#but unfortunately I was busy with my real human being friend's birthday. which is actually on the first

[jestiamy]

yeah I've. been into undertale aus again. happy birthday fresh. alt ver under cut

fresh sans by @loverofpiggies . I don't think I have any extra notes. other than. yeah sorry my style has been (more) inconsisent lately ; I've been trying out stuff

[ghostaholics]

BIIIIITCH I CHECKED THE WORD COUNT, AND THEN I CHECKED MY CALENDAR, BECAUSE I HAD TO MAKE SURE IT WASN’T ALREADY CHRISTMAS.

My reaction to seeing the update was damn near Pavlovian. I feel like I should be embarrassed to admit that, but I don’t care. Not religious, but definitely blessed this evening (not actually evening, I woke up at 1:30 in the morning and couldn’t sleep so I’m treating myself to this even though I have to officially be up at 5).

Anyways, here’s my live commentary, because you deserve nothing less.

I read the first line and it demolished me, so thank you for that. I thought I knew what I was in for, and clearly I was wrong because I was blushing the entire time. Price is too smooth. I can’t deal. I’d be a big old non-functioning ball of mush in his presence, so kudos to reader for being able to carry on about her day like business as usual, because if he were in such close proximity all the time that way, I don’t think I could relate if I’m being completely honest.

Actually foaming at the mouth for the way he touches her. I'm a grown-ass woman. I shouldn't be giggling like a fucking school-girl over here. Butterflies in my tummy and whatever. This is fucking blasphemy.

Such a slut for the pool game tutorial. Beyond feral. The ‘good girl’ praise outside of the bedroom rocked my shit. Jesus fucking Christ. Trying not to implode and failing miserably. I have read a handful of fics where he says good girl that at this point, I should be immune. But guess what? This one made my brain short-circuit the worst so thanks for that!

The whole birthday sequence was adorable. I like how you’re expanding the fic to include relationships with other characters because their dynamics as a whole and on an individual level are interesting. They seem like they’d all die for each other and if I don’t have friends like that then I don’t want ‘em at all. Also very nice considering that in the first part she didn’t know anybody and was basically on her own, so seeing them accept the Reader throughout the series has been extremely heart-warming. I’m a soft bitch for the group.

Reader is so real for thinking about whether Price’s chair can hold two people. Because honestly, same. I feel like I have to take breaks when I read because that entire office sequence almost made me combust and they were literally only talking.

Would die for domestic Price. The sweater? The apron? Cooking? CRYING. Soft touches and gentle kisses? SCREAMING. Reader has more willpower than me because I would’ve folded so fast if he asked me to stay the night. Perished during that part, not gonna lie. Like babe, you want to host a sleepover in your cozy house? Aha~say less. Price was gracious about it, but even if he manhandled me into agreeing (which I would not object to) and I would’ve been all, ‘oh no, I guess I’m spending the night in your wonderful home, how… :/ unfortunate.’ Me at Reader even though she declined politely:

The color coordinating with the dress – you’re a genius; big brain behavior right there. Commence more of me blushing. I actually can't fucking deal. I was basically devolving into something less human towards the end of this fic. Every interaction? Pure gold. Me? A settler migrating west for the California Gold Rush in 1848.

The end?? G O D. Plotting to hide a body: just cute, couple things <3 Or either way, whatever’s about go down can’t be legal and I’m here thinking that Price, who partakes in criminal/illicit activities is the same person who wears an apron with flour on it – like yes, get you a man who can do both. Also somebody else said it in another comment but the fact that she called him first when she didn't know what to do. I am quite literally not okay. Deceased.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Warnings: alcohol, heavy flirting, violence, blood, minor character death Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the wonderful @chaoskrakenuwu, who was kind enough to let me name a character after her, and also to tumblr user @deadbranch, who mentioned that tags in taglists might not work if you have your visibility settings set to make their url unsearchable on tumblr!! i tested it out a few times and sometimes it works, sometimes not but if your tag isn't working below maybe double-check your visibility settings and turn them off (if you're comfortable with that) and I'll try updating your tag!! small edit: tumblr cut off part of the middle, so i re-added it in case you saw it when it first posted and it didn't make sense LOL prev | next

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

(After that first conversation, he had disappeared into his office for the remainder of the day not reappearing until you had returned to the club to get ready backstage. You took your time, heart racing as your attention was split between preparing for the show and trying not to imagine Price joining you backstage and making good on his offer to wish you luck.

He never did, but once you took your place on stage, you immediately spotted him sitting at the bar between Ghost and Nik, eyes trained solely on you. He stayed in that spot for the entire show, his gaze never once leaving you, even when others came up to speak to him. He bought you a congratulatory drink afterward, handed to you with a sly smile and gentle squeeze of your hip.)

He hadn’t stayed long after that, whisked away by something important Ghost whispered into his ear, but you find him in that same spot every night after that, watching your performance with a singular intensity that sets your skin on fire.

Farah takes over the two weeks leading up to her and Alex’s departure, giving you a welcomed break and letting you enjoy the club and her flawless performances.

Price maintains his spot at the bar, making eyes at you anytime you pass by as you spend your time between dancing with Kyle and watching Valeria hustle unsuspecting patrons at the pool table. When you occasionally stop at the bar, you make it a point to stand next to him as you wait for your drinks.

Regardless of what he’s doing—whether he’s drinking with his eyes glued to you or talking to someone else, his attention focused entirely away from you—a warm hand always winds its way around your waist, slowly feeling up the fabric of whatever outfit Valeria’s put you in for the night before it settles on your hip. You lean into the touch, lightly skimming your nails across the back of Price’s hand as you wait for your drinks.

Alex serves you with a knowing look—one you make a show of ignoring—and you squeeze Price’s hand. He presses your hip in response, the slow glide of his hand as he pulls back his arm, leaving a blazing trail across your skin that lingers as you take your drinks and return to Kyle or Valeria.

“You know,” Valeria says one night, sharp gaze following you as you return from the bar with a drink for her and lemon water for yourself, “you still owe me a game.”

“Can’t say it’ll be much of a game,” you laugh, sitting beside her. “I’m shit at poker.”

“I wasn’t talking about poker,” Valeria grins, eyes sliding to her right where the pool tables sit.

“Alright, but fair warning, I’m about as good at pool as I am poker.” Valeria pays you no mind, taking her drink and sauntering toward the tables, crimson dress flowing with every step.

The table she approaches is occupied, surrounded by a small group that isn’t so much playing as they are holding cue sticks and talking. Valeria joins them, easing into their conversation with a coy smile and light touch to the nearest man’s arm. You don’t hear the conversation, but Valeria tilts her head and says something, and one of the group hands her his pool cue before leading the rest of his friends to the dancefloor.

“That was nice of them,” you laugh, joining her at the table. She hums a small laugh, handing you your own cue stick.

Valeria starts the game, and it ends almost as quickly as it begins, a look of absolute disbelief plastered on her face.

“I told you I was bad at this,” you tease her.

“I never thought I’d meet a worse player than Alejandro.” Valeria shakes her head, unable to compose herself for the first time since you’ve met her. You’d take some pride in being able to surprise her if it weren’t followed by the pitying gaze of disappointment she turns to you with.

It’s a quick, momentary glance before that tell-tale smirk crawls across her face. She lays her cue on the table, sights set on something behind you. “We’ll fix this, don’t worry.”

Valeria pats you on the arm, disappearing into the crowd of people before you can stop her. You let it go, setting your cue next to hers and taking the time to sip from your water and turn your attention to the stage where Farah gives another flawless performance.

“Enjoying yourself, Птичка?” You turn, finding Nik leaning against the other side of the pool table, dressed in solid black with his sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

“Very much so, actually.”

Nik laughs, tipping his drink to you with an easy smile as Valeria reappears beside him. You don’t get the chance to react as a hand slides across your waist, your body tensing at the sudden touch.

“Glad to hear it.” You relax as the baritone of Price’s voice reaches your ears, and you turn to land a playful slap against his chest.

“Let’s try this again—,” Valeria says, picking up both pool cues and holding one out to you and the other to Price, “—two against two.”

You’re reluctant to take the cue stick from her, but you do, sending Price a sympathetic smile, “Apologies in advance.”

“C’mon now, you can’t be that bad,” he chuckles. Valeria lets out a bark of a laugh as Price takes the other stick from her. She turns away swiftly, trying to bite down on the smirk stretching across her face as Nik re-racks the balls.

Valeria is gracious enough to convince Nik to let you go first, and you do your best on the break. Your best is…not great, laughable even.

And laugh Valeria does. Nik lets out a low whistle, turning away the moment you look at him, his shoulders shaking with unmistakable laughter. You turn to Price, your last saving grace, only to find him staring back with a pitying look that you think you hate more than the laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, get your laughs in,” you pout, setting your cue stick against the table and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Valeria coos, lips pursed tauntingly.

“You weren’t…awful,” Nik adds, though it’s choked out through stifled laughs.

“It’s the way you’re holding it,” Price laughs, making his way toward you. “Here, I’ll show you.”

You expect him to take over your turn, but he holds his cue stick out to you instead. You pout for an extra second before giving an exaggerated sigh and taking the stick from him. He catches your wrist before you can pull away and lightly pulls you toward him, guiding you to stand in front of him.

If you couldn’t play before, you don’t know how anyone expects you to concentrate when the solid warmth of Price’s body presses up against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder so you can feel the soft fanning of his breath against your neck. Gently, he adjusts your elbows, guiding you to hold the cue stick properly. When he’s satisfied, his hands glide down from your elbows, one settling on your hip and the other against your back. He takes his time, feeling the velvet material of the sapphire blue dress Valeria put you in. He hums appreciatively, the vibrations skating down your spine.

“Lean forward,” he murmurs into your ear, the club’s music drowned out by his voice. A small press to your back, and you bend forward, trying not to lose your grip on the cue stick as he purrs, “A little more.”

When he’s satisfied, his hand leaves your back to settle on your shoulder. He turns you slightly to the left, adjusting your angle before he steps back with a soft, “Now try.”

Keeping yourself composed is a struggle, but you do as he says. The cue ball sails, a successful break scattering the rest across the table. The group around you cheers as you stand up straight and instantly reach for your water. You sip the icy water, trying to cool to fire, crawling beneath your skin as Valeria takes her turn, but Price stands at your side, leaning down so close you can feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Good girl.”

You swallow hard, nearly choking on your water as he pulls away with a wide smirk, and you realize that he’s here to play an entirely different game.

After five rounds, your team loses 3-2, but Price leads you to the bar for a consolation drink with an arm around your waist, and you feel like the biggest winner in the club.

-

Kyle’s birthday comes mid-summer.

He doesn’t tell you about it, but you get a suspicious text from Soap one night inviting you to a “secret meeting” at the club and telling you to bring cash.

It’s the middle of the night, far too late for you to be safely leaving your motel room, but you get ready anyway.

Curiosity killed the cat, not the canary, after all.

When you get to the club, you text Soap, and he tells you to come through the front, lock the door behind you, and head straight backstage. You follow his instructions, finding backstage empty and vacant save for the soft echo of voices from the dressing room. You follow the voice, knocking twice before opening the door.

As soon as the door opens, the room goes silent. You’ve apparently interrupted a very serious meeting between Soap, Ghost, Roach, and König as their attention snaps to you. The room fills with a tense silence as you stand in the doorway, a stack of cash in hand as they stare you down.

You speak first, eyes bouncing between the four nervously, “You’re not about to kill me, are you?”

That seems to break the tension as Ghost scoffs and the others relax.

“’Course not, Owl,” Soap rolls his eyes, reaching over to take the money from your hand and add it to a small pile sitting on Farah’s vanity. “Assumin’ the worst there, aren’t ya?”

“You send me a cryptic text telling me to meet you in the backrooms with a stack of cash and expect me not to be suspicious? This is how people get killed in horror movies,” you argue, shutting the door behind you.

“You still came, didn’t you?” Ghost counters.

“He has a point,” König shrugs, and Roach nods.

“Why am I here?” you ask flatly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Right, so you know how Gaz’s birthday is comin’ up?” Soap speaks as he counts through the small pile of money.

You blink, asking, “It is?”

He hadn’t said anything to you. Would it be rude to ask him about it?

“Every year, we always try to get him something, y’know, from all of us,” Roach explains.

“But every year, Valeria and Alejandro always get him something extra just from them,” Soap huffs. “So, we started doin’ the same.”

“It’s become a bit of a competition now,” Ghost sighs, obviously not as enthused about this as Roach and Soap.

“Of course,” you hum. A little more relaxed now that you know why you’re here, you lean back against the door and ask, “So, what’re you getting him?”

“Oh,” König starts, “we were thinking of—”

Roach smacks his arm as Soap lets out a sharp whistle, shaking his head furiously when König turns to him.

“Really?” you scoff. “I gave you my money—”

“And we greatly appreciate your donation,” Soap says, turning to you with a sly grin and your cash in his hand. “As will Gaz, I’m sure.”

“What am I supposed to get him, then?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Soap teases, “’m sure you can figure that out on your own.”

“You’re not even gonna give me a hint?” You look to the others, but Ghost and Roach stay silent, König giving you an apologetic shrug. “Fine. Just know I’m not showing up next time you need something from me in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, y’will,” Soap laughs.

He’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Whatever, keep your little secrets. I’m going home.”

“Night, Kiwi!” Soap calls as you leave the dressing room. You let the door swing closed behind you, but the thud of it shutting never happens. You turn back, finding König closing the door softly before he catches up to you.

“I’ll walk you out,” he says softly, glancing back to the dressing room. There’s something slightly off as König trails behind you, constantly looking over his shoulder—not like he’s nervous, but as if he’s about to do something he shouldn’t.

He holds the front door open for you, giving one last look over his shoulder.

You have to ask.

“Are you oka—”

König leans down, almost uncomfortably close, and mumbles, “He likes practical things.”

“What?”

“Mostly clothes, preferably socks. Oh, and food. Especially pastries.” König takes a small step forward, getting close enough that you can see tiny flecks of amber brown in his eyes.

“He has a big sweet tooth,” he whispers conspiratorially, and it clicks in your head.

“Oh,” you say as König steps back, leaning against the door. “Thank you.”

“Viel Glück.” König gives you a short nod, the edges of his mask rising with the apples of his cheeks as he smiles at you.

The drive back to your motel room is spent formulating a plan to figure out the specific day Kyle’s birthday falls on and what to get him. You spend more of the night trying to think than sleeping, doing your best to devise a way to ask him about it without sounding too obvious. It should be easy—getting information out of someone is nothing you haven’t done before—but Kyle’s sharper than he lets on. You’ll have to be a bit more careful this time.

You’re still thinking about it when you get to the club the next morning, so focused on your plan that you nearly run into Ghost as he steps out of Price’s office.

“Watch it,” he grumbles, wrapping a hand around your arm to steady you.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Bit distracted this morning, are we?” You look up as Kyle walks out of the office behind Ghost, amused smile on his face.

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep,” you shrug, sending a quick, pointed look to Ghost, who stares back at you with his usual monotone expression.

“Been there,” Kyle chuckles, pulling his car keys from the pocket of his black jacket and handing them to Ghost.

“Going somewhere?” you ask.

“Doing something for the Boss,” Kyle winks.

“It’s a small business errand, nothing to worry about.” Ghost’s answer leaves no room for more questions, so you nod in acceptance.

“I’ll see you two later, then.” You watch them walk to the front and out of the club, waiting for the doors to click shut before you turn and slip inside the office. Price sits behind his desk, writing something in a small, black journal, and you grin at the sight.

Maybe you don’t have to talk to Kyle at all.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask as you walk up to the desk. Price’s hand stills against the journal as he looks up at you in slight surprise. You’re sure you’re probably not supposed to be in here without being invited in, but you see how his eyes dip down over your form and decide that he probably doesn’t mind.

“Just the one?” he smiles, setting his pen down to give you his full, undivided attention.

“Just the one, I promise,” you laugh, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “When’s Kyle’s birthday?”

The smile stays, but his brows draw together curiously, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Right, and which team are you asking this for?”

Ah, so he knows.

“Neither. I just wanted to get him something nice…and maybe get back at Soap for conning me out of my money.”

Price laughs at that, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. It creaks softly, and you’re momentarily lost in the thought of how comfortable it looks.

It definitely looks like it could hold two people—

Stop.

Focus.

Kyle’s birthday.

“It’s next Thursday,” he says, breaking you out of your momentary distraction. “The club will be closed that night while we celebrate.”

That gives you eight days. You can work with that. All you have to do now is figure out what to get him.

And you’re sitting across from the one person who would know best.

“Do you have any hints for what I could get him?” you ask, giving your sweetest smile that he definitely sees straight through.

“That’s more than one question,” he chuckles.

“I mean, they both go together. Think of it as two halves to the same question.” You bat your lashes, keeping that tauntingly sweet smile aimed at him.

“So, you get an extra question,” he says, leaning forward and clasping his hands together atop the desk. He tilts his head, staring into your eyes, and purrs, “What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of helping out your favorite employee?” you tease, setting your elbows on the desk to lean toward him.

“You’re my favorite, are you?” he laughs softly, inching just a bit closer.

“You just said so yourself,” you grin. He hums, amused and impressed, a fondness in his eyes that sends a slight pang through your chest.

“He likes desserts,” Price tells you.

“Anything specific?” you press, slowly leaning forward until only a few inches are left between you.

“Careful now,” he warns, all silk and want and looking two seconds from jumping over the desk. “That’s a third question.”

You sit there for just a second, letting him watch your eyes fall to his lips as you lean a little closer before—

“You’re right,” you sigh dramatically, pulling back entirely, smug grin across your face. “I’m sure I can figure it out myself.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” he laughs, settling back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. You throw him a wink that earns you a playful roll of his eyes. Your phone chimes from your pocket, and when you check it, you find a message from Farah asking you to meet her backstage.

“Time for me to head out,” you sigh, standing from your chair. You turn to look at Price, giving him an earnest smile, “Thanks for the help. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Dove.”

You head toward the door as Price picks up his pen, ready to return to what he’d been working on before you came in.

“If you can bake,” Price calls out just as you grab the door handle, “try an apple sponge. It’s one of his favorites.”

You turn back to thank him, but he’s already focused on his work. You stash the information away in your mind, heading into the club to meet Farah with a wide grin.

(It takes a lot of trial and error in your motel room’s dingy little kitchen—little more than a hot plate and a mini fridge—but you’re eventually successful with a small apple sponge pudding the night before Kyle’s birthday.

When you present it to him, waiting until the party’s died down and everyone else is focused on something else, his eyes go glassy at the first taste. For a moment, you’re worried you’ve messed up the recipe, but he sets the plate down and wraps you in a tight hug.

“Used to make this with my mum,” he laughs into your shoulder, watery and sad and so, so appreciative. “Haven’t had one in years.”

He pulls away after a soft squeeze, his signature bright smile a little tighter than usual.

“Thank you, really.”

He goes back to the dessert, offering a couple of bites to his date, the woman who had worn the purple and teal dresses and whose name you’ve learned is Tabby.

You glance up from the happy couple, eyes roving over the rest of the party until you catch eyes with Price. He grins, winking at you, before returning to his conversation with Nik and Alex.

You don’t know how you’ll thank him, but you have a few ideas.)

-

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Price startles you, not only with his question but also with his sudden appearance at your side.

The club is closed for the week—you’re not told why—but you still come in to clean in the mornings. You’d been enjoying your small break at the bar, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly.

You thought you were alone, but apparently not.

“Not that I know of,” you say, trying to calm the jittering of your nerves. “Why?”

“Would you like to have dinner?”

Your mind blanks.

Your heart skips a beat, stunned at the idea that he might actually be asking you out and even more stunned by the instant yes that sits on the tip of your tongue.

“I—”

“We’re having a small get-together for whoever wants to come.”

There’s a painful squeeze in your chest that you’re forced to ignore, and you do your best to cover the sting with a smile.

“Sure! Sounds fun.”

“Perfect.” He smiles back wide, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of your head before turning and walking away. “I’ll have Gaz send you the address,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into his office.

You stand there, staring at his office doors, doing everything you can to quell the sudden heat flooding your body.

You add extra ice to your water and bury yourself in your work as a poor distraction.

Kyle texts you the address that night, along with a message telling you not to come into work the next day, and a single sentence after that reads: Wear something blue :).

You sleep in the next morning—the first time in years—taking your time to go through your clothes and get ready. Your wardrobe is limited—all of the outfits Valeria’s had made for you sitting in the dressing room at the club.

Those would probably be too formal anyways.

You decide on your usual jeans and boots, but dig out a lighter shirt—more grey than blue, but passable—to wear under your black sweater. It’ll have to work as you spend the rest of your time fixing your hair, relaxing, and singing along to the music on your phone.

You leave an hour early, still unfamiliar with the city streets outside your commute to and from the club. The directions are simple enough to follow, your phone’s GPS taking you through the city easily, but after almost twenty minutes, you take a turn and realize you’re being led out of the city.

The drive is almost peaceful, the bustle of the city melting away into broad open landscape then into large trees filled with lush greenery. You’re directed to an off-road leading deeper into the thicket, your car protesting as it leaves the pavement and starts down the dirt road.

It takes half an hour of driving through solid forest before the trees around you begin to thin, and the dirt road slowly turns to gravel, then to smooth stone. The road curves and winds through the trees before you take a sharp turn, and you catch sight of the house.

No, house isn’t the right word. Manor would be more accurate.

The car comes to a halt as you hit the brakes, hands tightening around your steering wheel until your nails dig into the heels of your palms.

A sprawling estate surrounded by lush greenery that grows up the front of the house, you’re reminded of your family’s old summer home. That house hadn’t been nearly as big as this, but Price’s manor carries the same quaint feeling you remember having every time your father took you on vacation at the summer home.

The knot that grows in your throat is sudden, the rush of nostalgia slamming into you without warning.

The last time you had been to that old house was for your wedding.

You still remember the smell of lilacs and sweet peas that drifted up from the beautifully decorated courtyard into the bridal suite, the gorgeous bespoke gown that had once been your mother’s—gifted to you by your father as your something borrowed—and the beaming smile you carried for the entire day.

The last good day you remember having in your old life.

That’s over now, you remind yourself. You’re safe here.

You take a deep breath, loosening your grip on the steering wheel and easing off the brake. You drive slowly, taking in the beautifully laid out gardens around the front of the manor, trying to push down the painful fondness that stabs at your heart.

You park behind the various cars at the end of the driveway, locking your car behind you just once before making your way to the front doors.

Just like the club, they’re unlocked.

As soon as you walk in, you’re hit with a delicious smell and the sounds of quiet laughter. You follow the noise, taking in the interior of the house. It’s homey, understated, downright cozy, and somehow fitting for what you’d imagine as Price’s home.

“Look who it is!” Alex cheers as you walk into a sitting room. He sits on one of the couches, an arm draped across the back and around Farah. Across from them is Kyle, spread out on the other couch, busy typing away on his phone, his feet almost in Nik’s lap. You’ve never seen them so dressed down before, all in some type of hoodie, sweater, sweats combination—or pajama pants in Nik’s case.

Farah and Nik give you the same eager greeting, but Kyle continues on his phone, ignoring your presence entirely.

“Don’t mind him,” Farah scoffs. “He’s too busy with his new girlfriend.”

“It’s no problem,” you laugh, looking around the room. Farah watches you, smirk plastered on her face.

“The old man’s in the kitchen,” she says, nodding toward the other side of the room. Alex and Nik bite back their laughs, and you choose to ignore them.

“Thanks, Farah.” She nods, and you head in the direction she gives you. You head in the direction she gives you, passing through the dining room before you’re able to find the kitchen.

It’s not exactly like the one from your old summer home, but it’s damn close—spacious yet comfortable, all earth-toned and welcoming—and it’s a fight to swallow down the knot in your throat.

“You’re here!”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as Price catches sight of you, setting down the knife in his hand and making his way over to you. You’ve never seen him in a sweater before, but you know how you’d kill to see him in one again. Like the others, he’s dressed down from his usual club attire: a deep maroon sweater with rolled sleeves, jeans, and a black apron with small spots of flour across it.

“Yeah, didn’t want to miss out on seeing my boss in an apron,” you joke as he pulls you into a hug, followed by a kiss on the head. You let yourself melt into him, missing his warmth the minute he pulls away.

“You can have a drink and wait with the others if you want. Grab whatever you want from the fridge,” he says, heading back to his station.

“Actually,” you take a deep breath, setting your hands on the island counter, “I was wondering if there was anything I could help with?”

He seems surprised at the offer, brows raised as he looks up at you. But the surprise is quickly replaced with a fond smile.

“You any good at chopping vegetables?” he asks.

“The best,” you tease, inching your way over to him, giving him time to tell you no.

“You can take over here, then.”

He takes a step back, and you take his place, picking the knife up from the cutting board. You’re about to start when you feel his hands settle on your hips and his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. You tilt your head automatically, pressing back into him as he murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.” He pulls away immediately after, leaving you to your work.

Time flies by, the two of you work almost seamlessly together in the kitchen. You laugh and joke and enjoy as Price takes every opportunity to put his hands on you. Small, teasing touches, but they send your heart racing each and every time, and soon you find yourself returning the favor.

By the time the food’s ready, you’ve shed your sweater, the kitchen heat, and the man next to you far too much for you. You take it in stride, having more fun than you’ve had in a long time and allowing yourself to enjoy this moment.

Dinner passes by equally as fun, feeling like those rare dinners you got to have with your father—just you and him, just family.

The others bid their goodbye, Alex and Farah heading home after dishes are done, Nik heading upstairs to one of the many spare rooms, and Kyle leaving to meet Tabby at her place. You help clean, waiting until everything is spotless to take your leave. Price walks you to the door, hand on the small of your back the entire walk.

“You know,” he says as you reach the front door, “you could stay here for the night.”

“What? You mean you don’t want to come back to mine?” you tease, lightly nudging him with your elbow. When he doesn’t laugh, you still worry creeping up your spine.

Please, don’t ask me to “repay” you for dinner.

Please, don’t ask me to “repay” you for dinner.

Please, don’t ask me to “repay” you for dinner.

“There’s plenty of room here,” he says quietly, pulling his hand from your back so he can turn to face. “I just—I’d sleep better knowing you were somewhere…safer.”

Oh. Oh.

You don’t know how you can possibly feel more endeared than you do in this moment, the worry so genuine on his face.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve been fine so far,” you offer, voice soft as you set a hand on his arm. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, wrapping his hand around yours, “There’s always room for you here if you ever change your mind.”

“Thank you.”

And even if you don’t take up the offer now, you mean it with all your heart.

-

Summer nears its end when you find a sleek red box sitting atop your vanity that was definitely not there before you went on stage.

A small white card with your name written on the front rests on top of the box, a handwritten note with an address and a date for Saturday afternoon. You don’t recognize the address or the handwriting, so you set the card aside cautiously, sliding your fingers under the box lid.

You lift the lid, curiosity winning out over your caution.

Laying inside, pristinely folded, is a dress. A very beautiful, pale dress covered in pale blue columbine flowers. You run your fingers along the fabric, admiring the softness of the organza against your skin.

What is this for?

You wrack your brain trying to think of any upcoming birthdays or events, but nothing comes to mind. You’re sure you’d know; things like that are usually a big deal for the club.

You’re left wondering as someone knocks on the dressing room door. You quickly put the lid back on the box, tucking the card into the pocket of your jacket draped over the back of your chair.

When you leave for the night, you take the box back to the motel room, setting it on top of the duffle bag that holds your clothes, where it sits untouched for the rest of the week.

When Saturday comes, you wake up an hour before your alarm and head straight for the box. You set it on the bed and spend the morning getting ready with a long, room-temperature shower.

A small voice nags in the back of your mind as you stand in your underwear, staring down at the box on your bed. You’re excited and nervous, eager to try on the dress but unsure of what to expect from all of this.

The last time someone surprised you with a dress…

You shake the thoughts from your head, pulling the lid from the box, lifting the dress out, and finding a pair of nude flats lying at the bottom.

It’s long and light, made of a soft, airy material that falls to the ground with short, sheer puffy sleeves and a slit up to the knee. You have no trouble putting it on, the smooth silk gliding against your skin in a fit so perfect that you immediately think this must be Valeria’s doing.

You twirl, watching the material fan out with a wide smile. You leave the shoes in the box while you fix your hair, putting in the effort to get your hair just right and make yourself look as good as the dress makes you feel.

When you’re done, and looking far more stunning than you anticipated, you slip on the shoes and grab your keys.

You head out to your car in the early afternoon, pulling up the address on your phone. Your destination is just outside the city, opposite from where you are. It doesn’t take long, even in the afternoon traffic, and it ends with you pulling up to a large house with a driveway full of familiar cars.

You park behind Kyle’s car, giving yourself one last look in your slightly crooked rearview mirror.

When you step out of your car, you’re instantly met with music and laughter echoing from the backyard. You follow the path up to the front door, knocking twice as you admire the front garden.

The house is far enough out of the city to not be near anyone else but close enough to not have to drive an hour to get to the club like Price’s. Large, spacious, and a yard covered in different types of flowers.

A sharp whistle startles you as you take in how well taken care of the daisies look.

“Canary!” You step back from the door, looking across the driveway where Kyle stands, waving his hands at you, Roach next to him, holding open a gate that you assume leads to the backyard.

It’s weird to see them out of their standard black, but the bright summer colors fit them just as well. You make your way over, Kyle meeting you halfway to pull you into a hug.

“Glad you make it!”

“Me too!” you laugh, following him to the gate so you can hug Roach. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion?” Roach asks, holding the gate open with his foot so he can sign to you.

“It’s just a party,” Kyle says with a curious tilt of his head. “Valeria didn’t tell you?”

“Why would she tell me?”

“Because it’s her house?” Roach blinks.

“No one told me anything. I found a card with a time and place sitting on my vanity. And this—” you gesture to the dress, “—with it.”

“That’s one way to invite you, I guess,” Kyle shrugs, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an easy smile. “Either way, we’re glad you’re here.”

He and Roach lead you into the backyard, equally beautiful as the front, with tall trees providing shade and a large pool in the center. The entire club is here. Alejandro and Alex stand near the grill, laughing and passing jokes while the rest of the club is gathered at the few tables set up in the shade near the back doors to the house.

Valeria spots you instantly, making her way over with a wide grin. Kyle slides his arm from your shoulders as she gets close, and she pulls you into a quick hug.

“You made it!” she cheers, taking a step back and giving you an appreciative once over. “And you look fantastic! I’m proud of you.”

“It wasn’t all me,” you say, a little shy under the praise. “Thank you for the dress, by the way.”

“Hm?” Valeria raises a brow. “Well, it is lovely, and the blue’s a nice touch, but it’s not one of mine.”

“What?”

If it wasn’t her, then…who?

You look around the yard, glancing over the rest of your friends and coworkers. They all seem busy talking, laughing, enjoying themselves.

All except for one, John Price, who’s sitting between Ghost and König, wearing a pale blue shirt to match the color of the flowers on your dress and staring at you with an intensity that sets your skin alight.

“Oh,” Valeria laughs, following your gaze.

“Explains the blue,” Kyle snickers, nudging your arm with his elbow.

You pull your eyes away from Price to smack Kyle in the chest. You’re met with laughter from the three of them, covering your face with your hands in a poor attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“I hate all of you,” you grumble, their laughter growing as you head for the tables. You do your best to smile and not appear as flustered as you are, returning hellos and hugs as everyone notices you. When you reach the back table, Ghost nods in greeting while König stands to hug you. However, when he pulls away from you, he pulls out the chair he’d been sitting in and gestures for you to sit.

“You don’t have to—”

“I have to help Alex soon, anyway,” König shrugs.

“Okay, then,” you smile, taking the seat, turning to add a quick thank you before he leaves for the grill.

“You look lovely,” Price says the moment you turn back to the table. “Blue suits you.”

Ghost doesn’t speak, simply picking up his glass and sitting next to Soap at the table across from yours.

“Like this color, do you?” you ask, setting your elbows on the table to lace your fingers together and set your chin atop them, smiling at him with a raised brow.

“You could say I’m partial to it,” he shrugs casually, eyes trailing down the expanse of your leg exposed through the slit of your dress. “Especially on certain people.”

You can’t help but giggle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair.

You take a moment to feel the warmth from the sun, cooled by the gentle summer breeze carrying a soft bite of autumn’s inevitable chill.

You don’t remember the last time you could simply enjoy a day outside.

“Thank you, by the way,” you speak up, turning to Price with a soft smile. “You didn’t have to get me a dress, but I appreciate it.”

“Not a fan of gifts?” he asks, an unusual hesitance in his voice.

“I like them. I’m just…not used to them, I guess.”

Or ones that don’t come with ulterior motives, anyway.

He stares at you for a brief second before his hand slides across the table to settle over you with a light squeeze. “Think you better get used to it then, love. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the smug grin on Price’s face.

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of that, am I?”

“Not at all,” he laughs, and you laugh along, turning your hand over to lace your fingers through his.

You give a soft squeeze of his hand, soaking up the warmth from his hand, “Price, I—”

“Sparrow, get over here! We’re starting karaoke!” You turn as Soap yells from his table.

“In a minute!” you call back.

“Fine, but I’m pickin’ your song!”

Price chuckles next to you, releasing your hand. Disappointment swells in your chest before his hand reaches your bare knee. “Go have fun. We can talk later,” he smiles.

You nod, and he lets his hand linger a second longer before pulling away as you stand up. You adjust your dress before glancing over to Price. As soon as the idea comes to your head, you act. Setting a hand on his shoulder, you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek before whispering into his ear your promise of later.

You step away quickly, making your way over to the rest of your friends, looking back only once to catch Price’s eyes. He sends you a wink, standing from his chair to join Alex, Alejandro, and König.

You don’t know what later entails, but you’re certainly looking forward to it.

-

Everything changes at the beginning of autumn when you return to your motel room exhausted from an incredibly long week.

You don’t take notice of the new car that sits in the usually empty parking lot.

Or how your door doesn’t click when you turn the key.

Or that your duffel bag sits open on top of your bed, instead of under it like you’d left it that morning.

If your father had been here, he would’ve killed you being so careless, for letting your guard down so much.

But the man who’s broken into your room takes up the job for him, waiting until you reach the bathroom door to shove his way out and tackle you to the floor. You don’t get the chance to scream as your head slams into the floor, and your vision goes blurry.

You feel his weight over you as he tries to grab at your arms, words coming out of his mouth that your fuzzy brain can’t process right now. He gets frustrated, hands wrapping around your neck before they squeeze, and your neck burns.

You squirm and push, fighting back with everything you have until you can land a kick to his stomach that sends him stumbling to the side.

You roll onto your stomach, stumbling to push yourself up to your feet. You make it to your dresser before a meaty hand wraps around your ankle and yanks.

You're sent back to the grab, scrabbling to grab hold of anything you can on the dresser. Your hand catches something, and you wrap your fist around it on the way down, waiting until the man tries to climb over you again before you swing.

You make contact with him, the object in your hand causing an audible crack against his head. He falls over, and instinct takes over. You swing again, then one more time before you toss the object aside—it's the table lamp that never worked, now that you're given time to look at it—and scoot back until your back is pressed against the foot of your bed.

It takes a minute before your vision can fully focus, and you process the man lying on your floor, blood pooling out from the cracked open dent in his head.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

You don't know what else to do, going straight for your phone. Your eyes glassy, you struggle to find the contact you need and gulp down as much air as you can while it rings.

"Hello?"

I'm sorry to bother you. Please, don't be mad.

"H-Hey. I—I um—"

You can't get words around, lungs constricting too fast to get air in.

"Canary? Are you okay?"

"I don't—I don't know what—what happened. I—"

"Breathe, love. Where are you?"

"He at—he attacked me. I didn't mean to—I didn't—"

You hear conversation in the background, multiple voices.

"Are you at home?"

"I—"

"Yes or no, love."

"Y—yes."

"Stay there, okay?"

"Okay."

You don't mean to hang up, but your hands are too shaky, and you hit end call button trying to put Price on speaker.

You don't know how long you sit there, hyperventilating as you stare at the man bleeding out on your floor. Minutes? Hours? You have no way to tell; time passes too quickly yet drags second by second.

You don't hear your door open or the soft call of your name, but you do feel the hand on your shoulder.

"No!" You try to pull away, but the person moves in front of you, and you go into full panic mode.

"Stop, it's me. It's me. It's okay. It's me, love."

Two warm hands settle on either side of your face, turning you to look forward, where you find Price on his knees in front of you, concern etched deep into his features.

"I—he tried to—"

His hands fall from your face, instead wrapping around you to pull you into him. You go easily, tucking yourself against him, against the familiar comfort as the knot swells in your throat and the dam finally breaks.

"Shh, it's okay," Price coos into your hair. "I've got you. You're safe."

Despite the circumstances, you believe him.

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush, @aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx, @mundane-frogola, @marytvirgin, @nyooom, @gogh-with-the-flow, @arctic-writes, @thriving-n-jiving, @deadpoetsandhoney, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @blurpleuni-squid, @dead-noodles, @urfavsunkissedleo, @tapioca-marzipan, @averyyreads, @sourire-acide, @nivalis-dies, @froggi-mushroom, @carla019083-blog, @urlovecarla, @fvfvxcvfxcvf, @digitalsins, @dectectivejjbittenbinder, @330bpm-whiplash, @warners-wife, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dudewithastick, @x-jeff-johansen-x, @calypsoonn, @octopiys, @tbrfic, @pssytrux, @pastelpixies, @bloodyfoxes12, @emma342561, @scattermind-001, @kereseth, @iwaszoomingg, @schlafenderbruder, @sanfransolomitatm, @solidly-indulgent, @oastertoaster, @whovianwar, @kateanacall, @luvmariax0, @tbrfic, @gh0st-r1der, @certainlynotasimp, @pheobees, @fivedicksinatrenchcoat, @sarapaprikas-blog, @moriflos, @laeilaps, @furiousshepherdclambailiff, @tactical-shrimp, @rosesgaylol, @marvelranger, @msdrpreist, @riverrka

[courtlyharlequin]

Breathing Room

Warnings: fluff, no plot just brainrot,  lowkey horn knee, feral and angry Taku coming from nine o’clock because I squeezed too much of her favorite tropes into this

Summary: Humans are strange. Their hobbies and customs are bewildering, but nothing Jade couldn’t handle as he was quick to adapt. Sometimes, he might even partake in said activities. Case in point with hiking. And you, knowing Jade for a decent amount of time as his significant other, came to terms with the fact that he would decline a request to participate in something that didn’t pique his interest. So when you proposed that he play the pocky game with you, you were certain that he would decline. But he didn’t.

A/N: Happy birthday to the Jade simp, @takuyakistall​~! I’m so sorry that this was posted late but you’re already wary of that and thank you for supporting me through such a tough time. Ahhh life just doesn’t want me to simp for my hair wife! I tell you this a lot but I’ll say it again: I’m quite attached to you since you were my first tumblr friend. I didn’t have any in real life or online friends who like twst before meeting you so you mean a lot to me as my first. You always make me laugh whether it be bullying you or rotting over our mains together. Even when we get serious, I still love talking to you. You’re that amazing.  I hope you have an amazing day, one just as amazing as you are. Eat lots of cake and pocky. I love you ♡

“Jade,” you said, tugging at his sleeves.

He sighed through his strained smile as he set down a glass he was polishing. He tucked his hair behind his ear and dusted off his slacks as if he was brushing away invisible crumbs off the garment. It was an ungodly hour. He was working overtime for Mostro Lounge. Today was unusually busy. As vice prefect, Jade took it upon himself to bite off more than he could chew. And he could chew a lot actually. He was a moray eel with two sets of jaws and an immense appetite. In his human form, he only had one set of jaws yet the appetite remained.

The lounge was deserted. Students shuffled to the mirror chambers and headed to their respective dorms to retire for the night. Jade, on the other hand, was sitting on a barstool with an array of glasses and creased brows. You sat by his side, doing your assignments and engaging him in idle chatter here and there. He had promised to help you with your alchemy homework, but alas his duties called for him. In a way. You didn’t mind per se since he helped you understand the material within minutes during his short-lived breaks.

They were about three minutes long and Jade only took two breaks ever since his shift started. You weren’t an expert at reading people like he was, but even you could tell he could use some rest or a pick-me-up at least. Perhaps the latter. Jade was stubborn. He wasn’t going to head to his bedroom until he was done.

“Yes, (y/n)?”

You reached into your book bag and pulled out a small box of biscuits– pocky to be exact. You held it in front of his gaze. He cocked his head.

“Let’s play the pocky game.”

“Maybe later. We can play after I finish. Or tomorrow. It’s late so you should return to your living quarters and get some rest,” Jade said as he turned his attention to his task.

“Please? Think of it as a break. Your last one was about three hours ago.”

“Well, if you put it like that then I shall indulge you, my dear.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as he spun the barstool to make direct eye contact with you. You avoided his gaze as you opened the box, selecting a random stick of pocky and holding it in front of him. He took it and examined it with a perplexed expression.

“What is this?”

“Pocky.”

“Which is?”

“It’s like a cookie biscuit thing with a chocolate covering,” you said, getting yourself your own stick.

“I see. So this ‘pocky’ edible.”

“Yes,” you nodded, biting the pocky.

He mirrored your actions. You watched him chew it thoroughly. His eyes wandered around the ceiling of the lounge. You held your breath as he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“It’s delectable.”

Your shoulders relaxed and he chuckled under his breath. It would have been disappointing if Jade didn’t like pocky. That would mean you couldn’t persuade him to play the pocky game. You looked into his eyes lovingly while he nibbled on the remainder of the stick.

“And what is ‘the pocky game’?” Jade mused.

You took out another biscuit. His brows arched as you waited for him to swallow the last bit of his current pocky stick.

“The objective of the game is to be the last to hold onto the stick as we each take a bite and move closer to the center. Whoever is the last to pull away wins. You take one end and I’ll take the other. I’ll let you have the chocolate end because it’s your first time playing.”

“My, my how kind of you. I almost thought you were the headmaster. All you needed was to comment on your kindness.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned.

He brought his hand to chin. He feigned curiosity.

“Though… if you wanted to kiss me you could have just said, (y/n),” Jade gave you a toothy grin, ones he shot at the poor unfortunate freshmen souls that tried to escape the conditions of Octavinelle’s yearly exam contracts before chasing them down the hallways with his brother.

“I-I.. It would be more fun?”

“I jest, my pearl. There’s no shame in wanting to engage in intimacy. I shall indulge you. Though, I have a feeling that I will win every round– seeing as you get flustered even when I embrace you without warning fufu~”

There was not a shred of innocence in his voice. Jade knew where this was going. He was going to do everything in his power to win. He was good at that sort of thing, small ministrations that drove you wild.

When he found out that you were sensitive to neck kisses, chaste or not, he greeted you every morning outside of your first period threshold with a peck on the side of your neck. The first time he did that, you were reduced to a puddle of empty thoughts, a spasm of spiraling emotions and heated cheeks. The following incidents featured your hand instinctively shooting to the spot he kissed, cheeks still hot and bothered. When you had adapted to his rhythm, he kissed your neck in the halls, during lunch, and when he walked you back to your dorm. They were spontaneous and sporadic. They ceased when winter began and you wore a scarf around your neck all day, every day. Of course, that was months ago. The routine faded as your relationship developed. Jade had his share of teasing and came to understand that setting your nerves on fire on a daily basis despite your protests wasn’t exactly healthy. He also came to understand how people might get the wrong idea from neck kisses. He teased you for hours on end for being so lewd, but digressed when you were on the verge of tears due to embarrassment. That didn’t stop his other methods of teasing, but at least you were free from public surprise neck kisses.

Jade loved to tease. He was good at it too. He knew you and your ticks like the back of his hand. You were certainly going to lose this game, but it was better not to let your true feelings show and give him the upper hand.

You inserted the biscuit between Jade’s lips and took a deep breath before taking your end. It was more so a hybrid of a deep breath and a yawn. It was late after all.

Jade’s eyes widened and the stick broke in half. Your eyes widened as well.

“You’re supposed to hold onto the stick for a long as you can, silly.”

He closed his eyes: “Yes, my bad. Shall we try again?”

“One to zero,” you said as you slipped a biscuit into his lips.

“Did that count?”

“Of course it does.”

He pouted as you inhaled and exhaled deeply before taking your end of the pocky. It snapped immediately.

“Jade,” you whined, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“Apologies, my dear. It seems to be instinctive for me to bite the stick.”

“You can bite. It’s just that the pocky keeps breaking in half whenever you bite it. Maybe try to be more gentle?”

“Two to zero.”

“You’re so cruel, (y/n).”

You giggled as you handed him the stick. He pursed his lips and held the stick out for you to take a bite from your end. You closed our eyes and opened your mouth to take a deep breath once more and the stick snapped before you knew it.

You looked up at Jade to see the pocky awkwardly sticking out of his hand which was covering his face. Mostro Lounge’s dim lights made it difficult to make out many details, but you were positive that Jade Leech was profusely blushing.

“Jade?”

“C-Could you not do that*?”

“Do what?”

What could have possibly reduced him to such an adorable state? He’s usually so composed. He was never this flustered. Out of all the times you tried to get him to break, he was resilient. And here you were, not having any idea as to what you did to make him blush.

“O-Open your mouth.”

“Pardon?”

A yawn escaped from your lips. Jade spun the bar stool around and stared at the glasses with sudden interest.

“Could you not do that?”

“Yawn?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He mumbled something under his breath.  

“Jade?”

“(y/n), you should have just asked for a kiss.”

The eel stood up curtly from his seat. He towered over you and his eyes glowed in the dark lighting. He pulled out a pocky stick from the box in your petite hands and slipped it in between your lips. There was a small pause before he came crashing down. If he hadn’t been holding your shoulders so firmly, you might’ve fell over from the force that he exerted. He came barreling towards your lips. You weren’t sure if he had even bit the pocky. You felt it snap, but when you parted your mouth to allow his tongue to entangle with yours, you could not find a single trace of the biscuit. The flavor lingered in his mouth, but the pocky itself was nonexistent. Did he swallow it whole?

He did not leave your mind to wander too far from him. He kissed you hungrily and nipped at your lips. His sharp teeth grazed your flesh and you mewled into the kiss. You could hear him growl faintly as he held onto your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He tiled your head for a better angle. You pushed him away. You needed to catch your breath.  A string of saliva fell from your lips.

“Jade,” you gasped as he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck.

“It would be in your best interest if you don’t do that again, especially during mating season. I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself next time. I might break you in half, dearest.”

Your cheeks flushed as you nodded absentmindedly. Mating season?

He bit your neck.You yelped and wriggled out of his embrace.

“Jade!” you hissed, clutching your neck.

“Consider that a small price to pay,” he chuckled.

You huffed.

“I win this time,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah…”

He packed the glasses onto a shelf.

“You’re free to go now. I’ve finished here so you don’t have to keep me company anymore. Would you like me to escort you?”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

“Goodnight, Jade. See you tomorrow.”

Though you had agreed not to yawn, it escaped your lips. Luckily, your back was facing Jade as you exited the lounge so he didn’t see you yawn, but rather heard you yawn. You heard a distant bang on the counter as well as a faint “dammit” from a voice you knew all too well.

It took every fiber in your body to restrain yourself from turning around. You knew all too well that if you turned around, he would’ve rushed towards you and snapped you in half just like a pocky stick. It was best to give him a little breathing room even if you were hot and bothered yourself.

*Note: To initiate the mating process, moray eels open their mouths very wide at each other to signal the start of it. This trait carries over to when (y/n) yawns as Jade took it as a sign for his eel-y instincts.

[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

[plus-size-reader]

Angel Blood

Clary Fray x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2113 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader has been protecting Clary all her life, and hiding a huge secret. 

—————————————————————————————————

Clary was almost positive that she was out of her mind. 

After everything she’d seen at the club tonight, she had to be going crazy. 

Of course she was because there was no other explanation for what was going on. Everything that she had seen, everything that was going on, it wasn’t real. 

There was no way any of this was real. 

People didn’t just vanish out of thin air ever, and that thing in the club had tentacles in its face, not to mention the fact that she was ninety-nine percent sure that she had killed a guy. It was hardly what she’d expected from her eighteenth birthday when she woke up this morning.

Still, she knew what she saw.

There was no way to explain it, and she was sure that she was going insane, but at least she knew what she had seen. 

If there was anything she had, it was that, and thankfully, it was more than enough for you to help her. When she told you what had happened, you believed her completely and totally, which did make her feel a little better. 

Though, to be fair, you knew a lot more about this than she did. 

This was in her blood.

Clary was a shadowhunter, she was born for this, and while it didn’t make sense now, you were sure that she would adjust. All she needed was time, and a little guidance, which you and the others would be able to give her. 

Not that you wanted Jace to be involved at all. 

After all, it was his idea to bring her back to the institute, which was a terrible idea from the start. Mundanes couldn’t be here, ever, and there wasn’t supposed to be any exceptions to that, even where Clary was concerned. 

She couldn’t just be here. 

You told Jace that as soon as he got back, holding her tight to his chest all full of demon venom, but were immediately ignored by the male. He had already made up his mind, and when he did that, there was nothing you could do to stop him. 

Logic didn’t have a place in Jace’s mind. 

In general, this wasn’t something that you tended to deal in because mundane business wasn’t for you to worry about but for some reason, he had this idea that he had to save her. 

He wanted to keep her safe. 

You understood that this mattered to him, for whatever reason, but this was a bit much.

Alec made the argument that bringing her here was dangerous for not only her but also everyone else in the building, and this was one of those rare instances where you found yourself inclined to agree with him.

Jace had gone too far and now, he’d managed to rope you all in with him. 

It was insane. 

You had been watching over her and Jocelyn all your life, but now, Jace had just swooped in to save the day. It was something that there was no going back from and you just had to hope that when Clary woke up, she’d be able to handle it. 

“How could you be so reckless?” you huffed, protecting Clary was your job. 

You had been her best friend forever and you were someone she was familiar with. If anyone was going to take care of her in Jocelyn’s absence, it should have been you. 

It was literally all you were here for, but in typically Jace Wayland fashion, he had found a way to take that out from under you as well. 

Now, you were going to have to get past him to do anything, like you always had to, as if the other shadowhunters needed another reason to doubt your abilities.  

“I saved her life, shouldn’t you be thanking me?” he grinned, that telling smirk on his face that remained there indefinitely. Normally, you would have just shrugged him off but today you could have knocked off if you felt so inclined. 

He could be so frustrating sometimes, so sure of himself that no one else mattered. 

It was nearly enough to drive you out of your mind. 

In all the years that you had known Clary, you had kept a close relationship with all of the shadowhunters as well. You were one of them, and though this life was a difficult one, hiding it from Clary and all, it was just what you had to do. 

You had to protect her, more than anything else, and as difficult as it was, that was all that mattered at the end of the day. 

Jocelyn loved you like a child of her own, she trusted you with her secrets and most importantly, she trusted you to protect Clary when she couldn’t. That was the whole reason you were here, the whole reason you had been by her side for so many years. 

At this point, you loved her more than anyone and you certainly didn’t want her getting involved with Jace Wayland.

Not because you were jealous, of course, but because you wanted what was best for her. 

That was all.  

“I’ll thank you when I’m sure she’s safe” you countered, gingerly brushing a lock of her hair from her face, where it had fallen in the entire tussle. She was in a lot of pain, with the venom taking its toll on her, but her body was taking the healing rune well. 

She was going to be fine. 

However, until she was awake and calmed down, you weren’t going to be able to relax. 

For whatever reason, this was the most stressful thing you’d ever gone through. You’d had years to go run through this in your mind, but now that it was happening, you were lost. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

Jocelyn had been careful, crazy even, so that Clary wouldn’t find out about who and what she was before you were ready to deal with it, but now, you were on your own. She wasn’t here to help you figure this out. 

For now, Jocelyn was gone and you just had to do your best to explain this whole thing to her. 

“She’s going to be fine, she’s one of us. She’s strong” Jace shrugged, looking down at her from where he was at your side, still doing his best to figure out what it was about her that was so special. 

Clearly, she had made an imprint on the both of you and he wasn’t even sure why yet. To be fair though, he didn’t know her like you did. 

He never could. 

“Yeah, that’s one thing we can agree on” you allowed, gingerly giving him a shrug. You weren’t sure what it was you were going to do when she woke up, or how blending your two worlds into one would work, but before you could worry about it, she shot up in bed. 

The action was quick and startled you slightly but you didn’t pay that any mind. Instead, you sat down beside her and did the only thing you knew to do, the thing you were best at. 

You tried to calm her down. 

Even now, that was all you could think about. 

“Good Morning sleepyhead” you tried, doing your best to stay calm, but it was a sad attempt at best. You were clearly shaken, startled over her abrupt awakening, but thankfully, Clary was still a little out of it.

To her, this whole thing must have felt like a dream, so she only smiled at you at first. What had happened today was the last thing on her mind as she looked at you, at least, for a few seconds. 

However, as soon as she reached up and grazed the portal shard hanging around her neck, she panicked. The object brought back everything she’d gone through in the past few hours and the recollection she had was distressing to her. 

No one in their right mind would handle it well, you knew that without a shadow of a doubt. 

While you weren’t surprised by the world you’d grown up in, you weren’t under any illusions as to how jarring it must have been to her. Waking up in this place was more than enough to freak her out, and Jace certainly wasn’t helping either. 

“What is going on? Where are we? Where is my mother?” she asked, immediately bringing all the current issues to the forefront. 

They were swirling around in her head, looming over her, and not one of them made sense. It was too much and you definitely couldn’t blame her for being overwhelmed. 

“We will explain everything Clary, trust me” you hummed, taking her hand in your own in one final attempt at comforting her. You had no idea how this would go, but if nothing else, at least she was at the institute now. 

As difficult as Jace could be to deal with, you knew that she would be safe as long as he was looking out for her. 

At the very least, you could give him that.

~

Jace wasn’t exactly thrilled when you asked her for a moment alone with Clary to explain but eventually, he decided that it would just be best to do as you asked. The two of you had an understanding, that it would be much better to just try to find common ground. 

Besides, Jace wasn’t exactly the best one to tell her everything, not when there was so much technical history to bring her up to speed on. 

She needed you. 

“What is going on?” she repeated, not speaking again until you returned to her bedside, having stepped away for a moment to ask Jace for some privacy. She had no idea what was going on yet, and unfortunately, you weren’t sure your explanation would help. 

There was just too much happening in your world to sum up in one conversation. 

Still, you knew that you had to try. 

“I’ll fill you in more as it comes up, but there are some things I need to tell you before then” you started, hoping that the more you filled her in, the easier this would get for her to digest, but that wasn’t going to happen. 

Mundanes couldn’t handle the world outside that they were used to, and while Clary wasn’t necessarily mundane, she had been raised that way. Until you figured out what Jocelyn wanted for her, you had to just fly by the seat of your pants through this whole thing. 

“We’re Shadowhunters, Clar” you hummed, giving her a soft smile as you often did while looking at her. Even now, as disoriented and lost as she was, she was the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. 

Hopefully as this whole thing came into the light, you would actually see the benefits of bringing her fully into your world. 

At least she would understand you completely now. 

“We have angel blood, and that makes it our responsibility to protect the human world from demons and other downworlders” you tried, finding it much more difficult to sum up everything that being a shadowhunter intold than you would have thought. 

It was really complicated.

Still, Clary didn’t seem completely lost as you assumed she would. She was bewildered of course, but she was silent by the time you’d finished, startling you that much more. For whatever reason, it was more alarming than if she would have freaked out. 

It just made you worry that much more that she was losing it. 

“I know it’s a lot, but I’m going to be here the whole time to help you figure it out. You’re going to be okay” 

The words came out forced but you really meant them. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you knew that no matter what came your way, the two of you would be able to deal with it. 

You always had, and now that the rest of the shadowhunters were involved, it would be even easier. 

You could do this. 

“Please don’t leave, there’s no way I can manage all this without you” she hummed, after a few seconds of silence as she thought over what you were suggesting. She had lost way too much already and if she had to do this without you, she’d be completely lost. 

She couldn’t do this without you. 

“Clar, I’m not going anywhere” you promised, this time fully confident in the words leaving your lips. You loved Clary, and whether or not she knew it, there was nothing you wouldn’t do for her. 

No matter what happened, nothing was going to happen to her. 

[dickwheelie]

heyyyy coming in a few days early with the “expression” prompt for @aspecarchivesweek! just a lil something about jon wearing a shirt he doesn’t like. enjoy!

(also on ao3)

_______________

All of Jon’s clothes are in greyscale.

Well, this isn’t entirely true—some are a very light tan, or a dingy brown. One mothbitten vest is a glaring 70’s orange that Jon deeply dislikes, so it stays at the back of his closet. These are the clothes he inherited from his parents and possibly also his grandparents, which he can’t bring himself to throw away. The rest, however, strictly range from white to black, practical to a fault.

Jon has a working theory that he may be the first person in history with an allergy to clothing stores. Entering one instantly stresses him out, and all he wants is to get what he came for and get out as quickly as possible. Figuring out how to match colors, as he eventually learns by the time he’s in uni, is a waste of time and consideration. Much easier and simpler to only buy clothes in shades that match no matter how you swap them out.

Of course, there are exceptions, and as life goes on in its chaotic and unaccountable way, he acquires items of clothing he wouldn’t otherwise have picked for himself. A colorful sweater from Georgie as a birthday gift. A free T-shirt from a uni event. He keeps these things for their sentimental value, but rarely wears them out of the house.

However, sometimes life is not only chaotic but also utterly unmanageable. And sometimes Jon finds himself with a promotion he doesn’t really know what to do with, an entire archive to organize, and less time than he’s ever had to do laundry.

And, well. One has to wear something to work, doesn’t one.

This is what Jon keeps telling himself as he miserably pulls on the last clean shirt left in his flat. He should know; he’s checked four times, and if he checks a fifth he’ll be late for work. He gives himself a glance in the small, dirty mirror stuck to the inside of his closet door, and looks away almost immediately, strangely embarrassed.

It’s just a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt, which is maybe a bit unprofessional for the workplace, but it’s not as though anybody minds how the people who work in the basement dress. The problem comes from its colors. Well, one of its colors. Three of them—black, grey, white—are perfectly suitable for Jon. But following those, at the bottom of the shirt, is a glaring, bright violet.

The shirt is a casualty of the aforementioned chaos of life. A friend of an acquaintance had given it to Jon to wear to a pride parade several years back, which he had ended up skipping out on anyway. Since then the shirt had been kept out of sight and mind, packed into the back of Jon’s closet for a rainy day that he’d never really expected to arrive.

There’s a first time for everything, Jon thinks, almost reflexively. The words don’t mean much to him, philosophically speaking, but they are a steadying mantra nonetheless. He goes to pull on his coat; by some measure of luck, it’s a cold day out. He plans not to take it off again until he’s safely back in his flat that night.

The trouble is, of course, that wearing one’s coat while making tea in the break room in an adequately-heated basement looks rather conspicuous to one’s coworkers, and leads to questions.

“You feeling alright, boss?” Tim asks, as he retrieves his bagged lunch from the fridge.

“Yes,” Jon says, stiffly. “Perfectly fine. I’m just cold.”

Sasha, who has followed Tim in, says, “Not sick, I hope.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jon says again, though he is beginning to feel a bit overheated. “It’s just cold in here. You don’t feel cold?”

Tim and Sasha shake their heads, looking concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jon says for the third time in thirty seconds, and promptly flees the break room.

By late afternoon, Jon is sweltering, and has no choice but to take off the coat. He’s careful to close his office door before he does so, resolving to put it back on if he needs to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

Though the garish violet stripe in his periphery is distracting at first, he loses himself in his work soon enough, spending an hour or two tearing through a stack of statements that are, by and large, utter nonsense.

He loses himself in his work so much, in fact, that when there’s a knock at his office door, he says “Come in,” without thinking.

“Hey, Jon,” says Tim as he enters, “d’you have a copy of statement zero-one-three-two . . .”

Tim’s voice drifts off, and Jon looks up, irritated. “Zero-one-three-two-what?”

Tim’s staring at him, an eager expression on his face, and Jon’s stomach goes cold. He looks down at the shirt, remembering, and stops himself from groaning. If he doesn’t react, maybe Tim will leave it alone. “What number were you looking for, Tim?” he says instead, very calmly and professionally.

But of course it doesn’t work. Tim’s face breaks into a smile, and he gives Jon a big, showy once-over. Jon rolls his eyes even before the words are out of Tim’s mouth. “Looking good, boss.”

“Tim, I have even less patience for sarcasm than usual, so if you could please—”

“Who said anything about sarcasm? You look good! Casual, ah, Tuesday suits you, Jon.”

Jon puts his elbows up on his desk and massages his temples. “I ran out of laundry.”

“Ah, been there.” Tim seems to have taken Jon’s resignation as an invitation, because he helps himself to the chair opposite Jon’s desk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the pride flag type, though. Don’t even think I’ve seen you with laptop stickers.”

“No,” Jon says, “I’m not. Not usually. This is just the only thing I had lying around. It’s from years ago, I never wear it.”

“Aw.” Tim genuinely looks disappointed. Jon wonders if perhaps he’s losing what remains of his tenuous ability to read people. “That’s a shame. You look good in purple.”

Jon has reached a point in his life, he’s fairly certain, where he ought to have heard such a comment before, or at least know the proper response. In actuality, he cannot recall a single instance of someone in his adult life complimenting his choice of fashion. He looks down at the shirt again. It’s the same as it was before: too-bright and obvious. He highly doubts it could look good on him in any shape or form. “Um. Thank you?” he says, sounding more bewildered than grateful.

“Really! It, like, brings out your eyes, or something. I dunno, but I think it’s nice on you. Not sure why you went through all the trouble to hide it all day.”

Jon shifts in his chair. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s very loud, isn’t it. And obvious. It’ll just attract attention.”

Tim looks at him for a moment or two. “Jon,” he says, “is this just about the shirt? Or is it also about the shirt?”

“That makes no sense, Tim.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jon, admittedly, does. One of the things he appreciates most about Tim is that they can be honest with one another, if only after some customary back-and-forth. He sighs deeply. “It’s—it’s just . . . a lot. I know it isn’t, really, in the grand scheme, it’s just you and Sasha, a-and Martin, too, I suppose. And it’s London, no one’s going to—it’s safe. I know that. B-But it’s a lot, being seen with everything—out in the open. By strangers. To know that they know. And even if they don’t know, they’ll . . . they’ll probably be able to guess.” He stares down at the scratched, cheap wood of his desk. Long ago, someone had carved a tiny pentagram on the lip of it. If Jon’s sense of humor weren’t buried under three layers of anxiety at the moment, he’d probably find it funny. “And I know it’s childish, to care what a bunch of strangers would think. But I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t just let it go.”

There’s a painfully long pause before Tim speaks up again.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you, Jon.”

Jon looks up at him warily, and finds that Tim is smiling at him. “What?”

He points at Jon’s coat where it hangs off the back of his chair. “You can put that back on.”

Jon blinks at him.

“At five,” Tim goes on, “you can put your coat back on, button it up, and walk out of here, and when you get back to your flat, Jon, you can do your bloody laundry. And you never have to wear that shirt ever again. Problem solved.”

“But . . .” Jon’s voice peters out before he can come up with a real protest.

“If wearing pride colors makes you feel like that,” Tim says, his voice gentler, “then don’t wear them. Simple as that. Not everybody’s got to carry a flag twenty-four-seven. Or ever. Doesn’t make you any less queer. Hell, even I take the pins off my bag sometimes.” Tim squints into the middle distance, muttering, “I can never seem to get the laptop stickers off, though.”

“But—what about what you said about me wearing purple?” He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but Tim’s argument is quite good. And the thought of never wearing this particular shirt again does sound rather appealing.

“So wear an aubergine button-down every once in a while!” Tim shrugs. “Or don’t! It’s none of my business.” He tilts his head to the side. “Actually, please do wear an aubergine button-down sometime. You’d turn some heads down here.” He pauses. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m sure everyone would be very respectful.”

Jon lets out a startled laugh. “Alright,” he says, feeling lighter. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll . . . I’ll try it.”

“I know you like your blacks and whites, Jon,” Tim says, “and I’m not here to tell you how to dress. But if you ever need advice, or want to borrow a colorful, strictly nondenominational shirt . . .” He points both thumbs at himself. “I’m your guy.”

“Okay,” Jon says, and is surprised to find that, in this one, specific case, he is.

“And,” Tim adds, pointing a professorial finger in the air, “it’s not childish to care about what other people think of you. Pretty sure it’s the most universal thing there is. Welcome to the human race, Jon. You’re among us peons, now.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “How unfortunate,” he says, drily, and Tim cackles.

Jon wears his coat home, keeping it carefully buttoned, and when he gets back to his flat he tosses the shirt into the back of his closet from whence it came. He’s not going to throw it away altogether, of course. It has sentimental value. Someday, maybe, he’ll dig it back up, if only just to look at.

For now, Jon does his bloody laundry.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,912 Words

Summary: The Todoroki family drama yet again.

Warnings: Cursing, Caps, Food Mention, Abuse Mention, Teen Pregnancy Mention, Arranged Marriage Mention, Forced Marriage Mention, Forced Pregnancy Mention, Blood Mention, Near Death Mention, Death Mention, Pregnancy Mention, Secret Pregnancy Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Usernames: Area 51   Aoyama: bonjour je suis Dora, Ashido: aggressive chicken dance, Asui: wut, Iida: Human Porche, Uraraka: Fuck Gravity, Ojiro: ceouolo, Kaminari: pikachoo, Kirishima: ordained, Koda: the muffin man?, Sato: dammit kevin, Shoji: pIaNoMaN, Jirou: neko neko kneecaps, Sero: wine and cheerios, Tokoyami: brb drowning, Todoroki: daddy issues, Hagakure: oreosandpussy, Bakugo: mother i crave violence, Midoriya: mistakes were made Mineta: Mineta, Shinsou: its a mental breakdown, Yaoyorozu: single braincell

Usernames: Emo Sanctuary  Jirou: tell tale heart, Tokoyami: eldritch peep, Todoroki: i love you 3000, Bakugou: knife tag, Midoriya: bitchasaurus, Shinsou: unhappy meal, Kuroiro: meth and deadamine, Shigaraki: depresso extra shot, Dabi: *sad kazoo*

Usernames: I Hate This Family  Shigaraki: I'm A Duck Now, Dabi: Unidentified Flaming Object, Toga: Mothman's Descendant, Twice: Car's Extended Warrantee, Compress: Communist Propaganda, Magne: Sir This Is A Wendy's, Spinner: I Taste Like Chicken

Usernames: Endeavor Hate Chat  Fuyumi: coconut cake, Natsuo: lemon cake, Shoto: red velvet cake, Haruhi/Dabi/Touya: chocolate cake, Bakugou: carrot cake, Shinsou: strawberry cake

Into The Group Chat We Go: Chapter 5

12:35 PM

Area 51

daddy issues: He looks like my oldest brother, Touya. he disappeared after I was born. But he looks just like him from the picture albums, but, you know, taller...and happy?

mother i crave violence: Ask him.

daddy issues: He looks so happy with Shinsou. Maybe I should just leave it. He doesn't need to be burdened with the family he left behind.

mother i crave violence: I'll fight you. Get downstairs, we need to make lunch for ourselves anyway and I won't have you trying to cook in your room.

Aizawa: No fighting, you two. But no cooking in your room either, Todoroki, that's dangerous.

daddy issues: Fuck both of you. I just won't eat then.

Aizawa: I hate children.

daddy issues: And I hate you, so we're even.

Aizawa: You can't push away every father figure in your life, kid. It won't work on the stubborn ones like me.

daddy issues: If this is your way of saying you want to steal me from my father and keep me as your own son, I won't object.

Aizawa: Alright, that too. Now come eat. You don't even need to talk to him.

daddy issues: I hate this fucking family.

daddy issues: Fine.

12:45 PM

I Hate This Family

Unidentified Flaming Object: I think we miscalculated. Don't address it, this is my problem, @I'm A Duck Now.

Mothman's Descendant: What happened?

Unidentified Flaming Object: I forgot a family member of mine goes to UA and he might knows what I look like since I look like I used to before the accident and my family might still have some pictures of me around for him to recognize me.

Sir This Is A Wendy's: YOU'RE BLOWING OUR COVER!?

Unidentified Flaming Object: He doesn't know I became a villain. To him, I'm just a "sibling" he never met. Unfortunately, I'm actually his mother.

Communist Propaganda: Do you think he knows by now?

Car's Extended Warrantee: Oh shit, man. You gonna be okay over there?

Unidentified Flaming Object: He probably doesn't know. The old man never even told Fuyumi that I was Shoto's mother. He probably didn't even tell him he had a different legal name on his first birth certificate.

I'm A Duck Now: Maybe call him by the name you named him?

12:55 PM

Area 51

oreosandpussy: Haruhi asked if someone named Akimitsu wants any plum kitkats.

fuck gravity: Isn't that your favorite candy, Todoroki?

daddy issues is now offline

wut: I feel like that's a bad sign.

oreosandpussy: They both just stared at each other and left the room!

its a mental breakdown: sibling bond telepathy.

wine and cheerios: No because none of my siblings and I can do that. That's not fair.

ceouolo: you have siblings?

wine and cheerios: yeah, I have nine siblings, man.

ceouolo: Sero wins that bet. He has the most siblings. I thought Hagakure would win with five sisters.

oreosandpussy: We're getting away from the point here. Haruhi and Shoto just disappeared after Haruhi said the name of someone who isn't here.

fuck gravity: Todoroki is probably back-alley dealing him use of Endeavor's credit card for the kitkats knowing him.

2:25 PM

I Hate This Family

Unidentified Flaming Object: So I told my kid that I'm his mother. He took it better than I thought and he wants to call me Dad now and I think I'm going to cry tonight.

Mothman's Descendant: Good job, Touya!

2:25 PM

Area 51

daddy issues: I'd like to announce I have a shiny new father who doesn't come with abusive tendencies and is actually my biological parent.

its a mental breakdown: I'm so proud of you!

daddy issues: I just realized I got a two for one. I just got a real dad and an adopted brother all in one.

its a mental breakdown: still supportive but what? please explain.

daddy issues: Haruhi's legal name is Touya and he's my biological mother. Enji forced him into a very young arranged quirk marriage at 12 for more spawn to train because Rei became infertile after Natsuo due to the emergency hysterectomy they performed on her to save her life because she was hemorrhaging. I was the sole result of that marriage before Haruhi ran away but wasn't able to take me with him since Endeavor passed me off as his own child with Rei after paying the doctors that did her hysterectomy not to talk.

fuck gravity: Sho, Haruhi's a guy.

daddy issues: Yes, he's transgender. So he's my biological mother but he's my Dad.

oreosandpussy: Does this have something to do with the 'Akimitsu' thing?

daddy issues: Actually, my birth name was Akimitsu. He named me and Natsuo used to call me that when Enji wasn't home because he'd heard Haruhi call me that once before he ran away. Endewhore and Rei renamed me almost immediately on a second birth certificate they'd had made as if I was Rei's son.

mother i crave violence: Technically, you got two adopted brothers. Me and Shinsou.

daddy issues: And you two got another brother too.

aggressive chicken dance: dumbass trio.

mother i crave violence: I'm oldest, I automatically win.

its a mental breakdown: Ask Haruhi what kind of quirk your sperm donor had.

daddy issues: He says it was a mental block quirk. Oh my god, the dude had blue hair. Hitoshi, blue fucking hair with Haruhi's red hair.

its a mental breakdown: Are we sure he's not my real parent?

mother i crave violence: Toshi, your birthday is in July. He couldn't have had you five months after he had Shoto.

daddy issues: Well, actually, that's technically possible, in a longshot kind of way since he was about seven months when he had me.

its a mental breakdown: Regardless, I say we claim we're triplets and Haruhi had the two of us after he ran away.

daddy issues: He says that's a funny idea and he's absolutely going with it.

daddy issues: I'm also adding all three of you to our family's group chat once I can go Endeavor's home and grab my legal documents and the rest of my things tonight. So that'll be fun.

Aizawa: I and Present Mic will go with you.

pikachoo has changed Aizawa's name to Mom

pikachoo: Because you're basically our mom.

Mom: You may live because I'm busy.

8:00 PM

Endeavor Hate Chat

red velvet cake: I'm heading home tonight to grab things with my two friends, two teachers, and someone else. Is Enji there?

coconut cake: No, he's out patrolling and all.

red velvet cake: Good. Would you like to help me move all my stuff out, including my legal documents?

coconut cake: Wait, what!? Why!?

red velvet cake: I would like you to remain calm, alright? Enji isn't my father and you aren't my sister, nor Natsuo my brother. I'm not the child of Todoroki Enji and Himura Rei.

coconut cake: Shoto, I know you hate being part of the family but you can't disown us! I love you! I'll change, I promise! I'll finally cut Enji off, just please keep me in your life!

red velvet cake: That's not it, Fuyumi. I'm saying these things because Rei is not my mother, she's my grandmother. Enji is my grandfather, You and Natsuo are my aunt and uncle. I know about Touya now and I know what happened now.

lemon cake: Akimitsu?

red velvet cake: Yes, I know about the Akimitsu situation. Probably more than you do, actually.

lemon cake: What else is there?

red velvet cake: One minute. Let me just.

red velvet cake has added Haruhi, Hitoshi, and Katsuki to Endeavor Hate Chat

coconut cake: Who are they?

red velvet cake: Hitoshi and Katsuki are my brothers. Haruhi is my Dad. You two probably know him better by the name Touya.

lemon cake: You're fucking with me. Stop it, Shoto.

coconut cake: Shoto, this prank or whatever isn't funny!

red velvet has started a video chat

Dad, say hi to Fuyumi and Natsuo. -red velvet cake

Hey, there guys. Long time no see? -Haruhi

Oh my god, you're really here. I thought you were dead, Touya. Can I still call you that? -lemon cake

I go by either Touya or Haruhi, I don't mind which. -Haruhi

We're visiting the house with my teachers, Eraserhead and Present Mic, to move the rest of my things out of Enji's home and into my dorm room. -red velvet cake

That sounds like a plan. I'll be over in about ten minutes to help them, Fuyu. -lemon cake

Oh yeah, and what are you guy's favorite cake flavors? Which one do you like the most? -coconut cake

Chocolate. -Haruhi

Carrot. -Katsuki

Ew, Kats. Strawberry. -Hitoshi

Yours are both gross. But I'll bear it because you're my sons. -Haruhi

Oh my god. -red velvet cake

red velvet cake has ended the video chat

coconut cake has changed Haruhi's name to chocolate cake

coconut cake has changed Katsuki's name to carrot cake

coconut cake has changed Hitoshi's name to strawberry cake

10:50 PM

Area 51

daddy issues: I am now 100% moved out of Endeavor's house and I found my original birth certificate listing my birth parents.

daddy issues: I also found some hidden documents and medical records. Turns out me and Shinsou really are brothers and Haruhi had no fucking idea because he didn't even know he was still pregnant when he had him.

brb drowning: What the fuck?

neko neko kneecaps: How would he not know!?

daddy issues: He went to the hospital and the doctors took Hitoshi away from Haruhi because they found out he was a homeless kid so they sedated him, must have cut Toshi out, and left Toshi on an orphanage's doorstep.

daddy issues: But they tested Hito and still sent Enji his birth certificate, so I don't know why they lied to Dad.

its a mental breakdown: So I guess you could say I was a secret during the pregnancy even from my own mother?

fuck gravity: But he had you in January, Shoto? And then he had Shinsou in July five months later?

Human Porche: Hold on, Shinsou is 14 by that math.

its a mental breakdown: Actually, the nuns who raised me lied about my birthday to only me so I've been mistakenly putting my birthday down as July 1st on school forms for the last ten years. They did it just so I wouldn't find my mother. Which, again, doesn't make sense. Maybe someone wrote it wrong? But I was actually born on January 12th. Technically me and Sho are fraternal twins with different birthdays.

mother i crave violence: So I'm Haruhi's only not biological son.

is a mental breakdown: We love you, Katsuki.

daddy issues: We love you, Kats.

neko neko kneecaps: They're twins, your honor.

pikachoo: You two are cute being twins.

mother i crave violence: This is creepy. The twins are creepy.

mistakes were made: Next we'll find out Kirishima and Tetsutetsu are twins or something.

ordained: We are. Mom got me, Dad got him. Our Mom has Diamond Skin and Dad has Dermal Armor. We're twins, I'm about an hour older than him and our parents separated and remarried before our quirks even came in.

mistakes were made: Oh my god.

daddy issues: I'm adding that to my conspiracy board and nobody will stop me or they will get pinned to the conspiracy board.

Taglist: @lgbtforeverything @rin-tanaka @everythingisstardust @paint-in-flames @t4t-ummiurk

[raendown]

I return from the dead with a fic that isn't even for the Naruto fandom and I don't really have an explanation for myself.

Pairing: SamBucky Word count: 2317 Fandom: MCU Summary: Visiting Steve was always strange now that the guy was old and retired. Still, of all the things Sam expected out of today, witnessing a prime example of gay panic from the co-worker that's been mysteriously avoiding him was not one of them.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info under the header!

Honestly, the fact that Steve's house smelled like prunes was probably one of the funniest things that Sam had ever heard in his life. More than anything he would have loved to go back in time, to the days of reading about glorified heroes in history textbooks, and tell his fifteen year old self that Captain America, Steve Rogers, retired in a house that smelled like prunes. God, his best friend just had to throw himself in to being old the way he threw himself in to everything else.

"Is there a special reason for you visiting?" Steve's voice was more tremulous these days, less steady but no less warm. Just hearing him again after the shameful amount of weeks it had been since his last visit made Sam grin.

"Nah, just thought I'd pop in and see if you'd expired yet. Your birthday's coming up. Gonna be, what, three hundred? A thousand?"

Steve narrowed his eyes but there was fondness in them so it wasn't very scary even if he could probably still tackle Sam across the room if he wanted to. At this point it would hurt him too but he could do it. "You, young man, are-"

He looked chagrined at himself when Sam cut him off with a laugh.

"You shitting me? Did you really just call me young man? See if I ever let you live that down."

His friend grumbled but accepted the teasing as his due. That was just what he got for going back in time and doubling down on being so much older than his own best friends.

Since it had indeed been a little too long after they last saw each other there was quite a bit of catching up for them to do. Over cool glasses of sweet tea and a plate of cookies the two of them spent a pleasant couple of hours shooting the shit until Sam could almost forget the years that stretched between them now. It was jarring, sometimes, looking away from those clear blue eyes to realize all over again just how many wrinkles they were set in. Sometimes he hated it. Other times he could only smile to know that at least one of their ragtag bunch had found the peace they were looking for.

Eventually all that sweet tea went right to his bladder and Sam excused himself to use the bathroom. When he returned he took in the sight of his friend all snug under one of the blankets his late wife had knit and sighed, feeling maudlin suddenly for no good reason.

"I should probably get out of your hair," he said. "Let you get in your afternoon nap or whatever. No, stay there man, I'll clean up." His smile was easy as he snagged the dishes from their grazing and hauled it all over to the kitchen.

"You sure?" Steve's voice floated after him. "Nothing else you want to get off your chest?"

"Huh?"

Sam frowned at the cups he'd just placed in the sink, running back through his mind. They'd talked about pretty much everything he could think of.

"You didn't mention Buck once, you know. I thought the two of you were friends now."

"Ah. Yeah. So did I." The corners of his mouth twisted with a little bitterness, a little confusion. After everything they'd been through and the number of times Bucky had accepted his invitations down to Delacroix he'd thought they were well past the point of calling themselves friends. Maybe he himself felt something a little more than that but he knew better than to push.

That was probably why Bucky's sudden radio silence hurt so much though.

"Trouble in paradise?" Steve called from the other room and Sam snorted.

“Shit, I don’t know. One minute we’re fine and the next he just up and disappears on me again. I may or may not have checked a bunch of obituaries for your name just in case because I have no idea what I might have done to piss him off.” Sam pursed his lips. He’s already gone over all this with Sarah a half dozen times and in all the recounts he’d done of their last couple missions he still couldn’t find any particularly bad moment between him and his best friend. Unfortunately the sweet tea he was glaring at didn’t have any answers either so he snatched the pitcher up and moved to put it in the fridge.

“Have you tried, oh I don’t know, asking him what’s wrong?”

“You think I didn’t try that?”

Steve’s hum drifted down the hallway with a distinct note of sass. “Neither one of you is very famous for your communication.”

“Excuse you, I was a counselor. A certified veteran’s counselor. Communicating with people was literally my job until your overly buff ass came running around all ‘on your left’ and ‘everyone I know is trying to kill me’.” Sam huffed as he snapped the fridge closed. “I damn well tried to talk to him but he’s not answering my texts or my calls. Short of breaking in to his apartment I don’t really know what else you want me to do.”

Without any other excuses to keep him in the kitchen Sam heaved a sigh, knowing he couldn’t dawdle any longer. He could only get to the door by going though the living room so his choices were either run away out the back, which he would never ever hear the end of, or go back in to the living room and face Steve with his stupidly wise and knowing eyes. Seriously, let a guy live to almost two hundred and suddenly he thought he knew everything. Annoying was what it was.

He was only halfway down the hall when he heard the front door open. Sam very carefully swallowed down the jibe he’d just been about to deliver and hoped that meant what he thought it meant. Maybe Steve had finally gone vague after all and bailed in the middle of their conversation; he’d rather chase a crazy old coot down the street than talk about his feelings regarding one James Buchanan Barnes. Actually if he looked at it from the right angle then chasing an old coot down the street was pretty much his job description whenever he and his partner teamed up on missions. Sam was just glad they hadn’t been called in to one since this whole silent treatment had started because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know whether or not Bucky would still have his back even when the guy was mad at him over reasons unknown.

Two more steps and Sam froze in his tracks, eyes wide with disbelief. Bucky’s shoulders were hunched in to himself with something bridling on panic as he fit himself through the front door and kicked it shut behind himself, eyes wild and fixed on the ground between his feet, nervous energy pouring out of him in a way Sam hadn’t seen before. From his spot on the couch Steve watched his childhood friend let himself in with serene indifference.

“Didn’t know you’d be over today,” was all he said. Then he smiled benignly when Bucky let out a soft whine.

“Help,” Bucky pleaded. “I’m dying.”

Then Bucky slid down to his knees and face planted in the carpet, arms and legs splaying out wide. Steve hummed.

“You know,” he murmured, “no one ever believes me when I tell them you’re this dramatic.”

“Steve! I’m having a crisis!”

“I tell everyone you’re a drama queen and they just shake their heads at me.”

“This is important! You have to kill me, Steve. Or I’m gonna just- just-!” Bucky’s voice petered out with another extended whine muffled by the carpet that probably didn’t smell any better from that close up.

Crossing one leg over the other, Steve folded his hands in his lap with a great lack of concern for the ridiculous scene playing out before him. Sam remained frozen in the hallway, wondering if Bucky even realized he was there, but he got an answer to that almost faster than if he’d bothered to ask himself.

“What’s wrong, pal?”

“It’s Sam!” Bucky cried. His arms lifted up like wings to flail briefly before falling back to the floor in a boneless sprawl. “Please just crush my head or something. I can’t take this.”

“Ah, yes, I hear you’ve been avoiding him.”

Whatever kind of noise Bucky was trying to make, it came out sounding more like he was choking on carpet fumes. “Of course I’m avoiding him!”

“Now why on earth would you do that?”

“I want to stick my tongue in the gap between his teeth!” Bucky said, entirely unaware of the sparks that were suddenly running up Sam’s spine in the hallway. “Help me, Steve! I want to press my thumb in the little dimple on his back. He has a dimple on his back! Why!? Steve I want to hold his hand! What the fuck!”

Steve had both eyebrows up near his hairline and the most shit eating grin any human on the planet had ever worn when he turned his head to look at Sam. Frozen with his eyes on the figure currently panicking in to the floor, Sam paid him no attention. He was busy processing. After getting to know Bucky, inviting him to stay in Delacroix time and time again, the dramatics weren’t actually that much of a surprise. Obviously as they grew closer he’d gotten a number of glimpses in to who the real Bucky Barnes was under the grouchy veneer he presented to the world. Watching him starfish on the ground and whine wasn’t too far from what he’d already seen.

Hearing him say anything about his tongue in conjecture with Sam’s teeth, on the other hand, now that was a bit unexpected. More than a bit.

“I think Shuri called this ‘gay panic’ and honestly I’m in agreement,” Bucky went on mindlessly. “If I have to watch him go through one more workout and not grab his ass with both hands then I’m just going to rip both of them off. Who needs hands if I cannot grab Sam Wilson’s ass with them!?”

“You may be slightly exaggerating the situation, I feel,” Steve told him.

Bucky snorted. “I am not. I absolutely am not. Why is he so hot? And nice? I hate that. Except I don’t. Steve why is he so nice to me?”

“That might be a question you should ask him.”

“Oh yeah, sure, I’ve got lots of questions for him! Hey Sam, why are you nice to me? Hey Sam, can I lick your cheekbones? Hey Sam, how big is your cock?”

“Well. Not that I’ve ever thought to ask that myself but, alright. Go on, Sam, how big is it?”

Sam had just enough time to cross his arms over his chest and assume a very casual pose leaning against the wall beside him before Bucky’s head shot up off the carpet. If possible, his eyes were even more wild than before when he fixed them on Steve, full of the deepest betrayal. Then he very slowly dragged them sideways to see the man he’d just been panicking over. Sam gave him a very friendly smile.

“Depends on your frame of reference,” he admitted. “I’d say sizeable.”

“Nnnggggg.”

“Hi Buck.”

“Ggnnn.”

While Steve very poorly disguised a laugh behind one hand, Sam pushed off from the wall and sauntered further in to the living room. Bucky slammed his face back in to the carpet.

“Leave me here to die,” he pleaded in a very small voice. Sam tutted, reaching for the front door, only looking over his shoulder once he was halfway through it.

“Come on, Buck, can’t lick my cheekbones if you don’t get off the floor. It was a nice visit, Steve, but don’t be looking out your front curtains for a bit. I think I’ll let Bucky decide for himself what sizeable means.” He thanked god for the mercy of Steve’s house being situated out here so far from any other homes, surrounded on all sides by enough trees that you couldn’t see it from the road. A gorgeous little island of privacy. Sam was fairly sure he wasn’t the only one grateful for this, judging by the mad scrambling noises he could hear going on behind him.

Bucky’s voice garbled out something that sounded like ‘fuck you, thank you, bye forever’ and then Sam was listening to the slam of the front door barely a second before strong hands were wrapping themselves around his hips. He laughed even as Bucky’s face came in to view.

“Greatest assassin of several generations and you didn't notice my truck in the driveway?” he said.

“I may have been a bit distracted.” That was definitely a pout on Bucky’s lips.

“By being so hot for all of this”-Sam gestured vaguely down his own body-“that you literally ceased being able to function.”

He didn’t expect such easy agreement as the sheepish nod that followed his words. “Pretty much.”

Sam blinked slowly once, twice. For one long moment he considered teasing the man. Then he decided that their time was much better spent doing things they’d both obviously been wanting to do while assuming they would never get the chance.

“I was promised a tongue in my teeth. Are you gonna get to that any time soon or am I gonna sit here and pine some more for something I apparently could have had all along?”

Bucky keened piteously. Then he surged forward to follow through on his own promises and Sam really hoped that Steve had taken his words to heart about the curtains. The man was way too old to be seeing all the ways they were about to defile the side of this truck.

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 16: Are You Crazy?

(Ally + Lyn + Michael)

Michael.

The text I received that morning was the most wonderful thing in the world.

The test results were in.

I got out of bed quickly, making sure to text the group chat before heading out the door. If I was being honest, I wasn’t actually that excited to know what the results were, but at least we might a confirmation of some sorts that will help us with the case! I threw on my heavy jacket and dashed out the door, not even caring about how early it was.

Making my way across campus towards the lab, I wondered what it was that we would find. Would the slime sample actually be human DNA? What if there was nothing at all? What if this had all been for nothing. I really hoped it wasn’t the last one. I still had really wicked headaches every now and then, and I’m pretty sure Lyn’s arm was going to scar from those nasty claw wounds. Not that I had the guts to tell her that.

I quickly unlocked the door to the lab and walked in, smiling when I saw Lamar already waiting for me. Lamar was the 3rd year who I had mentioned liked me who would probably help us out, and I was glad that I was right about that. I clapped him on the back and leaned against the counter, practically vibrating with energy.

“What’s the news, bud?” I asked.

“Like I texted you, the results came back,” he said as he reached for the tablet. “Something that I found interesting, however, was this.” He pointed to one of the results on the screen.

I looked at them with interest, instantly noticing that there was more than one DNA result. Now, that wouldn’t be totally unusual had this been a normal situation, because only God knows what could be on the wall of a locker room, but the fact that I had pulled the sample from a very small and specific site should have meant that there was very little to no contamination. However, I could see that there were at least 3 different results.

The first one wasn’t too surprising, belonging to one Jackie Park. That was the girl who got attacked by that freaky monster. The second one belonged to someone named Fredrik Moore, which wasn’t too surprising because Ally just told us about him the other day. It was the third result that was startling to me, because I didn’t recognize it at all. The DNA belong to someone named Jerimiah Kinkly. It was only after staring at the name for several minutes that it clicked. Kinkly. Like Professor Kinkly?!

“Thanks for this, Lamar,” I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. “Can you email this to me?”

“Absolutely,” he said, quickly doing just that.

I was just about to bolt to go tell Ally about this in person, when he reached over to grab my wrist. I looked over to him in question.

“What is this all about?” he asked, hand waving at the tablet. “I agreed to help, but this seems a lot deeper than a simple science project.”

“If I could tell you, I would,” I gently removed his hand from my wrist. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I could say that could make this make sense.”

Concern crossed over his face. “Is this dangerous, Michael? Is that how you ended up with that horrible concussion?”

I tried to go for an easy smile, but I think it came out more like a grimace. “Seriously, man, don’t worry about it. Everything is under control.” I hated lying to anyone, but especially my friends. The look of disbelief on Lamar’s face was almost enough to make me spill the beans, but I couldn’t do that to Ally.

“If you say so…” he looked extremely unsure as he stepped away, crossing his arms together. “Just be careful, Michael. No one here wants to see you get hurt again.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised. I left after that, feeling like a weight just got added to my chest. I honestly couldn’t believe how deep this whole thing had gone. It started as wanting to help figure out who attacked an innocent student to evolving into solving the murders of several different people at this school.

The sad part was thinking of how no one looked into the mysterious circumstances of their deaths. Each time they agreed it was just suicide. Did no one think to ask why a student who just finished his exams would jump to his death? No one questioned the graphic nature of another student’s death? It was just another example of how terrible our policing system was. They were too willing to take the easy answer.

I looked over to the tree where Dahlia Cressman’s spirit resided. Why were there so many dead people on this campus? The thought of that alone was unsettling. It was almost as unsettling as knowing that the murderer was still on campus, with Ally dropping that bomb on us this morning. I would never tell my mom that she was right for saying that this wasn’t a safe school, but damn was she right. I would have to get her a really nice gift for her birthday to let her know.

I glanced at my phone, wondering if there was enough time for us to meet before class. I knew that my class started at 9:30, and Ally had a class at 9:30 as well. I didn’t know Lyn’s schedule but it was clearly busy so she usually couldn’t meet with us until the evening or on Fridays. At the very least, I could tell Ally before our respective classes.

I managed to catch her at meal hall, where she was working her way through some peanut butter toast. I slid in next to her, and she looked over in mild surprise.

“Hey, Michael,” she said through a mouth full of toast.

“Hey, did you see my text?”

She nodded, covering her mouth with a hand. “I did, yeah. Did you get to see them already?”

“Yes!” I pulled the email up, showing the results to her.

Ally’s brow furrowed in concern as she slowly read it over. Her lip curled inwardly as she looked away, clearly thinking deeply. I gave her a minute to work through her thoughts before asking her what she was thinking about.

“It’s just something…” she pulled open her bag as she muttered under her breath. Ally pulled out the notebook that she’s been writing all the case notes in, reading it over quickly. Finally, she let out a small gasp.

“What is it?” I asked, looking over her shoulder. Her handwriting was so messy in the book, and I wasn’t sure where to look for the shocking note that she jotted down that was causing her reaction.

“Dahlia told me something a while ago, but so much as happened since then,” she explained quickly, flipping through the book, “that I forgot about it. She told me that there was two people in the Athletic Centre, but that one of them had died when the campus had been first built or sometime before it. The other, who I bet money on is Fiona Moore, resided there since she died. Here where it doesn’t make sense, because your results suggest that her brother is one of the spirts there. So why is there another person? Kinkly? Is his related to our Drama prof? And why didn’t Dahlia tell me there were three people there?” She ran her hand through her hair, blowing her breath out in frustration through pursed lips.

“Maybe she didn’t know?” I suggested.

“Maybe…” she mumbled. “Still, I think I’d better check with her.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Why don’t we do that later?”

She nodded firmly. “Sounds like a plan. We can get Lyn, and all go together. Even if you guys can’t see her, I think it’s better if you’re there for this.”

“Okay,” I said. “But make sure this doesn’t consume you all day, yea’?”

“I’ll try my best but make no promises.”

“Good enough for me.”

We left shortly after that, heading to our classes. Though I told her not to overthink it, I ended up mulling it over all throughout Finite Math. There was so much going on, and it was starting to feel like there was no end to this rabbit hole. If this little bit was getting to me, I wondered how Ally was coping with this all?

XXX

Lyn.

I think I was starting to dissociate a bit.

I was sitting at my usual table before practice, my textbook open in front of me but I was staring off into space. My lack of proper sleep was catching up to me, and the weekend just made everything so much worse. I should have just asked Olivia if she wanted to do something alone with me instead, but the choice had been made, so I had to live with the consequences.

I had music playing, but even with my headphones on it sounded far away. I whacked my knee before sitting down, and while I was aware that it should hurt, it didn’t really feel like anything. I only felt like this a couple of times before, so I knew it was pretty bad. Maybe I should try talking to that woman again, the mental health lady. I couldn’t even remember her name.

I saw the texts from Michael and Ally, but I had no energy to answer them. I just had stared blankly at them before putting my phone face down, so I didn’t have to see them anymore. Now here I was, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer it was until practice was. But my brain felt like it was in a fog, I had no real concentration. Finally, I gave up on pretending I was doing work. I packed it all away and headed for the pool.

When I got there, no one else was around just yet. That was okay with me. I changed into my swimsuit and pulled on my sweatpants. I walked to the pool slowly, hoping that the feeling would soon go away. The heat of the pool was there, but it didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t really feel it. I just starting do my warmup exercises when I heard the voices of the others starting to drift in.

Sit up. Hold. Down. Repeat. Going through the motions of the crunches wasn’t doing much for me. It didn’t even feel like I was doing anything. I was looking up at the ceiling of the pool when Loryn’s face appeared over mine, concern etched in her features.

“Hey,” I said dully.

“Hey,” she echoed softly. “Can I sit with you?”

I nodded, not making any effort to move from my spot. I was pretty sure the others were coming over to see what was going on, but Loryn shooed them away.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Loryn asked gently, her hand hovering over mine. I nodded again and shuddered when the warmth of her hand covered mine. It was the first sensation I had since Ally grabbed my hand yesterday. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” my voice sounded so tired to my own ears.

“What’s going on, Lyn? Can you tell me?”

“You’re being very nice to me,” I noted dryly.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she said firmly.

I sighed heavily, feeling a little bit of tension leave my body. “I’m processing some shit.”

Loryn frowned. She ran her thumb over my hand, her eyes crinkled in thought. “Processing what? Does it have something to do with your weekend home?”

I’m not sure why, because it wasn’t funny at all, but I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe, my hand covering my face. Loryn’s hand squeezed mine, but she waited until I stopped before saying anything.

“Lyn?” The concern was so obvious in her voice, it made me feel sick to my stomach.

“Yeah, something happened,” I said bitterly. “I fucking hate going home because everything is shit. Leigh and I got into it with one another and mum is a fucking sociopath who gets sick enjoyment watching us all squirm as she bullies us. I shouldn’t have gone but I had this insane notion that maybe, just maybe if I did, I could fix my stupid broken relationships with my sisters at least! But here I am, miserable because I was a bloody optimist, and I got burned for it. I can’t sleep a full night’s sleep and haven’t been able to since before what happened to Jackie and I just want it all to stop!”

My chest was heaving, and my eyes were prickly, but I felt a little bit better after getting it all out. I refused to remove my hand from my eyes, instead opting to lie there with my eyes closed tight.

“What…what do you mean?” Loryn’s voice sounded hesitant. “You want what to all stop?”

“I dunno…” I took a deep breath to stop myself from shaking. “I’m just so fucking exhausted, Loryn. I don’t think I can keep going like this.”

Loryn reached over, taking my hand off my face. I cracked open a single eye, only to shut it again when I saw the look of fear in her eyes. “No, Lyn, please look at me,” she said quietly.

So, I did. I opened my eyes and looked over at my friend, whose face was twisted up with conflicting emotions. Why did I always feel sick when someone looked at me that way? I didn’t need them to pity me more or anything. I know that’s not what Loryn was doing at all, but it felt that way.

“Lyn,” she started softly, “I need you listen to what I’m saying, okay? You have to relax. No more pushing yourself to the limits. I am your friend, and I’m saying this because I care about you so much, but it’s fucking ridiculous how much pressure you’re putting on yourself. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, not anymore. You’ve shown how bright you are, how caring you are, and how much effort you put into everything. Forget them and focus on you.”

I stared into her eyes and a realization came to me slowly. Loryn cared about me, this I knew. But the reason why I always felt sick when I saw someone looking at me that way was because no one ever looked at me like that while growing up. Someone actually giving a shit about me was so alien to me that I reacted negatively each time I saw it.

“Focus on me…?” I repeated slowly, my own voice unsure. I sat up a little, blinking rapidly. “Loryn, I’m not sure how to do that.”

Loryn smiled at me, with a small shake of her head. “I know, you dumbass. That’s why we’re here for you. You just have to tell us what you need, okay?”

What I need? I looked around, taking in the sights around me for the first time. I saw Andrew standing nearby, twisting his cap in his hands in a fit of nervous energy. Kerry and Matt stood close enough that they could be there right away, both looking worried. Tammy and Emma sat on the blocks, talking to each other but clearly keeping an eye on me. Maddie was making sure that Will didn’t make his way over at all. I shifted to my knees, feeling overwhelmed with feelings. I…how could I be so blind? These idiots were here for me last year, yet I was so wrapped in my own drama that I never noticed it, but I could see it clearly now. We were family, like Coach Jacob said at the start of the season. These people, they were here for me, if I needed it. Just like we were for Gunner. Just like we were for Jackie.

“Loryn…I-” I choked. I was shaking as I reached over, pulling her into a crushing hug. “I need help,” I practically whispered the last part.

She reached up, running her hand through my hair. “I know, Lyn, I know. We’ve got you.”

Next thing I knew, they were all there. The whole thing was so overstimulating, and I felt myself dissociating again, but that was fine. I sat there under their smothering hugs, staring off into space again. Help, that’s what I needed. Someone who I could talk to about everything, all the abuse, all the impossible expectations. I knew deep down it wasn’t going to be easy for me, these kinds of things never were. We were always told that people who needed metal health help were weak, because they were unable to cope with ‘daily stressors’ but I knew this wasn’t true. I saw Ally, how she dealt with all the shit life threw at her, but it didn’t make her weak. If anything, Ally was stronger than I ever could be.

I closed my eyes, resting my head on Loryn’s shoulder. Right now, I felt weak. And that was okay.

XXX

Ally.

Now I promised Michael I wasn’t going to be obsessive all day about this, and I think for the most part I kept that promise. Key word being most.

It’s just that the whole thing was extremely concerning and interesting to me. I truly believed that Dahlia didn’t keep something from me intentionally, which led me to believe that she really wasn’t aware of Fredrik’s presence in the locker room. Which led me wondering how he managed to escape her notice. Like I’ve said before, somehow answers always ended up leading to more questions. It was a wonder how I haven’t torn my hair out yet in frustration.

I looked down at my notebook, filled with all the information that the others and I have gathered so far. The most shocking piece of the puzzle was this Jeremiah Kinkly fellow. There was a very slim chance that he wasn’t related to our dreadful Drama professor. How was Professor Kinkly connected in all of this? Was he even? Was it merely coincidence that this name showed up at all? I was starting to get a headache from all of thoughts buzzing around in my head.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I never even noticed when this guy approached my table. He rapped his knuckles against the hardwood, causing me to jump in surprise. I looked up at him, blinking in confusion.

“Yes?”

He smirked at me, making my stomach flipped uncomfortably. “Hey, babe, I was wondering if I could sit with you? There’s no available seats.”

Babe? Excuse me? I looked around and noticed there were several empty seats. I turned back to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “Actually, I’m pretty sure there are a bunch around. Maybe take a second look?”

“Well,” he drawled, leaning down into my space, “I just wanted to sit with a hot girl like you. Is that okay?”

I shook my head, really taking this guy in. He had dark hair that was combed back and hawkish features. He was good looking, but I couldn’t shake the predatory feeling I was getting off of him. It was making me uneasy.

“Sorry?” He looked shocked. “Are you actually saying no to me? You know there’s nothing stopping me from sitting here if I wanted to, right? Stop being a bitch.”

“Stop being a bitch?!” I stood up, glaring at him fiercely. “I’m not being a bitch because I don’t what some asshole sitting with me!”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off when someone angrily said, “Derek, get the fuck away from her, you creep.”

I looked behind me to see Lyn and Loryn standing behind me, anger in their eyes. I have to admit, while I felt I had this under control, seeing Lyn glaring at this guy and protecting me had a certain sexiness to it.

“Lyn!” He went from annoyed to smarmy in a flash. “How have you been doing, sexy?”

“None of your business,” she snarled at him, fury in her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I made it clear I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Now, don’t you have someone else to bother? Where’s Poppy at?”

The guy, Derek, shrugged lazily. “Dumped her a while back. She was fun for awhile, but she was looking for something more committed. I wasn’t about to do that for her. Anyway, I’m not sure why you give a damn who I talk to, so I’m pretty sure this chick here is free game.”

“I’m not a piece of property!” I snapped.

When Derek didn’t step away, both Lyn and Loryn stepped closer so they were beside me. Derek sized us all up, and maybe after seeing how much more fit the two swimmers were, decided it wasn’t worth the fight. He shrugged away, running a hand through his hair.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Forgot what a cunt you could be, Lyn.”

Lyn’s face coloured with anger, but it was Loryn who shoved a hand into his chest. “I never fucking want to hear you speak to Lyn or any other girl like that again, you bastard,” she growled menacingly. “If I do, you’ll regret ever making an enemy of Loryn Frasier.”

He rolled his eyes and finally walked away, clearly making the right decision in not saying anything else. After he was fully out of our sights, Loryn looked over her shoulder at me.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Thanks. I think I had it under control, but the help was appreciated.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Lyn, looking bashful. “I figured you were okay, but Derek is awful. Even looking at him makes my skin crawl. We saw what was happening and just reacted.” She tugged at her ear, staring down at her shoes.

“Who was he anyway?”

“My ex,” sighed Lyn. “One of them, anyhow.”

“Seriously one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made in your entire life,” commented Loryn.

“Shut up, I know.”

That was Lyn’s ex? Ugh, he was a piece of work. I scowled in his direction one last time before moving on. It was one bad conversation, hopefully it wouldn’t happen again. Shaking my head, I looked over to the two of them. Loryn caught my eye and patted Lyn on the shoulder, pulling her close. She whispered something, which Lyn nodded to. Sparing her friend one last thoughtful look, Loryn waved goodbye to us as she left us alone.

We stood there silently for a few seconds as Lyn continued to look down at her shoes. She seemed a little less tense than she did yesterday, but she looked even more tired. I tapped my shoe against hers, knocking her out of her thoughts.

She looked up, our eyes meeting. I smiled at her, and eventually she smiled back. Not one of those fake smiles that she’s been using, but a real one. It was small, but it was there. And, there was a brightness to her eyes that hadn’t been there in a while.

“Sorry I didn’t answer your text,” she said almost shyly. “I was processing some stuff. I’m feeling a little better, so I wanted to see what you wanted in person.”

“Only if you’re feeling better,” I said.

“Honestly, I still feel like shit,” she snorted. “But I made a breakthrough. I’m not feeling fantastic, but I’m feeling well enough that I could come and be here for you tonight.”

“If you’re sure,” I nodded. “I just wanted you and Michael to be here when I spoke to Dahlia Cressman tonight. I’m hopeful we’ll get some answers.”

We started walking out of the library. Lyn had a thoughtful look on her face, but I was hesitant to push her for her thoughts, so I didn’t ask what was on her mind. We walked over to the tree where Michael was already waiting for us, shivering from the cold. He perked up when he recognized us in the dark.

“Thank God you’re here,” he said to me as we approached. “People kept staring at me.”

“Welcome to my world,” I laughed.

“Soooo, what’s the plan?” he asked, looking over at the tree. Lyn and I looked over as well.

“I’m hopefully going to get some answers,” I declared.

“Answers for what, Ally?”

The air pressure changed as Dahlia appeared in front of me, her arms crossed with a disinterested look. Instinctively, Michael stepped closer to me, hand going to my shoulder. For his comfort or mine, I wasn’t sure. If Lyn noticed the difference in the air, she didn’t show it. She was staring at the tree with curiosity, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Hi, Dahlia,” I said cheerfully.

“I hope for both of our sake’s you’re not trying to press more answers out of me that I cannot give,” she said coolly.

Using my free arm that wasn’t currently being used as a crutch, I pulled out my notebook. I flipped to the page I was looking forward, with the information with Fiona and Fredrik Moore. I held it up so she could read it clearly. Her eyes skimmed the page, the curiosity lighting up in her eyes. She looked at me when she was finished, tilting her head.

“What’s this all about?”

“See, that’s where it gets interesting,” I said, flipping to the page with what she told me about the Athletic Centre. “See here? This is what you told me after we got back from the hospital. You told me that there were two spirits currently lingering there. However, these recent DNA results,” I pulled out the printed results, “suggest to us that there are three lingering attachments. I was hoping you would know anything about that.”

Dahlia stared at me for a couple of minutes, her face carefully controlled to show nothing. Then she broke out in a mischievous grin, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

“Doesn’t it feel better once the pieces start to fit together nicely?” Dahlia looked at all three of us, the grin still in place. “When I told you that there were two spirits haunting the Athletic Centre, I wasn’t being dishonest. Technically, there are only two lingering attachments. But see, there is where it gets a little tricky, Ally. Tell me, what are the names you have?”

“Uh, Fiona and Fredrik Moore, and Jeremiah Kinkly.”

Dahlia nodded. She stepped back, leaning against the tree. “Fiona is correct. I remember the day she died, very tragic. Jeremiah as well, though I wasn’t there for his death. He died during the construction of the campus. You can look into that, darling, but according to the others he fell from the building when the windows were being put in. Fredrik, on the other hand, is not a lingering spirit.”

“Huh?” I was confused. How did that make any sense? The other two looked over, and Michael squeezed my shoulder.

“What did she say? I can hear whispers on the wind but I’m not picking up any words,” he whispered, eyes darting around the area.

I quickly recapped what she told me. Michael rubbed his chin in thought, while Lyn glanced over to where Dahlia was. I looked over too, noticing for the first time Dahlia was staring at Lyn intently. That was strange. Dahlia must have realized I caught her staring, because she looked away, her face giving nothing away. I made a mental note of that.

“What does that mean?” Lyn asked, turning her attention to me.

“I’m not sure,” I replied honestly. “Can you tell me what that means, Dahlia?”

Dahlia’s eyes flickered to me as she nodded. “He was brought here against his will. He made peace with his death, but something brought him back. That monster was in fact him, transformed by the person who forced him back into the world of the living.”

I covered my mouth in horror. I read about that recently. Someone could try to bring a spirit back, but unless they had the proper training to do it safely, the results could be disastrous. Is that what happened? Who would do that? My stomach was churning with discomfort even at the thought of someone doing something so irresponsible. Taking a deep breath, I recalled what she just told me to the others.

“That’s…that’s so horrible!” Michael squeaked out, fear constricting his throat. Lyn pressed her hands to her ears, just shaking her head.

“We have to go back…” I whispered, staring at Dahlia, who nodded when I said that.

“Go back where?” Lyn asked, giving me a skeptical look.

I hesitated before swallowing my fear. “The locker room, we have to go back.”

“Are you crazy!” Lyn shook her head in disbelief. “Remember what happened last time we went there? I fucking do, that’s for sure.”

“Yea’, is that really the best idea, Ally?” Michael added, his face pale with fear.

I nodded slowly, “Yes, I’m sure. We need to talk to Fiona, for real this time. I understand if you guys don’t want to go with me, I really do. I can go alone.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Lyn, flicking my forehead. I rubbed the spot as she crossed her arms. “Of course, I’ll go with you. Just know I think this is incredibly idiotic.”

I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I looked over at Michael, who gave me a heaving sigh. “I’m going too, obviously. I just get to complain the whole time. Also, I’m calling dibs on being the one who doesn’t get concussed this time.”

“Deal,” I laughed, reaching over to give him a hug.

I have to admit, this is a great relief. I really didn’t want to go into this alone, and it meant the world to me that they were willing to come with me, even with what happened last time. It was nice, this feeling. The feeling of no longer being alone. It was enough to make me tear up, but I quickly swiped at my eyes so they didn’t notice. Obviously I wasn’t sneaky enough, because Lyn silently reached down and took my hand into hers, rubbing her thumbs against my knuckles in comfort.

“Is that everything, then?” Dahlia asked, boredom lacing her words.

“For now, it is,” I smiled at her. “Thanks, really. You’ve been a great help tonight.”

If a ghost could blush, I’m pretty sure she just did. She twirled her hair around her finger, looking away from me. “You’re welcome, glad to be of service. Stay safe out there, Ally. Tell your friends the same thing.”

I watched as she disappeared from view. The air pressure changed back to normal, and Michael gasped beside me, but Lyn didn’t, basically confirming to me that she can’t sense anything that went on. That must be a lovely feeling. She did, however, look over where Dahlia had last been standing.

“Did she leave?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Good. I felt like I was being watched.”

Huh, interesting. I made a mental note of that too. Actually, since I was thinking about it, I decided to bite the bullet. “Lyn?”

“Hm?”

“I was wondering something. You looked like there was something on your mind earlier before we got here. What were you thinking about?”

Michael looked curious as Lyn mulled over her answer. Finally, she just shrugged. “My dad’s last name is Cressman.”

“Your dad? Michael and I said at the same time. He grinned at me, and I smiled back.

Lyn nodded, as she starting to walk away from the tree. I followed with no choice, since our hands were still together, and Michael followed not wanting to be left behind. “Yeah, my dad. Hart is my mum’s last name,” a dark look crossed over her face for a second before settling back to neutral. “It’s probably just a coincidence though. It’s a common surname from Ontario, you know?”

A coincidence, huh? I glanced over my shoulder as we walked away, only to see Dahlia sitting up in the branches, watching us as we left. I wonder if that’s all it was.

[babysprouseisart]

Every story ever has its end or the summary of the thoughts on the past #sprousehart era and attempts to change the attitude of others to this illusionary world

Dear fellows, from the very first days of the origin and further existence of mankind on the planet, in each period more and more foundations, irreversible phenomena and laws in nature or the society in which man lived and continues to live appeared. Time is fleeting, night turns to morning, year to year, and every story ever has its end. You can object, say that this is complete nonsense, but unfortunately everything in our world is natural and therefore in the same way one story of two wonderful people - Lili Pauline Reinhart and Cole Mitchell Sprouse - ended.

Their relationship was and will remain one of the most beautiful and unlike in comparison with others, at least based on what I could witness, love story. And even though this love story began seemingly banal with an audition for the role and the set, it was so real, amazing, which many could dream about, with its special feature of gradual disclosure, so enticing, and that is why it probably resonated so much, along with other reasons.

Like any other relationship, this relationship was based on many things and included many reasons for existence. Starting with a slight interest in each other, first liking and flirting, then there was a strong and almost immediate attraction to each other that they both talked about, a passion visible in the way they acted out scenes together and in glimpses of information from others. Then, after some time, the romantic charm passed, and a new stage began – getting used to each other, building a joint life, adapting to the peculiarities and shortcomings of the partner, and it is during this time the couple tries to create a happy and satisfying relationship for each. Accordingly, everyone got a desire to stand out from the other, to be significant not only in the relationship, but also outside of it, which is why they kept their privacy and wanted everyone to perceive them as separate individuals. They clearly tried to control what they shared with the world, and gradually the amount of what they shared increased. We were lucky to witness many, even small, moments in their lives. We were allowed to see the whole development, although some of it was very hidden, starting with the sarcastic banter on Twitter, the tempting 'Tempt me!', then multiple photos of fans with them, then supposedly random photos of Cole, with Lili in the background, or other way around, then many other breadcrumbs, then expanding of the circle of friends where his friends are now hers and vice versa, family meetings following by huge support to the certain time, then an infinity of her photos taken by him, so divine and beautiful, as well as photos taken by her of him, then numerous long or not so long trips to various places, the first vocation trip together which was made public, then 'No comment!', then more words about love in public media, birthday wishes, comments, bouquets just like that and on special days, 72 roses, chocolate-covered strawberries, the way they were baking together, him making a grilled cheese for her, them watching the sunset at Debby's and the other times we haven't seen, the time when Antelope Valley has become an indicator, the most tender words about each other, endless heart eyes, her inability to stop sitting on his lap, and his habit of touching her shoulder, neck, jokes understandable only to them, the words of others about them as if they are friends for 20 years already, knowledge of each other's body language, bragging about wonderful sexy times and the beauty of each other, giving cute nicknames, comfort, joint red carpet moments, him shaking her of joyness, constant support and much more, what we could obviously notice in social networks, interviews, after videos/photos of paparazzi, almost complete idyll at first glance and so on. All this is certainly only what we were allowed to see or what we guessed having observed various facts and over time it has gotten more obvious, and it was an insanely beautiful experience to be a spectator of all this for which I am grateful that is why I sincerely wish myself and all of you to look at it from the point of view that you need to smile because it happened and not cry because it's over. Nevertheless sometimes if you get too involved you can start looking at it through the prism of pink glasses of love and admiration, enjoying every moment they directly or indirectly shared with us, and accordingly, the impression of a fairy tale is being formed that does not quite correctly reflect reality and it does not allow us to perceive the other part on the other side of the screen/social networks, because we simply do not see it. However, I don't want anyone to take it as if I believe that everything they shared was untrue and false, completely out of the blue. All I want to convey to any reader is that everything we saw was only in an unreal bubble of illusions, since the Internet and social networks, which are, after all, this very bubble in its essence, which we ourselves and they decided to form, allowing us to take it as they want and this is normal, and life is very far from perfect or dreamlike. That is to say life is such an unpredictable thing, where everything is justifiably natural and sometimes things just don't work out the way we would like them to, including relationships which are also a complex structure that is not easy to build correctly, sometimes even with a strong attraction and a strong sense of love, there are things that cannot be corrected or changed. As well as you cannot change the essence of a person and his worldview, his personality, internal or external qualities, his behavior, his views on life and goals, his mistakes and position in society, loss of trust, his moral and physical endurance, other side things like sharing very little time for the second half in connection with business or temporary work, unwillingness to accept any conditions, commitment, settling down or restriction of something, lack of compromise, fading feelings because of passed desire and passion, external factors, especially if we are talking about a public couple/popular people, such as dramas in social networks, created by fans or family/friends, stress from the strong involvement of others or non-acceptance of partner selection by relatives, and so on. Just sometimes if after a while two people failed to get accustomed to each other, as if a plant were transplanted into a new soil or some organ to the human body, thanks to some external or internal features, obstacles, be it custom qualities or external influence on each other with the constant tries for the reconstruction of another and over time awareness of the fact that what has been created by the supreme cannot be altered and adjusted for something else, becoming more and more negative, when one of them in its content can no longer learn to cope with the environment and the further continuation of the joint work of the struggle can lead to the bad conditions of both, with exhaustion from this struggle and, accordingly, to the death of cells. And all this exhaustion for whatever reason can also be theoretically and philosophically equated to the bowels of the earth and depleted sources. After all, a person get used to using fresh water, the earth's mineral resources, eating plants and fruits, vegetables, buying things, and so on, but sometimes it happens that this is either limited or ends and nature is no longer able to provide us with anything, after constant giving, and in return receiving only harm or damage. This is a very complex science and this is a life where, as I already said, many things are not the way we picture them to be. So many interpretations and/or reasons can and could be hidden behind all these failures/ends/dissensions/decays/breakups/bad moments in life, and I cannot even list all the options, but I have some general considerations on the specific occasion, but I do not want to start the speculation now and go into details about why and how I think the end of this love story that we all loved happened, cause it is not my business and I am no one to judge someone or even dare to talk about it when I am not them or relative/friend to any of them and I haven't seen the actual period of their relationship and how it was going from the beginning to the end except my own representation of everything based on this social-media bubble, and each of you can have your own thoughts and draw your own conclusions. However, it goes without saying that even after any obstacles, failures and heart and soul break and with the passage of time, everything constantly takes place to change in any way, people change, the behavior change, the attitude change, and so on, one moment the doors are closed, in the other you open them or they are opened for you so in the end a person finds their happiness and purpose despite previous mistakes and shortcomings.

The penultimate thing I want to say is that obviously, after all this, you are already starting to think about something and I really hope so, given what I said about life and bubbles of unreality in our time, and as you gain experience in this fandom and being a fan very much involved in all of this it can be very useful for us to eventually rethink how much we were involved and how much energy we were giving this every time, and I have already made a whole post about this. And particularly good for me were  the recent events when there is no particular food for thought and to be involved, I'm more and more alienated from the lives of other strangers, and the more time passes, the more relaxed I began to react to many things, although it also sometimes was hard to deal with all the drama and speculation, constantly think through all sorts of logical outcomes, since I am such a person by nature and I cannot be calm without a logical conclusion, and I am still digesting the whole situation happening since the beginning of this year with the fandom and the relationship of these two people, however, as much as I would not like to clearly represent everything and have a clear picture now it does not matter, the main thing is that it was and it just needs to step over, swallow and not give too much attention to this, because unfortunately we could not control the whole situation, we could not prevent what happened and what could have happened just because we are not the supreme or these same people and it is not our business.

In conclusion, even if some may think of me as a soulless person or that I do not care about others, know that this is far from it, I just try and will try to find a way out of the situation, reorganize and look at everything objectively and with a grain of salt because I believe that this is the right decision to be detached in any way from someone else's experiences, especially from those who are so far from us, and bad moments, so as not to have any attachment, hope and faith, so that it does not hurt us later. But I am certainly an emotional person and my heart just bursts with pain when I see that many people strongly bring down themselves and suffer from the fact that there was some kind of non-related to them co-ordinal change, although this is not the end of the world, and therefore I consider it my duty to try to somehow distract some of you and calm down on this account, as once I was helped by others and my own search for the right attitude.

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 09.10.20 lb

lol, lemme preface this by telling you what i know about the show from my out-of-context insta-viewing:

kabir sends his gf riddhima in to spy on vansh RAISINGHANIA (naam ka wazan check karein ji. kaafi hi bhaari-bharkam, just like the fake baritone the actor playing the character is being forced to put on.) vansh is some kinda shady, but idk WHAT SPECIFIC KIND of shady..... like is he just your garden-variety-evil-capitalist-ala-ambani-bezos, or is he into shit like drug smuggling and human/organ trafficking???? no one knows. maybe a little bit of both. but kabir’s a COP, and we all know that those fuckers are the shadiest shits around (#ACAB) so yeah, true to type, kabir shadyyyyyyyy. he’s actually the secret illegitimate son of vansh’s stepmom and together they wanna ruin vansh and take all his monies. so anyway, kabir sends in riddhima, who’s just a whole special brand of dumbass, but also extraordinarily determined in the way only tellywood heroines are. so she’s basically sticking her nose everywhere that doesn’t belong and being a pain in the ass of literally everyone in the show, including her own (coz she seems to get injured in novel and entertaining ways in every second episode.) kabir ultimately manipulates her into marrying vansh, while vansh has apparently married her KNOWING that she’s a spy and is probably playing the long game to see who her puppet-master is. long story short, heterosexuality is too potent a force and the Stupid Spy Girl and Gangsta Guy are currently slowly giving in to the Feelz™, despite missing that one-little-teensy-weensy-who-even-needs-it-in-a-real-relationship thing. y’know, that little thing called, idk, i think it’s called “TRUST” or some such strange unheard-of concept.

oh, in between all this there’s also some bizarre plot about some ex of vansh’s called ragini, who’s dead??? missing? idk. kabir is real interested in that and wants to jail vansh for it, but we’ve long forgotten about ragini by this point #RIPSis anyway, there’s some kinda statue of her’s in the attic or some shit, coz vansh is some kinda modern day gender-reversed medusa who turns women who cross him into statues??? idk man, idk. so riddhima is pretty much in constant danger of being statue-d.

also vansh has a requisite irritating famiy in tow, that he’s burdened with being in charge of (coz no rest for the unfortunate eldest son who lives in this godforksaken mansion, be that an oberoi or a raisinghania) feat: a dadi who is well-meaning, but as annoying as the one in IB was, constantly spouting platitudes about how vansh and Spy Girl trooooooly lurrrrrrrrrrve each other *kissy noises*; some chachi/chacha who are all “HEY WHY DOES HE GET TO BE THE BOSS, WE WANT CONTROL OF THE CRORE-ON KA BIJNESS TOO”, some very fake kanji-eyed siblings/cousins who are supreme bitches, and ofc one (1) normal sibling who is sweet but really does nothing around here. oh and there’s his right hand man/bff too, who seems to be not 100% (maybe just 83%?) incompetent like everyone else. that poor sod just got suckered into marrying Kanji Aankhon Waali Bitch Sister, who is pregnant with some total rando’s baby, and is just an all-round asshole to Riddhima/Right Hand Man, because “ugh, yeh do kaudi ke middle class naukar log, cheeeeee.”

ok now that the sasta, not-at-all-useful recap has been done, LET’S GET INTO THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

———————————————————————

the chachi is screaming her goddamn headdddd off coz her room is on fire. ofc it is. when has anything good ever happened in this manhoos house of horrors.

lmao the kanji eyed cousin has like 3% concern that his mom will be fried like a taaza jalebi. he's literally sauntering luxuriously towards his mom's room jaise park mein tehel raha ho.

chachi's screaming is getting on my nerves. aunty you're wasting valuable oxygen this way.  

riddhima is behind some secret box that aryan and chachi stashed in the room.

THESE PPL ARE SO CHILL ABOUT A WHOLE ROOM ON FIRE (note: it’s shivaay's room in IB) and they're just hanging out in the living room (which if you’ll remember, IS ATTACHED TO THE ROOM THAT WAS SHIVAAY’S) as if fire doesnt have a tendency to y'know..........  SPREAD RAPIDLY.

riddhima is fighting with the bloody fireman saying ki i need to save the box. #priorities

aaaaaaand the fireman is kabir, who has come to haath maarofy on Box of Secrets.

and we know this coz he did a DRAMAAAAAAAAATIC reveal by taking off his mask. in a room FULLY ON FIRE. idhar non-flaming rooms mein bhi ab mask nikaalna danger ho gaya hai, and this guy justtttttttttt dgaf. tum jaison ki wajaah se hi we can't bloody stop the spread.

my god this house has been decorated soooooooo fucking tackily. never thought the oberois would be the classy ones.

shady saasumaa and riddhima stinkeye-ing each other over a bowl of shehed. lol, what even. truly some "rasode mein kaun tha" lvl of politics.

oh ho, saasumaa and kabir lagaaofied the aag.

saasumaa gloating over the fact that riddhima will now never get her hands on Box of Secrets.

flashback time: hahahahaha KABIR LITERALLY LOBBED A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL INTO THE ROOM AND CHACHI DIDN'T EVEN FUCKING HEAR IT OR ANYTHING. lmao everyone in this show is a dumbass. how blissful life must be with just one (1) working brain cell.

riddhima runs into flaming room. ofc now we will have a prolonged sequence where kabir tries to keep his identity and riddhima being the dheent that she is, will give chase.

please note, that not even 48 hours ago, this woman walked barefoot on a bed of coals AND a hallway full of broken glass. AND NOW SHE'S RUNNING FULL SPEED BEHIND KABIR AS IF SHE’S PT USHA. SIS, TUMHARE PAIR HAIN KI KYA HAIN? YOU'RE LONG OVERDUE FOR AN INTENSE PEDICURE AFTER THIS WEEK.

and ofc, he got into a getaway car and made it away.

yeh lo, iss beech mein dadi behosh. ouff.

whooooooooops, dadi has some weird blue nishaan on her neck.

LMAO KABIR SHOT AT RIDDHIMA WITH A POISON BULLET OR SYRINGE OR SOME SHIT, WHICH HIT DADI INSTEAD. LMAO MAN THIS SHOW. IT'S SO FUCKING DUMB, I LOVE IT.

some more stinkeye politics between saas bahu.

bahu is passive-aggressively giving saasumaa roses to congratulate her on winning this round.

riddhima is dheent!max. she's like kuch bhi ho, i'll find the secret anyway and your victory will witherrrrrrr awayyyyyyyy like these flowerssssss and you will be left with the thorns that will prick youuuuuuuu!!!!!!!

LMAO SAAS IS FULLY ROLLING HER EYES AT RIDDHIMA'S DRAMATIC ASS #SAME

just looking at helly's ears is making my ears hurt like a bitch. 

hey riddhima, have you ever thought that maybe this secret child of hers is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS?????? like honestly, the entitlement desis have to know the workings of other ppl’s wombs.

lol dumbass mummyji crumpled the flowers in her hand and played right into riddhima's stupid kaante waala metaphor. #ramMilayiJodi

hero ko covid hai toh ainvayi ke phone calls se kaam chalaana pad raha hai.

the dude left his house for literally the first time in months and the place is on fire and dadi got shot in the neck with poison. and the wife doesn't think she should tell him so that he doesn't become "pareshaan". sure, this seems like a dude who'll take this kinda thing real light when he finds out later.

(hint: he’s not. he’s a crazed, overprotective weirdo about his family. sound familiar?????)

this guy's dialogue delivery is so dodgy. idk what it is, it just seems so affected.

that plus the ainvayi ka editing just showing him in some random car (clearly from the earlier eps)  is just adding to the jankiness of the scene.

husband dude seems to know wifey's quirks quite well. kinda cute, kinda creepy. 

lol kal tak toh yeh banda itna romantic nahi tha. like he had a smooth moment here and there, but he was mostly real awkward and robotic and unsure how to handle These Strange New Feelings™. now he’s spouting cheesyass lines about being able to see the one who is special to you with dil ki aankhein and idk what.

who are these people who like SHARING their room with another person? #unrealistic

but i also i get you, riddhima. he was pretty much the only thing worth looking at in this room, coz the rest of it is so damn fugggggg. this room should be the one set on fire.

dang, some steamy scenes between them in the flashbacks. ouff abhi jaake episodes dhundne padenge. coz #tharkiTTisTharki

riddhima doing dadi seva. boooooooooring.

ofc dadi ki sui is always atkofied on playing cupid for pota, taaki she can score some par-pota/potis.

riddhima ki best friend ka happy birthday hai.

riddhima is like a lottttt has happened in my life, can't really tell you over a call. yup, that’s for sure. 

ok apparently sejal who said she’s in dubai now is NOT in dubai?? she's just up and flew to mumbai to "surprise" riddhima...... on HER OWN birthday? #doesNotCompute

lmao kabir's annoyance with mummy's useless glass of water. WHY DO MOMS THINK EVERYTHING CAN BE SOLVED WITH DRINKING MORE WATER?!?!?!!

now he's yelling at mom about how she's ruined everything. sure. blame the only one who's actually doing shit around here, while you sit on your ass in this room, glaring and growling like a hangry bear.

some menacing dialogue about how he needs to thikaane lagaaofy riddhima's hosh.

which has been overheard by bff sejal, who went and dropped a showpiece from shock. cool. so she gonna die. bye sejal, hardly got to know ya!

sejal being here doesn’t even make sense. she thought he was a PT teacher. then why did she show up here at his police waala office? also how did she connect the dots about the whole damn story with like 0.04% context that she got from what she overheard? kuchhhhhhh bhi.

[twistedcharismaaa]

Lost & Found Pt 4

Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.

Author’s Note: Hi guyssss! I’m finally back with another chapter. I really struggled piecing this chapter together so I really hope you guys enjoy! Leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary, I love you guys so much! Enjoy!

Micah’s eyes left yours for a brief moment. He inhaled and leaned his head back on the wall and readjusted his shades on his face. He watched his calculated chaos unfold in the elevator which gave him much delight. 

“You know I told you my name…” he said while raising a finger and wagging it dramatically.

“You even told me your boyfriend’s name, but you never told me yours.” he continued.

You slowly pulled off your rubber yellow cleaning gloves one by one and tossed them on the supply cart. You crossed your arms and leaned back on the wall behind you letting your eyes trail the many lit elevator buttons. 

“Charisma,” you answered with a subtle smirk on your face. 

“Charisma? You know I’m full of that,” he said while placing his right hand on his chest proudly.

Again, you found yourself laughing. You shook your head and rolled your eyes towards the ceiling before eyeing him once more with a half-smirk.

“That I can clearly see,” you answered.

“You know what I want to see right now?” he quizzed while pulling off his black shades and stuffing them in the pouch of his all-black hoodie.

“Indulge me,” you responded completely intrigued. 

“Me and you having lunch,” he said while waving his hands in the air theatrically as if he was actually visualizing it.  

“So, are you hungry, lady?” he asked with a raised brow.

You inhaled silently and eyed the elevator for a short moment. Letting your eyes wander from wall to wall. Finally, you fixated on a painting that rested on the wall behind him. You’ve seen this painting a thousand times before but today, for whatever reason, it caught your attention. You admired its simplicity which made it even more elegant. You visually found pleasure in the contrasting colors of blue and red. The uneven brushstrokes seemed to tell a story that mirrored yours. It was a painting of a cup that was half-full. Or was it half-empty? Looking past Micah you spoke lowly.

“If I told you a secret, would you keep it?” you asked still eyeing the painting.

“Absolutely,” he responded. 

“This is the most I’ve laughed in a while,” you admitted while swallowing slowly. Now locking eyes with him, you continued to lean on the wall behind you for support. You bit down on your bottom lip nervously and waited for his response.

“And why is that?” he questioned.

“Life hasn’t been so kind to me lately. I’m figuring things out - figuring me out actually. So I don’t know if I’m the perfect candidate to have lunch with.” you said while changing positions. This time, you shifted your weight off of the wall’s surface and placed both hands on the supply cart. You watched the elevator doors close and open. The classical music playing in the background seemed to intensify. Or maybe this moment was intensifying?

“I have a secret too since we’re sharing,” he admitted. You enjoyed his speaking voice. It oozed calmness and embodied serenity. 

“I saw you last night at the club. You looked beautiful by the way. While I was on stage, all I wanted to do was dive in and save you. I would take you away if you’d let me. Lunch is just the first step.” he said while eyeing your frame subtly.

Your heartbeat quickened as your palms grew sweaty. He watched you like you were the only thing that mattered. His intense, penetrating eyes piercing right through made you weak. It scared you but intrigued you.

“You’re famous. You whisk away every girl that you find pretty?” you quizzed trying to make sense of it all. Just last night, you had a man that refused to touch you. Just hours ago, you were neglected in every way that you could think of. And now, you have a caramel kissed man standing in front of you treating as if you were the purest diamond. As if you were rare, unique, and completely hard to find. 

You watched a smile dance across his full lips. He shook his head and licked his lips before answering.

“I hate being famous actually. For many different reasons that I, unfortunately, don’t have enough time to tell you. We’re running out time lady.” he said while watching the elevator buttons. “It’s hard finding authenticity in people. It’s hard finding real love, real emotion, real music - I can literally go on and on. Everyone hides behind facades and masks. You’re different. You’ve always been you it’s just no one was insightful enough to pay attention.” he continued.

You finally reached your destined floor. The doors opened and you felt your heart sink. You didn’t want him to go. 

“Thank you for making me smile today,” you said softly.

“Best believe, it was my pleasure. See you around Charisma,” he responded while holding the elevator door open for you. You reluctantly exited the elevator and waved him goodbye.

--------

After a tedious day of working hard, you decided to attend your appointment with Tiffany, your trusted therapist. After the loss of the baby, you’ve been seeing a Tiffany inconsistently. By nature, you were instinctively self-reliant due to your own insecurities and the insecurities forced on you by others. Desmonde thought it was a waste of money and your friends who you barely speak to now had their own speculations. You viewed Tiffany as a human diary, holding your precious secrets - holding your darkest memories. There were times where you made progress and had these astounding revelations ready to make leaps and bounds in life and unfortunately, there were times you left feeling the absolute same. Consistently, inconsistent with your mental health, with your emotions, with your goals, and with your dreams. Maybe you cared too much? Too little? Maybe you were broken beyond repair? You grew up in a single-parent household where your mother showered you in the healthiest love and attention. Every time you needed her she was there. Constantly, going over and beyond for you - with you. But with her passing at the tender age of 20, it seemed as if life came at you like a raging storm. Quickly, devouring you piece by piece and brick by brick. At 21, you dropped out of college. Working like a dog and living check to check. At 21, you met Desmonde and fell for him and by 22 you were pregnant. Now at the new fresh age of 23, you were alone again.

Tiffany opened her office door and greeted you with the brightest smile. She wore a sky blue buttoned blouse and grey slacks. She wore her hair down making her amber highlights easy to notice. You greeted her with a smile and a warm hello before entering her office. Casually taking a seat, you noticed that she redecorated. Had it been that long since you’ve been here?

“How are you feeling today?” she asked while opening her mustard yellow notepad.

“Confused,” you said while tugging at the sleeve of your dark red hoodie.

“Hmmm. Why is that? Oh, and happy belated before I forget,” she quizzed attentively.

“Thank you. I actually broke up with Desmonde on my birthday. I don’t mean to make it as aggressive as it sounds. I just didn’t know how else to um say that.” you admitted still fidgeting with your sleeve.

“What brought this on?” she asked now actively scribbling in her notepad.

“At this point, I’m convinced it was inevitable,” you answered now making direct eye contact.

“How so?”

“He didn’t touch me, nurture me, educate me, push me - He didn’t do a lot of things. My cup was always half empty with him.”

“You’ve been together for quite some time, right? So why did you stay? If he didn’t water you or stimulate you? Why give him so much of your time?”

“I stayed because I thought he was what I deserved,” you admitted.

“Why do you think you deserve to be wilted and neglected?” she questioned.

“That’s a question I keep asking myself honestly,” you responded.

“It sounds like this break up with Desmonde brought self-awareness to you,” she suggested.

“Can I ask you something?” you quizzed.

“Of course,” she answered smiling meekly.

“I’m naturally closed off. But today, I had the deepest conversation with a stranger. What does that mean?”

“What did you talk about?”

“I admitted to him that I was practically unhappy,” you said while finally resting your busy hand. No longer messing with your sleeve.

“That’s very interesting. And his response was?”

“His response was that he would rescue me if I’d let him. And the crazy thing is I believed him,” you said feeling a smile grace your lips.

“This stranger sounds like quite the charmer,” she said smirking and taking more notes casually.

“His name is Micah. He’s a guest at the hotel,” you admitted.

“So not a stranger then?” she quizzed.

“ An acquaintance I suppose?” you replied.

“So, you’re questioning why you’re doing something that’s typically out of your guarded character? Yes?”

“Yes,” you stated.

“Maybe subconsciously you want something different. Different responses attract different reactions. You put out a different response because internally you’re longing to break routine. After feeling half-empty for so long, it’s only normal to crave to feel full.”

“He asked me to lunch. I declined at first of course. But now, I’m reconsidering because of note he left me while I was cleaning his room.”

“What did it say?” she asked completely enticed.

“I-I have it in my pocket. I’ll read it to you.” you stuttered.

Slowly pulling the note from your pocket, you cleared your voice and read it aloud. 

“Listening to music doing nothing but thinking of you. Thinking of your body and how it was handcrafted by God. Each curve sexier than the last. My mind keeps reminiscing about your sweet smile and how it fiercely ignites me while softly illuminating my soul. Those soft plump lips begging to be kissed on. I never have seen a woman so radiant. I’ve never seen eyes so captivating and so pure. I continuously watch you - study you in hopes that I can understand your beautiful complexity. I can see the brokenness. I know we barely know each other, but everything happens for a reason. I hope that you’ll let me kiss you in every area that he’s hurt you. But first, let me be a friend. - Micah”

Before you knew it, tears streamed down your cheeks connecting down to your chin. 

“Why are you crying Charisma?” Tiffany inquired.

“I haven’t had a friend in a very long time,” you answered honestly.

“There is no perfect way to heal. Healing comes in many different forms. It can come through isolation, art, family, new scenery, and friends. Charisma, maybe it’s time for a friend.”

You nodded in acceptance and quietly thought to yourself about the painting from earlier. Cup half-empty or cup half-full? It’s all open to interpretation. All you knew is that you’re ready to be full. To be whole. 

Interrupting your thoughts, Tifanny posed a question.

“So what do you say Charisma?”

“I say, it’s a date. I need a friend more than I need anything else right now. It’s a date.” you answered.

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

Part 3 Part 5

@l-auteuse​ @ghostfacekill-monger​ @thickemadame​ @chaneajoyyy​ @soulfood-fics​ @nizzle-mo​ @jamielennkeeler​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @pineappear​ @lostennyc​ @miss-nneka​ @thadelightfulone​ @qweentbh​   @big-brows-bigger-dreams​ @rosemilage​ @sarcastic-sunshines​ @mygirlrenee​ @keiva1000​ @justanothernerdgirl​ @cyntgefel01​ @libbylivliv​ @theboldlady​ @geriixox​ @seffyn​ @errin261​ @migosis​ @cocogodess15​ @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @kemkem101 @peacefuldesiress @babbyaangel @mooon-berry @ju5tp34chy

[echodrops]

*Slides in on a office chair* Now that you shared some of your HaaH headcanons for Shiro and Hunk, can you do Lance and Lotor?

Didn’t want to post these until I finally had some time to update them a bit and trim out spoilers, but I got a second last night, so here you are:

HaaH Lance and Lotor headcanons:

(Under the cut to save everyone’s dash)

First, a warning: Neither one of these characters’ backstories or plot event headcanons remotely line up with the show, one because I originally wrote most of this stuff around the time season 2-3 was being released and two, because I stopped watching Voltron after season 6 and have no intention of watching the rest of the show due to my dislike for the directions the writing took. I went back and updated some stuff, such as the names of some of Lance’s siblings, to more closely match what came later in the show… but for the rest… I’m just gonna do my own thing and pretend canon does not exist.

Lance:

- The literal definition of “rich as fuck.” When relaxations on economic policy were passed in Cuba that increased opportunities for private business, Lance’s grandfather made a solid deal for three massive sugar refineries. Today, artisanal coffee houses across the world utilize the sugar refined in Lance’s family’s factories.

- Grew up in a giant villa on the peninsula just outside the town of Varadero, on a sprawling property that included a long stretch of beachfront and individual bungalows for visiting family members and the family’s several live-in staff members.

- The whole family is incredibly down to earth despite this. Lance’s aunt and grandmother insist on having a hand in every family meal, Lance’s parents always make time to be involved in the children’s activities, and Lance was taught from a very young age never to take advantage of people, regardless of their position in the world.

- Lance is the baby of his immediate family by almost ten years. He was an accident that occurred after Lance’s mother believed she was too old to become pregnant. Of course his parents never treated Lance like an accident and loved him, but still, Lance has never been able to shake the idea that he wasn’t planned—and therefore he wasn’t wanted.

- He has four older siblings, two sisters and two brothers.

- All of Lance’s siblings are extremely successful in their careers. Lance’s oldest sibling, his sister Veronica, is a captain of the Cuban Navy and commands the impressive warship Audaz. Lance’s second oldest sibling, his brother Yuniel, is a decorated conservational ecologist working to protect Matanzas’ native forests. Lance’s third sibling, his brother, Marco, is a famous solo folk musician who made it big in Cuba. Rachel, Lance’s closest sibling, runs an immersion-based cultural heritage museum that preserves the rich and complicated history of Cuba and its people.

- In short—Lance grew up surrounded by the rampant success of his older siblings, watching as they excelled at everything they pursued—which just bred a greater and greater sense of insecurity in him, as he feared he would never be able to measure up.

- On Lance’s eighth birthday, in an attempt to cheer up his very depressed youngest son, Lance’s father dragged the family’s telescope down to the beach so that they could watch a space shuttle launching from the cape in Florida. At first Lance couldn’t work up the slightest interest, but when he finally saw the huge plume of the shuttle, arcing off into the unknown depths of space, he had a Moment™. Lance knew, right then and there, exactly what he was going to do with his life, something that none of his siblings had ever achieved: he was going to go into space and explore worlds unknown.

- Lance decided that he had, absolutely HAD, to go to Galaxy Garrison when he grew up. This part worried his parents, who pointed out that Garrison was not only in another country but also a solely English-speaking school and extremely competitive. Nonetheless, Lance was determined that he would not settle for anything less than the absolute best.

- Was totally that space obsessed kid. Still thinks Black Holes are the coolest thing in the universe. His parents bought so much “Astronaut” ice cream that they probably kept that entire industry afloat.

- Lance attended Garrison’s summer Astrocamp in Arizona when he was nine. Quickly made friends with his cabin-mate, Hyrum Tava. The nickname “Hunk” came about from a slip-up when Lance tried to compare his new friend to one of his favorite American cartoon characters, the Incredible Hulk.

- Even after leaving the Astrocamp, Lance and Hunk stayed close friends, exchanging frequent emails and phone calls, which helped Lance stay on top of memes popular trends back in the states.

- Shiro was Lance’s cabin leader at the Astrocamp, and his kindness and exciting stories about actually visiting space(!!) made a huge impression on Lance. Lance… may or may not have had a celebrity shrine to Shiro made of photos and news clippings taped to his wall for several years. Whatever, every kid does it and he took it down eventually, gosh!

- Identifies as bisexual, but has never successfully dated anyone, male or female. Due to several bad experiences and close calls, Lance doesn’t talk about his sexuality or express any attraction to men except around people he is extremely comfortable with. Hunk has known for years, of course. (In fact, it was Lance’s struggle with his feelings that helped Hunk develop strong sympathy for LGBT people, despite the fact that his religion is very against it.)

- Never had a real kiss. Might be just a tiny bit desperate to have a real first kiss.

- Also might buy a bit too much into the idea of needing to be stereotypically attractive to fit in. Although his nightly beauty regime is now a comforting routine, it originally stemmed from Lance being extremely self-conscious about his looks. He’s more comfortable about his body than he used to be, but he still frequently compares himself negatively against others; do you know what kind of hell it is to have to share a locker room with people like Shiro?

- Cries at the drop of a hat. Sad book? Sad movie? Abandoned kitten? Dropped something on his toe? Tears times ten thousand. Lance was never pressured by his family to “man up;” in fact, he was always encouraged to empathize, so Lance is extremely sensitive to others’ feelings. (He and Hunk are a great fit in this regard.) He can perceive even minute changes in people’s emotions and is always ready to cheer up people who are down.

- He can’t read Keith for crap though. Not really his fault. Keith’s a literal alien.

- Lance’s extreme empathy actually backfires on him. Because being sensitive to others is second nature to him, it’s often hard for Lance to remember that not everyone is as perceptive as he is. Lance has, many times, mistaken the other paladins’ obliviousness for indifference. Everyone on the ship cares deeply about Lance and would never want him to feel bad about himself—but not everyone on the ship is perceptive enough to notice when Lance’s insecurities are affecting him.

- Wasn’t put in the cargo pilot classes at Garrison because of his flight test scores—most green cadets have zero flight experience and all do pretty badly at first. Lance was placed in cargo class because he scored too high on a combat sensitivity test, indicating that he was a poor fit mentally for becoming a soldier. Fighting monstrous looking aliens is one thing, but Lance would have coped very, very badly if he’d ever been required to kill another human being.

- Struggled to fit in at Garrison. After the crushing disappointment of ending up in cargo class, Lance also dealt with a lot of people treating him like an outsider because he was an international student. “Why is someone from Cuba trying to join the U.S. military? Are you a spy?”

- Couple that with the complicated student visa process and how his status as an international student might affect his ability to take part in Garrison-sanctioned internships and cross-border activities, and Lance felt utterly alienated at Garrison in his first few months.

- May… or may not have done exactly what his parents taught him not to do by looking for a scapegoat to take out his frustrations on. Keith, the lone wolf, ace pilot pretty boy who was too cool to even talk to the rest of the cadets (really thought he was too good to even make eye contact with Lance, huh?!) was an obvious target. Keith had every single thing that Lance had ever wanted in his whole life—the combat class, the talent, the prestige, the respect, the effortless looks—and he didn’t even seem happy to have it!

- Lance had never hated anyone before in his entire life, but Lance hated Keith—Keith basically came to stand in for every obstacle in Lance’s way, every mocking insult thrown Lance’s way, every harsh reminder from the professors that he’d never even be close to good enough, never measure up when someone like that existed… Lance started to honestly believe that the only way he’d ever be able to achieve his entire life goal was if Keith was taken out of the picture—something that proved unfortunately true when Lance was bumped up to combat class the moment Keith went missing from Garrison.

- Lance never actually said any of this stuff to Keith’s face before Keith left Garrison (Lance dreaded his parents finding out he’d been rude), but he would shit-talk Keith to anyone who would listen, a bad habit that was reinforced by people actually accepting Lance more when he started gossiping and spreading rumors than when he’d just tried to be genuinely nice.

- Even though he’d like to repair his relationship with Keith now that they’re teammates, Lance has no idea how to do that after so much time has passed. He really has no clue how to treat Keith normally after building him up into such a bitter rival. It’s… a work in progress.

- A big fan of RPG games and roleplaying. Definitely gets the most in-character when it comes to Monsters and Mana. His favorite thing about meeting new cultures is discovering nifty space items that look like key items from video games. Used to play old school RPGs with his cousins every afternoon. Playing with Pidge is extremely nostalgic for him.

- Has a host of other hobbies that don’t get much use inspace but are nevertheless impressive: he can surf, dive, and was part of a traditional dance group all the up until he left for Garrison. He doesn’t tend to think much of his hobbies as they’re not exactly practical skills you need every day in a space war, but the other members of Team Voltron are quietly impressed whenever they’re reminded of the cool things Lance can do.

- Lance has the strongest bond with his lion of any of the paladins. His connection with Blue is so innate that he can actually activate Blue’s abilities from outside his lion.

- The first one of the paladins to transform his bayard and the only one whose bayard can take three forms. And no, none of the three is a sword because what was the point of that, even??? Lance can wield his standard blaster, a long rifle, and dual pistols. The strength of theshots from Lance’s bayard can be consciously controlled—his thoughts and intentions determine whether a shot has the strength to kill or merely stun.

- Lance’s incredible aim isn’t a natural talent. Actually he’s spent hours and hours in a shooting range he found in the castle, working on perfecting his shot. Just like the gladiator levels on the training deck, the targets in the range keep getting harder and harder, but Lance is progressing very well. No one but Coran knows that Lance has been training so hard with his bayard, since Lance desperately wants to pretend his skill is all natural and has sworn Coran to secrecy. Coran covers for him by pretending he’s sent Lance off on absurd cleaning missions all the time.

- Is 1000% Coran’s favorite of the paladins. Coran won’t even try to lie if asked. Although Coran has never expressed it out loud, he sees Lance as an example of the brave, kind-hearted son he would have hoped to raise—if his son had survived the war. (On Lance’s part, although he’s also never shared this, Coran reminds him very much of his beloved uncle, who passed away when Lance was very young, but whom he still remembers well and extremely fondly.)

- After his uncle passed away, Lance’s aunt moved in with Lance’s parents permanently, and Lance essentially helped to raise his two very young cousins, Nadia and Silvio. Lance does have very good experience with children—unfortunately for him, what human children respond well to doesn’t always work for Galra kids!        

Lotor:

- Has not spent 10,000 years kicking about the universe. We’re not doing that weird “If he’s immortal because of the rift creatures then how come his governess is still alive?” plot hole song and dance routine from the actual show. Lotor was born after the war decimated the Alteans 10,000 years ago, but due to Haggar’s condition (aka being, you know, dead), he was essentially unable to live on his own and was placed in cryostasis very shortly after being born.

- Roughly 20 years before the discovery of the Blue Lion on Earth, Haggar used advancements in quintessence manipulation technology to successfully revive the infant Lotor. But she didn’t wake him for no reason—she has a very specific intention for her son, a long endgame plan, of which Lotor and even Zarkon are currently unaware.

- We’re also not doing that dumb “How could Haggar—the only remotely Altean-looking being in all of Zarkon’s presence—possibly be my mother?” plot from the show either. Lotor is aware that Haggar is his mother, although he has never been able to infiltrate her research facilities and therefore has no idea how an Altean scientist ended up where she did, looking like she did, and siding with the Galra against her own people.

- Because his parents’ past and his own origins are such a mystery, Lotor is obsessed with learning the truth of the war, the Alteans, and every hidden secret from that time period, including Voltron and the mysterious “rift.” He devours any information he can get on this period of history, and especially on Alteans, voraciously.

- But even though he’ll take any pieces of information he can get, Lotor’s real favorite obsession is mythology. He’s a deep lover of folklore and fairytales, bestiaries and local legends, and more than one assassin has traded a good story in exchange for having his life spared. Lotor may or may not hunt for space cryptids in his spare time. However, no single legend occupies Lotor’s mind as much as the legend of the mythical realm of Oriande, home of the ancient Altean alchemists. As practical as he tries to appear, Lotor has never given up his deep-down childish wish to be the one who finds the promised land of Oriande and prove it is real. But when he thinks back… Where was it that he first heard about Oriande, again? Who told him…?

- That entire thing with the hidden Altean colonies is just… not going to happen. The writers were bad and they should feel bad. Although Lotor has looked, after 10,000 years and plenty of centuries of hiding any Altean connections, distinguishing those who still have Altean blood has become essentially impossible.

- Part of the reason Lotor has looked for Alteans is that he was born with a bizarre grab-bag of Altean instincts and abilities and no guidance on how to deal with them, because he’s certainly not going to reveal to Haggar that he has unexplained talents like precognition and the ability to speak to planets. Growing up with half of his bloodline extinct has been ROUGH on Lotor.

- Speaking of growing up… Even though he remains the crown prince on official record, Lotor took the first opportunity he could to leave his parents’ sphere of influence, and he has not physically been back to Galra Central Command in more than ten years.

- Lotor is effectively a universal wanderer. Aboard his personal ship the Urbanus (a Destroyer-class star cruiser which has been heavily modified and improved by Lotor himself), Lotor and his generals travel wherever they like, both within the Galra Empire and outside it, dodging Haggar’s frequent attempts to re-exert control over Lotor and even more frequent assassination and kidnapping attempts from Zarkon’s enemies.

- Although Lotor has a very specific goal in mind, progress on this goal has been slow and painstaking, and he’s often left waiting for the next bare bones clue to chase after; this has resulted in the young prince having an unfortunate abundance of free time, which is dangerous for everyone involved. In between progress on his mysterious life’s goal, Lotor and his generals frequently get into trouble with small planets, local governments, militaries both official and off-the-books, giant monsters, and at least two hundred museum curators. They may or may not be wanted for grave-robbing in 13 different star systems.

- Basically he’s space Indiana Jones, if Indiana Jones was still 20 and also purple and also not being paid enough to be a good guy.

- All that said, as much of a devil-may-care rogue as he’d like to be seen, Lotor did spend all of his childhood under the thumb of the empire’s brutal authoritarian dictators, and he is therefore every inch a crown prince; as befitting one of his stature, he speaks eight languages fluently, flawlessly matches his formal dress to the occasion, knows exactly which piece of silverware to use when, can engage in political battles of wits and diplomatic machinations with the best of them, and has been training in armed combat since he was three years old. Lotor’s impeccable manners and steely leadership ability were literally beaten into him, to the point that now, even among trusted allies, he sometimes finds it difficult to turn off his cold, calculated princely persona.

- Not that his generals really let him get away with that kind of thing for long. Only those who have lived with multiple older sisters can truly understand the constant state of teasing and mortifying blackmail that Lotor lives in. On official record, Lotor’s generals are a crack team of terrifying bodyguards; in practice, they’re more likely to be dragging Lotor for all he’s worth than rescuing him. They might keep up formal appearances in front of others, but they’re effectively a close-knit family behind the scenes.

- It’s not a coincidence that all of Lotor’s generals are women; besides generally being awful, most Galra men make Lotor uncomfortable. From a human standpoint, Lotor is ridiculously tall and powerful; but from a Galra standpoint, Lotor is a thin, unhealthy-looking thing whose stature doesn’t command authority or respect in the slightest. It’s exhausting feeling like you have to constantly prove yourself, so Lotor prefers to spend time with a group that doesn’t invite negative comparison.

- However, it should be noted that a Galra man having only female friends has completely different connotations than a human man having only female friends—Galra women are, on the whole, considered more aggressive, bloodthirsty, and over-bearing than Galra men, so any Galra man who would choose to surround himself with that many women must either be out of his mind or incredibly badass.

- When asked what it’s like to live with four beautiful women, Lotor is basically ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ personified. Despite living together for years, none of the generals are romantically interested in Lotor and he’s not romantically interested in any of them.

- Many people have incorrectly assumed that Lotor and Axca are a pair, but Lotor helped Axca escape from a slave colony and she will never let another man touch her in her life. Axca is extremely grateful and loyal to Lotor, but given that Axca was Lotor’s first real friend, he’s just as grateful to her.

- If you think I’m killing off Narti, you’re out of your mind.

- Despite the fact that Lotor does not feel connected to the Galra Empire or the Galra as a whole, he’s somewhat more traditional and more likely to conform to Galra social standards than he wants to admit (even to himself). He insists that he has no interest in upholding the classic values of the Galra or meeting their expectations for how a prince should behave—but in truth, it’s impossible to fully kill that deep-down desire to just fit in. When push comes to shove, Lotor always finds himself falling in line with the Galra’s oldest and most deeply ingrained beliefs.

- With Lance in the “has never had a real kiss” club. Is not with Lance in the “wants a real kiss” club. Lotor is actually uncomfortable with being touched by strangers (36 assassination attempts will do that to you) and doesn’t make real friends, let alone anything closer, remotely easily. Some people are open books; Lotor is that one book from Harry Potter that bites people’s fingers off when they try to open it. Once you’re in his inner-circle, he’ll let you hang all over him, but before that, the space bubble is ten feet in every direction.

- Doesn’t actually put any special effort into his appearance. He just Looks Like That™.

- In fact, he actually kind of hates that stupid cowlick hair that’s always in his face but no matter how many times he cuts it off or slicks it back, it just keeps falling right back in his eyes. He’s basically given up at this point.

- His sword’s name is Eris and it was actually forged in the heart of a dying star.

- Kova the space cat hates Lotor. Lotor hates Kova. It’s a mutually antagonistic relationship. Somehow though, Lotor never makes any effort to get rid of Kova and Kova never takes the opportunity to leave. No one else understands it either, especially since Lotor gets along great with basically every other animal he meets.

- He’s not a pacifist by any means, but he is painfully practical and knows that, on occasion, sparing the life of one’s enemy nets more gain than indiscriminately crushing opponents beneath his heel. More manipulative than outright aggressive, he’s easily capable of twisting even the worst of situations to his advantage. Has an unfortunate tendency to be overly cunning—sometimes the tricks and twists he comes up with are unnecessarily full of flourish just because he thinks manipulating people like pieces in a board game is extremely entertaining. Riddles and mind games are Lotor’s favorite—the more convoluted, the better.

- Although most people refer to him by the basic “Prince Lotor” (Lotori Ahn in Galra), Lotor’s full name and official title is Lotori Kir Ahnja Avel i’ya ne Daibazaal, His Royal Highness Prince Lotor of the First Star. As the emperors and empresses of the Galra are said to be physical representations of the goddess, the firstborn children of emperors/empresses are always called “the first star,” after the supposed first creation of the goddess.

- Extremely competitive, but mostly about weird things—like sure he’s going to win if you challenge him to a swordsmanship duel, but challenge him to a staring contest? Your eyes will rot out of your head before this boy will blink. Do not think he will let you beat him in a spelling bee. More than once the generals have had to drag him away from getting involved in the bizarre competitions of the alien cultures they come into contact with. He was 1000% ready to learn to knit eight-armed sweaters with Rikrik fur, thank you. Would totally take up pig-farming JUST to win an Earth state fair.

- Likes to collect interesting artifacts and trinkets of lost civilizations by force if necessary. His ship is basically a floating museum at this point. The generals are starting to worry that they’re going to have add a whole ‘nother deck for all the war prizes Lotor wins himself. Lotor’s gathering hobby extends to games too—he’s a big fan of games that involve sets of items, like Renni, the Galra collectible card game. Would 110% be that Magic the Gathering nerd back on earth.

- In terms of other interests, Lotor is the picture definition of a Renaissance man. Although he’s not a flawless genius savant in every field, he is wicked smart and has studied a vast array of subjects; he’s a capable engineer, a skilled mathematician, a deft philosopher, a good scientist, and extremely well-read, and he is not going tolet you forget any of those things at any point in time. Lotor is always going to be better than you, please just accept your fate.

- Art is… another story. He might be able to sketch detailed architectural blueprints without breaking a sweat but ask him to draw a dog and you’re going to be in for some trouble.

And that’s more than enough for now I think! XD

[bouwrites]

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 8

Tonight I swear I’d sell my soul to be a hero for you.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

“Marinette?” Jon calls blindly into the apartment as he examines the note in his hands.

“What?” Marinette appears from the hallway. “What’s up?”

“Can you, like, convert this for me?”

Marinette furrows her brow. When Jon hands her the paper and she catches sight of what’s on it, she sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know American measurements. Just use what it says, you baby.” She says. Jon takes a step forward when she taps his shoulder so that she can squeeze past him and approach one of the cabinets. From which she pulls out a scale. Oh. I didn’t know we had that. Right behind the scale is some spoons from a drawer. “The butter is measured on the packaging. These measure mililiters. Everything else, use this like a normal person.”

“The butter is measured by tablespoons, not- oh, wait, no, I see it now.” Jon frowns at the stick of butter in his hands. “This is so much math.”

Marinette snorts and rolls her eyes again. “Americans. What are you making a cake for, anyway?”

“You remember Tamias?”

“From your speech class?”

“Yeah! His birthday’s coming up. David is freaking out over it, so we’re all pitching in to throw him a party.”

“David?”

“Hernandez? We worked together on a few projects. Massive crush on Tamias. Like, he’s adorable.”

“Oh, the one that got us into that debate about Harry Potter for like three hours.”

Jon snickers. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Jon can feel Marinette’s eyes on him as he gathers everything he needs to make the cake. He would think that having a baker’s daughter watching him bake would be reassuring, but to be perfectly honest? It’s not. It’s kind of terrifying. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Marinette asks.

“I’ve made cake before, Marinette.” Jon rolls his eyes. “And I cook for us half the time. Do you really have so little faith in me?”

Marinette just fixes him with a flat look and asks, “Do you want me to help?”

Jon maintains that he can do it on his own. Still, he wants the cake to be as good as it can be, and Marinette can be considered somewhat of an expert on the subject. And David wants everything to be perfect so he will get on Jon’s case if he finds out a baker’s daughter offered to help and he turned it down. So, Jon sets down the recipe and quietly says, “Yes, please.”

Marinette giggles. It’s an angelic sound Jon really should appreciate more. “Okay, move over.” She quickly grabs one of the bowls and starts throwing ingredients in without measuring a thing. “And for the record, you can do it alone. It’s just going to be better if I help.”

Jon opens his mouth to protest but ends up just groaning. “Yeah, that’s fair. Thanks, Marinette.”

“No problem. I need a distraction, anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Jon asks, picking up the bowl of sugar and butter to cream it together while Marinette flits around him to grab something he missed. They don’t have a stand mixer, mostly because they hardly have space for their coffee maker if they still want to use the countertops, but his muscles are good for something. “Studying?”

Marinette pauses. “Something like that.” She says. “So, when’s this party?”

Jon frowns at her behavior but, ultimately, if she doesn’t want to share, she doesn’t need to. She’ll tell him if it’s any of his business. “Saturday. You want to come? No one would mind.”

Marinette hums for a moment. “No, thank you. I’m just going to get a head start on studying for finals.”

He shrugs. “Probably a good idea. We’ve got real dumb shenanigans planned to set up David and Tamias and you are probably smart for not being there, honestly.”

“Oh, god.” Marinette mutters. “Alya used to pull some of the most convoluted plans to set me up with Adrien before we got together. I don’t even want to imagine what a boy’s version of that is.”

Jon can’t help laughing at the disgusted look on her face. “When David’s involved?” He says. “You really don’t.”

Predictably, David ends up setting the curtains on fire. It’s not his fault, of course, but it happens anyway. Their other friend, Mason (the most reasonable one, including Jon), gets $20 from each of them, though it’s Jon who actually puts the fire out. With a small fire extinguisher that Mason brings. Because he totally calls it.

Truth be told, Jon isn’t exactly close with anyone there. He meets most of them through projects or each other and sort of falls into this group by accident. He spends much more time with Marinette than with other NYU students. Partly because, now, anyway, he doesn’t have to hide around her. He doesn’t have to worry about small feats that normal people aren’t able to do. Too casually moving furniture, or forgetting to put on an oven mitt and not burning himself. And partly because when David does anything outside of his field of expertise, something ends up on fire or otherwise destroyed.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, it’s usually because of his area of expertise.

Today’s explanation boils down to “mood lighting.” Jesse is their lookout while David insists everyone light candles to “set the mood” so he can pull Tamias into the room later and ask him out. Luckily, they don’t get very far. Unfortunately, the reason they don’t get far is because David “I can make a chandelier in five minutes” Hernandez thinks duct tape, a prayer, and a bunch of random things he finds in his bedroom can make a cute chandelier.

It’s more about if he can than if he should. Jon gives Mason the twenty bucks while David is taping his creation to the ceiling fan. In hindsight, he should not have had faith that David would pull off the night without injuring something.

Anyway, the chandelier, surprisingly, works. The problem comes when he puts candles up there and takes a look at it and says, “This was a really dumb waste of time, wasn’t it?” And, to be fair, it is hideous, all wire and tape, so it’s not exactly the mood-setter he hopes for. David reaches up to take it down again, and that’s when everything goes wrong. He slips, lit candles fly everywhere, there’s wax on the floor, a curtain is catching fire, and Jon is already pulling out the fire extinguisher.

On the bright side, Tamias comes in, sees David wincing and holding his head, and rushes to his side to fuss over him. Mason ushers everyone else out of the room, leaving David with Tamias and a wink.

While they wait for the lovebirds to come back out, they make an obstacle course for David’s cat. And David. There’s a lot of tape involved. Jon mostly watches, since he feels weird setting up all this in David’s home, but the others are a lot closer to him and they don’t hesitate a moment. Apparently, this is normal.

Note to self, Jon thinks, never let them in your apartment.

“Beer?”

Jon shakes his head. He has drunk before, but he can’t get drunk unless his powers are inhibited somehow, and alcohol tastes terrible, so he doesn’t see the point. It’s not a bad thing. He actually counts it as a blessing because if he could get drunk, he would be ardently against it. He does not want to see anyone with his kind of powers inebriated. That’s just asking for trouble.

Not to mention he’s technically still underaged. Marinette’s old enough, though, this year, as is Mason. No one thinks much about it when everyone’s in college together.

“You figure out your major yet?” Mason asks, making himself comfortable on the couch next to him.

“Nope.” Jon answers.

“Seriously? We pick classes like next week, dude. You going another semester undeclared?”

“Might have to.”

Jesse leans over the back of the sofa to say, “You were on that whole moral ideals thing a while ago. Why not study ethics or something?”

Jon has considered studying ethics, but that has always been just a joke. He can’t imagine himself having fun in ethics. “Because I know an ethics major.” Jon says with a snort.

“Ha! True. You could do, like… geology. Or archeology. I don’t know why; I see you digging.”

“That’s because I grew up on a farm.”

“Oh, right.” Jesse whispers. “Was that racist?”

Jon looks at Jesse for a moment. “…No. It’s not a bad idea, though.” He takes a moment to ponder those options. He would do well in archeology. Finding old things from past civilizations, learning about what they were for and the people that used them… it’s a good idea.

Ethics is too subjective. There are no real answers, so every argument will always end up circling around itself until everyone is infuriated. Especially Jon. Especially with him having been a hero. And maybe he really just doesn’t want to be told that he has to be a hero to be a good person. He’s starting to believe he doesn’t, just a little, thanks to the Girod, and he’s not risking diving into ethics and having that crisis again.

That said, one of Jon’s leading options has always been studying people. Politics or sociology or something in that vein. Archeology, or maybe broader, anthropology, might be exactly what he’s looking for. To study cultures and civilization, to learn about the dominant race on Earth in a way he’ll never understand Kryptonians. It’s a little exciting, when he thinks about it. And it’s funny – the alien studying humans. Jon will get a giggle out of that for a long time. “I could do anthropology.”

Mason hums. “I can see that for you. Cultural anthropology sounds like your jam, to be honest.”

Jon laughs somewhat awkwardly. It’s true, but he honestly didn’t think Mason knows him well enough to tell. Maybe he’s just that transparent. He can buy that. Despite how much he hides about his identity and abilities, he’s not exactly an enigma. He’s certainly no Damian. “You think?”

“Worth looking into.” Mason shrugs. “You’re running out of time, dude.”

“Yeah, good point.” Jon makes a face. “I’ll have to look into it.”

David and Tamias stumble out of Mason and Jesse’s makeshift hallway obstacle course, the former glaring and the latter giggling awkwardly. Everyone watches David expectantly, but they get a curt shake of his head and it’s all they can do to stop themselves from groaning. Maybe next time. At least Tamias is having fun.

The more Jon looks into it, the more appealing the option is. Or maybe it’s just because he needs to sign up for classes and any direction is a godsend.

He likes the idea of anthropology. It’s a grab bag of history, culture, human behavior, even biology if he wants to go in that direction, and to a lesser extent all the myriad specializations that go into the entirety of human history, which is basically all of them. Maybe he can even learn a bit about fashion history and surprise Marinette. Extant garments from history count under the sphere of anthropology, Jon thinks, so it isn’t impossible.

Actually, that’d be pretty interesting. If Marinette has taught me anything about clothes, it’s that they can tell you a lot about the people who wear them. I wonder how much we can learn about a culture just from its clothes.

And I wonder if anything I learn studying this could be applied to Krypton, too. That would be interesting.

Jon talks to Marinette about it, and then Damian, and then his parents, and every one of them is supportive of this direction for him. Granted, all of them boil down to, “If that’s what you want to do,” but still. Aunt Kara gets a big laugh at the idea, and then gets really excited about it, and Jon can’t help but wonder if she’s just supporting him in that odd, exuberant way she does (the way that he’s half-sure she’s only like with him, because she knows it’s a surefire way to make him smile – she’s done that since he was little) or if she gets the idea that he might use the techniques and methods he learns studying humans and turn his gaze back to Krypton. Maybe they can recover even a little of that lost culture that even Aunt Kara can’t hold onto.

Jon’s not against the idea, he just doesn’t want her to get her hopes up. As neat as it would be, Jon still doesn’t know how he would even start, much less whether he wants to. It’s just… an academic interest. Because he’s one of very few people with that option available to him. A path mapped by curiosity, not passion. Maybe that will change if Jon starts down it, but only God knows the future.

But once he talks to the ones he’s closest to, he talks to the boys again, mostly for reassurance, and then he talks to his advisor and all of a sudden things start happening a little too quickly

All at once he’s signing up for classes and running around to turn in forms to their proper places all without time to really think about what he’s doing. Fair enough, he supposes, once he has time to breathe again. He’s been thinking it over for a year and a half, basically. It’s about time something is actually done.

With everything over and done with, Jon sits on the sofa in his living room, leans back to stare at the ceiling, and smiles. He’s not certain he’s making the right choice, he’s not sure that this is definitely, one hundred percent the thing he wants to spend his time doing, but he’s finally taken that first step in a direction. Finally, the crossroads ahead of him has become a path, and even if it’s not the best path for him, it’s still a direction. That’s a lot less scary.

It’s not like he’s locked in place, anyway. He might be a bit locked into his major soon, if how quickly his first year (and this semester) goes by says anything about his college experience, but even then, that doesn’t dictate his career. He still has a lot of options; they’re just not swarming all around him. And it’s such a relief.

He sighs there on the couch and feels lighter than he has in a long time. He has focus, direction, something to work towards beyond some vague ideal of normalcy. He’s finding in his attempt to decipher the Girod some Frankenstein of an ethics system that doesn’t necessitate heroism for its own sake, even if deep in his heart he knows he’s crafting it himself and at least to an extent is working backwards from his conclusion, the one that he needs, that he’s not a bad person. (He’s not sure that’s a bad thing, though.) He’s actually excited about the future! For the sheer number of times he’s thought there might not be one, that’s quite an achievement.

And he can’t do this without Marinette. Through all of his floundering, his philosophical musings, his hesitation, his fear and doubt, she’s always right there. Something close enough to normal to matter. A rock that he can float back down to. She’s his tree on the farm, that sits quietly with him as he watches the stars, that holds him up when he’s scared of falling.

It’s been a long time since Jon has just sat down and felt content. When Marinette joins him and they watch a show on the television, Jon can’t help but think how lovely it would be for this to be his normal. If this feeling, this moment, could last forever, Jon would be happy.

Jon gets an unexpected text from Damian during winter break. It’s odd partly because Damian is the kind of person who calls more often than not, partly because Damian is the kind of person who will show up outside Jon’s window in every other situation, and partly because, to Jon’s knowledge, there’s no cause for Damian to contact him at all.

They’re friends, of course, but it would be a massive lie to say they’re the kind of friends who hit each other up just to talk. Neither of them are really that kind of person. Frankly, Jon is a little surprised that they’re still friends now that he isn’t a hero. Sad as it is, he half-expects them to drift apart quickly without them working together all the time.

But however much a text from Damian throws him off, the content is what takes his legs out from under him. It’s a link to a news article, with no additional context. The article is originally in French, but apparently the batcave translated it already so what Damian sends him is helpfully readable.

And Jon feels a little like something is grabbing his heart. Too-cold hands wrapped around it, constricting it, trying their best to mute its beating.

“Mayura Strikes Again,” the headline reads, “Ladybug Returns.”

Ladybug returns. The words echo in his head easily, finding nothing else to disrupt them. His mind is empty except for that one thought. That, and the sickening feeling he has in his gut. “Marinette…”

He scrolls through the article, dread and horror looming over him, drooling on him, sliding down his spine to send shivers all through him. There are pictures. Mayura, Chat Noir, a couple heroes Jon only knows tangentially – they were around before but stopped fairly early on, Marinette tells him their identities were outed – Queen Bee and Viperion, and there in all her glory, Ladybug. Marinette.

She’s older than the last picture of her. Her hair is longer, though Jon knows she’s thinking of cutting it short. She’s wearier, more tired, strangely enough, despite being out of the fight for over a year. Jon thinks it’s what Damian says is going on with him. He’s safe, so he can process everything. It’s hard, and Jon knows Marinette struggles with it too, but that’s why he can’t… He can’t fathom why she’d do this.

No. He can. He knows better than anyone why. There is no other choice but to fight, or so she thinks. Mayura got her Miraculous back somehow, so the battle, Marinette’s old battle, the one she became Ladybug in the first place to fight, is back on. She’s obligated to fight. To finish her duty. It’s her responsibility, and Marinette is, without a doubt, a responsible person. Jon understands, he just… feels betrayed.

It’s stupid to feel this way. She can do whatever she likes. If she wants to become a hero again, or even if she just feels like there’s no other option, then she can. But Jon thought they were in this life, this choice to leave heroism behind them, together. He thought they were working on this as a team, and he can’t help but feel a little like Marinette has guided him onto the field, handed him the football, and left him to face a whole team of linemen on his own.

Not to mention, as much as he hurts for himself, he hurts for her, too. He knows – he might be the only one who knows – how hard it must be for her to decide to fight again. He wonders what pushes her to this point, if Mayura is really so extreme on her own, and he pities her. Jon has been called back to duty more than a few times since he retired, and not just by Damian. He’s always refused. He always tells them that he can’t help them. Marinette is called back, and she answers. Jon doesn’t know if that’s brave or stupid, but either way he knows how she feels, and because he does, he can’t be angry at her. He feels betrayed, confused, and alone, but not angry. All he feels for her is pity. That she is put in an impossible position. He wishes her the best.

And then he turns his attention back to himself. He wonders what might cause him to don the cape again, and he fights the urge to retch. How can she do this? How can she be strong enough to do this? Jon isn’t. He doesn’t think he is, anyway. Just watching her, watching his normal soar over rooftops and beat down the bad guy, is enough to freeze Jon completely. It’s hard to breathe, to think, impossible to move. The very idea of doing that himself is… ridiculous.

Above everything else, though? Above it all, Jon is disappointed. And scared. Is this how his own retirement will end? Will he soon enough face that one call to action that he just can’t refuse? Is he wrong to resist it? Is he truly a coward, selfish, despicable for trying so hard to avoid it? Would refusing that irrefusable call to action be those things?

Jon tries to remember the Girod. Peace, his devotion to non-violence. Imagination, cleverness in finding the non-violent path even when it isn’t obvious. Hope, maintenance in his belief that things can and will be better. Restraint, to never take things too far when they can be resolved more gently. Purity, his ideals cannot be compromised no matter the situation. Justice… Must Justice be sacrificed for the rest of the virtues? Is it simply not possible to uphold them all?

Where is Justice if Mayura creates these monsters and Ladybug does not fight them? Where is justice if someone on the streets of New York cries out for help, and no one comes? Justice is the most difficult of the virtues for Jon to reconcile, and right now… he doesn’t know what to think.

He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates the look on Ladybug’s face in the video and pictures, hates how disgusted she looks, hates that he’s one of few people who will understand that the look isn’t for the monster, but for herself. He hates that she’s in Paris fighting a battle she wants no part in while he’s on a farm in Hamilton County waiting for the stars to shine. He hates that there’s nothing he can do to help her, to save her from this impossible position she’s in. He hates that that desire itself is a little too close to heroism, and he especially hates the unreasonable panic and nausea that overcomes him.

How awful this entire situation is. How unfair and terrible the fates are to them both. But above all else, Will Marinette be okay?

The situation with Mayura escalates and resolves quickly. Marinette comes back to New York later than she usually does, but still before classes start. If Jon doesn’t know any better, he’d think she’s just more lax because they’re getting used to how college works.

All through break he agonizes over whether to reach out to her. To offer to contact the Justice League for her (pointless, since it’s Damian who tells him about the situation in the first place), to offer anything he can do to help, but every time he touches his phone he feels paralyzed. He doesn’t know what to say, how to approach this, or, really, anything at all.

He ends up not speaking to her much over the break. She doesn’t call him, either, but he supposes she has bigger things to focus on.

But he refuses to let this be a repeat of last year. He will not let this turn them into strangers in their own home again. He won’t allow this to be what breaks them apart. Jon is still friends with Damian. He still has other hero friends. If Marinette has to be a hero, then fine. Jon won’t let this stop them from being friends. Maybe they can’t be everything they thought, maybe things are different and uncertain and scary, but they can be friends at least.

So, when Marinette finally arrives in New York, Jon sits at their little table and waits. It feels almost like he’s preparing for an intervention, and he’s awkward and uncomfortable in that little wooden chair despite the cushion Marinette made for it.

Marinette walks into the living room, sees him, and shrinks in the hallway. “I take it you saw the news.” She says softly.

“I did.” Jon confirms. “Sorry to spring this on you, but you know we have to talk about it.”

Marinette flinches, but nods. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t… they needed me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Marinette.” Jon thinks his voice sounds tired, almost dead, but for the way she recoils he’d think he’s vicious. It sends a little pang through him and he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch. “I’m not angry. I’m just… sad.”

“…That’s worse.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but he hears it.

“Look.” He says. “I’m not letting this be last year all over again. I can’t handle that, I don’t think you can handle that, and neither of our grades can handle that either. So, don’t close off from me, okay? I’m not- I’m not angry. I’m not- I’m feeling a lot of things, but nothing at you. If that makes any sense. I just- I want to know. It’s fine if you’re going to keep being a hero. I promise. I’m still friends with all my old hero partners – I don’t have a problem being friends with a hero. Just don’t lie to me, Marinette.” He hears her suck in a hissing breath. “Are you serious about giving it up or not? Because I thought we were in this together, and… And now everything’s different, and I can’t keep doing this, either. If I’m doing this alone, I need to know. It’s fine if I am. That was the original plan, anyway. So, tell me the truth.”

Marinette doesn’t say anything for a too-long moment. Jon opens his eyes to peek at her when he hears the other chair pull out from the table. Marinette sits properly, folding her hands in her lap, and stares at the table between them. “I don’t want to be a hero. I promise, I was honest. I never wanted to fight again. I honestly thought I wouldn’t have to.”

“But you did.”

“I did. I’m sorry. I didn’t see any other option.”

Jon takes a deep breath. “Marinette… the life that I want, it’s non-violent. I’m trying my best to be as pacifist as I can. You inspired that decision. You told me that violence is violence no matter what it’s for. That heroes who fight can’t truly say they stand for peace. I know you’re not me, and I know your… values and ideals are different than mine, but… in the life that you want, is peace something you value?”

“Of course, it is.”

“Then why would you sacrifice that?” Jon sighs, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I- I’m just confused.”

“No. You’re right.” Marinette sniffs a little, and she’s all tension as she glares at the table. “I was… I felt trapped. Like I had no other option. But I did, and there’s no excuse for fighting. If I’d just looked closer, I could have found a way. I should have.”

“You said before that part of the reason you quit being a hero is because you felt trapped.” Jon says. “I think this might be why. At least partly.”

Marinette ducks her head, grimacing. “You’re probably right. But… I have to be honest with you. I am the guardian of the Miraculous. I don’t want to be, but I am. I left the Miracle Box with Chat Noir when I came here, and because I abandoned my responsibilities, nearly all of the Miraculous were stolen, and Paris had to deal with Mayura again.”

“Do you really blame yourself for that?”

“I do.” Marinette says firmly. “It’s my responsibility to look after the Miraculous, and they got stolen because I abandoned them.”

Jon can see how she comes to that conclusion. He doesn’t exactly agree, but her logic isn’t faulty. “So?”

“So, I can’t neglect my duties anymore. If I’m the guardian, I have to act like it. Otherwise, we’ll end up with another tragedy.”

Jon nods slowly. “So, you’re going to keep being Ladybug.” Marinette curls her lip and nods. “And you’re okay with that?”

“…No.”

Jon takes a deep breath. “Marinette… I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t. But I want to see you happy. I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for ‘duty’ or whatever you’re obligated to do. That’s what heroes do, and being heroes has…” He chuckles helplessly. “Well, we left that behind for a reason.”

Marinette furrows her brow, worries her lip, and then sighs slowly. “You’re right. You asked me if I’m serious about giving up Ladybug. Adrien made me promise to be happy.” She takes another deep breath, preparing herself. A single tear escapes her, alarming Jon as it rolls quickly down her cheek. “This is my answer, then. I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng…”

Tikki appears out of nowhere, screeching her protest. “Marinette, don’t!”

“…hereby relinquish the Miracle Box and nam-”

The moment she starts glowing, and Tikki turns a deadly glare to him, it clicks in Jon’s brain what exactly Marinette is doing. He throws the table aside, accidentally tossing it quite a bit further than he intends, and dives to slap his hand over Marinette’s mouth. “Don’t you dare!” Jon growls.

Marinette, stunned speechless and no longer glowing now that her… ceremony, or whatever, is interrupted, levels a glare at him. She pushes him off of her and snaps, “Why not? I’ll never be happy so long as this stupid guardianship has me trapped in this life. No matter what I do, it’ll always be my job to clean up Miraculous messes, whether I want to or not. The only way to live the life that I want is to pass it on and forget it all.”

“But you’re the best Ladybug ever, Marinette!” Tikki protests. “You can’t just give it all up!”

“I already did!” Marinette says. “I already told you I don’t want to be a hero! I love you, Tikki, but you haven’t been paying attention. I’m sorry, but I’m not Ladybug anymore. I haven’t been since I made the decision to come to New York.”

“But-”

“Don’t ask me to keep doing something I hate, Tikki. Please.”

“But I-” Tikki flinches when she catches herself, and then finally whispers. “Okay. I just want you to be happy.”

“Thank you.” Marinette turns her gaze to Jon. “I expected Tikki to try, but why did you stop me? Don’t you see? This is the other way. This is how I can live peacefully.”

Jon watches her talk to Tikki with an understated anger simmering just beneath his skin, agitated like the surface of the ocean, rippling across his body like liquid. And when she talks to him, he can’t help how his voice raises just a little. “What did I just say?” He asks. “Don’t sacrifice yourself! Like it or not, your memories make you who you are. I’m not letting you throw away so much of your life just because you can’t see a better option! You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng! You’ll figure out another option. I’ll make another option for you if that’s what it takes! But don’t you dare sacrifice yourself, again, for your stupid ‘duty’ you hear?!”

Marinette and Tikki both are staring wide-eyed at him. Then, all at once, both of them look ashamed of themselves. “You’re right.” Marinette says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Jon winces. He hates that temper of his. He hates that he gets angry sometimes when he shouldn’t. But Marinette just… giving up. After so much effort put into creating what they’ve found, and so much potential in the future, to just give up now is… “Sorry I yelled.” He says. “But don’t give up on this. Don’t give up hope. We’ll figure it out.”

Marinette nods. It’s uncertain and hesitant, but she does. “I hope so.”

——-=——-

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe  @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @theatreandcomicfreak​  @toodaloo-kangaroo​ @too0bsessedformyowngood​ <3

[kassies-take]

Past Lives

Warning: Blood & Seduction

Lena Luthor x Reader

Word Count: 1672

You were turned into a vampire by Lucy Westenra. Lucy had you trapped in between her arms with your back pressed against a dresser. Her upper and lower canines grew into fangs with her eyes blood red. You had tried to push her away only to be thrown onto her bed with blood, lust and the vampire curse for life.

Your whole life you had stayed alive to find her again. Surely if creatures of the night could be real, reincarnation would be too. You’ve seen it a couple times to not drive a stake through your own heart.

You’ve come a long way from 1896 to 2019. From London to Paris to Milan to Barcelona to Venice to Budapest to anywhere in Europe really. It wasn’t until the early 2000s when you decided to take your adventures out of Europe and into America.

When the news of Lex came around, you shrugged your shoulders not caring much for the news. If there was anything you learned in your hundred thirty plus years of living was that news traveled easily. You knew of Lena Luthor, Supergirl and even the D.E.O, but you found it useless to actually familiarize yourself with them.

Here you were nineteen years later in a city called National City. Another vampire has caught your attention, specifically one that is being reckless in his hunts. After having seen what people do out of fear, you did not need a mob of people in front of your house.

Unfortunately for you, this confrontation caused you to be on Supergirl’s radar. You had already staked and decapitated the said vampire. He left his dinner unfinished as you fought back your temptation and lost.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered before you sank your teeth into the woman’s neck.

You had nearly drained her body when Supergirl landed behind you with her hands on her hips.

“You’re blood sucking days are over!”

“I may have days. Well she has minutes if not seconds.”

You and Supergirl had a stare down before you smirked and sped away.

~~~~~

“I’ve searched the whole city and I can’t find her,” Kara flew into the D.E.O.

“Vampires are sophisticated creatures. But they are also ruthless and perverse killers. The best we can do is keep a lookout, the good thing is that they are active at night.” Alex dismissed.

Oh how wrong she was, you could walk in the sun thanks to Professor Van Helsing’s solar serum, that allowed any vampire to stand in the sunlight with no ill effects, for four hours. Over the years you had learned to prolong the effects with enhancing the serum.

Word got around that a certain Luthor was able to give humans powers and you decided to pay her a visit with the serum. Lena was at a meeting but her secretary had let you in, courtesy of seduction.

Your eyes searched the office when your gaze landed on a broken glass picture frame.

“Lucy Westerna? I finally found you,” You smiled sheepishly as you placed the picture back on her desk.

Heels clicked through the office door and stopped at the visitor in her office.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Sorry. I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you extended your hand out for her to shake.

“Miss (Y/LN), I wasn’t expecting visitors. And I am in no mood to help anyone at the moment.”

“I understand, but if it’s anyone I trust to help me it would be you.”

Something about your tone made Lena sure you were sincere especially with the look of longing in your eyes.

“Have we met before?” Lena stood and walked towards the counter with alcohol.

“Not in this life,” you kept your eyes trained on Lena.

“So what do you need my help for? Also if you plan to work with me I expect you to be entirely honest with me,” Lena leaned her back on the counter and sipped.

You smirked before you sped towards Lena and trapped her in between your arms. Your upper and lower canines grew into fangs with your eyes blood red. Lena’s eyes grew wide as she tried to push you away. You chuckled at the reversed role before you reached up to caress her check.

“Don’t worry, my darling. I won’t hurt you,” this would’ve been the mirror image of throwing the poor woman on her desk but you sped to the other side of the room instead.

You would’ve thought that that little “stunt” of yours would scare the Luthor away as it normally did with other bachelorettes. The Luthor however intrigued you as she willingly helped you.

A month or so later, you sat on a gurney with Lena’s back turned from you, her eyes concentrated on the microscope of your blood. A bag of blood, not yours, hung from your lips when Lena chuckled at you. You gave her a questioning glance and pulled the blood bag away from your lips, teeth stained red.

“You look like a child drinking one of those Caprese Suns.”

“I am, the Fruit Punch one.”

“Such a child,” Lena shook her head and moved towards the serum.

“Well Lucy did turn me at eighteen. I had gotten home that evening after a day with my friends. Lucy waited in front of my Victorian home and wished me a happy birthday.”

“This Lucy sounds,” Lena paused. “Delightful.” A hint of jealousy escaping her lips.

Your cheeks turned up in a smirk and hid your laughter.

“Lucy was sexy, a social butterfly, flirty and all things glamorous. She captured the eyes of any men who walked past. Fortunately to me, she never had interest in those suitors. She was more of a suitress herself.” You saw Lena’s shoulder tense.

“And she was your suitress?” Lena questioned.

“I was the last person she was with, before she was staked, beheaded and stuffed with garlic.” Your tone dropped. “A hundred thirty years and no one has made my heart beat like it did with Lucy, not like my heart beats anyways. Until today.”

Lena looked up from her work to question you when Kara barged in with Belly Burger. A familiar scent reached your nose, a scent only two aliens were known to have on Earth. You crossed your arms and smiled at Kara, in return you received a glare.

“Kara,” Lena said through gritted teeth. “I appreciate the Belly Burger but I already ate.”

You raised your eyebrows at Lena as you knew you were the only one who ate since you both entered the lab.

“You’re lying,” Kara frowned.

“And so have you,” Lena crossed her arms. “Supergirl.”

Kara stammered. You raised your eyebrows in amusement as you continued the unfinished blood bag.

“I w-was doing it to protect you.”

“Were you or was it because I was a Luthor?”

“Believe me Lena, I wanted to tell you.”

“But you didn’t...I need you to leave my lab,” Lena stood unfazed.

“You’re letting her stay here? She’s a vampire, she’s ruthless and will kill anything for food.”

“She hasn’t since she has been working with me.”

“She’s using you!” Kara pointed.

“She might be, but she told me the truth since the beginning. Now go before I call security,” Lena pointed at the door.

Kara frowned before she took a final glance at you. You returned with a bloody smirk and waved with your fingers.

“Trouble in paradise?” You teased when Kara left the lab.

“Don’t start,” she glared at you before she turned back to the microscope.

“Something tells me that this isn’t just about Kara being Supergirl?”

“Well considering I’ve been betrayed my whole life, I can’t exactly enjoy working with you,” Lena spoke with venom.

For the next hour or so Lena remained focused on her work. You puffed out your cheeks and and frowned, a habit Lucy grew to love. You sped out of the lab, back to your apartment in National City for a silver locket. Once retrieved, you went back to the lab and tossed it next to Lena’s station.

She looked at it before she looked at you.

“Open it.”

“I am busy.”

“Just open it.”

With a huff she tossed her gloves aside and opened the locket. She slowly looked up to meet your eyes.

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Lena?”

“Is that Lucy?”

“Yes. But it is also you in your past life. Just so you know, if I ever harm you. I will drive a stake through my own heart,” You whispered.

“I knew there was something about you.”

“You know, Lucy taught me her ways of seduction.” You whispered inches from her face.

“By capturing someone’s five senses. Touch,” your fingertips danced up Lena’s leg.

“Scent,” Lena couldn’t help but inhale your perfume which reminded her of the summer sun.

“Sound,” you continued to lower your voice as it sent chills throughout Lena’s whole body.

“Sight. A look, that lingers.” Your eyes moved to Lena’s lips for a few seconds.

“And finally,” you whisper.

“Yes, go on?” Lena questioned desperately.

You moved to close the gap between you. When you were a centimeter apart you finally whispered, “taste.”

You both felt the other’s breath on each other’s lips. You smirked and pulled away towards her ear.

“Of course I added my own step, frustration.” You grabbed the locket and disappeared.

Lena cursed, and crossed her legs as she continued to work. Only she didn’t even last ten minutes when she cleaned the area and headed home. She went up to her office to grab her coat and when she turned towards the door from her office chair, you were there with crossed arms and a smirk.

“You lasted longer than when Lucy tried that on me.”

“Well, I’m not you. And second,” Lena leaned towards your ear. “Let’s see if Lena Luthor is better than Lucy Westenra at pleasing someone?”

Lena left you frozen as she walked out of her office like nothing happened.

[voldemorthatesnose96]

COLORS IN SILENCE

As an only child of one of the most famous painter in the world, Sander Driesen is also expected to be as big as his father. But life takes turn when he sees a Deaf florist boy whose silence could speak a thousand of meanings.

Disclaimer : if there’s any mistake or misintepretation of my Deaf character, PLEASE feel free to dm me to correct it❤️it means a lot to me. Thank you!❤️

Prelude

“You know exactly what to do, right?”

I want to scream “NO!” to his face but I can’t. It’s always the same question for every single time I want to create something on the blank canvas. WHY does he have to think that I always know what to do, when in fact I don’t?! Unknowingly, I grip my pencil too hard.

“Sander?”

“Yes, Dad. I know.” I say with gritted teeth and start to sketch.

My hand always slightly trembles whenever it touches the paper—scared and doubtful. But unfortunately my Dad and many people think that it’s my ‘signature’ move.

What the fuck is that, actually? Are they blind, oblivious or simply stupid?

At first, I’m not sure whether to sketch a silhoutte or a bouquet of flowers but then I remember the dream I had last night about an abandoned castle and the dancing trees which surrounds its ground; of course it’s weird but somehow I feel so entertain when I wake up and that even bring a tiny smile to my face; which is a very rare thing to happen for these past 4 years. So yeah, I’m going to sketch my dream instead.

“Sander, focus!”

“I’m already focused.”

Dad shakes his head, “you curved this line too hard,” he points to the twigs. ”Fix it.”

Trying hard not to roll my eyes at him, I do what I’m told. I’ve never been the kind of person who could remember the tiniest bit of their dream but weirdly enough, I can recall almost everything that happened last night. How I suddenly walked in this forest which grass were humming melodiously everytime I stepped on it, the wind was breezy and peaceful and the abandoned castle was not as scary as it sound. In fact, the interior was still as good as new but the hallway was the most attractive of all—it filled with many beautiful and famous paintings all around the world from van Gogh to Frida Kahlo. All I can think of is magical.

If only my life is just the same.

For almost 7 years now, I create something that hopefully could transport people’s imagination to somewhere else, almost like escapism from their own cages. Wish they could expand their views just by looking at my arts. Sadly, this little world—little happy bubble I create for another humans, I can’t even go there, not anymore. Day by day, I feel like a robot. Sure as hell my Dad isn’t the right person for me to talk to about my worries and stuff—he won’t understand, he doesn’t want to understand. He’s a famous oil-painter and his arts are frequently exhibited in the most popular art galleries in the world. He was taking a break for 2 years when Mum died; I was 3 that time. Funny, I never feel sad whenever I think of her. For me, she’s just a distant memory that I could never grasp.

“Stop.”

My Dad’s voice startles me and my hand stops instantly.

“What now?” I genuinely ask.

“I think you should take a rest.”

Okay. This is weird.

“But I’m not tired.”

My Dad sighs. His brows furrows, “just do it, son. You can continue later. For now, rest.” And without saying another word, he walks out from the room and closes the door behind him while I just stand there.

I have no fucking idea why he suddenly acts like that. This is the first time since many years ago and I can’t help but feeling curious. Dad is never a warm person around me. All he cares about is to carve me to be someone just like him, to be the perfect artist, to be... everything he were and I used to be so supportive of his ideas, without questioning a single thing; like a good son should be. It all changed though.

For almost 3 years now, I constantly feel hollow and unsatisfy about my arts. Whatever I do to make it right, whenever I try to fix it, these feelings are still there; lingering, waiting for me to collapse at last. Know what? I almost relent. For whatever reason.

If I believe in miracle, maybe this is how it works because I’m still here and doing what I’m supposed to do. But right now, Dad’s right. I need a rest. Maybe even some sleep.

Our art room have a tiny bed in the corner and I sleep there more often that I did in my own room. I used to locked myself in this room for hours just to finish the new art I’m making and Dad never asked if I’m okay or not. Maybe it’s normal for him. The way artist should behave, I guess.

I plop myself on the bed while staring at the white ceiling, waiting for the sleep to take me away. It doesn’t take long for me to finally give in and once again, for so many nights, my heart screams “help...”

————————

School isn’t that hard today. In fact, I enjoy what I learnt. Cubism isn’t my favorite style because it’s too... rigid? I don’t know how to describe it. But the new professor was very clear and creative about it and she made me not wanted to get out of the class and eat in the cafetaria instead. The class dismiss before I know it. Wow. That’s fast.

“Yo, Sandy!”

Without looking I already know who that is because there’s only one person in this world that would call me with the name SANDY and that is Hugo Mulligan; my only friend in the entire school since the day we met as the Freshmen.

“Not in the mood, Mulligan,” I mutter under my breath as I pack stuffs in my red duffel bag. “go away!”

He scoffs, “you’re no fun.”

“And since when Sander Driesen is a fun person to be with?” I retort.

“For once in my life, I agree with you.”

I roll my eyes and he laughs.

“Actually I want to ask you a favour. If you’re not busy today.”

“No. What’s that?”

“I need to go to the bakery and the flower shop.”

“What for?”

Hugo sighs, “today is Violet’s birthday. I told you many times before.”

Oh yeah. His girlfriend’s birthday. An exchanged student from Boston a year ago. Since Hugo met her, he literally never stops talking about how cute and pretty she is—the perfect girl for his dark world, he said, which I thought is bullshit because Hugo’s world is far from dark. I know because I met his family couple times and they’re all lovely, caring and hilarious. Dad as a lawyer, Mum as a chef and two incredibly beautiful male twins who’s not yet 3 years old—Hugo loves them all and it’s clearly seen. So yeah, no ‘dark’ for him at all.

“Earth to Driesen!”

I blink, “yeah, sure. I’ll come.”

“Your Dad is okay with it?”

“He’s in Florence and won’t be back until two days later. It’s fine.”

Hugo claps his hands like a little kid who just got a flashy new toy. A bit overreacted but I never really mind about it. Being friends with someone like him is tiring at some point because his energy seems to never put out but I gradually getting use to it.

“Cool! I’ll drive!”

I never really like to drive my own car. Dad often insists me to use it instead of taking a bus everyday to school and I tell him many times that I don’t want to; probably the only thing that I still hold on against my Dad and I have no regrets, at all.

When me and Hugo finally on the road, he talks about the dinner plan he’s been working on for this past week and my dumbass brain can’t think of anything so I just nod and say “that’s great” as a response. I’m glad he’s too happy about Violet to notices my reaction.

“.... I think it’ll be the perfect opportunity to ask her on a mini getaway for 2 weeks. What do you think?”

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking about Santorini or Lake Como. Which one do you think is more suitable for her?”

I nearly scoff but hold myself back, “you can take her to Sahara desert and she’s still gonna love you.”

Hugo smiles at my witty remarks, “guess you’re right.” And then he starts to sing loudly to The Weeknd.

We arrive at the bakery not long after. I remember this place is kinda new because it used to be an Italian restaurant. Strange how small detail could take space in your memory, even for an useless information like this.

Though I have to admit that their decoration and cakes are visually pleasing. I even intrigue to try their paris-brest.

“Take whatever you want, Sandy. It’s on me.” Hugo said as he waits in the queue and even gives a smirk when he catches me almost drooling.

“I’ll just take that paris-brest.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

Hugo nods, “sure. Take a seat and wait for me, would you? I won’t be long.”

But of course there isn’t any empty seat left because this place is full. So I go outside and wait there, a bit annoyed that I didn’t bring cigarette with me today.

I watch people passing by and mentally sketching their silhouttes to kill some time but the more I try to make it vivid, the more blur it is in my mind—so I give up. My hands trembles for an unknown reason but obviously not because of the spring breeze.

“I’m done. Let’s go!”

I follow Hugo back to his car and luckily my hands are alright now. The last thing I want Hugo to see was the tremble. I don’t want him to look at me weirdly or worse, concerned.

“Here’s your cake, Sandy.”

If I’m in the mood, I’ll smack his head with my bag for calling me that but today I have no energy.

“Thanks. Gonna eat these at home.”

“You can gobble ‘em up here if you want. I don’t mind.”

I smile, “I’ll save these guys for tonight. Best thing always come late.”

“If you say so,” then Hugo looks at his watch and mutters. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot that the flower shop will closed in 20 minutes! God, I’m so dumb!”

“Is it still far away?”

“About 10 minutes but not with THIS traffic.”

I examine the road and realise that there’s a car crash. The ambulance already there and one of the car is wrecked almost thoroughly. I hope there are no children involved. What a terrifying sight to see.

“Stop looking, Sander,” Hugo says, his tone is always serious whenever he calls me by my real name. “It’s no good.”

“I just hope they’re alright.”

Hugo doesn’t say anything but his hands on the wheel go rigid. I notice that immediately but doesn’t say anything. For more than 2 years we’ve been friends, this is the first time I witness him being like this.

“They’ll be alright. They have to.” His voice sounds icy cold but worries at the same time.

His sudden remark startles me, “I hope so too.”

After that, none of us talk to each other until his car stop near the flower shop. I think there’s nothing special or extravagant about this place, considering how Hugo loves being surrounded by something over the top sometimes. Well, maybe he does have layers that I don’t know yet—especially after what happened earlier.

“You stay?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Because it’s boring to wait alone again rather than curious of what’s inside, to be honest.

“I’m lucky the shop isn’t closed yet,” Hugo says with a shaky breath. “Violet would be pleased, right?”

I smile genuinely, “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, pal. Relax. She’ll love you no matter what.”

He gives me a nervous smile as a response.

When I enter the shop, I’m not surprised how simple but clean this place is. Lots of different scent from each flowers catches my nose almost instantly, all at once and I can’t help but sneezes twice.

“Excuse me.” I say while wiping my mouth with a handkerchief.

“Robbie, my man!”

Hugo half-shouting voice make me jump and I follow his gaze; it’s the shop clerk, a guy around my age with unruly brown hair and a pair of eyes like Bambi, wears a green sweatshirt which a little too big for him.

“Cute.”

Shit.

Did I just say ‘cute’ that loud?

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Cute,” I say a little too quickly. “The flowers. They’re cute.”

I force myself to past a glance to that brown-haired guy and he seems doesn’t catch what I just said about him. Thank God. Even though Hugo still looks at me with bemused expression. He’s the first person who knows that I’m a Pansexual and probably the only person in this world—and I’m not definitely not gonna come out to Dad anytime soon. There’s no use.

“Can we hurry? I’m hungry.” I try to change the subject.

It works. Hugo turns his head again to the cute guy and made some gestures I don’t understand.

Wait...

Gestures?

Can it be... that guy...

“Robbie,” he mouths while doing all he can to communicates using sign languages. “My flowers for Violet, please.”

The guy named Robbie smile and nod then later went to the back to get Hugo’s order.

“Hugo, does he...”

“Deaf. Yes.”

“Robbie. That’s his real name?”

“No, it’s Robbe but I call him Robbie just like I love to call you Sandy.”

I roll my eyes to my brain, “fuck you, man. You can’t just changed someone else’s name.”

Hugo gives me a smirk, “I just did, Sandy.”

Before I can say anything, Robbe comes back with HUGE bouquet which consists with any kind of red flowers from rose to tulip. I almost sneeze again but successfully hold myself back.

“Don’t you dare sneeze on my precious bouquet, Driesen!”

“I wasn’t.” I retort but give him my most smug face.

“You’re funny.”

“Sorry?”

“Robbie said you’re funny.”

I look at Robbe and there’s a smile appeared on his face—deadass looking at me in the eyes too. Seems like this guy is very straight-forward and unapologetic.

“Uh... thanks, I guess?”

Robbe shrugs but still smiling. Then he writes something on a piece of paper and gives it to me : “would you like some flowers too? It’s on me.”

I look up, perplex and say, “why?”

He writes again : “because I think you need one :)”

This is interesting.

“Well, okay then. Thank you. What will you give to me?”

Why do I sound more flirty than curious? For God’s sake, he’s a stranger! STRANGER! And I dare to sound like THAT? The fuck is wrong with me?

Hugo snorts beside me. He’s clearly been enjoying himself. But again, I also laughed too hard when he told me the story about him been slipping and falling in front of everybody at his family’s business private party; so yeah, I guess I deserve that snort.

Robbe comes back from the back of the room holding a simple bouquet; there were two Eglantines, one Iris and three Larkspurs. I didn’t speak flowers so I’m not sure why he gives me those but when he hands it to me, I accept it wholeheartedly and say thank you. Robbe smiles and makes some sign that I’m sure it’s meant for “you’re welcome”.

My ears catch a girl’s voice entering the shop. She’s also around my age; with blue eyes, auburn hair and very pretty. Her eyes twinkled like the sun is shining on them.

“Afternoon, everybody,” she says cheerfully and then walks toward Robbe and pecks his lips. “Hey babe! Glad you made new friends.”

Ouch!

So he’s already have a girlfriend and that realisation stings me a little. And I DARED to ‘flirt’ with her boyfriend earlier!

But of course he is. I shouldn’t be surprised. Beside, they looks nice together.

Hugo nudges my arm, “you ready to go?”

I nod and and without saying another word again, I force myself to get out from there. Damn. I should say something to Robbe but I just can’t.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

“Sure.”

Ever since I broke up with my ex around a year ago because she cheated, my heart always told me not to trust any kind of affection towards other people. I keep questioning myself what did I do wrong, about her and about us—and whenever I ask her about that, she says “it’s not you, it’s ME. I’m sorry. So sorry, Sander!” . But it only took a month for me to forgave her and know what? We’re friends now, even though she moves to another city with her new boyfriend. Sometimes life can be very strange. I thought she’s unforgivable but seem like I can’t hold grudges for too long—Hugo told me that it’s a bad thing but... I don’t know, part of me doesn’t agree with him for an unknown reason.

“He meant well, you know?”

My thoughts bursts like a bubble, “what?”

“Robbe,” Hugo mutters. “With those flowers.”

I look at my new given bouquet, “you know the meaning of these guys?”

“Well, I coincidentally understand the meaning of those,” Hugo says. “You see, my Mum often bring back Iris home to tell the whole house that good news is coming, Larkspur is my Dad’s favorite because it meant “lightness” and you’re gonna find a vase full of them in his study and the last one which is Eglantine is literally speaks for “I wound to heal” , it was my Grandma’s favorite because it reminded her of her childhood home. And that’s that.”

Now I understand why Robbe ‘said’ that I need some of his flowers but the most surprising part was he seems to understand what I feel just by a single glance.

But it can’t be, can it? It can be just a coincidence that he picks those flowers for me. Maybe they’re the most best-seller kinds there and he thought I might like them too.

And I do. I really, really do.