in contact for business. Dick basically ignored their issues and tried to pretend they didn’t exist. Damian liked to act as if he didn’t exist. Jason was, oddly enough, the only one he could stand even if they did only work together for cases. Cass was still in Hong Kong.

If he was being honest with himself, Tim desperately missed being home at the Manor but after everything happened, it was clear that the Manor was no longer his home. Home used to be with the Bats and occasionally, with the Titans. Now, Tim would have to find a new home for himself, hopefully away from Gotham and the Bats.

Tim ate his salad mindlessly while he let his mind wander on his active cases. He would need to tie up his loose ends before he left without the bats taking notice. He popped his next dose of antibiotics into his mouth after and finally decided that he’s wasted enough time to start getting ready for the appointment.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Timothy Drake-Wayne was ready and presentable to the public again. Tim debated bringing his motorcycle but the address of the office was only a couple of blocks from his apartment and he could use the walk to clear his head and get some fresh air.

As he left his penthouse, Tim’s mind debated again about what his mother could have possibly written about. His inheritance had already been secured since he was born so it couldn’t be that. The business had already sunken and drowned under the guidance of his father. It didn’t make any sense for Janet Drake to write a contingency letter and yet, here it was.

Tim didn’t know why but every step felt like it was weighed down with lead and his stomach dropped as he got closer and closer. By the time he was at the office, Tim’s mind was buzzing about theories as to what could have been so important for him to know that his mother, famed Iron Dragon of Gotham wrote a letter just in case she died.

Mr. Fletcher must have been eagerly awaiting him by the looks of it since Tim had scarcely knocked on the office doors before it was opened. It’s been a while since Tim had seen Mr. Fletcher given that he had retired before the Drakes passed.

“Timothy, you’re early!”

“Mother taught me that it was better to be early than to waste other’s time. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fletcher.”

“That does sound like something Janet would preach. I wished we’d met again under more ideal circumstances but you’ve grown into a fine young man. Your parents would be proud.”

“Thank you. Your email mentioned a letter from Mother?”

“Ah yes! As you know, ever since my son took over my position at the firm, I had relinquished all of my active duties to him but this was more of a request made by your mother to me as a confidant and friend. Jacob, my son had been cleaning out my office a few days ago when he found the envelope. He contacted me immediately about it and I remembered what it was about. I made the trip out here because I had to give it to you before I forgot again. I owe your mother that much.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Fletcher?”

“I think it’s best for you to read it, Timothy. I already know what it contains but I’m here to answer any of your additional questions.”

This suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal than Tim originally thought it would be, especially since Mr. Fletcher had left his retirement in Metropolis to give this to him in person. With bated breath, Tim opened the sealed envelope and began to read.

~~~

Dearest Timothy,

If you are reading this, then there are two possible options. Either I have passed on before your 18th birthday or I was too much of a coward to talk to you about this in person and I gave you this letter instead. As I write this, your father is asleep, holding you after a nightmare from today’s ordeal at the circus. I have tried to sleep but my mind will not be quieted about the possibility of that happening to us before I could tell you the truth so I decided to make this contingency letter just in case. By the time

you’re reading this, you will have grown into an intelligent young man who I know is capable of so much more than Jack and I could have ever dreamed of, partially because you are more than Jack and I could ever produce.

Timothy, you are not our biological son. I had gotten pregnant but the child I had borne was stillborn. Jackson Timothy Drake hadn’t been able to take his first breath before it was taken away. Luckily for me, your father was out of town on business and I rushed to Gotham General against my earlier wishes and they had stuck me in a room with another woman who had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy, you.

You were both born on the same day, in the same room, with different fates. Your mother was a young woman from the seedier side of Gotham and your father was out of the picture, or so she said. She was planning to give you up for adoption anyway and so I made the only impulsive decision I have ever made since marrying Jack and I told her to give you to me. I told her I would give you the life of luxury you deserved and that you would never want for anything if she gave you to me. She agreed on one condition: I tell you the truth about your parentage on your 18th birthday so that she could have the opportunity to get to know you too.  

She didn’t even let me pay for her hospital bills because she didn’t want to be indebt to me even though I was forever indebted to her for giving me you. I had John rush over to Gotham General and make a contract for both of us because I could not allow Jack and the rest of Gotham High Society to find out about this. The only ones who knew about you being adopted were me, John, your mother and the medical staff who helped us. Since Gotham General was severely underfunded prior to my intervention, it was easy to get them to change the records to make Timothy Jackson Drake be born and for Jackson Timothy Drake to disappear. I had gotten the staff involved to sign NDAs and to make sure that none of this got out.

As I write this, I have seen you grow into this absolutely marvelous and intelligent child, talented in ways I could have never expected. It is bittersweet for me because as I see you grow, I cannot help but think of what my biological son could have been had he survived. Would he be as smart and as capable as you? Would he be different compared to you? Would I have taken you in had he survived? I have never regretted my decision to adopt you but I could not stand to watch you grow when I know my biological son never will. I know I will most likely grow to be distant from you and I already regret it but I cannot stop myself from seeing my dead son in you.

However, I can already tell you will be stronger than I ever could be. You take to your lessons like a duck to water and you see a magic in the world that I could never see. I want you to know that even if you are not mine biologically, I still love you even if I cannot show it. I love you even if you cannot feel it. I love you but I also love the son that I lost and I cannot help but mourn for him while I watch you grow. Your father does not know so his love is genuine and pure for you.

I want you to know this, Timothy. I took you in on an impulsive decision but I have never regretted it. Sure, I wish with all of my heart and mind that my son had survived but I was able to have you and you more than made up for it. I know that this does not excuse my future actions, my possible neglect of you but I hope you understand why I cannot bear to be close to you. I love you even if I do not show it. I love you even if you cannot see it. I love you and I hope you can forgive me for not telling you sooner.

Love,

Mother

~~~

Of all of the possibilities Tim had considered, this was not one of them. This explained so much but also left so many questions but the only thought passing through his head was the fact that, even at birth, he was a replacement.

“I assume you have questions?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, to be honest. You’ve known the entire time?”

“Yes. I was the one who made the contract for your mother and she swore me to secrecy.”

“So, let me get this straight. I was just a replacement for her son who died?”

“No! Of course not. Timothy, I know it must not have seemed like it but your mother and father truly did love you as if you were their own. Your mother has some leftover problems from her childhood that negatively impacted her ability to show her love even if she does. She would have never bothered to put in the effort otherwise.”

“I’m trying to believe that but my recollection of Mother is not that different from the Iron Dragon of Gotham.”

“That’s because she fought to give you the best education and care possible which she knew was not her own. That’s why she constantly changed your nannies and tutors because as soon as she felt they inadequate for you, she was searching for the next best thing for you. Janet didn’t really care in the normal ways, Timothy. I know it’s hard to see but she really did love you and take care of you in her own way.”

“I just. I never expected this.”

“I knew this day would come but I was honestly hoping your mother would be here to explain her side of the story before she told you who your birth mother was.”

“Do-do you know who my birth mother is?”

“It’s not written in the letter?” Mr. Fletcher seemed genuinely surprised at this.

“No. Mother didn’t include her name, just a vague description of her. Can you tell me who my mother is?”

“I guess by the time Janet wrote it, she had forgotten the name. I think I have the contract hidden here. Let me look for it.”

What followed was the tensest five minutes of Tim’s life. He didn’t even know if his biological mother was still alive but he wanted to find out. After all, his birth mother had wanted to reconnect when he was older. Maybe, she wanted to have him in her life, just like Mo-Janet had apparently wanted him in her life.

Maybe, she would be there with welcoming arms. Maybe, she was one of the many civilian casualties of their nighttime escapades. Maybe, she had gotten lost in the seedier side of Gotham and she had never been able to make it out. There were so many maybes that Tim wanted to figure out what was true and what wasn’t.

“Aha! Here it is. According to this, your birth mother is Selina Kyle.”

Holy shit. His mother was fucking Catwoman.

[wyrdnis]

what a burnt lion secondary feels like (on bad days)

- pulling all your energy together to make a leap of faith (go to that activist meeting, write that email,...), 

- only to realize time and time again that it’s not enough, because if you don’t keep doing the thing consistently, you’re going to have to make the same leap all over again next time

- only it doesn’t feel courageous anymore by the third time you do it

- and you’re emotionally exhausted, you just want everybody to leave you alone, including yourself and especially that exploded badger model screaming “you’re doing it wrong” in the back of your head

- but it’s impossible to enjoy being left alone, because *you should be doing something!!!!!!!!!*

- the badger says it, the lion says it and your conscious reasoning says it as well: our world is dying and you’re sitting on your couch feeling helpless, tired and most of all scared

- you just don’t know how to get yourself to do anything worthwhile

- doing things for fun or relaxation seems like drawing energy from the cause you’re not fighting for anyway

- you take another leap of faith, post about it on the internet, hoping for at least some pointers on how to unburn, but you’re shouting into an empty room

- because you didn’t do the work needed to build a community interested enough in your problems to help you out, so obviously no one answers

- and you know that pitying yourself is a waste of the time you should spend fighting for the cause you’re not fighting for anyway

and then i get myself cleaned up mentally, clear my head, calm the badger down, go back to reading, creativity, the job - but on some level i still feel like a massive coward, and the actual fight still seems like a universe impossible to reach and live in, with opaque rules and lots of people who are somehow better than me in all aspects that count: courage, energy, intellect, being with people. the world keeps collapsing, and i keep doing nothing, and i don’t understand how to change that.

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 2

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink, alcohol, loneliness

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! Here’s a little gift from me to you 😌 I hope you like it! Let me know what you think in the comments below.

8 years later

Winter in DC was too cold. It had reached that time of year when the roads turned icy at the slightest humidity in the air, and it had already snowed at least twice since December began. Thankfully, the snow didn’t stick around very long; FBI agents were on-call 24/7. A double-edged sword, really. On one hand, it meant work was a great way to avoid problems. It was easier to forget. On the other hand, well, it was work.

“Six years in this city and it’s still so fucking cold,” Erin muttered to herself, shivering as her car warmed up. She buried her face into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up. The warmth from the heated steering wheel seeped into her fingers, soothing the ache in her joints. She was supposed to meet Sachi at the bar for drinks. It had become a regular event in her weekly life; one night a week to go out and relax.

Some would’ve said that her promotion meant she could take more time off. That she could delegate a little more and take on a lighter workload as a result. But as a supervisor for the Operational Technologies branch, she had all the more reason to work more. Well, that’s what she convinced herself, at least.

Her friend and coworker, Sachi, was already seated at a table by the time she arrived. The bar was pretty busy, busier than the week before. It made sense; the holidays were always a time for friends and family to catch up on each other’s lives.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late, a meeting went overtime and I ran into some traffic on the way here,” Erin apologized, draping her wool coat over the back of her seat and sitting down. The next article to be shed was her scarf, which she kept piled on her lap. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, no worries,” her friend answered, shrugging. “I just got this table a couple minutes ago. Happy hour seems extra popular this week. How was the meeting?”

She rolled her eyes. “The usual; operations found some bugs in the new software and had some suggestions, so half of the developers will be working on that while the rest continue building our newest tool. How did your day go?”

“It was so slow, I don’t know which politician decided to choose yesterday to fuck up, but there were files everywhere,” Sachi groaned, rubbing her forehead tiredly. Her eyes landed on the sparkling gem on Erin’s hand. “I do have a question for you, though: why do you wear that ring?”

She raised a dark brow, then followed her line of sight to her hand. “Oh, this? It’s….it’s just something to keep the men away, that’s all. You know how they are.”

A curious head tilt. “I do, but are you sure that’s what you want? You deserve to find someone who makes you happy, Rin.”

Erin gave her a tight-lipped smile, twisting the metal band around her finger. It was a recent purchase; a gift to herself. A promise. A promise to remember. Even if he wasn’t hers to remember, at the end of the day.

“Is this still about that Marcus Pike guy?” Sachi asked, her voice softening as Erin avoided looking up. She reached across the table and covered her hand with hers. The glittering band of her own wedding ring seemed to mock her. “It’s been seven years since he went missing, Rin. You searched for him yourself; he’s gone.”

The news had broken just before Erin arrived in DC. Marcus Pike had gone missing, and there seemed to be no trace of him. His last known address was empty, his file had been wiped from all government databases, even his social media accounts were nonexistent.

One of the first things she did after her promotion was asking for a search squad. His number was still in her phone, but the number was no longer receiving calls. Even his email seemed to be deactivated, but it had existed before. There should’ve been a digital trail. It didn’t matter to her that it had been months since he was last seen–he was her best friend, and she wasn’t going to give up on him that easily.

Juggling her work with the investigation took its toll on her. Sleep eluded her, so she upped her coffee intake and spent countless hours off the clock. As a result, exhaustion settled in mid-day. Her work grew sloppy, obvious problems going untended and creating delays in operations.

The head of the department shut down her search after a year. He had cited it being a “waste of resources.” Maybe it was, to them. For such a large bureau with so many applicants, there was bound to be a replacement for Agent Pike. But even so, no one could replace Marcus.

“I know,” she replied softly. “I know. I’m trying, it’s just...I’ve spent years working for the FBI, and every time I stop to check the time, it’s like months have passed. And you know how my last relationship ended.”

She had been seeing a guy working for a tech startup, and at first it was great. The late nights and morning texts had been enough. But as time went on, and she became more immersed in her work following the election, her boyfriend grew restless. He wanted his girlfriend at home with him, preparing dinner and asking him about his day at the startup. Then he started the accusations. He accused her of cheating, of rubbing her success in his face.

Everything he said was false, but she had given up on trying to convince him. So she gave him a choice. He could leave if he wanted to, and there would be no hard feelings, just incompatibility. Or, he could stay, and she’d try to make more time for him. He chose the former.

“Oh come on,” Sachi reasoned, tapping the back of her hand. “You’re beautiful, smart, can kick ass. There has to be someone who’s into that.”

“Maybe,” Erin shrugged. Once upon a time, she had hoped she would meet someone like that. And in a way, she had. But at the end of the day,  she was a coward. She was a coward, and she paid the price for it.

They always said that time was money. In her case, the price she paid was high.

Sachi’s eyes lit up. “You know what? Why don’t you come to a holiday party I’m hosting? Maybe you’ll meet someone there.”

“Who’s going?”

“Some of our coworkers, some of my friends, and their friends, potentially,” she listed off, waving off her concern. “Nothing very special, in my opinion.”

A party would be nice. If not for the company, then for the food; and if not the food, then the drinks. Yes, the drinks. Drinks were good.

Erin conceded with a nervous grin. “Alright, but no meddling!”

“Yay!” she squealed. Then, her expression turned serious again. She pointed at the ring. “But whatever you do, don’t wear that.”

---

Sachi’s house looked like it was out of a movie. Tall and sparkling with lights, her home was the textbook picture of a family Christmas. There was even a wreath on the front door and a wooden sign with drawn-on snowflakes that welcomed the party guests.

The foyer was lined with emerald garlands and shimmering fairy lights, leading her further in towards the kitchen. From giant gold ornaments to wooden figurines, it seemed as if she had thought of everything.

When she reached the kitchen, there were already some guests gathered around the kitchen island. Platters of sweets and charcuterie boards were spread over the marble countertop, glistening in the soft light. The guests grazed from small plates as they greeted each other and raved about how great it was to finally catch up.

Perhaps she’d host her own holiday party someday. When she had the space, of course. The apartment that she’d chosen wasn’t the best for groups, and she wanted enough surface area for decorations. Her string of lights and small tree at home paled in comparison to the giant tree in Sachi’s living room.

The invite had specified a semi-formal dress code, so she chose a black off-the-shoulder dress that reached her knees. She paired it with some black heels and a white blazer draped over her shoulders for warmth. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

“Erin!” Sachi squealed, coming over to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re right on time. Everyone else should be arriving soon.” She shooed her away. “Go have fun! And if you need a wingwoman, I’ve got your back.”

Erin shivered as Sachi swept off her jacket, the cool air brushing against her shoulders. Nevertheless, she smiled. “Thanks.”

“Of course!” she replied. The next thing she knew, a glass of champagne was tucked into her hand. “Now go!”

What Sachi had failed to tell her, though, was that she was going to be one of the only singles in the entire house.

Wherever she turned, she found couples congregated into circles where they could discuss...whatever couples discussed. Not wanting to barge in as a third, fifth, or seventh wheel, she stuck close to  the perimeter of the room.

Thankfully, she found an acquaintance from work who had also come to the party alone.

“Waiting for someone?” Ashley asked, sipping from a half-empty glass of wine. She was one of the receptionists for the technologies department. They’d spoken a couple times, but never much more than professional talk.

Erin shook her head and finished her third glass of champagne. Maybe she’d try the moscato next, just to change things up a little. The whole point of attending the party was to relax, right? So, she was trying to relax. “Just trying to loosen up. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a party.” A soft laugh. “I can see why people like bringing a friend along. It would help a lot.”

“Why didn’t you, then?” At the lack of response, she sighed. “Is work still taking up a lot of time? You know you can take more time off.”

Yes, she knew. She’d heard it nearly a thousand times already. She knew she could take time off just like she knew she could forget about her past and move on. Part of her wanted to change, to move on as if nothing had happened. But after years of the same routine, and the same decisions coming back to bite her, it was hard to change.

“I know,” Erin replied, pressing a hand against her forehead. It was hotter than normal–did Sachi turn up the heating? She silently cursed her genetics; she’d probably have a fever later that night. “But as you know, there’s always more work to do. I signed up for this, so I need to do my job.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t rest,” she reasoned, nudging her arm. “Are you still leading the search for that guy? Marcus Pike? I remember you were pretty involved with that.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the alcohol. She gripped the glass a bit tighter. Her voice was clipped as she said, “No, I’m not. The search squad was disbanded years ago. We spent a year searching for him and there was nothing. There was nothing.” She swayed as she stood up, but quickly regained her balance. “I’m gonna….get another drink. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“No thanks,” Ashley replied. Watching as Erin stumbled, she asked, “Are you sure you want another drink? Maybe you should take a break first.”

She waved her off. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just the shoes.”

Yeah, right.

Erin’s turn around the corner was much too sharp, and her sluggish mind barely seemed to register the fact that she collided with a broad chest. Strong arms came up around her, holding her in place so she didn’t fall over. They were warm. Before she could stop herself, she splayed her hands on their chest, brows furrowed. What did Sachi put in there?

Then, she looked up and met the person’s eyes. Dark brown ones, to be exact. With a depth and sparkle that she hadn’t seen since Austin. Softly, she said, “M-Marcus?”

The man’s lips parting in shock. As Erin’s slightly-blurred gaze drifted down to his mouth, she frowned. No, it couldn’t be her Marcus; her Marcus didn’t have facial hair, nor did he wear glasses. He was handsome, though–just as handsome. And he was strong–she felt safer in his arms than she had in years.

“H-how do you know my name?”

His voice was similar, too, though a bit raspier.

She blinked. Then, it dawned on her; it wasn’t a dream. She really was at a party, in a dress pressed up against a very good-looking man who looked vaguely like her late best friend. It felt as if she had jumped into the snow without clothes on. She blushed and flinched away from him–as if she needed to be even redder–and said, “Sorry, you just look a bit like an old friend of mine. His name was also Marcus.”

It was her, Marcus realized. He would have recognized her voice anywhere, and when she looked up at him with those dark, green-flecked eyes, his years in Texas came rushing back to him. Part of him didn’t want to believe it. What was she doing in DC? And what were the chances that they’d meet again, with his changed identity?

Even so, she was as beautiful as he remembered, her smooth black hair styled into shining waves and her full lips painted a muted pink. In their time as friends, he rarely saw Erin out of her work clothes; a side effect of working for the FBI. Seeing her in a dress, and up close, against his chest felt like a dream. A dream that had plagued his mind for nearly a decade.

At the same time, she looked different. There was an air of exhaustion that clung to her just as tightly as her authority. Her eyes didn’t have the same bright sparkle that she had on her first day. He wondered if her smile was the same, and if she still took her coffee with two sugars and a splash of cream. If she still collected houseplants as if they were pets. If she was still the Erin he remembered.

The tugging in his chest pulled him towards her, and the old whisper of Marcus Pike urged him to tell the truth. To drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. To tell her that he was sorry for leaving her, for dismissing her concerns about Lisbon. For disappearing without a trace. But Marcus Moreno, his new identity, his new life, knew it wouldn’t be fair to her.

So he introduced himself. A wave of relief washed over him as Erin giggled softly and shook his hand, telling him her name.

He’d missed her laugh, and the way the corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly when she was happy. He missed everything. He missed her.

“So,” she began, swaying a little. Her last drink was finally kicking in. Her brows furrowed in concentration. “How do you know, uh, Sachi?”

The little furrow of her brows was still adorable; he knew it only showed when she was thinking really hard. He just hoped she would remember their interaction in the morning. She rarely drank enough to get drunk, not wanting to bother with her body’s violent reaction to alcohol. Or so she told him.

“I’m a friend of her husband,” he replied, touching her arm softly as she swayed again. “Do you…do you want to sit down for a bit? We can keep talking, I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Erin hummed softly and nodded. “Yes, but don’t worry, I can handle a little fall.”

“I don’t doubt you can, Miss FBI.” Realizing his mistake, he cringed. So much for trying to have a fresh start. He guided her over to the table and pulled out a chair for her, making sure she was comfortable before sitting down in the seat next to her.

She frowned. “How do you know I work for the FBI?”

A pause. Then, he answered, “I overheard Sachi talking about you. You two seem to be pretty close.”

Drumming her fingertips on the table, she answered, “I guess so, yeah. She was one of my first friends after I moved here six years ago.” Her eyes glazed over with a tinge of sadness. “Time seems to be flying by very fast these days.”

Marcus sighed softly. “Yeah.” He offered her a smile that made her heart flutter. Or maybe that was just her stomach?  “I guess it’s up to us to make the most out of it, right?”

She nodded. Propping her head up against her hand, she replied, “Definitely. So, tell me about yourself, Marcus Moreno. I think you mentioned a daughter?”

He couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Missy. If there was anything he didn’t regret in the past few years, it was meeting his late wife and raising his baby. But the story of his wife could come later; for now, he wanted to tell his best friend about his little girl.

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[ryik-the-writer]

THE AUDACIOUS STORYBROOKE MIRROR ADVICE COLUMNIST (WEDNESDAY PAPER EDITION) In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 3: Lacey proposes a team-up and bantering ensures

A03

Gold tried to bury his guilt as he paced around his home, desperate to get his conversation with Lacey French out of his mind.

He shouldn’t have said what he said. He hadn’t meant what he said. But that hardly mattered; he’d realized that the second he saw the hurt on Lacey’s face.

That was hardly the way to act around someone he’d been in love with for years.

But he was a coward, he knew this in his bones. The word had been thrown at him for decades, by his abusive parents, his fellow soldiers during his day in the service, even his ex-wife.

It was odd, the way a word follows one around like bad gum on ones shoe. It was even stranger how true it became after a while.

“What are we going to do about this?”

He should have told her there and then what they could do about it. He could have let her into his house, offered her a cup of tea and explained the email he sent her in a drunken daze, as well as the feelings behind it.

But instead he’d snarled his teeth and turned her away, as he seemed to do everyone.

Few could phase through the icy wall he surrounded himself with. Jefferson Hatter, a local tailor, Gold’s occasional business partner and certified nutter, would walk through glass if provoked, and would climb that wall to get to Gold when he felt like it, namely his liquor cabinet, but kept his distance just the same.

Then there was David Nolan, Storybrooke’s “nice guy” who tried to be friends with every single person in town. However a kind word or a hello when their paths crossed in town was as far as he would go, as he knew the consequences of getting too close to the town monster.

There were a few others, tenants who had polished records of getting their rent in on time, and thus were civil, abet a bit cold.

Truth was, Gold didn’t know how to let people in. What could he do with other people, let alone a beautiful creature like Lacey French?

Pushing her away was the logical thing to do, he decided as he began straightening up his living room. He even nodded to the idea.

She’d forget about him, find some striking fellow who deserved her, and he could go back to admiring her afar, after he completely disconnected his email, that is.

It was the perfect decision, he thought, and would set off a lifetime of silence, but it would be worth it to spare Lacey from his sting.

He thought the decision final until there was another, very familiar knock on the door, and a new course of fate was struck.

He was shocked to find Lacey back at his door, not even half an hour after he sent her on her way.

“Miss—“

“Zip it,” Lacey ordered, and Gold found his tongue heavy as lead.

Lacey examined him again, noting how she met his eyes in her heels. The extra height gave her a boost of confidence. She feared Gold as much as she feared Keith Nottingham or Sydney Glass, but Gold had a bit more leverage on her livelihood. Not to mention, with all that he had revealed with the email, there was a softness there she didn’t want to harm.

She’d come for his help, after all, not further put a strain between them.

She’d even let go of his earlier comment, only if he helped her, that is.

“Look,” she began. “Let’s start over from earlier. Thanks for the email, I thought it was cute, blah blah blah.”

Gold gripped his cane. “Your point?”

“It’s…the kind of material I need.” Lacey admitted, feeling woefully embarrassed to admit her own lack of skill. “And I was wondering if, possibly, you could do it again.”

“Do…what again?”

“Write another email, one’s that sensational but clean, and give or take 100 words.”

Gold stared at her, honestly unable to grasp her concept of thought.

“Are you asking me to write for the paper?” he inquired, the question coming out as a cruel scoff.

“No,” she shot back. “Not exactly…” she huffed, hating him. “The truth is I can’t write fluff, but I need a fluff piece for Wednesday’s paper … and you seemed to have that skill.”

A dark smirk tugged at his mouth.

Push her away.

“So your telling me you can’t do your job, Miss French,” he laughed, and his heart clenched as he watched her cheeks burn. “Your incompetence is not my problem.”

He started to close the door, believing the cruel words would be the end of the situation, but Lacey’s heeled shoe stopped him.

She leaned into him now, her blue eyes colder than the iceberg that struck the Titanic.

“Look, you pompous, little shit of a man,” she growled. “You can help me, or –“

“Or what?” Gold yelled. Instinctively, he fought off all threats, even if they came from the woman he currently had a burning fondness for. “You have no power over me, dearie. But me, I can have you homeless with the click of a pen, so I suggest you find someone else to pawn your duties onto.”

Lacey gulped. He’d revealed her one fear in all this. He could take so much from her, true. Losing her apartment could lead to her losing her job under the right circumstances, not to mention staying with someone with a space the same size as hers.

But somehow, Lacey didn’t see the frothing landlord intertwining with the love-struck admirer who sent her the email.

She try one more thing, and then she’d quit, she promised.

So she smirked and placed a hand on her hip, the same pose she took whenever she turned down Keith Nottingham or had to go head to head with Sydney.

“You’re not going to do shit,” she said, watching in glee as Gold’s expression changed to a flabbergasted one.

“I beg—“

“You have the hots for me, Gold,” she continued. “I have the proof on laptop. You’re not going to throw me on the street, not now.”

They were both quiet following Lacey’s observation, but the latter only hoped it was a correct one, and Gold didn’t call Sheriff Graham to cart her away.

Thankfully, Gold’s tight posture relaxed. She’d called his bluff, and now he was putty in her hands.

“Very well, Miss French.” He sighed in surrender. It would be her heart too, he decided.

“So, will you …” she trailed off, staring at him half-hopefully.

It wasn’t a good idea, he thought, but he had no leverage on her now. Nothing to scare her of push her away.

So he did the only thing he could do: he rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

Lacey shrieked in delight, practically dancing past him into his prison and sanctuary.

She gave a whistle at the first glance of his abode.

“Not bad,” she commented.

“I don’t need your input on my decorating, dearie,” he sighed. “Just…show me what you want.”

Lacey help back a dirty comment and instead inquired the whereabouts of his computer.

Gold slowly led her to his study, his face heating up when they went past his bedroom.

His computer was still on, humming away. Gold quickly closed his email, seeing Lacey smirk out of the corner of his eye, and stepped aside.

“Your turn,” he said.

Lacey popped her fingers and swirled his chair around, logging into her work email where dozens of inquiries on love and sex awaited.

She scrolled longingly past them to three of the tamer ones, including one she’d received an hour ago and hadn’t read yet. She opened them in new windows and eased back so Gold could see the screen.

“This is what I have to work with,” she sighed. “Help.”

Gold scoffed and leaned in as closely as he could without touching her. He swiped his glasses off the table, putting them on and glancing at each email, his attention getting particularly grabbed by the newest one.

“Dear Racy Lacey,” Gold read. “I recognize that this is hardly your expertise, but I’m not sure who else to turn to. I just found out a woman I once loved very much has passed away in my home country, and I’m torn whether to go to the funeral or not. Our separation was not a pleasant one, but there was still a great deal of love on my end. I know she must have built an entire life after us, and I don’t wish to infringe on her family’s grief, but I feel I must face this, less I regret it forever.

Please, Racy Lacey, what should I do?

Signed, Wooden-hearted Widower.

Gold and Lacey were quiet for a moment, the weight of the seriousness of the email hitting them both.

Lacey, of course, knew that the message was sent from Marco Booth, Storybrooke’s most notable carpenter and friendly face.

He was also known for being able to cook a mean Italian dinner and having a shaky relationship with his only son. He was an open book, or so Lacey thought. He must be comfortable revealing this part of his life to the public, even if only some of the town’s more investigative residents would catch on who the email originated from.

Still, why write her?

It was rare to not see him with Jimminy Cricket, the town shrink, a much more perfect candidate for this sort of subject.

“Maybe they’re too close.” She wondered allowed.

Gold looked down at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lacey waved him off. “What do you think, can you do something with this?”

Gold relaxed on the sofa near his desk, musing on the subject as Lacey swirled the chair to face him, anticipating his answer.

“Remind me again why you can’t do this yourself, your job at that?”

Lacey groaned. “Come on, Gold.”

He smirked lightly, taking her misery as a nice little slice of payback.

“Humor me, Miss French.”

“Gods,” Lacey cursed, leaning down so she could stare at the floor rather than his face (which was decently framed by his reading glasses, she dared added.)

“I’m not good with the fluffy stuff,” she relayed.

Gold frowned. “A man losing the love of his life hardly seems like “fluff,” as you say.”

“I mean the stuff outside of my expertise, romance and…”

“Sex,” Gold stated bluntly, pretending the very word itself didn’t affect him.

“Yep,” Lacey chuckled with a glance his way. “Giving people deep, meaningful advice on matters outside of that just doesn’t work for me. I don’t really know why but I don’t want people to get bad advice because of my…” she looked at him again, this time with a touch of malice. “Incompetence.”

Gold’s gaze waivered, ashamed for his earlier reaction.

“So, that’s why I need a bit of help, and no, I can’t go to one of my co-workers because it would look like I’m shrugging off my job.”

Gold nodded. Her motives were fairly innocent, and not too concerning. And to be fair, she could have done worse. Gold would admit that he did have quite the vocabulary, and could meet her requirements.

It was the emotional aspect of the job she was asking of him he feared he couldn’t handle.

Years of keeping so much emotion inside was dangerous. He was a boiler ready to blow, and she was the last person he wanted to see him in that state.

“So…” Lacey shrugged. “That’s my problem, Gold. What do you think?”

He thought, despite the risks, this was a golden opportunity, if you pardon the pun. He’d finally be able to spend time with her, truly get to know her, and test to see if these feelings of his were true or just a passing phase. Eventually, he would spare them both a good deal of grief.

He sighed. “Let’s form a rough draft and go from there.”

“Yes!” She yelped, spinning in his chair. “I owe you big!”

“We’ll see,” he replied, hiding his grin. “Now get serious.”

“Serious,” Lacey repeated, opening an email to herself to start typing.

“Back straight,” he ordered. “Legs uncrossed.”

“For Gods’ sake,” Lacey groaned.

“Focus,” Gold ordered, standing just behind her. “Now type after me. Dear Wooden-hearted Widower…”

“Dear Wooden-hearted Widower,” Lacey repeated in a childish tone.

Gold glared at her for a moment before continuing.

“It’s my barely expert advice that you stick to familiar lands and not take the trip—“

“First off, up yours,” Lacey hissed. “Secondly, what the hell do you mean he shouldn’t take the trip?”

Gold rolled his eyes. She was too young to understand the true pain of lost love, and too inexperienced to realize when it was appropriate to take a step back.

“Would you have him scratch at scars or heal on his own?”

“I’d have him face his demons and make peace!” Lacey fought back. “Running away from ones problem doesn’t do anyone a damn bit of good!”

“You asked for my help and I’m giving it to you. Write what I say or do it yourself.”

Lacey groaned, feeling cornered, and Lacey French snarled and bit and clawed when she was in a jam.

But this was a strategic battle, one she’d end up losing in some capacity, but she was striving to win gracefully no matter what.

“How about we meet in the middle?”

“What middle do we share?” Gold asked.

“We tell him to go and...stay guarded, I guess.”

Gold rubbed a hand over his face. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. Of course he and Lacey had completely different mindsets. She had a shred of humility, his had burned to a crisp years ago.

“If he goes to her funeral, he’ll only be hurt,” Gold concluded, leaning against his chair as he willed away thoughts that needed to remain buried.

“After all, there’s no greater pain than regret.”

Lacey watched him carefully, seeing that softer side that most of the town was certain didn’t exist.

Maybe this was too much for him. For all she knew he had some deep, dark past that was threatening to overtake the present.

She wasn’t one to get circulated in someone else’s business or to gossip openly, but damn she’d love to peak into his mind, into his past.

However, she had a job to do. One of the first things she was taught about journalism-wise was to distant herself emotionally from the subject. It made the job a lot easier.

“He’d regret things a lot more if he didn’t go,” Lacey commented. “Maybe it’s better to rip the band aid off.”

Gold accepted this, but held onto his restraint.

“He needs to be careful.”

“Let’s go again,” Lacey said with a snap of her fingers. “This time let’s be a bit more positive.”

Gold let out a rude noise but relented.

“Dear Wooden blah blah blah,” Lacey read, pausing to let Gold jump in.

“Should you…” Gold began, changing his mind. “You should pursue this endeavor with caution, as the past has a way of taking over the present if you become too engulfed in it.”

Lacey matched his words, listening with interest to his advice.

“Don’t expect a warm reception or even a lukewarm resolution…”

“That’s a little harsh,” Lacey muttered.

“However, you should expect to leave in peace, and I indorse planning your trip with this in mind.”

Lacey finished typing and waited for him to continue, but Gold went quiet. When she looked at him, he had a contempt look on his face, considering their work finished.

Lacey hummed and turned back to the computer.

“Good luck to you have a safe trip back.”

“No,” Gold spat. “Don’t add such a treacly ending like that. It’s tacky.”

“It shows we give a damn.”

“It’s out of place.”

“Oh my gods!” Lacey whined, typing out her signature and then sending the email to Cruella while Gold protested behind her.

“Well that’s just lovely, and incredibly dowdy,”

“It’s fine,” Lacey scoffed. Damn he stressed too much.

Gold snarled, muttering something about incompetence and newspapers.

“Fine, are we done?”

Lacey spun in his chair, giving him the same look she would give Glass when she was getting scolded.

“Come on, this wasn’t so bad.”

“You’re right, it was downright terrible, but it’s over now. I’ll see you out.”

Lacey frowned. She’d go with dignity, but not until she spoke her mind.

“You have the funniest way of charming the chick you have the hots for.”

Gold slapped the top of his cane. “Would you stop saying that, it’s unbecoming.”

Lacey clucked her tongue. She had him now.

“What would you call it then?” she challenged.

“Miss French—“

“Lacey, and just humor me.”

Gold wished the floor would give way. It was a miracle he was able to think though Lacey’s column with her being within five feet of him. Now he had to bear his soul to her in his own study.

“I would call it an attraction,” he admitted, hoping she’d leave before he could be truly humiliated.

“So yeah, you have the hots for me.”

“I like to think it’s a bit more than that.”

Lacey smirked, her lip running over her lip. She’d had men flaunt over her before, but this somehow was more genuine, more real. To have those affections come from someone as stoic as Gold was truly interesting.

It was flattering, though she wasn’t sure how to feel in return. Probably best to stick to the business arrangement for now.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a spot of fun in the meantime.

“How about a drink?” Lacey suggested.

Gold’s stomach flipped at the idea of alcohol. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

“So what, we need to celebrate,” she said, sauntering to him. “To our new relationship.”

Gold twitched, flustered at her closeness. “Relationship?”

“Well, after this I’m sure Glass will want me to do one of these once in a while, which means I’ll have to come back for your … assistance.”

Gold almost choked on his own gulp. So much for keeping her at distance.

“Gold,” she sighed, wrapping his free arm in hers and leading him downstairs. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 20

While I waited for more pineapples, which came here and there, I got refamiliarized with the feel of a camera in my hand.  Not a cellphone, but a real camera.  Connie had been right, there was a list of names, in Mom’s handwriting because clearly Dad had asked her to write them out so I wouldn’t have to decipher his chicken scratch, with notes and contact information.  

I didn’t watch the news.  Call me a coward, but honestly, I was afraid I’d see Bucky’s face - marked as a terrorist or worse - and my anxiety would ratchet beyond anything a tiny pineapple would ever hope to diffuse. 

I read the notes Mom had made next to each contact Dad had made - what each person had wanted from me before I called or emailed, the likelihood they would be helpful in the path my Dad seemed more certain of than me.  Some wanted a portfolio to grade, or judge, before they would speak to me by phone - digital would be fine.  Others wanted actual prints, and a list of the sizes, finishes, and subjects they expected were included along with how they expected those prints to be presented.  There were a few that wanted to speak to me first, an appointment and a face to face meeting to see if I was a good fit to apprentice with them or if I would even work well with the image the gallery they worked with expected.  

It was overwhelming, but I felt excited by it.  More excited than I had felt during the resume padding and the multiple visits to the similar, yet slightly different job search sites online where I was ONLY that resume among thousands of other resumes.  

I decided that I would contact the names that wanted nothing more than a call or an appointment first, since those required nothing more than my person and my voice.  The options that required portfolios and prints I could work on while I waited for the face to face appointment times.  I started making a list of all the places and subjects that I wanted to shoot.  Wishing that Bucky was home, because those sharp angles of his face would look amazing in any light.

I guess I got caught up in pineapples and picture taking.  I had Bryn at the park - she was chasing bubbles that were being blown by a machine I found in my closet and I was snapping pictures when I heard the first gasp.  At first I assumed that one of the other little kids had fallen off a swing or took a nose dive into the sandbox, but then more followed and I called Bryn to me and looked up to see adults holding their cell phones up with their hands over their mouths.  

I looked up, checking the sky to be sure that we weren’t about to have a giant purple asshole situation again, but the blue sky was ringed with fluffy white clouds and nothing else.  Smiling down at Bryn I told her that we should gather our stuff and go see if her mommy wanted to have lunch.  She was in a giggly mood, and since my car was parked close by, the top up and the doors locked - just in case - we gathered up our things, alright I gathered the and she ‘helped’, and she was strapped into her seat while I was trying very hard to NOT look at my cell phone.  

The salon was silent when we walked in, and Bryn seemed to pick up on it, running to Connie with a loud, “MOMMY!”

I felt more self conscious than I had since the first time, since no one seemed to be willing to meet my gaze, not even Connie.  By the time I got to her station, my arm weighed down with Bryn’s bag full of stuff, I was terrified.  “What’s going on?”  My lips were numb and I still hadn’t looked at my phone.  

“Let’s go to the breakroom and get something to drink!” Connie’s voice was strained, too perky, too upbeat.  “You two look like you had fun at the park.”  I followed her, my feet like lead, but I had to know, and she wanted us to be alone.

“Connie?”  It wasn’t loud, but we were finally alone, so it didn’t have to be.  Not that the salon was exactly hopping.  

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news?”  She was getting a juice box for Bryn out of the fridge, but she didn’t wait to hear me answer.  “The new Captain America?”  My stomach was knotting the longer she took to spit whatever horrible news it was out.  “He murdered someone with the shield in full view of God and everyone -” I waited, there had to be more.  “Including Bucky and Sam.”  Shit.

I sat down in the chair closest to me, but I don’t know how I managed it.  Every part of me felt numb.  Captain America murdered someone - with the shield - in public.  

“Here,” Connie put a soda in front of me.  “Drink.  You look like a sheet.”  I sipped at the can, but couldn’t taste anything.  “Check your phone, it’s ringing.”  Was it?

I pulled it out, almost dropping it, but she took it from me and swiped it so it answered the ringing and then hit the speaker button.  “Hello?”  Was that my voice?  Shit.  “Hello.”  

“Brooke?”  I let out a breath.  Bucky.  “Brooke, are you ok?”  I nearly laughed, was I ok?  

“Are you?”  I shook my head.  “I’m alright, Bucky.”  I could almost feel my lips again.  “ Where are you?”  

He sighed and I knew he wasn’t in Brooklyn.  “Not home.  Not yet.”  He told me that he had a few more things to do before he could come back to New York, but that he wasn’t ‘off the grid’ anymore.  “No more pineapples,” I could hear the smile on his lips.  

“Good, I hate pineapples.”  I exhaled.  “I miss you.”  

“I miss you.”  And I wondered how we could miss one another already, but we did.  So strange.  “I have to go -”

“I really hate those four words,” I murmured.  “Come home soon, would you?”  

“Gold star, right?”  Bucky reminded me, and I smiled.  

“Damn straight, Bucky.”  And then Connie’s mini me reminded me that little pitchers have big ears.  

“Damn trait, Buck!” Bryn yelled and my eyes went wide and Connie slapped her hand over her own mouth.  

“Um, Brooke?”  Bucky sounded confused and I bit my lip as a chuckle hit me hard and fast.  “Do you have an echo?”  

“Yeah, her name is Bryn.”  I managed.  “Say bye, Bryn!”  She did and then I echoed her.  “Bye, Buck.” 

“Bye, Brooke and Bryn.”  He offered, chuckling.  

I looked at Connie when the call ended with wide eyes.  “I’m so sorry -” but her shoulders were shaking with laughter.   

“That was TOTALLY worth it.”  She got out.  “But you owe the swear jar fifty cents.” 

[autumnsart22]

Oikawa x reader ch. 13

Sorry for the late update, but it’s still Sunday so I’m good lol. Hope you enjoy!

As I wandered out of the club, I ignored all of the drunken yells and shouts calling me back to the dancefloor. I kept my eyes forward, barely even able to see straight as I walked with single minded determination towards the exit. I needed to get out of this club. 

Right as I reached the door, the dark haired girl from before appeared right in front of me, a sultry look on her face. 

“Hey, you’re leaving already?” She wrapped her arms around me, and it took all the strength in my body to not shove her as hard as I could. 

Go back to that dumb bitch you were with before if you want to feel better about yourself!

I clenched my jaw, but effortlessly pulled her hands from around my neck, walking away without a word. 

When I finally got to my car I sat in numb silence, unable to make myself move. I couldn’t stop seeing the shocked and hurt expression on Y/n’s face right before she walked away from me, telling me she wanted me out of her life forever. I hadn’t meant what I said, not even a little bit. I wanted to tell her that, to chase after her and call her a million times until I got the chance to explain.

I pulled out my phone, dialing her number before I could think, but it went straight to voicemail. 

“Hi, this is Y/n! Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but I’ll call you back as soon as I can…” 

My chest ached. Taking a few deep, heaving breaths, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to relax. It would be fine; I would just call her again tomorrow and explain. Everything would go back to normal. 

There was a loud tapping on my window, and I jolted. Iwaizumi stood outside, gesturing for me to open the door. 

“Get into the passenger seat, Shittykawa,” Iwa snapped, and I decided not to argue, silently moving to the other end of the car. Iwaizumi took my place on the drivers side, starting the car and putting it into reverse. 

We drove in silence for a long while, neither of us sure of what to say. 

I was the one who ended up speaking first. “She’s never going to forgive me, Iwa.” 

My best friend shot a glare at me, looking annoyed. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“You don’t understand. The things I said…” 

“Oikawa, neither of you handled the situation well at all, ok? That doesn't mean you won’t forgive each other.”

“What do I do?”

He sighed, leaning back. “I have no idea. That’s up to you to decide. For right now, I’d give it a little bit of time for you both to get some space, and then figure out a way to show that you’re sorry.” 

Space? Time? I didn’t want either of those things. But I knew that Iwaizumi was right in that regard. Both of us needed to cool off, even though I didn’t want to admit it. 

Iwaizumi pulled up in front of my house, face hard even though I could see the glimmer of concern in his eyes. “You going to be ok?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll try.” 

✨✨✨✨

Y/n POV: 

It had been one full week since the horrible night at the club, and I hadn’t spoken to Oikawa once. The Sunday after the party, I cried every hour, and I ended up emailing coach Nobuteru asking for a few days off like a coward. I must have sounded pretty pathetic, because he ended up giving me the whole week. 

Avoiding practice didn’t mean I could avoid Oikawa all together, even though Seijoh was pretty big. In fact, I felt like I saw him everywhere throughout the school day. I began to keep my eyes peeled for his familiar tall figure and fluffy hair, turning around whenever I spotted him. It caused me to be late to a few classes, but it was better than the awkward interaction and the pain that would have ensued otherwise. 

What hurt the most was the fact that he didn’t seem that upset. Whenever I saw him, he was usually surrounded by people (mostly girls) talking and laughing like there was nothing wrong. Maybe to him, there wasn’t. Did I really matter that little to him? 

He also made no attempts to contact me or talk at all. I had received one call at 2am on the night of the party, but after that, contact went dead. 

My only form of communication was Iwa, and we both had made a silent pact to not mention HIM. Instead, we spent a few afternoons taking walks, going out to lunch, or eating snacks in his car while listening to angry rap. I was happy that I got to be with Iwaizumi without Oikawa as a constant distraction for once. I felt like we got closer because of it, and it became easy to talk to him about how I was feeling (excluding any mention of HIM). In return, he told me more about his mom, and eventually wanted me to meet her. We ended up visiting her in the hospital after school one day, and I held Iwa’s hand the whole time. She was in a deep sleep, but Iwaizumi told her about his day, and I introduced myself. As we left, I promised that I would take care of her son. 

Seeing Iwa’s mom made me realize how ridiculous the fight with Oikawa was, and how pitiful I was being. I refused to be the girl ruining her life over a boy. 

I couldn’t stop my chest from hurting though. 

Not working as Aoba Josiah's manager freed up a lot of my free time, and I ended up going to most of Karasuno’s practices after school. Being with the team lifted my spirits, especially when I noticed Hinata and Kageyama holding hands. 

They had noticeably improved, better than I had ever seen them. They worked as a coherent team, picking up each other's slack when one of the team members fell short, to the point where I was blown away. I wished I could be wholeheartedly happy for them, but all I could think about was how Aoba Johsai would have to face Karasuno in the finals. When had I become so loyal to Seijoh? 

Oikawa POV: 

The week after the party was hell.

The first day back at school I had a plan to corner Y/n after practice, but she ended up not showing. When I questioned Iwaizumi about it, he told me that she had decided not to come for the rest of the week, but if I wanted a reason, I would have to talk to her myself. I tried pressing him for more, but he was like a concrete (iron) wall. I clearly wasn’t going to get any help from him. 

After that, I looked for her everywhere in the halls, hoping to get a moment alone to talk. I spotted flashes of her a few times, but she always seemed to be moving away from me and I was always with people, so I couldn’t run after her. I considered calling her a few times, but chickened out, not sure if I would be able to handle her declining my calls. Iwaizumi had said to give her space anyway, so maybe I should wait. 

But I couldn’t get the image of her tear stained face out of my head though. Every moment, even as I faked smiles and laughs, my chest physically ached. I felt like I was being torn up inside, watching her slide farther away. 

On Friday after school, I headed to the office to get some permission slips signed for an away practice game coming up. My headphones blasted the 1975 into my ears, drowning out anyone trying to talk to me as I strode down the hall. A few girls stepped in my way, but I gave them apologetic smiles and kept moving. I was already late for practice, and I knew coach Nobuteru was going to make me run extra laps as punishment. 

I stepped into the cool office, breathing in the smell of copy paper and air freshener. My entire body froze as I spotted Y/n standing by the front desk, speaking to the woman behind the counter. 

As I approached, the woman paused in her conversation with Y/n. “Oikawa-san, it’s wonderful to see you!” I watched Y/n visibly stiffen, turning slowly to face me. I watched her face twist with some emotion I couldn’t name when she saw me, and I attempted a bright smile. 

“You as well, Ms. Suzuki. I was just here to get these papers signed.” I held them out, and the registrar smiled. 

“Of course,” she said, before turning back to Y/n. “I’ll get those copies you wanted if you just wait here a moment.”

Y/n gave a strained smile, pulling out her phone as the woman disappeared into the back office. I noticed her fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled through instagram. 

WhatdoIsaywhatdoIsaywhatdoIsay…

“Why haven’t you been at practice?” I blurted, my voice coming out all wrong. I sounded like I didn’t care. 

She swallowed twice, not looking at me. “I needed some more time to focus on my homework.” 

Liar, she was such a dirty liar. She had never struggled with homework before, and she was one of smartest people I knew. 

“You--” 

Ms. Suzuki emerged from the back office, smiling brightly as she handed Y/n and I back our papers. The second my manager got her hands on the copies, she turned and practically sprinted from the office. 

“Y/n wait--!” 

The door slammed and she was gone. 

      ✨✨✨✨

Y/n POV:

I sat on my bed, trying to finish the math packet I had gotten in class today. The work wasn’t very hard, it just took a long time, and my brain felt dead. 

I was also majorly distracted. I couldn’t stop replaying the encounter with Oikawa over in my head, the horrible awkwardness and the sickening feeling when he smiled at me like everything was normal. I felt like a coward, unable to face him. I was sure he thought I was deranged after I had quite literally sprinted from the building. 

My pencil broke on the page, and I cursed, throwing the useless thing aside in frustration. As I reached for another on my bedside table, I heard a knock from downstairs on the front door. My mom was out at a business conference in Osaka, and my father was in his office working, so he wouldn’t be able to get the door. 

I groaned rolling to my feet. Who the hell would be knocking at this hour? 

I padded down the stairs, rubbing my eyes and stretching as I walked to the door. When I opened it, I felt my stomach explode and fly right out of my mouth as I blinked up at Oikawa standing on my porch. 

“Hey,” he shifted awkwardly, looking a little shy. He wore adidas pants and a regular white t-shirt, a black beanie covering his hair, and I was suddenly overly aware of my disgusting yellow pajama shirt and pink shorts I wore. 

I didn’t respond, my brain unable to catch up. 

He cleared his throat and stepped towards me, eyes on my face. “Y/n… I came here to apologize.” 

I let out a slow breath. “W-why?” I could feel tears already coming, but I clenched my fists. No crying. 

“Why what?” 

“Why are you here to apologize? I thought you didn’t care, and wanted nothing to do with me.” 

Oikawa’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You keep saying that...why do you think I don’t care about you? I do, a lot.” 

My hands were shaking. “I--” 

He stepped closer, towering over me, and I had to lean my head back to see his face. “Y/n, I wish I could take back what I said. I didn’t mean it, and I never want to make you sad again.” 

“It was my fault though. I shouldn’t have…” I trailed off, unable to look at him. 

“You-you had no obligation not to kiss Ushiwaka.” His jaw clenched but he continued. “I overreacted and blamed you. Please accept my apology? I don’t want to lose you.” 

My lower lip trembled. “You’re so…” I sniffled and looked away. “You don’t need to apologize. We both reacted badly.”

“But you’ll forgive me? I can’t take not having you around. This week has been hell.” 

I blinked, my face growing hot. “But I thought...” 

“What? That I didn’t care about our fight?” 

“I-I mean, you didn’t look that upset…” 

Oikawa let out a frustrated breath. “You don’t know anything.” “Then tell me.” 

His eyes were dark, his breath washing across my face as he leaned towards me. “I missed having you around, Chibi-chan, so much I could barely breathe. I don’t ever want to be the one to make you cry again, ok? I do care about you. Don’t forget it.”

I let out a half sob, half laugh, and my head fell forward to hit his chest. “Ok,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for walking away from you, and for kissing that dibshit. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.” 

I gasped in surprise when he crushed me in a hug, his face buried in my neck. “I forgive you,” he murmured in my ear, and I relaxed, breathing in his familiar smell. 

After a long moment, he pulled away and I shuffled awkwardly. “Um, do you want to come in?” 

He grinned and shrugged. “Sure.”

He trailed behind me, kicking off his shoes and following me up the stairs to my bedroom. I flicked on the light, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious. My room was pretty simple, but it suddenly felt way too childish. I bit my lip, blushing furiously, but Oikawa looked delighted. 

“Is this you as a baby?” He grinned down at a picture of me dressed in a pumpkin costume when I was two. “You were so cute!” 

I smiled shyly, pulling him away and flopping on my bed. It was big enough to fit both of us shoulder to shoulder, and I opened my computer and pulled up Netflix. “Do you wanna watch something?” 

He nodded, scrolling through the list of movies available. “Horror?” He grinned wickedly. 

I rolled my eyes. “You hate horror movies, and so do I!” 

He shrugged. “So? Let’s just give it a try.” 

We ended up starting to watch the Grudge, which was about a cursed house and a ghost haunting and murdering everyone who entered said house. 

It was not the right decision. Oikawa hid his face for most of the movie and screamed like a child at the jump scares, and I was so freaked out I clutched his arm in a death grip, so hard he probably lost circulation. 

We stopped halfway, unable to continue, and Oikawa whined that he was too scared to go home alone now. I laughed, not arguing, because I didn’t want him to leave either. 

“I have ice cream downstairs, so I’m going to go grab it,” I said, rolling off the bed and heading to the door. The second I saw the dark, creepy hall, I insisted Oikawa come with me. Especially since it was his fault we had watched the movie in the first place. 

We held onto each other's arms as we slowly crept down the stairs, listening for any sign of ghosts or serial killers. I almost had a heart attack when my cat crept past us, which made Oikawa laugh his head off. 

In the kitchen, I snatched two spoons and sat on the floor, leaning my back up against the cupboard. Oikawa sat next to me, his long legs stretching way farther than mine. The ice cream tub was massive, easily shared between two people, and we munched on it in comfortable silence. I thought it was weird that I could be so happy sitting on the kitchen floor eating ice cream at 3am with Oikawa, more happy than I was during most other exciting moments. How did he do this to me?

“I’m glad you’re here, Tooru.” I turned to look at him, watching his face redden. Did he not want me using his first name? Shit, maybe I’d gone too far…

He cleared his throat before staring at me earnestly. “Me too.” 

I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

Chapter 12

Chapter 14