#but yeah im wistful now :/ longing for a time i can never hope to know or truly understand in the place i love

[wankstain-mcgee]

Me: hmm weird, I don't really have any special interests

Also me, definitely not for the first time, nor the last: it's 9am and I can't sleep, because I've been too busy thinking about trains and mines

[strawmyberry]

aaa omg i absolutely loved your headcanons they are so cute!! 💗 also im tumblr is being mean 😭 i hope everything gets fixed soon <33

aa do you think you could maybe write something with kenny?? lee or ler is fine, anything you want!! your hcs for him are just so adorable i can't choose which side i like more 😭 i honestly am just looking forward to anything you have planned <3 tysm!! i hope you have a good day! 💗💗

aaaa!!! toast you are the sweetest 🥹 thank you so much for all the love and support!! it truly means the world! im so sorry this took so long!!! i hope it’s at least a little bit worth it- im still trying to get into the swing of things- so im sorry if it isn’t the best! also it has a super long intro sorry sorry sorry!! i hope you guys enjoy!!! (first fic yayyyy!!!)

— ❤️🍓 strawberry 🍓❤️

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

Swallow Your Pride!

Lee Kenny / Ler Stan and Kyle

Word Count: 3,038

With Cartman in Nebraska for the first few weeks of summer, Stan and Kyle think a celebration is in order! Kenny is a bit iffy on the idea; but every problem can be solved with just a little bit of friendly persuasion!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Oh shit, dude. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

That day had started like any other. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and even though it was summer, the snow kept snowing. Softer than it normally would, sure, but the snow was a bit of a damper on the Teen Beach Movie summer that Stan had secretly been yearning for. 

It wasn’t hard to believe that Stan expected today to go like it typically would: a casual hang-out, at his house, with his friends, the four of them having a fun little Mortal Kombat: Onslaught tournament. 

“No! No, really, I am! It’s not gonna be the same without you, man. How long are you gonna be there for?” 

But it seemed like fate had other plans today. With his phone held against his ear, Stan would pace around his living room as he spoke. Kyle sat criss-cross-applesauce on the floor while Kenny laid on his side behind him, resting his head comfortably on one of Stan’s throw pillows. They were (not so) patiently awaiting Cartman’s arrival. They wanted to start kicking some ass already!

Every now and then Kyle would manage to make eye contact with Stan, shooting him a look that could only be described as a mixture of irritation and confusion. “Where the fuck is he? What’s taking so long?” He’d whisper, crossing his arms tight against his chest as Stan held up his “give me a second” finger. He’d grumble a bit at that, adding an eye roll to the mix. They could’ve started thirty minutes ago if Cartman came when he was supposed to! 

“Yeah.” Stan would pause, nodding his head. He’d turn, his eyes bouncing between Kyle and Kenny. “No, don’t worry. I’ll tell them.” He’d say, turning back around as he’d begin pacing a bit more. That seemed to peek Kyle’s attention even more, now turning to Kenny with a raised brow. 

“What do you think they’re talking about? What excuse is Cartman gonna try to pull this time?” He’d ask, trying his hardest to keep his volume low. He had never really been the best whisperer. 

“I don’t know..” Kenny would shrug, getting up from his comfortable laying position to be able to hear better. 

“Maybe he died.” Kyle would joke, letting out an overdramatic sigh. “That would be fucking awesome, wouldn’t it?” He’d add, cupping his hands together in a wistful Disney princess pose. 

Kenny couldn’t help but let a few giggles slip at Kyle’s dramatics, beginning to tighten his parka. Kyle would start softly chuckling to himself as a result of Kenny’s infectious laugh, being quick to shush Kenny while still staring at Stan intently. “Shhh! Duhude, shut up! I can’t hear!” He’d whisper through his own giggles, batting his hand at him. 

“I hear you. Okay. Yeah. I’ll let them know.” Stan would stop his pacing, now beginning to walk himself back to the center of the living room. Kyle’s giggles slowly faded as he analyzed Stan’s facial expression. He looked…upset. Shit. Did something genuinely happen? He was only joking about Cartman dying-!

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, dude.” 

Stan would wait for the click, shifting his eyes from his phone to the two curious boys sitting in front of him. He looked…sad. The somber expression on his face scaring away the playful atmosphere that had once graced the room. Kyle couldn’t help but hesitate before asking his next question. 

“…What happened?”

Stan would blink at that question, staring at his phone again before slowly sliding it into his pocket. “Kyle…it’s Cartman…” Stan would start, his tone heavy and serious. Oh god. Kyle would begin mentally preparing himself. He prayed to God that Stan wouldn’t start crying. He couldn’t handle Stan crying. But, after a split second, it was apparent he wouldn’t have to worry about that at all.

“Cartman’s gone for two weeks!” 

The mood in the room completely changed. Stan’s face completely changed. The frown on his face turned itself around real quick, now replaced with one of the most vibrant smiles Kyle had ever seen. Dramatic asshole. That was his first thought. After he had comprehended what Stan said though, he had a completely different thought. 

“You’re shitting me!”

“I’m not! I’m not shitting you!” 

“You’re not shitting him?”

“No! No, I’m not! Cartman’s-“

“Dude!”

“-going to Nebraska-“ 

“No way!” 

“-to see his family! For two weeks!” 

“Thank you, GOD!” Kyle would cheer, jumping up from the floor. “Dude we gotta- we gotta do something!” Kyle could hardly contain himself as he celebrated. Deep down, he wanted to burst out into song. ‘The Witch Is Dead’ sounded like a pretty good option at the moment. And he wasn’t the only one pumped up either! Kenny was bouncing on his toes with excitement! They had prayed for this day for so long- and it was finally happening! 

“We need to celebrate!” Stan would exclaim. “Uh- shit! What should we do? It has to be something special.” He’d begin pacing around the room again, only this time; he was joined by Kyle and Kenny. 

“We should go get food!” Kyle would suggest. 

“Yeah! Let’s get food!” Kenny would second. Sure, you couldn’t see the smile on his face because of his parka; but you could pretty much hear it! 

“Okay! Food!” Stan would agree. Perfect! This was going great! “It’s settled then! We’re getting food!” He’d announce, the real question settling in as the words left his mouth. “…Uh. Where are we going to get food?” Oh. Yeah. They hadn’t really thought about that. Huh. The three boys would exchange looks, waiting for one of the other two to offer up an idea. 

“Bennigan’s!” Kyle would confidently propose, an accomplished smile on his face. “We never go to Bennigan’s! Let’s do something new and go to Bennigan’s!” 

Stan’s jaw would drop, nodding his head. “Dude! You’re a GENIUS! Hell yeah, let’s go to Bennigan’s!” With that settled Stan would rush over to the door, Kyle following closely behind. The two were so eager, they wouldn’t even notice how Kenny wasn’t following after them. 

“I can post it on TikTok- so he knows how much fun we’re having without him!” Kyle would smirk. He had always dreamed of this moment. He could only imagine how red his stupid, smug face would get after seeing how not-in-shambles they were without him there. 

“Dude. Perfect! This is gonna be sick!” Stan couldn't help but smile as he opened the front door. He’d turn, now noticing how Kenny was still in the same place that he was ten seconds prior. Maybe he hadn’t heard them the first time? “C’mon, Kenny! We’re going to Bennigan’s!” He’d call, beginning to make his way out the door.

“You guys go without me- have fun!”

Well- that wasn't what they expected. Stan would walk back into the house, Kyle following. He’d close and lock the door, a frown forming on his face as he walked toward Kenny. “But...you have to come! It won't be a celebration without you!” He’d insist. 

“Yeah! ...Do you not like Bennigan’s?” Kyle would ask, trying to offer up solutions. “We can go someplace else if you don't wanna go to Bennigan’s!” 

“No…Bennigan’s isn’t the problem.” Kenny loved the sound of going to Bennigan’s. Sitting and eating with his friends sounded like so much fun. But…he didn’t think he could afford that right now. It sucked that he had to turn the offer down, but it was much better than the alternative-

“Kenny…you know we could pay for-“

“No.” Kenny would deny Kyle’s offer before he even got the full thing out. It wouldn’t be the first time this exact scenario had played out; and every single time Kenny agreed to let them pay for him, he’d get home and have to deal with the guilt of it all. He didn’t wanna deal with that today! 

“Dude, it’s really not a big deal. Kyle and I can split-“

“I don’t want you to pay for me.” Throwing himself down onto Stan’s couch, he’d cross his arms. He wasn’t going to budge on his one. “Just go. Have fun!” Grabbing the drawstrings on his parka, he’d pull it shut, signaling that he was done talking. Conversation over. 

“But, Kenny…Kenny, we really want you to-!” Kyle would start to say, only to get cut off by a hand being placed on his shoulder. He’d turn to Stan to give him another look; just to be met with a completely different look staring right back at him. 

They’d stare at each other for a few minutes, not a word leaving their lips before Kyle finally broke the silence. “…Gotcha’.”

“Kenny…” Stan would start, glancing at Kyle every now and then to make sure he was getting into position. “We really want you to come.” He’d say, sitting down on Kenny’s left. He’d wait for Kyle to sit down on his right before continuing. 

“Surely, there must be some way we could-“ Snaking his hand around, he’d loop his hands under both of Kenny’s arms, turning him counterclockwise. “Twist your arm on this?” With that line dropped, he’d give Kyle a wink. His silent way of saying “He’s all yours.” 

Kenny would let out a surprised yelp at being grabbed, taking a second to truly comprehend the predicament he was in. He’d try to open his mouth to bargain, or beg, or something that could save him- but Kyle wasted no time. All he managed to get out was a startled, “Wait- please don’t!” before Kyle began digging his finger into his sides. A squeal would be ripped from his throat as he immediately began to thrash from side to side.

“Guhuhuys! Stohohop ihihit!!” He’d giggle, a bit embarrassed by how easily it was to make him laugh. He’d thrash around in Stan’s hold, kicking his legs in an attempt to break free.

“Don’t kick me, Kenny! I’ll make it, like, ten times worse!” Kyle would teasingly threaten, squeezing both of his sides one at a time. Like a little pattern! “You know, I’ll stop tickling you if you come to Bennigan’s with us!” 

“Mm-mhmhmhmhm!!! I dohohon’t wahahanna!!” Kenny would frantically shake his head, throwing himself to and fro as he laughed. He’d clench his hands into fists, yanking himself forward. But it seemed whenever Kenny thought he got the tiniest bit of leverage- Stan would just tighten his grip. 

“Kenny, c’mon! Kyle’s being so nice to you right now!” Stan would remark, speaking from experience. Actually, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous. Why couldn’t he go that easy on him? “Don’t you want to quit while you’re ahead? He’s being super merciful.”

“Stan. Don’t backseat drive, dude. If you think you could do better, we could just switch-“ Kyle would scoff, although it was easy to tell he wasn't as offended as his words made him sound. “If you don't trust my tickling abilities, that’s fine-” He’d grumble, sneaking his fingers under Kenny’s parka. He’d walk his fingers up and down his sides, making Kenny squeak from the sudden switch-up.

“No! No no- I get what you're doing- building suspense! I'm down for it, 100%. I'm just... bargaining with him! Tactics. You know?” Stan would quickly change his tune, nodding in agreement.

“Chrihihist!! Thihis ihis sohoho duhuhumb!!” Kenny would whine through his giggles, throwing his head back in annoyance. “I sahaid I dohon’t wahahanna gohoho! Stohohop ihit alreheheady!”

“But you do wanna go Kenny, that’s the problem!” Kyle would insist. “We know you wanna come- make things easier for yourself! We don’t mind paying, just swallow your pride and have lunch with us!”

“Nohohoho!!!” Kenny would squeal as Kyle started poking at his ribs. He’d jerk even harder, still being trapped between the couch and his two friends. “I dohohon’t wahahanna gohoho anywhehere wihihith yohohou dihihickheheads!”

“Dickheads?!”

“Dickheads?”

Kyle would gasp in feigned horror and offense, halting the tickling momentarily; whereas Stan would just blink in confusion. “Where did you get dickheads from? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call us dickheads before-“

“Dickheads! He called us dickheads, Stan!” Kyle would shout, a stunned expression on his face. “We can’t let him get away with that, right? He called us dickheads!” Kyle would repeat yet again, just in case the word went totally unnoticed. “Say sorry, Kenny! Say you didn’t mean to call us dickheads!”

Kenny would visibly weigh out his options as his sat there, Stan’s arms still holding his tight while Kyle’s hands laid flat on his ribs. Sure, the logical choice would be to just concede and chalk it up to a slip of the tongue. But…Kenny just wasn’t in the mood for that. “…No!” He’d confidently exclaim after a couple of beats. “You guys are dickheads and I don’t wanna go to Bennigan’s!”

“No? Fine! Suit yourself, dude. Stan, can you focus up there?” Kyle would ask, removing his fingers from Kenny’s parka. He’d crack both his knuckles, watching as Stan grabbed both of Kenny’s wrists with his left hand before beginning to hold them above his head. “You wanna be an asshole? Fine then, be an asshole!”

Kenny would giggle in anticipation, pulling at his arms, hoping for some miracle surge of strength that would let him pull his arms down. But it seemed like his luck really wasn’t there today, since no miracle surge would ever appear. He’d squeeze his eyes shut, bracing himself as he got ready for the countdown. They would have to do a countdown, right?

Wrong. Kenny was very wrong. Stan and Kyle would have some prolonged eye contact for a little bit, communicating when to start. About five seconds after Kenny closed his eyes was what they settled on. Kyle would give Stan a moment to go first, nodding his head as Stan abruptly began scribbling his fingers into Kenny’s armpits.

“WAHAhahait! Stahahan!” Kenny would jump from the sudden attack, a peel of laughter pouring out. “Hehehey, nohoho fahahair! It’s two agahahaisnt ohoneEE-“ Kenny would start to complain, not really expecting Kyle to actually go for the kill. Sure, he said he would…maybe he should’ve known better than to doubt him. But doubt him he did, so he was nowhere near prepared when Kyle dove into his hips.

“SHIHIHIHIT!” Kenny would jolt, letting out a noise that could only be described as the scream of a man who was being brutally murdered. And, for this situation? Pretty valid. “NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!” He’d cackle, practically screaming with laughter at this point. Very fitting. He’d flail his legs, trying his hardest to get one good kick in- just for a little bit of leeway. Even if it meant he had to roll off the couch, he’d take anything at this point.

“Aw, damn it…” Stan would let out a very fake sigh of disappointment, tsking as he shook his head. “I’m sorry to do this to ya’, Kenny…but I can’t understand you. Like. At all.” He’d say, pouting his lips. Just for the dramatics of it all! “I’m normally fluent in Kenny! I don’t know what happened…” He’d sigh yet again, going agonizingly slow with his portion of the tickling. “…Kyle? Do you know what he said? It’s really bumming me out…”

“Oh, Yeah! Don’t worry dude, I got you!” Kyle would nod with a bright smile, immediately going along with Stan’s little bit. “He said “Please keep tickling me Stan and Kyle! I love being tickled allll over! It’s just soooo much fun! That’s the real reason why I’m being such a dick to you guys! I just loveee being tickled!” Thank you for being so honest with us, Kenny! You should’ve just asked sooner!”

“Ohhhh, I gotcha!” Stan would nod, speeding up his fingers. “Yeah, you should’ve just said so sooner, Kenny! We could keep doing this all day! Oh- actually- that just gave me an idea! Let’s do this instead! We don’t need Bennigan’s, let’s just tickle Kenny alll day long!” Jesus fucking Christ on a bike, Kenny felt like he was going to turn into a fucking tomato. With how red he was, there wouldn’t be that much of a difference. Kenny wanted to keep on a brave face, just let them have their fun until the eventually got tuckered out. But upon hearing Stan’s new “brilliant” idea, Kenny couldn’t help but worry that they actually would put that plan into motion. He couldn’t handle that. Actually, he couldn’t really handle this.

“OKAHAHAHAY!! OKAHAHAY OKAHAHAHAY! I’LL GOHOHOHO!!”

“And?”

“I’M SOHOHOHORRY FOHOHOR CAHAHALLING YOHOU GUHUYS DIHIHICKHEHEADS!! I’M SOHOHO SOHOHORRY!”

Kenny would wave his verbal white flag of surrender in the air, and it would only take milliseconds for both Stan and Kyle to stop tickling, remove their hands, and let him go. He could’ve sworn he saw the two fist-bump as they did, but he was so out of breath, maybe he hallucinated it? He probably didn’t, but he wouldn’t point it out. Just in case.

“Great! Don’t bring your wallet, ‘whole thing is on us!” Stan would casually say, making his way to the door yet again. Kenny wasn’t able to fight the look of utter confusion on his face. The two acted like nothing had just happened, like they didn’t almost kill him a few seconds ago. How the hell-?

“We’re really happy you’re coming, Kenny..” Kyle would say, staying behind for a bit as Stan walked out the door. “You can catch your breath- but don’t take too long! Stan and I are gonna wait for you outside, and we’re not going without you!” And just like that, they were gone. Like nothing had happened. Kenny would be left on the couch; feeling breathless, confused, and kind of…grateful?

They really wanted him to go that bad? He thought he was just being a burden, but they went through all that trouble convincing him- just so he would come? That meant something, didn’t it? Maybe they had a weird way of showing it; but that meant they cared, didn’t it? It had to, right? Words couldn’t really describe how he felt at the moment. In fact, only two words would be able to leave him mouth; let alone come to mind at all.

“‘Fucking dickheads…”

[cunningambitousdetermined]

The Plan (Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader)

title: the plan

pairing: natasha romanoff x f!reader

warnings: mild swearing, mentions of homophobia, FLUFF with a dash of angst

summary: Y/N has been in love with Natasha Romanoff for a VERY long time and honestly, Tony is getting sick of watching it. Natasha has been in love with Y/N since the very first day and Steve can’t take the assassins obliviousness anymore. Steve and Tony, reluctantly of course, team up to make the pair notice how perfect they are for each other. (OH SHOOT IM SORRY I SUCK AT SUMMARIES WOW)

requested by @iamninaanna: 

Hey Sunshine, I love your writing, so I'm here to request something :) 

Can I please request a Natasha Romanoff × reader, where the Avengers are playing truth or dare, and somebody challenges Natasha to kiss the reader, or something like that, and then they confess their feelings to one another. I was having something in mind, I hope it's not to specific, that like Natasha rambles about the reader to Steve A LOT, and he's so sick of it, he has to do something about it, while it's the same situation with reader, just that she's talking to hers best friend, which can be any of the Avengers, you decide, and then Steve and the reader's best friend make a plan together, and well, you know the rest <3

Okay, that was a lot, but I'm really excited😊 Thank you if you write it!!

a/n (i think that's what i put when i’m responding, if i screwed it up please let me know, it would be much appreciated) :

hi taja! thank you so much, this is the first time someone has requested something and im really excited. but also terrified. more terrified. reader is a girl but if someone wants me to rewrite this as gender neutral, i can.  hope i do it justice and if your reading this, thank you for reading. if anyone has any feedback, it’s always welcome. okay here i go!!

the story: 

Y/N Y/L/N flopped backward on to Tony Stark’s bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a angry scream into the unsuspecting piece of cloth and feathers. 

“Woah kid, what’d the pillow do to you?” Tony joked, his eyes still trained on whatever new gizmo he was working on, chuckling at his best friends antics.

“It’s fucking Natasha” Y/N mumbled quietly into the pillow, her voice muddled by the soft white sheets that she buried her head farther in. Tony was silent, the only sounds was the clinking of the Tony’s robots and tools working, so she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Not that she wanted him too anyway. 

Y/N was in love with Natasha Romanoff. Head over heels, fully in love with the assassin that she’d worked closely with for the past years. To describe how Y/N felt about Natasha in words would never to how she really felt in justice. Natasha was a tall glass of Coke: Orange Vanilla. Rare, unsuspectingly sweet, and utterly addicting. Her red hair, the black bodysuit, the way she fought, she could take down 10 men on her own, with her bare hands. She was sweet- always sharing her secret candy stashes with Y/N- smart -helping Y/N out when she was still taking classes. 

Sometimes Y/N really thought Natasha felt the same way, then she flirted with a guy here and hot girl there and the idea fled from her brain.  Y/N had never seen Natasha have an inclination toward women, she flirted with every living thing. Y/N liked to think it was a coping with feelings for someone and that's why she was so flirty but in reality, Y/N knew there was no way she felt near the same way. She was an extra to the Avengers. And besides, no one even knew she liked girls. 

“It’s what, darling?” Tony had moved and was now sitting in front of Y/N, spinning around in his chair like a little kid in their dad’s office.

Y/N wanted to tell him how in love she was with Natasha, she wanted to tell him all the little things she noticed, all the little things she loved. But she couldn’t. How would Tony take it? Tony might take it okay, but the team? Steve? Bucky? They were from the 40′s, women didn’t love other women openly back then, did they still think it was... unnatural? She didn’t think she could deal with being any more of an outcast. Did Natasha like girls? The thoughts were drowning her slowly, cutting off her air supply, the last bit of air building up into a scream that she would never let out. 

Tony coughed and Y/N realized she’d been silent for too long. “Tony....” she took a deep breath in, “I- uh-...,” Tony raised an eyebrow, waiting for to go on. Y/N coughed clearing nothing from her throat, elongating the silence before she just spit the words out like hot fire. “I’minlovewithNatashaandIdontknowwhattodo?” 

“You’re what?” Tony asked, having caught nothing of that sentence, something about Natasha but honestly he was still lost. 

Y/N felt a little better and slowed herself down. She trained her eyes on a seam in the comforter and whispered, “I’m in love with Natasha and I don’t know what to do”

There was a silence and Y/N could feel it smothering her, pulling her into the water, dunking her head under, she was drowning and, and and- Tony erupted in laughter. Y/N’s head shot up and she stared at him, color drained from her face. Tony rocked back and forth but when he came up again, he caught the absolute terror on her face and his smile dropped. 

“Y/N?” he asked softy, he stood up, plopping on the bed next to her, “Babe?” Tony tried to catch her eye, ducking his head but she turned away. He grabbed her chin in his large hands, “Babe, I wasn’t laughing at you. God, I’m such an idiot.” he blew out a harsh breath, “I was laughing because I already knew, not because you are in love with her.” Tony felt her face relax and he turned her chin to meet his eye. 

“You knew?” Y/N asked softly, tears still gathered in her eyes. Tony’s eyes softened as he saw the tears and he used the pads of his thumb to wipe them away. 

“I’m sorry Y/N. I don’t care if you like women. I’ve known you had some sort of feelings for Natasha for a while, you can see it when you look at her. I was just waiting for you to tell me.” Y/N laughed at this now and threw her arms around Tony, who wrapped her up in a hug. “Now, tell me more about Natasha and this ‘love’” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. 

~

“STEVEEEE” Natasha groans, letting down her normal assassins façade. 

“Mmm” Steve hummed in reply, motioning for her to come in to his room. She smiled and darted to the spinning chair in the corner, propping her feet up on the desk. It was silent for a little bit, the pair just enjoying each others company when Natasha spun her chair around and broke the silence. 

“Do you think Y/N likes women?” Steve already knew the Natasha liked women and he was totally cool with it. Nat has been surprised when he had been super supportive but was very grateful for all the love and reassurance he’d given her. 

“Nat,” Steve sighed dramatically, “She can’t NOT know your in love with her, unless she’s totally oblivious which she may be...” He turned to face her, jumping on his bed to be closer to her, “You should just tell her” 

“But...” Nat frowned, “what if she doesn’t like women? And I creep her out? And..” She stopped as she felt Steve lay a hand on her shoulder. 

“How could she not like you?” he questioned, “And trust me, it’s quite obvious how she feels.” 

“HOW SHE FEELS?!” Nat practically screamed, so unlike her that Steve leaned back. She cleared her throat, “Sorry- she feels...?” 

“She’s in love with you, obviously”

Nat grabbed a pillow from the bed and screamed into it, then looked at Steve, wary, “Really? Y/N with her...” Steve tuned out the rest of what Nat said, he’d heard it all before. Too many times. Nat sighed, in a happy way that Steve had never heard from her before, “Y/N...”

~

Steve knew that this had to end, Natasha and Y/N pretending they weren’t head over heels for each other. He’d heard enough of Nat’s wistful rants, it was so unlike her, it was starting to worry him. If he was correct in his guess, Tony was feeling the same way. So, despite Tony being, well, Tony, Steve sought him out to solve the mess. 

~

“Truth or dare, old man?” Clint smirked at Tony, all the avengers had settled for a night in and decided to play truth or dare. Y/N had rolled her eyes at this, they were too old for it, but settled in next to Tony anyway. 

“Dare, obviously” Tony rolled his eyes at Clint, eagerly awaiting his fate. 

“I dare you to stand on top of the tower and sing at least 30 seconds of ‘Rich Girl’ by Gwen Stefani and livestream it.” Tony laughed at this and stood up. 10 minutes and one livestream later, all of them were laughing harder then they had in a long time. 

“Okay, okay, my turn to ask,” Tony smiled, “Natasha, truth or dare?” Steve couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face, the plan was in motion. 

“Dare...” Natasha didn’t let her voice waver, her signature smirk on her face. 

“I dare you to kiss Y/N”

The whole room fell silent. Y/N’s face flamed and her eyes filled with tears. Was this a joke? Tony knew how she felt. How could he? The eyes in the room were on Nat and her but she ignored them as she got up and ran out of the room. Tony’s eyes widened as Y/N darted through the door. 

“Nice going, Tony. You upset her.” Natasha’s glared at Tony, angry. But inside she couldn’t help but wonder if she ran because she didn’t want to kiss her. Maybe she hated the idea. Maybe she didn’t like women after all. Nat got up, she had to face this. “I’ll go get her” She dragged her hand over her face and got up. Tony and Steve exchanged a glance as she left, hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in their faces

~

“Y/N!” Nat yelled down the hall, “It’s me, I’m sorry Tony was a jerk. Can we talk?”

Y/N heard Natasha’s voice and faltered, she had to face this at some point. She took a deep breath, letting the cool confidence she had on missions fill her. 

“Yeah, I’m here Nat” She called back and within seconds Nat ran around the corner. Nat’s eyes softened as they looked into Y/N’s beautiful eyes, still just as mesmerizing, puffy and red. Nat took an unconscious step forward, her thumbs caressing the hidden tear streaks. Y/N’s breath caught, her heart flipping at Nat’s touch. Before she could think about it, Y/N leaned up and let her lips meet Nat’s. Nat responded immediately, pulling Y/N to her, wrapping her arms around her, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. Y/N groaned into the kiss, letting her fingers card through Nat’s hair. They pulled away after a minute, smiling like idiots. Y/N looked down slowly before glancing back up shyly at Nat. 

“Um... I really like you Nat” She whispered, with a smile

“I really like you too Y/N” Nat chuckled, pulling her in again for a sweet, soft kiss. It said everything they hadn’t said. All the nights of longing, the confusion and the love. 

Tony, Steve and the rest of the team watched from the security room, smiling and high fiving at the happy couple. 

AHHH I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!! feedback is always appreciated!!

tagging: @iamninaanna (to be tagged when i write something just drop me an ask)

[honeypirate]

The Mark

I wrote a soulamte au just becasue i had to, to get it out of my mind. and im posting it without putting too much work into it because i doubt ill work on it more since I always have so much i want to do. enjoy my SoulmateAU Tendou fic. 

Tendou Satori x reader

The Soulmate au is this;  when you first touch your soulmate it leaves a mark, a birthmark will bloom under the skin in the shape of the touch within 24 hours max. 

“Oh!” You laugh in shock as a redheaded boy walks into you, pushing you into your locker door and effectively closing it with a bang, he reaches out grabbing your shoulder to steady you “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking!” You recognize him as the boy on the volleyball team, the smart, goofy, one, the one you happen to be crushing hard for.  Your hand reaches out, grabbing his ribs to keep your balance,  “no worries” you chuckle and smile at him, looking into his red eyes. It was like you both were in your own world for a few seconds, smiling like fools, until the other boy he was with, who you recognized as Ushijima, called his name “Tendou..?” He shakes his head “right!” Tendou says enthusiastically and nods at him before turning back to you “sorry…again” he laughs as he takes off running after Ushijima who walked away without him. You watch him as he goes, amused with the whole interaction. He turns to look back at you with a goofy smile and bumps into the back of Ushijima. You laugh at him and he laughs as Ushijima just shakes his head, both of them disappearing into the gym. 

In the middle of practice when the team takes a water break, Tendou is right back next to Ushijima asking about you “Do you know her?” Tendou leans in close to Ushijima, patiently waiting for a response “that’s y/f/n y/l/n. She’s the captain of the girls volleyball team” “she’s cuuuute Ushijima” Ushijima just shrugs and takes a long drink. “So she’s on the volleyball team, that means she’s just next door…” Ushijima knew he was up to something but didn’t feel the need to stop him. Tendou runs to the edge of the thick blue divider in the giant gym, peaking around the corner and looking around at the circle of girls until he spots you, you were on the right of the circle, passing the ball around between you all as a way to stay warm while on a break. 

“So” you say as you use your fingertips to pass the ball up to another girl, “what do you think of Tendou..?” You ask and they chuckle “the guess monster?” Your vice captain/ best friend asks and another girl says quietly “I think he’s scary” you frown “I think… I don’t even know him! But I want to” you smile and your best friend laughs “you like him!?” she teases a little too loud, her words making Tendou’s ears turn red.  You pass the ball aiming for her head, with just a little too much force, she just catches the ball and laughs harder. you sigh and raise your arms in the air “I can’t help it! He ran into me today on accident. He’s so adorable and he’s goofy and he sings those silly songs and it makes my heart happy. I don’t know him and I don’t know how to talk to him. I get so nervous! what if he has a soulmate already”  You shake your head and decide to get back to practice “let’s work on receives and spikes” the circle splits and your head turns as you change positions, catching the fluff of red hair disappearing around the corner of the divide. Your stomach flips, ‘I hope he didn’t hear me!’ you think to yourself.

you try to focus and just finish your practice but you can’t stop thinking about him eavesdropping on you saying you like him, your girls kept teasing you for your perma-blushing. 

That night you didn't look in the mirror after your shower, you just got dressed, not noticing the already blooming dark mark on your skin, a thumb across your collarbone and three fingers on the top of your shoulder. 

The next morning when you go to your locker you find him leaning up against it, looking for you. “Hey!” he says as you approach, “hey” you respond with a chuckle “whats up?” you ask and he smiles “I wanted to talk to you” you open your locker and take out a book, shoving it in your backpack, “oh yeah? About what?” you ask  and he chuckles, turning his body to lean against the lockers “have lunch with me today” he says and you laugh “i can’t, i have volleyball stuff during lunch. Walk me home?” you suggest and he nods “deal” he says and you chuckle again. The bell rings and you close your locker “see you later, Tendou” you smile sweetly before turning and walking down the hall to your classroom. 

“Fancy seeing you here” he says as you walk through the gym doors “waiting for me huh? How sweet” you smile when you make eye contact with the boy leaning against the wall, “what can i say?” he shrugs “I’m a sweet guy” you laugh “I hope I get to see more of that then” he smiles wide ''y/n! “ Your coach yells and you raise your hand signalling you heard her, your shirt moves as your arm does, showing a little of your mark on your collarbone, catching his eye and making his heart race “You walking me home still?” you ask as you start to back away from him “you know it!” he responds and you smile and nod “good. See you later then” you wink at him, grinning at his blush, then turn, running off to your side of the gym. 

After his practice he’s walking slowly to the locker room, staring at himself in the locker room mirror for five minutes, trying to convince himself to lift his shirt. He can feel the touch of your hand on his ribs from the day before, an electric pressure against his ribs. He knows it's in his head from thinking about it for the last hour or so but he’s so nervous. He never thought he’d get his soulmate mark and he was okay with that, he didn't want someone to be forced to be with him, everyone usually thought he was scary. He took a shaky breath and slowly grabbed the hem of his shirt, raising it over his head with his eyes closed. Letting his breath out slowly before slowly opening one of his eyes and peaking.his eyes both open wide as he stares and his heart skipped when he saw the small mark across his ribs. The perfect mark of where your hand had touched him. A grin broke out on his face and as much as he was terrified you’d be sad that your soulmate was him, he was elated that you were his. His heart beat double time, his stomach twisted in a knot of butterflies as laughter bubbles from his chest. “Ushijima..” he laughs “USHIJIMA!” he yells, taking off towards the showers to show his best friend his soulmate mark. 

“See you guys in the morning, don’t forget to bring your forms for training camp” you say to your team as you exit the locker rooms, a few of them wiggling their eyebrows as they notice Tendou waiting for you with the biggest grin. “See you laterrr captain!” they yell, laughing as they walk in a different direction. You shake your head before turning to greet the excited boy “How was practice?” he asks and you smile “it was good, lots of improvement. How about yours?” you stand in the hallway, feeling a little awkward when he doesn’t go to leave. “Mine was good as well, you should come to one of our games and see me play” he says and you chuckle “Tendou I go to all the volleyball games already” his eyes widen “you do?!” you nod “yeah. I’m friends with all the managers from the teams in our prefecture so we usually meet up and hang out, plus watching volleyball helps me know how i can improve.” he grins “so you’ll be at our game this saturday?” you laugh “yep! I'll be there”  he nods and puts his hands behind his head “good! I’ll make sure to play my best for you then” you shake your head with a smile and nudge him with your elbow “I look forward to seeing you play, Tendou” you turn to walk away and he hesitates”wait!” he yells and then laughs a little awkwardly at his outburst “I need to show you something” his voice was quiet as he took your hand and gently pulled you into the now empty gym with him. 

You wondered why he was so nervous all of a sudden (you didn't shower at school, didn't like carrying heavy shampoo bottles, so you still don’t know about the mark) “What’s up Tendou?” you ask, concern in your voice.  He clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something but stops himself, shaking his head softly. “Just, look.” he says and slowly raise his shirt, “wait what are -?” you fall silent when the palm print shows. You point at it, open your mouth, look into his eyes, close your mouth again. You suck in a breath and then quickly drop your backpack, pull your hoodie over your head as quick as possible, fumbling when it gets stuck on your pony, ripping it off your head in a rush and blushing with his chuckle at you. 

You shove the shoulder of your shirt down and gasp at the print on your shoulder. You point at your mark, then slowly point at his, your voice shaking when you whisper  “yesterday..?” and he nods, his palms are sweaty so he wipes his empty palm on his jeans, the only holding up his shirt just tightens into a fist, he's so worried that you’ll be sad and think he’s the worst one to get stuck with. Expecting an “oh no” to come out of your mouth next. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the rejection, still holding his shirt up but he doesn't realize. 

He gasps and his eyes flick open when he feels your soft hand rest on his ribs over the mark. “you’re my..soulmate” you whisper, a small wistful smile on your lips as your fingers brush across the mark as your thumb brushes across your own. He places his fingers gently over your mark and you look up into his gorgeous red eyes, your smile growing when you see the sweet look in his eyes. “Tendou, how do you feel about this?” you brush the backs of your fingers against the mark on his ribs before gently taking his shirt from his tight fist, letting his shirt down, never taking your eyes from his. 

“I..” he clears his throat, deciding to be honest, you were his soulmate after all, “I don't want you to be disappointed that your soulmate is me.. is a.. is a monster” the quick burst of a laugh that comes from your lips echoes throughout the gym and he furrows his brows, your close all distance between you, feeling confident in touching him since you know you are soulmates “Tendou, no” you say softly as you cup his face in your hands, your thumbs softly brushing his cheek bones “never in a million years could I ever,” you lean in a little closer and drop your voice “and i mean never ever,” the corners of his lips start to turn up into a smile, “think you are a monster” you smile warmly up at him, he’s blushing now and his smile is genuine, you test out calling him his real name “Satori” his eyes widen and his face flushes darker. You chuckle and move your hands to his neck “i know people call you the guess monster, they call you scary, but I need you to know that I have NEVER thought of you that way or even agreed with any of it.” his eyes filled with tears and he scrunched them shut, a few of them rolling down his cheeks. He already knew he would love you so easily, he would give you anything. You stand on your tip toes and kiss his cheeks, kissing away his tears. His heart practically stops then, such a sweet action but it made him feel so loved already. 

“Are you.. Are you happy that I’m your soulmate?” you ask shyly, your eyebrows furrowed, you're feeling a little nervous now. His eyes pop open and his arms fly out, wrapping around your waist and holding you to him tight “You have no idea how truly e l a t e d I am. I am so happy, y/f/n” he says quickly, his eyes looking into yours, showing how concerned he was that you would think any different. You giggle then, making him sigh softly and smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, crazy from when you took your hoodie off. You blush “oh i’m so embarrassed” you reach up to fix it and he laughs shaking his head, “let me” his voice is soft and it halts your actions. 

He takes off your pony, slipping it on his wrist, and runs his fingers gently through your hair, smoothing it down and enjoying the soft feel of it in his fingers. “There” he places his hands on your neck, softly running his fingers across your skin “thank you” your voice is barely a whisper and you lick your lips, swallowing hard. His hair is still damp from his shower and his hands on your neck are warm, your run your hands down his chest and leave them there. You admire his eyes and the slope of his sharp nose and jaw. “You're beautiful” you whisper and then blush a deep red out of embarrassment “sorry i-” he laughs “no. don't be sorry. I'm so glad you think that. You are the most gorgeous person I've ever seen, i feel so lucky” he cocks his head and cups your cheek. Your body feels like it's buzzing, like everything is finally in place and there is no way other than up. You realize that life is still hard but you never expected to meet your soulmate so young. “Do you want to tell people?” you ask and he laughs “there is NO WAY i could hide my soulmate and pretend otherwise” you beam up at him “i'm glad you feel that way because i want to tell everyone” you gush and he nods “i already told my team” he says with a smile and you laugh, he was so adorable, it made your soul happy.  “That's so cute” you say softly and he blushes “should we tell our parents?” you whisper and bring your hand to your chin, considering the options. 

His laugh makes you smile “I already texted my mom” he says and you laugh with him “perfect. Okay. Oh my mom is going to be mad if i'm late home though!” you realize you're still standing in the gym at school and you back away from him, picking up and putting back on your hoodie and throwing your backpack back on. You reach your hand out to him “Still walking me home?” you ask and he nods lacing your fingers together with his “would you mind if i started doing it every day?” he asks and you shake your head “I would LOVE it if you did” you reassure him and he nods “good” he says with a chuckle. At the door of the gym you stall though, realizing you forgot to do something “wait” he turns back “what’s up?” he asks and cocks his head as he looks into your eyes “can I..” you chuckle and look down at your entwined fingers “can I kiss you?” you ask and a grin spreads across his lips before he cups you cheek and turns your face towards him “yes please” he whispers and leans down, connecting your lips in a sweet first kiss, soft and warm with the perfect amount of pressure. Your breath leaves your lungs and your heart beats hard against your rib cage. When he pulls back you both have matching blushing cheeks. “Yeah we are definitely going to be doing that a lot more” you chuckle and then squeeze his hand, slipping out the gym and heading home with him, so excited to get to know him, your soulmate. 

[embraceyourdestiny]

Namine for ask meme??

naminé :3c

favorite thing about them

her desire to be loved, and how later down the line that translating to her need to useful. it’s very similar to kairi in that instead of getting down over her weakness she learns from it and does something about it. while kairi strives to be stronger, naminé works to use the skills she already has to help as much as she can to make up for her past mistakes, and because she cares so much about all these people she’s only an observer to.

the whole reason naminé did what the organization wanted (when they weren’t using her) was because she just wanted to mean something to someone. she wanted to be sora and riku and kairi’s friend. even though she’s “an abomination,” even though she “isn’t meant to exist,” that didn’t mean those feelings weren’t there, and more than anything she wanted them to be realized.

she’s so wistful and yearns so much for love and it’s so painful and so endearing. with how badly she wanted it, the point the series is in now, where everyone is together, is enough for her. she just wanted everyone to be whole and friends, and not being at the center of it, not even really being included, is fine with her. she loves so hard that as long as the people she wants to be friends with are happy, then she’s okay, even if she has no place in it. but i want so badly for someone to reach out their hand and invite her in. to pull her into the circle and welcome her as their friend. i hope the fact that riku actually did this is good sign that from here on out the only things naminé will know are the very love and friendship she so desperately wanted since the very beginning.

also it’s not something that i “like” about her because it’s good or enjoyable but i find it so interesting how plainly her horrible self esteem and guilt is put on display. sora’s tells her not to cry and she says “you’re right, i don’t really have the right.” “oh, okay. nobody needs to keep a bunch of memories that arent real right? you want to remember all the people who are really important to you. anybody... would choose that” hearing her say those things breaks my heart and i want so badly for her to slowly learn to let go of the past and learn to love herself

least favorite thing about them

nothing about her character, but i hate that she’s shipped with riku so much. it makes me so uncomfortable for reasons i can’t really explain but i genuinely hate that ship so much

favorite line

“you won’t fade. you can’t fade. there’s no power that can defeat you. not the light, not the dark. so don’t run from the light, and don’t fear the darkness, because both will make you stronger.”

‘make me stronger? darkness too?’

“yeah, strength that’s yours. the darkness inside your heart, it’s vast and it’s deep. but if you can, truly stare into it and never try to look away, you won’t be afraid of anything again.”

‘all this time i’ve tried to push the darkness away’

“you’ve gotta just remember to be brave. know that the darkness is there and don’t give in. if you do that you will gain strength, the kind that’s unlike any other. you’ll be able to escape the deepest darkness—”

‘and ill be able to see through the brightest light’

“follow the darkness. it’ll show you the way to your friends.”

‘can i face them?’

“you don’t want to?”

brOTP

while i hate their romantic ship, riku and naminé being (best) friends is very, very important to me. they both went through a lot and through a very specific experience together that only they can understand and them relying on and confiding in each other is so special to me. i also enjoy roxas, kairi, xion, sora, ven, and vanitas being her friends, but riku is def the top for me

OTP

namixi all the way baby. although namiolette(?) is cute too

nOTP

rik*n*mi lmao. im also not the biggest fan of her and roxas as a ship but i take genuine offense to the first one

random headcanon

naminé hates the color white. after all that time alone in that cold, colorless castle, all she wants to do is fill everything she can with hues and streaks of color.

unpopular opinion

honestly i dont think i have one besides shipping related? i def think she should have a keyblade though she’d be more of a mage (maybe she trains under daisy/minnie or donald?). i’d love to see her interact with the wayfinder trio, especially aqua and terra. maybe that she’s such a vital character to the story? or that her being a villain would’ve be interesting, though ive def seen other people think the same thing. im not sure really.

oh i thought of one!! naminé def deserves to be a part of the heart hotel. her being excluded from something else yet again makes me sad and if vanitas counts, her coming from sora’s body should def count as well. (kairi too!! also naminé trans)

song i associate with them

tbh kairi’s theme mostly, specifically the more somber part in the second half of the melody because i feel like that represents her well, as “kairi’s shadow” and knowing the darker stuff of kairi’s heart

favorite picture of them

;__;

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Eleven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: first chapter after acosf!! im sorry for how short this one is, but acosf wrecked me and writing this put me back together. i hope it does something similar for you ❤️

***

“You say you’ve been doing better lately?”

The therapist’s office is plain, a little gloomy, but big windows overlook the center of town that make Nesta feel less suffocated.

She nods, “Yeah.”

“How would you describe ‘better’?” Dr. Bond— Lana, she insists on being called— has been endlessly patient with Nesta’s non-answers so far. Nesta almost feels bad and decides to throw the woman a rope.

“I’m not alone anymore,” she says. “I used to be alone all the time, but now I have friends, sort of… and a boyfriend.” She still loves that word. It’s never tasted so exciting before.

“You were always alone before this, then? Or were there just people that you didn’t consider noteworthy?”

A scowl rises to Nesta’s mouth. Damn, she works quick. “I was raised with two sisters in a one-bedroom apartment. I never got to be alone, but then I grew up, and…” Her mind wants to skip over the time she spent in college. “For the last couple of years, I holed up in my own place. Never wanted to talk to anybody or see them. If people took an interest in me, I shut them down because I didn’t have an interest in them.”

“You missed a few years,” Lana notes.

“What?”

“You’re twenty-four, and you moved out at eighteen. Where were you before getting your own place?”

Numbness seeps through Nesta at the question. She knows she can ask Lana to change the topic, but that will only bring it back later. “I had a boyfriend in college,” she says flatly. “I lived with him for a few years, but like you said, it isn’t noteworthy.”

“As a fellow lone wolf, I disagree.” Lana’s clinical polite face is unchanging. “Any person who you trust enough to let into your life is noteworthy.”

Nesta says nothing.

“I’m interested in these people you’ve chosen to trust,” her therapist continues after a beat of silence. “Why don’t we start with whoever you trust most?”

Nesta snorts. This she can talk about.

“His name is Cassian. I’ve been living with him ever since my apartment got flooded a couple of months ago, and he’s always been a good friend to me.” She sits there, thinking about what else to say. “I think I like him more than I’ve ever liked anybody.”

“This is the new boyfriend?”

Nesta nods.

“Do you compare him to the old one?”

Nesta doesn’t know what this lady’s angle is, but she answers carefully, “I used to. Back when I first moved in. I haven’t done it in a long time, though.”

“Why not?”

The answer is simple. “There’s no need to. He’s not comparable to anybody.”

“Is that why you opened up to him after two years of self-imposed isolation?”

Nesta looks away. “It wasn’t isolation,” she defends. “It’s just… after a lifetime of being subjected to the gaze of strangers, I wanted to hide. I liked hiding.” Mostly.

“What does that mean, the gaze of strangers?”

Question after cool question, this one. Nesta struggles to find a proper answer.

“You know how,” she starts slowly, “as soon as you start school, you’re placed into this bubble with a bunch of people who don’t know you and have no reason to care about you? There’s a shift in how you view people, and how people view you. And I thought I could leave it behind once I graduated high school, but it followed me to college and to parties and into everyday interactions.”

“What is it?”

“It’s this—” Nesta waves her hands, “judgment. It’s that thing you do as soon as you meet someone, and you try to determine whether they’re worth your time or not. Whether they’re above or below you in this made-up social hierarchy in your head.”

“Explain that more,” Lana says.

“We want to hang around people we find cool. And when we meet someone new, we inspect them, look them up and down, to see if they fit our definition of cool. We take them apart. Everyone does it, even you. And with me,” she shrugs, “I’m pretty, I wear the right clothes, I do my makeup. So at first glance, people think, ‘Oh, I can see myself getting to know her better. I can see myself liking her.’ But then they take a closer look at me, and it’s like…” Her fingers flutter in the air, trying to support her thoughts. “I can see their minds changing. ‘Nevermind, I was wrong. Nevermind, there’s something off with her. She’s a little quiet, a little weird, a little bitchy.’”

Lana narrows her eyes. “And Cassian doesn’t look at you like that?”

Nesta looks away. “He doesn’t look at anyone like that.”

It’s what used to make her so uncomfortable about him. She was incapable of fathoming his honesty, his genuineness, his kindness. She thought he was even weirder than her for it— she placed him beneath her on her social hierarchy for it.

Lana frowns thoughtfully. “And now you two live together?”

Nesta nods, then shrugs. “For the next twenty-four hours, we do. He’s helping me move back into my old place.”

Because that was another conversation she and Cassian had on Thanksgiving night. It was a long time coming, but also the perfect time.

“You’re saying your apartment has been ready for weeks? Why are you just telling me now?”

Nesta pillowed her face on his chest, not as upset at revealing the news as she would have been some days ago. “Because I was scared that if I moved out, I would lose my friendship with you.”

“That never would have happened—”

“We wouldn’t see each other every day anymore. Even if we didn’t go back to being complete strangers, the closeness would be lost.”

“You must not know me, then. I would’ve texted you every fucking hour. You’d never hear the end of me.”

“I couldn’t guarantee that back then.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I can now.” She crawled higher up his body, lowering her voice to a secretive pitch. “Want to know why?”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because you’re mine now. And that’s what I was waiting for while I made Lorene hold that shitty empty apartment for me. I was waiting for a catalyst, a revelation.” She pressed a kiss to his sternum. “And I most definitely got it.” The pleasant ache between her legs was proof enough. “Also,” she added, “it would be weird if you lived with your girlfriend before even having a first date with her.”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “You have a point there. We have been moving backwards, haven’t we?”

Nesta nodded into his skin.

He got a little quiet. “Still,” he said after a moment. “I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me every day. I’ll be fifteen minutes away.”

“I’ll still miss you.”

“I know.”

“What does talking about guys have to do with my therapy?” Nesta squirms, getting restless with the topic.

“Lots of things,” Lana says, putting down her notepad. “It gets you comfortable with expressing your feelings to me, and it teaches me about how you view the world. Besides, therapy isn’t just a rehashing of past traumas, you know. We can talk about whatever you want here, especially if it makes you feel good.”

“Well, I want to talk about something else.” She’s not spending this much money by the hour just to talk about how much she likes Cassian— she can go to Cassian for that for free.

“Like what?” Lana asks smoothly.

She’s offering an opening, finally, to the real reason that Nesta’s here.

Nesta pulls at the sleeves of her sweatshirt, wondering where to start. “I feel like I’ve been growing up lately,” she says carefully. “I have all these new people in my life to be responsible for, and I’m— I want to do it right. But I’m worried I won’t have room for new things until I pack up some of my old shit, so that’s why I’m here, I guess. I don’t want to hold on to all of my old shit anymore.”

At Lana’s encouraging silence, she continues, “I spent my whole life stuck in a suffocating town, and as soon as I left, I got stuck in a relationship. By the time I knew what freedom felt like, I— I’d been left behind. Everyone I knew was moving onto bigger things and all I had was this shitbag of a past. So I got a new place and started law school and called it a fresh start, but now I’m here and I’m not sure if I ever got better.”

She takes a sharp breath after everything that’s spilled.

Lana purses her lips, letting the room absorb Nesta’s words. After a long moment, she says, “Just because bad things stop happening to someone, doesn’t mean they instantly get better. It’s a good thing that you’re recognizing that before stepping into new relationships, Nesta.”

Lana glances at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, but this was a productive first session.” She offers a small smile. “Same time next week?” She says it as if it isn’t already a done deal.

Nesta nods gratefully anyway, unable to say anything else. As soon as she’s out the door, a pent-up sigh escapes her. That wasn’t so bad.

***

Later that night, Nesta doesn’t miss Cassian’s wistful stare as he takes down the painting he got her from the fall festival. Nor does she miss how slowly he packs it away.

Once the bedroom she made her home is as sparse as the day she moved in, all her things packed away neatly in boxes, Nesta wraps her arms around Cassian and pulls him to the bed. There, she lets him hold her close, their breaths and limbs intertwining as they lie in thoughtful silence.

“I can’t believe I’ll never see this room again,” Nesta says quietly.

Cassian’s eyes widen in alarm. “What do you mean, never again?”

“I’ll be staying in your room whenever I visit, remember?” Her underwear already occupies a drawer in his closet.

Cassian visibly relaxes when he remembers, then smiles. “Right. Of course.”

She lets herself sink deeper into his embrace. “I just realized you’ve never seen my apartment before.” He was waiting at the front door of Lorene’s place while Nesta collected her things all those weeks ago, but she cringes at the thought of him visiting now. The clear wealth gap between her and Cassian doesn’t usually show, but it’ll be undeniable with the cramped room she calls an apartment. “Maybe it’s best if I move back in without your help. There might not even be space there for your huge body.”

“Sounds more appealing by the minute.” He’s not joking. He tilts up Nesta’s chin so she’s forced to meet his eyes. “I can’t wait to start partaking in your life the way you took over mine. Spending nights at your place, meeting your friends, riding in your car instead of mine.”

Nesta swallows.

“I’m gonna miss you like hell, but it’ll be for the best.”

He’s right: this is what’s best for their budding relationship right now. Moving out, creating even a little bit of distance— all of it is so they can finally learn each other as lovers instead of roommates. So when they do come back together, which Nesta firmly believes they will, it’ll be stronger than ever before.

Some of their shared sadness flits away at the truth of it. She only places her hand on his cheek, content to appreciate this view— this beautiful, hazel-shaded view— without further chitchat or goodbyes.

Cassian is not as fond of the silence. “I need to tell you something,” he says seriously after a few minutes.

After only a handful of days dating Cassian, Nesta knows what he’s going to say. “Don’t,” she warns, unamused.

He grins conspiratorially and leans in even closer, until their mouths are almost brushing. “You’re my everything, Nesta.”

“Oh my god, stop it.” She squirms out of his hold and gets up, tossing the blankets off herself.

“No, come back!” He makes a grab for her sleeve. “We have to use the bed one last time—”

But she’s already running off.

***

Cassian carefully arranges the canvas painting on the wall, taking a step back to determine if it’s hanging straight. The ruby and amber leaves of the landscape stand out against the dull teal walls of Nesta’s basement apartment, but he’s just getting started.

The rest of Nesta’s things are half-unpacked from their cardboard boxes, but instead of going for the important shit first, he finds the box he specifically marked FAVES in bold letters the night before.

While Nesta wrangles to get her clothes back into her old closet in the background, Cassian crouches and rips open the small box. There, lying atop his girlfriend’s favorite trinkets and personal items, is the framed photo he snuck in without her noticing.

It’s of the two of them at the fall festival, taken mere hours before their first kiss. Nesta is pressed up close to Cassian (her excuse being that it was cold), and a genuine light fills her eyes, one that Cassian never thought he’d be able to capture on camera. Cassian himself isn’t looking at the camera, but down at Nesta with wind-flushed cheeks and a distant smile. Making sure she’s having a good time, that she truly wants to be there with him in that moment.

He never realized how close they looked in that picture until he had it printed and framed, not long after Nesta announced she was moving out. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner.

Standing up, he places the photo on Nesta’s wooden dresser. Nesta still has her head in the closet, moving things around, but Cassian makes no announcement of his gift to her. She’ll notice it sooner or later.

He clears his throat. “Wanna take a break and order Chinese?”

Nesta pops her head out of the closet, her ponytail ruffled and eyes narrowed at him. “Have you even been helping this whole time?”

“Standing here and looking pretty is harder than it seems, but I don’t expect any credit from you,” he jokes. “Just let me buy you lunch.”

Nesta grumbles something he chooses not to hear, but straightens up and rubs her spine with a wince. “I need a fucking chiropractor,” she mutters.

Guilt shoots through Cassian at that small wince, and he resolves to finish organizing Nesta’s closet for her before the day is over. Nesta goes on, “So? Still determined to split your time between here and the cabin?” She gestures to the apartment with an arm.

It’s really just a glorified single room, with a rusty kitchenette in the corner, a hallway near the stairs that holds the bathroom, and Nesta’s bed pushed against one wall. It’s nothing special, but Cassian loves it. Mostly because he can already envision each new nook and cranny to take Nesta against, and how he wants to wake up in that too-small bed on days that he’s too lazy to drive home.

“It’s perfect,” he says simply. Thank you for sharing your home with me, is what he really means. Speaking of homes—

Cassian digs around in his pocket, finding and pulling out a newly-minted silver key. “I almost forgot to give you this.”

Nesta frowns, coming forward to take the key from him. He uses the closeness as an excuse to wrap his arms around her waist while she inspects the object.

She glances up at him, eyes softer than they were a moment ago, lips slightly parted. “You’re giving me a key to the cabin?”

He shrugs casually. “You should’ve gotten one a long time ago.” She used either Cassian’s key or the spare while she lived there.

Her mouth is still open, and she closes it once, twice, before finally saying, “I don’t have a key to my place for you.”

“But I can get one,” she adds quickly. “If you want it, that is.”

Of course he wants it, but he keeps his face carefully neutral. “Only if you want me to have one. We’re still new, and this is your personal space.” He emphasizes your.

Nesta purses her lips, then says, “I’ll think about it.”

Cassian’s shoulders slump in relief— relief that Nesta is being honest with him instead of doing something she isn’t yet ready for. He’ll take her honesty over an apartment key any day.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he smiles brightly and shoves her toward the bed. “If we’re getting dumplings again then you can’t steal mine.”

***

a/n: fair warning that ive never been to therapy, but in stories therapists are usually a mode for character exploration and development, which is what nesta's therapy will be for.

also im so glad i got to meet gwyn in acosf and im so excited to introduce her into this fic too!! if you have ideas for her origin story feel free to share because nothing is planned yet

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @swankii-art-teacher

[pcrfectstorms]

liiabilities asked: ’ i don’t know anything, but i know i miss you. ’ / from cora to stiles

taylor swift meme | @liiabilities​ | accepting!

         THE SOCIAL WORKERS OUTSIDE, his co-worker tells him, nodding Stiles tells him to let her in, head down, loading up the missing person’s file, the kid was TWELVE, a suspected kidnapping case, these were the ones that always got him, the missing kid cases, and it’s long since past the 48-hour CRITICAL window, local cops pulling their USUAL 24-hour rule, that wasn't really a rule anywhere, and only ever served to do injustice on the victim, “Come in --” he says looking up to come face to face with Cora Hale, and for once Stiles is left speechless, forgetting momentarily on the job at hand, faced with a blast from the past that he hadn’t expected to see EVER again. What had it been, ten years? Maybe twelve? Counting in his head -- yeah twelve years.

         “Cora? --” coming out in almost disbelief, and yet somehow he manages to stumble his way through taking her report, gives her his card and tells her to call him if she hears anything; that he’ll do the same, keeps it professional, not letting the hurt bubble up from a decade earlier. And inspire of everything they get a happy ending, the kids returned home safe, her dad arrested for parental kidnapping, thanks to Cora -- so he like, wants to thank her, tells her if it’s not too weird maybe she can let him take her out to dinner - just OLD FRIENDS he says, but there's this wistfulness in his words, letting his mind run off thinking back to all that year in high school when she’d been ALL he could think about. Lydia Martin, who?

         Funny, he thinks how easy it was to slip back into comfortable conversation like a decade hadn’t past since they last time they saw each other, but along with that comfort comes a sad nostalgia, and he knows she feels it too, the way she’s looking at him, he’d thought about her over the years -- always hoped she was good, that she was happy wherever in the world she was now, wonders if maybe, somewhere in another life how different things might have played out for them.

          “i’m glad you said yes, tonight --i didn’t know if it would be like, weird, or awkward or something after how things went down in high school -- not that it is! like im having fun -- you’re having fun too right? hard to tell when you’re defaults grumpy wolf” he teases, winking at her across the table, trying to keep it light-hearted but he ends up blurting out what he’s thinking, cause well -- Stiles was never very good at shutting the fuck up. “i mean, i was pretty bummed when you left, you never said goodbye -- that was kinda weird” he trails off head shaking, laughing out of nerves, he knows its dumb to be be bothered by something that happened so long ago, let bygone’s be bygone’s, cause like, they’re here now, and maybe shell stick around this time.

[orionwhispers]

Tear In My Heart // Alfie Solomons

(A/N - hehe im back. im working on a bucky oneshot and a tommy series but both of them are super long and i wanted to take a little breather. this was supposed to be a drabble but you know me... ive got a few more ideas for shorter imagines like this with tommy and alf, requests are open! hope you enjoy. pls reblog and comment. love u see u soon xoxxo - also this is like the smuttiest thing ive written even though its not explicit but wow who am i)

warnings: violence, mention of fights and blood, protective alfie, heavily implied smut, lots of terrible language.

You knew something was wrong when Ollie practically crashed through the door. He took off part of the frame and made the hinges tear from the wood, nails and screws clattering onto the ground. The afternoon had been wonderful, perhaps too wonderful, and as always, real life found a way to shatter your rose tinted glasses.

It was starting to fall into autumn, the air chilly but comfortable, the streets slick with rain and the leaves turning into a sweet, buttery caramel all around you. The house was silent save for the birds singing in the trees and the rattling whip of the wind against your windows. The quiet was a perk of having house out in the country, far away from anything and anyone. Just the way he liked it.

Because to him, all he needed was his girl.

Well, and his dog.

The sun had barely risen when you got up - much to your husbands protests. You felt him stirring from beside you, a solid wall of warmth as he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed sleepy, half drunk kisses onto your spine. You laughed tiredly as his hands curled over everything they could reach, long calloused fingers roaming against your bare skin. He grumbled as you swung your legs from under the duvet and onto the floor, throwing on his white cotton shirt and letting it fall to your knees, trying to ignore the threats he was mumbling about what he was going to do to your boss for making you come in so early.

He made one last feeble attempt to grab you, exhaustion clouding his brain so he could do no more than swipe at the top of your thigh, making you laugh at his wandering hands.

“Stay.” He said, voice raspy and muffled by his pillow.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Alf.” You sighed playfully, grabbing your strawberry slip dress and beaded heels and fur coat, darting into the bathroom to wash up and change. Through the noise of the running water you could hear the bed springs creak as he shifted, the entire frame groaning almost as much as him. Cyril watched you with his big chestnut eyes from the doorway as you fluffed up your hair and patted on coffee coloured lipstick, pinching the apples of your cheeks for a little flush.

You rummaged through your handbag as you made your way to the bedroom door, lost in your thoughts until you heard him speak, all low and gravelly and sending shivers up your spine.

“Oi. C’mere you.”

You rolled your eyes but walked into his outstretched arms, his body completely slumped and covered in thick duvets and pillows, just his tattooed skin and coarse, tousled hair poking out from underneath. He pulled you close into him, smelling like green apples and rum and sex and sea salt, like home. He mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out, the sun starting to shine through the cracks in the curtains and as you started to get up he tugged you in tighter, placing messy, sloppy kisses down your throat and onto your collarbones.

You smacked his shoulder, grabbing his jaw and holding it still, placing a kiss on his lips, feeling him smile against your mouth.

“Bye, my love.”

“Hmph.”

You made it halfway down the hall before you heard: “Fred is driving you. Don’t even bloody think about walking alone at this time.” Followed by grunts and groans and finally deep, throaty snores.

———————————————————-

You accompanied your boss to a few meetings, taking notes and helping him check stock. After a few hours filled with cinnamon lattes and finger cramps and ink stains, he took you aside at the office and gave you the rest of the day off. You were a little suspicious, and had a feeling his good deed might have had something to do with your slightly intimidating husband, but you accepted it nonetheless and headed to Camden after lunch.

The air was brisk and you pulled your scarf tighter around your throat, dodging puddles and fat droplets of rain as they dropped from the trees. You stopped off at a little cafe on your side of town, buying turkey sandwiches, a garden salad and a platter of seasonal fruit, ignoring the fried sugar donuts and sausage rolls and thick, crispy cuts of bacon. A routine check up to the doctor had lead to Alfie being told that perhaps a healthier lifestyle would benefit some of his ailments, so despite his grumbling and childish ways you were doing your best to make sure he was eating his five a day - no matter how much he protested.

But at the last second you grabbed a cherry jam donut. His favourite.

The rain had become torrential by the time you left, the clouds morphing into a block of ashen, sooty grey, teetering on black. Once upon a time the impending storm would have made you feel nervous, the rattling trees and flashes of lightning had been the reason for many sleepless nights when you were a child, but now you looked forward to it.

Because now it meant something different. You, Alfie and Cyril curled up in bed, the fire roaring and flickering a brilliant orange gold. Your husbands arms tight around you, squeezing softly every time there was a clap of thunder, his kisses warm and protective across your throat, knowing that he’d never let anything hurt you. Drinking tea spiked with rum and playing cards, listening to the rain against the windows, feeling the white burst of lighting every time it struck the sky. Falling asleep next to each other, Alfie always waiting for you to doze off first, unable to sleep unless he knew you were alright.

You had once hated storms, and now you wished for them.

Your umbrella was totally battered by the time you got to the bakery. The bottom of your dress was damp from puddles and your shoes were on their last legs, the satin ruined and black with mud, but you didn’t care, walking through the side entrance with a smile bigger than the moon. A few of the old boys saw you instantly, straightening up and grinning at you, welcoming you with whisky soaked aprons and calloused hands. Back when you and Alfie started dating he had all but forbidden his staff from looking, talking, or even thinking about you, but over the years you had formed a close relationship with his workers - something about your warmth and light easing up the darkness. At first Alfie huffed and puffed about it a little, but he couldn’t exactly blame his men for loving you - he was a perfect example of how you brought a strong man to his knees after all.

“Is he upstairs?” You asked George, one of the distillers. As soon as he nodded you left, your heels clicking against the cool basement flooring. You didn’t bother knocking as you approached the big, intimidating door to his office, instead just grabbing the brass lion head knob and twisting it, hearing the hinges whine in protest.

“What the fuck?” His voice was as deep and rumbling as a low tide, his tone so dark and sharp that it might have scared you, if you didn’t know him as the man who fed the ducks fresh bread at the park and cuddled Cyril when the vets had to give him an injection. “How many fucking times do I have to ask you lot to fucking knock. I mean it’s a - ”

He stopped short when he saw you, eyes going wide and lips twitching upwards just a little. He slipped into business mode whenever he sat at the leather chair behind his desk, but you always managed to chip away at his foundation.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” You laughed, walking around his desk to see him, his legs naturally opening to let you stand in between them, his eyes following every curve and line of your face, settling on the natural rosebud flush of your lips.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He mused, ring clad fingers darting around your waist and pulling you in. He toyed with the buttons on your dress and the jewellery around your neck, his fingers rough and large and as hot as a fire. His day had been shitty so far, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes and the loose curl of your hair had made everything much, much better.

“Hmm.” You said, leaning into his touch, batting away his hand as it slipped somewhere a little too low. “Marcus gave me the afternoon of so I thought I would come and surprise you.”

He blinked up at you, all wistful and love drunk and making your knees turn into blackcurrant jelly. “Did you now?”

“Yep.” You smiled, brushing your nose against his before pulling back and teasingly shaking the paper bag of baked goods in your hand. “And I bought gifts.”

“Yeah. Yeah. In a minute.” He barely registered them, instead dragging you into him, pressing kisses to your lips and letting you wash away any thoughts from his brain, not stopping until he was totally, completely drowning in you.

——————————————————-

That was how you ended up cross legged on the sofa, devouring your new novel and sipping on the rose and oolong tea Alfie kept in the cupboard for when you visited the factory. You could hear the rain pattering down the windows around you, mixed with the scratch of Alfie’s fountain pen and the sound of him rifling through his papers. It was fun to watch him as well as listen to him, the way his eyebrows raised when he read something he didn’t like, the twitch of his nose and the way that he ran his fingers through the coarse hair of his beard, moulding it to a peak at the bottom of his chin.

He watched you as well. When you got so into your book that your brows furrowed and your nose wrinkled. The way your hair was loose and wild, your stockings a soft pink under the stormy sky, your eyes wide and frantic, desperate to read as much as you could. He smiled at the way your leg bounced, how you tried to pick the stems from your strawberries with one hand but then accidentally squished them, the juice running down your wrist. He especially liked the way you were using his winter coat as a blanket, drowning in the fabric like a child, the collar snug around your chin.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You heard Ollie before you saw him, the crash of his laced black boots thundering up the stairs, the way that he collided with the door rather than opening it first. You and Alfie stood up at the same time, his eyes immediately darting to you, gesturing for you to get behind him.

“Eric’s here.” Was all the boy said, and you watched the colour drain from Alfie’s face.

“Eric?” You said, “Eric Martin?”

Your question lingered in the air as the two men walked around one another, gesturing wildly and talking under their breath; Alfie completely frantic and flustered. You had only heard of Alfie’s new business partner in passing, the two of them had spent the better part of a year talking through agreements and shipments and trying to manoeuvre a deal where the two of them could co exist happily - Alfie’s rum and Eric’s stolen goods sharing a boat so that the city checks would be easier. Alfie had never been particularly quite when it came to business. He liked to include you and get your opinion on things, he trusted you most of all anyway, but he had been secretive when it came to Eric.

You had heard through Ollie and rumours at the club and whispers in the factory that this “Eric” was a man not to be trifled with. Apparently he was unpredictable and violent, and he belonged to one of the major crime gangs in Cambridge. None of this scared you though, many people thought the exact same of the man you shared your bed with, and you knew a side of him that nobody else saw. The gossip was barbed and cruel though. They said he was conniving and underhanded, and that his last two wives had been admitted to hospital with broken and fractured bones.

So Alfie tried cutting him out as much as he could, never wanting to say his name or talk about him in the safety of his home, not with you around. Your home was his solace, and he wouldn’t taint his life with you in blood red - you were too important. You never thought much of it, but watching his reaction, his sudden overprotectiveness and stern frown and rattled demeanour, made you just a little bit frightened.

“What the fuck does he want?” Alfie snapped, pulling your coat over your shoulders frantically and starting to button it up, then helping you tug on your boots and lace them.

“He’s pissed about the Brighton shipment, he says his liquor didn’t get there on time.”

“Stupid fucking...” Alfie’s voice trailed off like smoke, something downstairs on the factory floor clattering loudly followed by distinct, angry shouts. “We told him it was too risky with the police there, he should have fucking listened. We were due a meeting next week, tell him to fuck off and come back then.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Make him.”

“I...” He started, but Alfie cut him off again, standing next to you and taking your face in his large, calloused hands.

“Right, pet. Stay here for a little bit, and when it clears up, Ollie will take you out the back, alright?”

“Alfie...” You started to protest, before exhaling and sighing as he turned to his protégée.

“You got that, Ol? Nothing is to happen to her.”

You were getting a little hot with being ordered around, but the visible anxiety swimming across their faces like the midnight sea was enough for you to close your mouth. Instead of agreeing with his boss, Ollie shook his head, sucking on his lower lip as he tried to think of a way to convey the sincerity of the situation.

“He’s really angry, Alfie. You need to go down, now. Before he decides to come up.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Your fingers clenched, and you darted out to tug on the edge of his sleeve before he left.“Alfie. Please be careful.”

There was a smog of anxiety in your stomach and warning signs ringing like alarms in your mind as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips brushing your hairline. You chewed on the edge of your lip as he left, and you wondered how your blissful afternoon had turned into this: your body shaking with nerves as your husband descended down the stairs and into the belly of the beast.

Ollie reached out and touched your shoulder, trying to help you feel calm but his face was the colour of tepid dishwater, paling by the second.

“He’ll be fine.”

You crossed all of your fingers and toes.

———————————————————————

About twenty minutes passed, and the shouting had gone from ear piercingly loud to a low hum, which you found oddly comforting despite everything. You watched as Ollie fiddled with his pocket watch, the two of you waiting until it was safe to head downstairs.After a moment you heard the sound of the giant metal door opening, the one right at the front where the workers came in and the bakery goods were delivered, a clear indication from Alfie that Eric was leaving.

Ollie leapt up and smiled faintly at you, edging you towards the door as you swung your handbag across your chest. You scoffed a little as you walked, turning to face him.

“If Eric is gone, why can’t I stay?”

Ollie merely rolled his eyes, his hand migrating to your lower back as he all but pushed you forward. You might have been able to get away with ignoring Alfie’s orders, but he certainly wouldn’t. “You know Alfie won’t want you here after that. There’s no use fighting him about it, he’ll want you back at home.”

You sighed but conceded, allowing yourself to be guided down the staircase. At least at home you could distract yourself and have Cyril with you, his big treacle eyes were the perfect remedy to a bad day.

You were right beside the back door and ready to leave when you heard a voice cracking like thunder from behind you, something as sharp as a knife and as loud as a church bell. You both froze instantly, every nerve in your body feathering, your heart aching to know that Alfie was alright.

“You little fucking liar.” Cut around the room like barbed wire. “How long were you planning on hiding this shipment from me?” There was another crash, and you could hear liquid trickling and dribbling into a puddle, followed by the sweet, sour smell of alcohol.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re on about mate.” It was Alfie speaking now, his voice lowered to a dangerous octave, and you could picture the lightning like anger on his face. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? You’ve been sending things off without my knowledge!”

“I said. Fucking calm down.” The sound of a hand slamming down on wood, as fierce as a slap on the face. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

There was another scuffle: rapid footsteps on the floor, the crack of knuckles and the smell of ash. A couple of the boys darted in from the other room, their shirts untucked and hands turning red. You watched them curiously, stepping forward on unsteady heels to try and pinpoint the commotion. You felt Ollie's hand reach for you but you leapt out of his grasp, at the same time a body flew from the next room and landed in a heap next to barrels of aged rum and whisky, the wood heaving from the strain.

You glanced at the man on the floor, his body oddly contorted, his bald head glistening with sweat and his body reeking of putrid alcohol and cigarettes. This was obviously Eric. Your eyes widened in disgust at the drunk, violent man taking swings at whoever he could, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. You saw Alfie emerge from the shadows, his gaze flitting straight to you, his hands swollen and his face flushed with visible anger at the man sprawled on the ground.

Before you could retreat, Eric’s wide, black eyes landed on you, practically bulging out of his head with adrenaline and anger and excitement. “ You know, Alfie.” He asked through bubbles of saliva, scrambling to his feet as best he could, lunging for you. You saw Alfie and a few of his best men move forward, hands ready like cocked guns to strike if they needed to. Eric ignored them, wanting to pack as many fatal blows in whilst he had the chance. “Everybody at the club talks about your little whore of a wife, Solomon’s.”

The room fell deadly silent. His words didn’t affect you at all, but you felt a pool of dread settle in your gut and you stepped backwards, warning him with your eyes. He was at the back of the room, but you could still feel the anger vibrating from your husband, and you heard him smack his lips as he tried to calm himself down.

Eric ignored your alarmed glare, spitting onto the concrete and looking you up and down with pure disgust and shameless lust. “You know that people only do business with you to get to her?”

“Don’t. You. Fuck - ” Alfie’s boots thundered like a stampede, his voice as dark and raspy as midnight, his words sharpened like butchers knives.

“Maybe I’ll have a go at her. Maybe it’ll teach you a little respect. If I have a go at that smug little whore and slap her around a little and....”

He didn’t finish his sentence, Alfie’s cane smashing against the side of Eric’s head with enough momentum to send his teeth flying, small milky white canines lying a few feet in front of you in a pool of sticky blood. He made some kind of noise from on the floor, his hands coming up to protect what was left of his face, his polished shoes desperately trying to grip onto something to help him up. There was a second hit. And then a third. Each accompanied by ear splitting cries, and the sound of flesh against stone.

“Don’t you ever, ever, speak about my wife like that again.” You could just about make out Alfie from the darkness, his silhouette mighty and terrifying, leaning over the shattered body on the floor, filled with a hatred that seemed to overpower him.

“I - ” Eric tried to speak but only blood pooled from his mouth, his body weakened and damaged from the attack. He tried to cover himself with his hands but failed, another ear piercing crack echoing around the room.

You lunged forward, wanting to stop your husband before he went too far. “Alfie! Stop! You’re going to kill him!”

He blinked up at you, his pupils swallowed by black. His gaze lowered from you onto the wailing man on the ground, his words playing on a loop in his brain, digging their nails in every time the record restarted.

He had said those evil things about you.

He glanced at Ollie, finally opening his mouth to speak. “Take her home.”

You struggled in Ollie’s grip, desperate to see your husband and knock some sense into him. Your heart hung heavy in your chest, equal parts terrified that he would either end up hurt or in a more dangerous situation than the one he was already in. You fought hard but Ollie’s hold was tighter, his fingers squeezing you tightly. He tried to be kind but forceful as he pulled you out into the alley, your heard turned back to face your husband, watching as him and the shadow on the floor faded to a dull, awful, obsidian.

—————————————-

You were certain you were going to make holes in the wood. You had been pacing back and forth the living room floor for almost an hour, and Cyril had abandoned his mission of trying to cheer you up, and instead watched you protectively and cautiously from his wicker basket beside the sofa.

You had chewed your sunshine yellow nails down to the wick, and your heart hadn’t stop thumping since you had left the warehouse. Ollie had left you to your thoughts, keeping watch outside to make sure nothing harmed you, and also that you didn’t harm somebody else.

Dealing with hysterical women wasn’t really his forte.

There had been no word from Alfie since you had left, and so you watched the teal wall phone endlessly, hoping that it would ring and you would know he was alright. You were greeted with nothing but ice cold silence, and so you resumed your pacing, biting down on the skin of your thumb until you could taste blood.

Right before you were about to lose all control and demand Ollie take you to see him, you heard the crunch of the gravel outside, and saw lemon headlights flash against the wall. Cyril’s head lifted quickly, and his tail began to thump, but your feet turned to concerted and you were unable to do anything other than wait.

You were as still as a spectre as you stood facing the door, your body prickling with anxiety and adrenaline. A car - you assumed Ollie’s - coughed and spluttered over the rocks and into the road, leaving you alone with Alfie. You heard the key in the lock, practically felt the metal ridges running over your spine as he pulled and twisted and finally came inside, the sky a gloomy, smoky grey, rain falling so harshly it was almost hail.

He was shaped so strongly, his figure so barbed and brawny and beautiful. You felt totally mortal beside a man like him, and he looked even more so like a God when you saw him under the icy white lamp light in the hall.

He was covered in blood. Soaked in it, really. It was matted in his hair and in ugly brown splotches across his once pristine shirt and under his fingernails and smeared across his boots in a shade of red you had never seen before. It was obvious he had tried to clean himself up judging from the uneven patches and water marks, but he had given up, deciding to risk everything and drive through the streets like an abattoir worker, just so he could see you as quickly as he could.

You let out some kind of noise and stepped forward, he caught you effortlessly, the way that he always would.

“Alfie.” You said, wide eyed and innocent and good, and he felt like a sinner holding something so angelic in his arms.

“I’m alright. I’m alright.”

There was blood in his beard, and a plum sided bruise turning nightshade on his upper arm. “Oh God, Alf.”

He shook his head, pulling you in and smelling the orange and cinnamon of your shampoo and the vanilla perfume on your neck and felt the softness of your hair and the curves of your body. The day had been bad. It had started so wonderfully and ended up shattered and splintered into something so awful and malevolent, and now there was nothing he wanted except you, his home.

“We need to - ” You started, but he frowned, his arms engulfing you and tugging you in. He pressed his lips to whatever flesh he could find, open mouthed and desperate, sucking and biting and aching for you.

“No. No.” He whispered into your neck, his voice so small and desperate that your heart throbbed. “I need you, my love.”

You knew what he wanted. How we got when he was like this. Touch starved. Greedy. Insatiable. How he wanted nothing else but the feel of you under him, the weight of your ribs and the feel of your body and love consuming him until nothing was left. Fuck his back and his cane, he needed to claim you and mark you and show you just how badly he needed you. He needed to find religion at the alter of your pliant, yearning body. Show you how much he loved you on the cold kitchen tiles with the rain casting grey shadows and his lips biting your own as the thunder clapped above.

————————-

The tap was still leaking.

Alfie had promised to fix it weeks ago and yet it still dribbled lukewarm water continuously, you didn’t mind for once though, the soft noise it made as it bounced into the water was somewhat calming.

His legs around you were as thick as tree trunks and covered in curly, coarse hair. His arms were tight around you, and you played with the jewels on his fingers as you both relaxed, letting the hot steam cover you both. You were cradled in front of him despite your instance that his back would hurt and it would cause more harm than good. He simply got in the water and dragged you on top of him, letting the pink bath salts do their job.

You hadn’t really spoken since you’d made love like teenagers on the kitchen floor. Afterwards, he tugged you on top of him and held you close, the two of you skin to skin, letting your pulses synch and breathing calm all whilst he stayed warm and throbbing inside of you. Needing to be joined with you for as long as he could.

Then you ran a bath and filled it with all of the expensive lotions and potions you had stockpiled. Cherry and rose and sweet mint and chocolate and lime, things that might have clashed but would easily cover the smell of sweat and sex and thick, coppery blood. The two of you sat in the water, not speaking but filled with love, despite all of the unspoken tension in the air.

You felt him shift behind you. His huge body sent water and bubbles lapping wildly over the tub edge, coating the floor in marshmallow pink. You giggled softly, and the sweet, angelic noise gave Alfie the final push to tell you everything.

“I know what you want to ask me.”

“Hmm?” You murmured, letting round, iridescent bubbles fall through the cracks in your fingers, knowing exactly what he was about to say but feigning innocence anyway.

“You want to know if I killed him.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to, he continued anyway.

“I did.”

The bathroom fell silent again and Alfie could feel you stiffen under him. You knew from the moment he swung his cane across Eric’s head that he would be buried six feet by the end of the day, but it still hit you like a punch to the windpipe to hear the words aloud.

“Does that bother you?” He asked after a moment, the words thick and raspy, as though they had been stuck in his throat like congealed honey.

“I’m not sure.” You said finally.

It was the truth. You weren’t sure.

You knew he had killed people before. You knew what the war had made him do, what it had turned him into. You weren’t stupid, either. You knew that he often came home with dirt under his nails and blood splattered on his boots and that glazed look in his eyes that made your stomach tie itself in knots. You knew because you had been there through it all, cleaning him up and disinfecting his wounds, talking him down when the memories of gunshots and trenches got too loud, listening to him tell you all of the secrets that lingered in his mind like flies around a carcass.

But if you were being honest, you didn’t care that he had killed. You never judged Alfie or his choices, you understood the way his brain worked and how he made his decisions. Most of the men had been awful. Abusers and violent thieves and con men with dirty intentions. This was the business you had signed up for when you fell for the six foot man with questionable morals but a heart of solid gold. There was no way you were turning your back on him now.

It wasn’t murder that scared you, it was the possible repercussions that led you to sleepless nights and bloody, bitten lips. You were terrified that one day everything would catch up to him, and it would be your husband that ended up in a coffin. He was so powerful and dangerous and magnificent, but he wasn’t invincible.

You were about to say as much but he continued, the water sloshing around the two of you. “Don’t let it bother you. I’d do it again. Kill a fucking million men if I had to. If anyone talks about you like that - if they even think it. They’re gone. Bloody scum. The lot of ‘em.”

You sighed, shifting up and grabbing his hand under the water. You rubbed circles across his palm, conveying your love through actions. “I don’t want to be the reason you have blood on your hands.”

“I’m a big lad right, I can make my own decisions.”

“I know you are Alf, but you know how I worry.”

“Listen to me, right.” He muttered, the candles flickering clementine, his fingertips pressing gently onto the bare flesh of your hip. He cleared his throat, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his belly. “After the war I had nothing - and then I met you and fuck me you changed everything.”

He paused, reminiscing internally about how you met and your early dates, thinking of toffee kisses and giddy, pure love and fucking in back alleys and winter walks and finally feeling something after the war had shot everything right out of him. “And you are my wife. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You tugged on his big toe, making him wince and playfully hit you, the air lightened just a little bit, but enough so that the two of you could breathe. “I don’t care that you killed them, Alf. I never have. But God, if something were to happen to you! What if the police start looking? What if...”

A million fucked up scenarios of your beloved in silver cuffs and a bullet in his head made you feel completely nauseous, but he held you tight, grounding you back to reality.

“I’m not going anywhere. And for the cops - they should be thanking me. Got rid of a lot of nasty criminals without them getting their hands dirty.” He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, the tip of your spine, the crook of your ear. “I promise you, my love, everything will be alright.”

The future was uncertain, but you knew that when you married him. Some days were just bad.

Clouded in darkness and tinged with blood and rust. Your relationship had always been a little unconventional, a little rough around the edges and at times, like a small wooden boat on a rough sea. But despite everything your love had been unwavering, as solid as a steel, the kind of dreamy infatuation that people longed for. For every bad day and every fight and every knot that wound itself in your belly - there was also so much good. Sleepy kisses and pillow talk and sharing the parts of yourself that no one else saw. A language without words, the safety of his arms, the home in your hips, domestic mornings and a love that could last through anything.And in that moment, with the storm starting to ease and the sky starting to lighten and his arms around you and Cyril starting to whine for his dinner downstairs...

It was enough.

Because you weren’t just the girl he would kill for. You were the girl he would live for.

[takoyakitenchou]

masquerade ch.8

7? idk but this one isn’t on ff or ao3 yet i think

12:58 PM Nakiri Erina: Hi, it’s been a while. Are you free the day after tomorrow?

1:03 PM Yukihira Souma: how’d u get this #?

1:04 PM Nakiri Erina: Alice gave it to me. 

1:04 PM Yukihira Souma: sup

1:05 PM Nakiri Erina: I’m opening Kiralyno Haza. It’s not like I want you to show up or anything.

message opened

1:37 PM Nakiri Erina: Hello?

2:40 PM Yukihira Souma: hey sorry i just got on break. congrats nakiri!

2:41 PM Nakiri Erina: It was expected.

2:41 PM Yukihira Souma: surprised it took you so long to open. hurry up and get your 3 stars bubs then we’ll really see who’s the better chef

2:41 PM Yukihira Souma: and did you get tired of shinomiya or did he get tired of you?

2:42 PM Nakiri Erina: I got tired of him. Duh. Are you not coming?

2:42 PM Yukihira Souma: save 4 seats for me. i’ll be a balloon by the time im done w your food also i hope you have enough ingredients for a shokugeki after

“Ugh. You’re as shit at texting as ever,” Erina groaned, throwing down her phone, but then she picked it up again to stare at those four particular characters. Bubs. God, it had been so long since she’d seen that in her messages.

(under the cut to see souma and erina start to get their shit together lol)

To think that she had been the one to break the radio silence between them — good lord, that was fucking annoying. It was weird to think about. There had been plenty of opportunities for them to talk again, and yet they’d somehow managed to evade each other since they’d run into each other at Nakiri Mansion. Whether this was coincidence she had no idea, but Souma hadn’t been at the official Totsuki-sponsored 92nd gen alumni reunion, and Shinomiya had dragged Erina to some culinary conference that made her miss the freshman training camp where Souma threatened the living shits out of the poor first years but ended up not cutting anybody from the roster.

Erina had done her best not to linger on the fact that she had had to ask Alice for Souma’s new number, but goddamn would that remain at the forefront of her mind for the week following Kiralyno Haza’s debut until she got frustrated enough to the point where she damn near chucked her own phone out the window.

It was thanks to Alice that her condo was still in one piece.

The COO of the Nakiri-Totsuki Group was sitting next to her at a bar in Budapest, helping herself to her third shot of tequila, a few empty glasses and a growing tab between them. “Yukihira’s coming?”

Erina nodded, smiling despite herself. “Yeah. I guess he is.”

Taking sudden interest in her drink, Alice remained silent for a thoughtful moment before she said, “I haven’t seen you this happy since you two broke up.”

With a half-hearted huff, Erina scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

Alice gave her a long look. “I’m not kidding, Erina. Who was that other guy you were seeing? Darren?”

“Aaron. Darren was before him.”

“Doesn’t he have a 3000-seater concert hall named after him?”

“I couldn’t care less.” Erina said, and Alice knew it was 593% true. 

Whenever tolerating a guy got tedious, Erina had extinguished whatever spark he thought he had ignited, pretended to be hung up on it, and started over, systematically breaking hearts left and right, all the while building titanium defenses around her own.

And then, a year and half ago, she’d seen Yukihira Souma at Nakiri Mansion, and everything had changed. 

So. Much. Pining. Alice was more than a few years past sick of how long those two idiots were dragging their shit out.

Erina picked up her belongings. “We should probably stop day-drinking.”

“Sure,” Alice said, paying the tab before Erina could get her wallet out.

“I’ll pay you back for that,” Erina promised as they left the bar.

Alice put a hand on Erina’s shoulder. “You can pay me back by not fucking up your confession again.”

At this, Erina frowned. A withering counter should’ve been second nature, but she found herself incapable. She wanted to believe that whatever piece of her heart that had clung to the hope that Yukihira Souma would come back to her was nothing more than a memory. More than anything, she wished the voice at the back of her head telling her to move on and forget him and their past would finally win out, because there were people in her present waiting for her, and it would be a sin to ignore that.

But she couldn’t say the words; her heart belonged to Yukihira Souma — would always belong to him — and all broken promises and relationships notwithstanding, that was something she could not deny.

-

Although Souma technically hadn’t been invited to the kitchen for shift drinks when the front doors closed, he had taken the liberty of bringing a bottle of cab sauv that he and Erina finished in like ten seconds flat, to hell with sharing with staff, family, and friends.

The second she felt the words wanna come over? slip out of her atmosphere-drunk mouth, she knew it was going to take more self-control than she had not to demand he stay with her forever. 

“So, Yukihira,” she said like they hadn’t been catching up for the last two hours when they were sitting on the couch in her living room with pinot noir. “How’ve you been?”

The corners of Souma’s lips twitched. “Not bad,” he replied. “Mostly cooking. A few interviews and shit. I’ve been keeping up with all your stuff, by the way. Three tastings in twelve hours next Monday seems like too much, Nakiri.”

Erina frowned. “Even if you were as talented a stalker as Mimasaka Subaru, how the fuck would you know that?”

He held up his phone. “You were signed into my calendar app when I last downloaded a backup copy four years ago. So every time I get a new phone, I transfer all the old data.”

Erina stared at him, horrified. “Holy shit. You’ve seen everything?”

Shrugging, Souma said, “Not everything. Just… your dates with Darren. And Aaron. Also, I knew about Kiralyno opening before you texted me so I’d already cleared out my schedule by then.”

Erina had stopped listening halfway through. “Wait, Yukihira…”

“It’s okay, Nakiri.” Souma waved it off. “You’re here with me now. All that matters. Let’s not look too far into our past, yeah?”

“Don’t look into my future either, idiot! Sign out of my Google calendar right now!”

Souma shook his head seriously. “Sorry, Nakiri, I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why the fuck not?”

He gazed at her intently and rested his chin on his fist. “I need to make sure I’ll still be in it.”

Erina rolled her eyes. “Don’t say sappy shit like that. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What if I just stayed?” he asked.

She sighed. “I think the question is, would I even let you? I thought we’re putting the past behind us? Don’t you want this back?” She pointed at the white cloth she was wearing on her wrist. His white cloth.

Souma ignored the second question and pulled Erina to him by her waist, close enough that she could feel his warm breath as he spoke, forehead brushing hers. “Another thing we both know is that you and I could never be just friends.”

“Take your hands off me or I swear I’m either going to spill my wine or kiss you, and I seriously do not care which.”

He leaned back with a sad smile. “You wouldn’t let me stay, would you, Nakiri?”

“I couldn’t,” she said helplessly. “We don’t even know where our lines are.”

“Do we need lines?” Souma asked, finishing his glass and balancing it on his knee. “You and I are beyond this dimension.”

Erina stared at him, memorizing every last square centimeter of his features — the way his hair seemed to get shorter every time they met until he somewhat resembled someone of his culinary pedigree; the way the creases formed on his sleeves along the contours of his toned arms.

“You know, Nakiri, if you let me stay, you wouldn’t have to stare so much.”

She tore her gaze from his collarbone, her whole face turning red. In all her twenty-one years, that had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life. “Shut up! I’m not staring!”

He was watching her with wistful eyes. “I wouldn’t mind if you were…” 

And they both heard it.

I wouldn’t mind if you were mine.

[sweetrosetta-martin]

I’ll always need you (John Lennon x reader)

Hey 💗

Im sorry I’m not too late as time zones and my computer keeps messing with me. I really hope you’ll enjoy it as I’m also sorry @towriteabetterlife if we did not get to know each other better. (This month has been as mess, but I send this christmas gift with all my love )🌼🎶

----

“Looking ahead, your day forecast for the 23rd of December consists of… Day  There will be a high of -5c, with the record low of -15 …….. Better bring a coat folks. There may also be a snowstorm in the afternoon, so you better stay tuned for others....”

“John are ya ready, stop messing with the radio”

Knocking at the door of your bedroom, you expect a well (as much as he possibly can be) groomed John Lennon, but the only response you get is one of his wistful comments

“Only if you want me to be”

“You have not even put your suit right.”

“...‘I've never enjoyed myself more in boxers.”

Any other night you would have laughed at his manners, but not tonight. After all, it was the annual Parlephone Christmas party, and being more than an hour late to your boyfriend's first ceremony was not on your plans. You wanted everything to be perfect for once, as this was probably one of the biggest steps in his career and making a good impression on his superior was essential.

After some minutes of waiting, he finally decides to open his door

“So how do I look”

He was wearing a sober yet well tailored gray suit. With it’s dark shades, straight lines and him wearing his glasses, John seemed way out of character. Yet somehow managed to be adorably handsome with his cheeky smile and disheveled hair. How could you stay annoyed at him?

“Like one of those men you deem to have dull jobs, "You smile at him, sticking your tongue as you come close, putting your arms around him and forcing him to sit on your boudoir. “Now pass me the brush will ya.”

As you softly brush his dark auburn hair, he suddenly puts his hand on yours.

“What if we stayed rather than pretending we are entertained by the words of some white collars snobs”

He turns his head, giving you a mischievous look.

“But this is not supposed to be an important-"

Before you can continue, he interrupts your rant with a sweet kiss.

“Let’s Macca handle all that posh talk he’s so good at shall we.”

You could not resist him as he leads you close to his bed.

“I’ll go to get some food then.”

“I still think we have some unfinished business don’t we miss “(y/n)”

-^-^-^-^-^-

“Well… At least we are not trapped at the party right?”

Getting up from his side, you notice that your vision could not be one of more than 2 meters outside. The snow seemed to have appeared suddenly, and the idea of going for some dinner was now out of the question. Yet your tummy was not on the same page.

“Yeah but with something to bite”

You drowsily put on some more comfortable clothing and head to the kitchen. John follows you, not without poking your back, as you both walk. He’s always more touchy and needy than he’d ever admit to the lads.

Now searching through the counters and fridge, you only found yourselves with some milk and single egg, the rest being long gone. Your stomach grumbles once more

“Hey (y/n) I’m sure we’ll be able to", he looks unsurely at counter,”manage something edible.”

That’s when the idea suddenly hits you.

“Mmm didn't George buy that flour for the bloody cookies he ate almost by himself?"

He seems to catch on your plan, as he picks up some sugar and butter from the dinner table.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?"

^-^-^-^-^-^

“Mom is surely a genius to figure this by herself,” you think as you try to stir all the ingredients at the time.

Owning no cooking book, you had to invent the measurements yourself and this was proving no easy task. The mix becoming to liquid or sticky at each try

“Trial number five… Are you ready Johnny”

“You know that I love you (y/n) but if aunt Mimi saw you at the kitchen she probably would not have let you put a foot on her house.”

He was holding the cutting board he’d be using for the last minutes as a protection of all the dough flying in the air.

“Well… Here we go.”

You close one eye as you put the mixer on the bowl, hoping that this time it would work.

Surprisingly enough, both you and what has stayed clean on the counter suffered no collateral damage. This time it has worked.

“I did it?”

“You did it?”

He sticks his finger to take a taste and by his satisfied looks you knew you were on the right path.

“I always believed on your marvelous cooking skills you know that darling,”

“Tell me about it”

Slowly shaking his head, he ruffles your already messy hair as he disappears to the living room.

“You know there’s still one step right.”

“Not for me if there is no other music besides that bloody machine”

As you finish placing the cookies on the tray and preparing the oven, a sweet Holly melody fills your ears and some arms embrace you from the back.

John has never been the most confident dancer, but the way he tossed his head from one side to the other always made you smile.

“Well, that'll be the day when you say goodbye.

Yes, that'll be the day when you make me cry"

“I’m sorry for making you stay.“

You stare for one instance at his eyes, as you place your head on his shoulder. It was rare to see him excuse himself in that way.

“It’s just that it becomes pretty upsetting to play their mind games all the time y’know.”

“You know your friends love you, Johnny, Paul loves you... I love you.”

“Well, when Cupid shot his dart

He shot it at your heart.

You embrace him as strongly as you can.”

“I assure you it’s all gonna be alright,I’ve seen you from strumming some chords on trucks to playing Liverpool’s greatest clubs”, you smile at him,”and besides, those shoes were killing me so thank the lord I’m not obliged to used them for some more hours.”

'Cause that'll be the day when I die"

Suddenly your peaceful moment is interrupted by the fire alarm going off. There goes the food.

“Maybe I did confuse Fahrenheit with centigrades…”

“And you tell me I’m the one blind as a bat… At least I’m not trying to set the house on fire.”

I give another look at the disaster and mess.

“I think I can wait for the lads tomorrow.”

“Not a bad plan.” 

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

^-^ Merry Christmas y’all 💗💗🎉⛄  

[haikyuuscreaming]

hello!! can you write something fluff with kenma, please? some friends to lovers if possible. loving your blog 💕💕

OH SHIT SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG SDFSDFJKD this is. 3.5k words roughly and im so sorry idk why my fics always come out longer than 1k words :(((

The first time you meet Kozume Kenma, he’s hiding behind the wall that is Kuroo Tetsurou and you’re both in your first year.

“Oh?” The Nekoma volleyball captain stares you down in the Chem class you share with him. “You’re [Surname]-san, right?”

“Yeah,” You say, never breaking eye contact with him but secretly eyeing the quiet boy behind him. He’s your classmate in a few other of your periods, but not this one. This class is an advanced Chemistry class, placing you conveniently with the second-years and a handful of equally smart first-years. “I need help with the homework and you’re my best bet. Could you help out?”

Kuroo narrows his eyes at you, which you don’t exactly appreciate but you don’t say anything. “You sure you don’t want me to just give answers?”

“I kinda need to understand this to pass the class, so no thanks.”

He hums in approval, like you’ve passed some test, and nods. “Sure thing. I wanted to teach Kenma this anyway.”

Oh, that’s his name… you think to yourself, and you noticed the mentioned Kenma doesn’t look up from his Nintendo Switch, even at the mention of his name. You watch Kuroo turn around to his companion, coercing him, “Kenma, get up, we’re learning Chem.”

“Can’t we do it later?” Kenma’s voice doesn’t hold anything akin to bitterness or complaint- it’s kind of devoid, actually, in a soft and cute way- and you try to tune out the sound of Kuroo scolding him but he’s so loud when he’s right next to you.

“C’mon, we’re about to go home now, we can stay after school a little longer. Plus, we get to teach this lovely lady about nuclei.”

“I’m right here, you know,” you roll your eyes lightly but before you know it, you’re defending Kozume-san. “We can always work it out, um… I dunno, maybe over lunch on Sunday? I mean, it is Friday and this thing’s due Monday and… we can have more fun studying this if we have food.”

Stupid fucking Kuroo only grins. “Oh, so you’re asking me on a date? Kinda bold, if I don’t say so myself, kouhai-chan.”

“Kuro, stop.” Kenma speaks up and his quiet voice somehow speaks volumes. “We can meet with her on Sunday to do it.” And just like that, he retreats to his Switch without another word.

Kuroo turns to you and shrugs indifferently, contrasting his previously provocative and shitfaced attitude. “The man’s laid down the law. How’s boba on Sunday sound?”

The second time you meet Kenma is on that promised study session.

He has inconspicuous earbuds in, his face illuminated by the glowing light of his DS. He has a DS, too? He still looks cute.

And there’s Kuroo of course, but he’s irrelevant to your case unless it has to do with your god forsaken chem homework.

“You want me to go order some drinks next door?” Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. “My treat.”

“Just a brown sugar milk tea, thanks,” You tell him gratefully. Thank god for men and their dead sense of chivalry.

“No boba? You’re crazy.” Kuroo scrunches his nose at you and you wish Kenma would start talking so you could avoid this big, annoying cat. “What about you, Kenma? Your usual?”

“Yeah,” is all Kenma says.

“Alright, see you nerds later,” Kuroo practically sings out, patting both of your heads like an old man, and takes something from Kenma that you don’t quite catch, but it makes Kenma glare at him.

As soon as Kuroo’s out of sight, you find it a little awkward to keep conversation with Kenma especially with his whole gamer complex, but-

Oh.

Kuroo took Kenna's DS.

“Kuroo-san’s pretty bothersome, huh,” you sigh out in an attempt to stir conversation. Lucky for you, Kenma goes along with the conversation without fight, his eyes peering over you like reflective pools of honey.

(They’re really pretty, you think.)

“Yeah,” Kenma slouches down a little bit more in his chair at the mention of his taller friend. “He’s kind of like my second mom… but not really. Always nagging me to do things.”

You laugh at his solemn, depressed answer. “It’s fun to have him around, though, right? He’s kind of funny sometimes-- the rest he’s annoying-- and he’s decently smart even though I’m pretty sure he’s got, what, three braincells.”

To your unprompted delight, Kenma laughs softly at you poking fun of Kuroo, and the conversation between you and him starts piling up into more, and more, and it all feels so short. You don’t even notice Kuroo coming back and hovering over the table.

“Eh? You and Kenma getting along without me? What a shame, you know. I really do get third-wheeled.” Kuroo lets out a wistful sigh akin to an old man and sits down, drinks in hand. “So, who’s ready to study?”

The third time you meet Kozume Kenma, it’s at your mall’s arcade.

You and your friends are playing one of those claw machines, trying to get that really cute Miku figurine and those adorable plushies, wasting all your coins on these sucker games like the dumb teenagers you are. But a glimpse of familiar, two-toned hair catches your eye.

“Hold on,” you tell your friends who’re still busy trying to get that stupidly gorgeous Sakura Miku figure. “I’m gonna be right back.”

You wander your way to the familiar head of hair, and gratefully, your instinct was right. “Kozume-san? What’re you doing here?”

Kenma practically jumps at the sound of your voice, turning around, eyes wide. “Oh. I just got lost from the team. You’re here too?”

“Mhm,” You smile, pointing at your screaming group of friends. “My friends and I are here just to chill out and have fun. You can hang with us if you want!”

He shakes his head, his hair gracefully framing his face. “Nah, I’m fine, thanks.. I’ll just hold out until Kuro sniffs me out or something.”

You furrow your brow- geez, this kid’s gonna get lost so fast-- and you gently clasp the phone he’s holding in his hand. “Can I give you my number? I’ll pick up immediately if you ever call, just give a ring.”

You fail to notice the surprise that flits over Kenma’s face, but he reluctantly hands you his phone and you tap in your number quickly. “See you around, Kozume-san. Don’t get into trouble.”

And Kenma smiles on his own accord, his face lighting up softly like a lamp under moonlight. “You too.”

The fourth time you meet Kozume Kenma, he’s at your house working on an Japanese Lit assignment.

“Oh? Kozume-kun!” You’re pleasantly surprised when your teacher pairs the two of you up. “Nice to talk with you again.”

“Yeah, “ Kenma blinks a little awkwardly and he shyly grins, which you find even more stunning than it already is because he’s usually held up such a calm, unaffected facade. “Uh. So do you want to meet up at… your house for this? So we can do the project.”

“Oh, yeah,” You wave dismissively, beaming at him because this is your chance to get closer with him. “My little brother’s a nuisance, though, so he might bother us. I hope you don’t mind?”

“No problem.. you can text me the address, because… yeah.” You find it cute how Kenma doesn’t want to mention that the two of you have been texting a lot more lately, and the slightest blush tints his cheeks.

“Of course!”

Flash to your house, the two of you are on the floor, slaving over a giant posterboard with paint and art supplies scattered about.

“I hate making movie posters, it’s so tiring…” You groan out, trying to paint Yukio Mishima’s face with the utmost care. “And this book’s so creepy… why would we wanna make a poster of it? He commits seppuku!”

Kenma grins a little bit and he looks really cute, with his hair tied up in the back and his gaze focused on the painting at hand. “You’re so easily grossed out.”

“But he made it so detailed! You're immune ‘cause you play all those gross horror games.”

He laughs quietly, and you think you're going to heaven. “You couldn't even handle Ao Oni, stop.”

You scowl at the mention of Kenma’s dumb horror games. “He’s this weird deformed grape, okay?? It was kinda scary!”

The two of you end up nowhere near finishing your poster, and you collectively decide to put it off for maybe another day. The rest of your day is spent-- c-cuddling? (no hetero, you reassured Kenma, although you were thinking otherwise)-- and playing more horror games, much to your chagrin.

(But it gave you a reason to hug Kenma tighter.)

You can’t even count the amount of times you’ve met up with Kenma now. You’re in your second-year of high school now and your bond with him as only strengthened.

He invited you eventually to walk to school with him, along with Kuroo, and you find out that it was Kuroo’s coaxing to do so. But you’re still delighted that Kenma agreed on, what, the second time Kuroo nagged him about it?

You and Kenma have gotten fairly close. You’ve vented to him, cried to him, he’s shown his emotional side, too. You’ve even gotten a little closer to Nekoma’s god, Kuroo Tetsurou (to which your friends always complain about- “you can’t take all the cute guys for yourself”). But, in your opinion, the most important part is that you’ve been getting closer to Kozume Kenma, who you once thought would always just be the quiet classmate to you. Who would always be your unattainable, close-guarded crush.

"Kenma!” You yell out, rushing over to him with your backpack practically bouncing off of you with each step. “Wait up, would you?! How do you get out of class so quick??”

 "I was waiting for you either way,” Kenma mumbles and hunches his shoulders together. “Do you wanna go to my house? I have new games and Kuroo won't be bothering us.”

“Can’t we get snacks first?” You know you sound a little bit whiny, but you’re hungry as fuck, and Kenma’s smiling either way.

“I guess.. you’re paying, though.”

“That isn’t fair at all!”

Eventually the two of you walk to your nearest 7/11 and get chips and snacks before leaving promptly, with you holding your chocolate milk and Kenma sipping apple juice. The walk to his house is full of conversation, Kenma equally engaged as you are. But as soon as you arrive at his front doorstep, the hollow noise of an empty apple juice box makes its appearance.

“You drink your juice too fast!” You tease Kenma lightly as he frowns, unlocking the door.

“You just drink too slow,” he replies and shoulders the door open. The two of you make your way inside and flop onto the couch, Kenma crouching near the TV to boot up his newest game. “Damn. I’m still thirsty, too.”

“Language, Kenma,” You chide him, throwing a pillow at him as soon as he sits down next to you on the couch. “And-” it takes every ounce of your willpower not to turn bright red. “-do you want some of my chocolate milk?”

The silence that follows is very short (probably only, what, a second or two?), but it feels like hours of painful quiet. Kenma blinks at you and the pink that dusts his ears becomes more and more prominent each second.

“Yeah… sure,” Kenma finally says and you beam so wide that you’re sure not even the sun could battle the brightness of your happiness right now. You hand him your nearly untouched chocolate milk and his fingers brush against yours as he takes it, sipping at it cautiously like he was afraid something would happen.

(Oh my god he’s so cute.. he looks so cute… he’s drinking my chocolate milk!! He’s so-)

“Oi, Kenma! My mom told me to pick up some tomatoes from y-” The door bursts open to reveal Kuroo Tetsurou.

You freeze, since Kuroo just witnessed you passing a chocolate milk box to Kenma and the latter sipping at the straw. Kenma kind of flushes, his mouth still wrapped around the plastic straw with chocolate milk halfway up.

“Eh? Sharing drinks now?” Kuroo tsks and shakes his head, a smirk gracing his stupidly arrogant face. “You know, you two could get mono. Or any other communicable diseases. Kinda risky, you know?”

“Kuroo, stop!” You’re wildly embarrassed to be caught in this not-so-platonic situation (in your opinion, at least), before Kuroo lets out a hearty laugh.

“You know, that’s an indirect kiss!”

“Didn’t I say stop?!”

“Ah, youth. Indirect kisses! You put your mouth on the straw, then he did. Romance at its finest!”

You know, deep inside, Kuroo just likes to rile you up, but you still bite the bait. “Kuroo, shut up, please??”

And Kenma speaks up for the first time during the whole banter. “Kuro, the tomatoes are on the kitchen table. Go.”

The Nekoma captain quirks an eyebrow before shrugging and heading towards the kitchen. “Thanks. Don’t do anything risky.”

“Kuroo!”

You and Kenma awkwardly glance at each other-- you note he’s still sipping your chocolate milk-- and eventually he stands off to ward Kuroo off (who keeps chuckling for no goddamn reason).

You two are alone again, and his burnt-gold eyes stare into yours.

“Did Kuro bother you?” His ears are still pinkish, but you notice that he’s still comfortable, although you can see a sheen of sweat starting to form on his face.

“Nah... “ You force your voice to stay level. “Why does he keep doing this?? God, he’s so annyoing sometimes… it isn’t like- it isn’t like we’re dating or anything.” God fucking damn stuttering.

Kenma’s eyes widen for a fraction of a millisecond, and you almost miss it, before he clears his throat. “Yeah. Not like that at all.. let’s just go back to playing.”

The atmosphere morphs into the usual, playful one that is held between the two of you, and you’re becoming proud of how much better Kenma is at redefining conversations and shifting the mood whereas in the beginning he would struggle in topic changes.

You’re so proud of him.

(And you’re kind of in love with him.)

You have a group chat with Kuroo and Kenma, unsurprisingly.

It’s, what, midnight on a school day, and the three of you are texting. Kuroo offers a game of ‘truth or dare’, and you accept out of sheer boredom. Plus, dares are so much easier to do online because you can fake nearly anything.

kuroo >:/: kenma truth or dare

kenma :): i’m not playing

YOU: yea you are !! ur not getting out of this

kenma :): fine

  don’t say anything stupid though

kuroo >:/: so whats it gonna b???

Kenma takes a good ten seconds to respond.

kenma :): truth.

kuroo >:/: you got a crush on anyone?

YOU: oooh spicy

kenma :): kuro why

Your heart races a little bit at the comment.

YOU: oh? kenma i thought we were besties :(( why wouldnt u tell me

kenma :): it isn’t that….

  kuro you already know why are you asking me that here

kuroo >:/: for my favorite kouhai [name]-chan

YOU: fuck off kuroo we all know im ur fav bc i pay for ur boba

kuroo >:/: fair

You get impatient with Kuroo’s mindless banter, so you end up texting Kenma privately.

YOU: so who is ur crush????

kenma :): why do you assume i have one

YOU: i mean….u wouldve denied it if u didnt have one?

He leaves you on seen for two minutes and you’re about to text him and complain but his reply shoots back.

kenma :): it’s you

And your heart doesn’t skip a beat. No, it just beats even faster.

The blood is rushing to your face, you can feel it, and a smile tugs at your face subconsciously. Your brain’s running a mile a minute, and you’re so outrageously shocked and unprepared that the aftermath of it all hits you just about a minute later.

(What if he’s lying? What if someone made him say that? What if-)

YOU: fr?

YOU: kenma dont mess w me

kenma :): i’m not

kenma :): you wanted to know so yeah. it’s you

kenma :): i like you and idk kuro says it’s “more than just like” and maybe he’s right

kenma :): see u at school tmr

YOU: WAIT KENMA COME BACK ???

You cute little rat, you seeth internally, happiness still radiating off of you. Is this a dream? Oh my god. Kozume Kenma likes me.

… Kozume Kenma feels the same way I feel about him.

The next day, you anxiously wait for Kenma at your doorstep. You even woke up early and had gotten ready as soon as you could, just so you could catch Kenma ASAP.

You slept surprisingly well, despite your anxiety from Kenma, and your body was filled with energy. You check your phone every two minutes, glancing at his ‘good morning text’ and praying for another one.

kenma :))): gm i’m still walking to school with u if you want… i’ll pass by your house just in case

YOU: oh!!!! yea id love to walk to school w u :))

Silence fills your ears as you anxiously pace back and forth from your doorstep to the curb of your neighborhood. You can’t help but worry as your gaze flits across every house, begging for a sign of Kenma.

(What if you’re too late, you realize in panic. What if your efforts weren’t enough?)

But then the sound of quiet-paced footsteps snaps you out, and you look up to see Kenma, standing in front of your house, an adorably shy expression painted across his face.

“Kenma!” You hate how your voice comes out kind of squeaky and high-pitched but you don’t care right now. You practically launch off of your doorstep and bound toward him, settling by his side.

He gives you a shy, adoring look but you can see the anxiety in his eyes as he points forward in the direction of Nekoma. “We can talk while walking, right?”

You smile breathlessly and your fingers brush against his. He smiles at you, and you notice the same pink dusting his ears like when he was sharing chocolate milk with you.

Two hands intertwine and the conversation begins.

You’re in your third year of college now, out on a “boys (and girl) night out”, as Kuroo deemed it.

Kenma’s got it well-made for him, striking good on his company to which you supported him through the entire time, and Kuroo’s on his way to be the scientist he’s always dreamed of being even as a nerdy-jock kid. He claims he’s practically a professional volleyball player, too, just on the side, but both you and Kenma know better.

You and Kenma have been dating ever since your second-year in high school. Which makes it just about… four-ish years now that you’ve been dating.

(Kuroo claims that in your first-year, you and Kenma were basically dating each other spiritually, but you pay him no mind.)

The three of you are out on the beach on an autumn day. It’s pretty empty, despite the warm evening sun that casts a golden shine on the sand and ocean, so you’re all making epic sandcastles in peace.

“We should make a moat,” Kuroo says, already digging out a ring around the lopsided sandcastle.

“We haven’t even finished the castle itself!” You protest, pushing him lightly as you use your other hand to pat down the base of the castle.

Kenma packs sand into a small bucket and delicately places it on top of the half-finished sand “castle” to make a tower. You find it cute how he’s the only one putting in decent effort, so you help him out by packing in another bucket of sand. “Kuro would be a terrible architect,” Kenma comments.

“You right, you right,” You sigh out while Kuroo squawks in protest. Kenma leans on you, out of instinct you think, and you kiss the top of his head gently. Kuroo covers his eyes and complains about his youth and young love before Kenma haphazardly bumps into you. Which leads to the sand castle collapsing.

“Ah- Kenma!” you cry out in panic, sweeping the sand together in a half-hearted attempt to piece it back into a cohesive castle. “Be careful!”

“No, look,” he says quietly, a small smile gracing his face.

“You worked so hard on the base too, to make it big and flat- oh?” You sit up a little bit when you see a small velvet box in the middle of the sand pile.

Kuroo gasps very loudly and you stare at Kenma in shock.

Oh my god. What’s happening, what’s happening, oh my god-

You slowly reach out for the box in the middle of the mess and take it delicately, brushing off the sand clinging to it. Your fingers pry it open with shaking fingers and you feel Kenma place his hand on your arm gently, his gorgeous honey eyes staring at you. The same honey eyes you fell in love with.

You're also in love with the gorgeous, sparkling amber ring that sits in the middle of the cushioned box.

“[Name]. I want to be married. To you. Will you marry me?” Kenma’s voice is soft and sweet but you know with the convincing sureness in his voice that he’s been practicing this line for at least a month and he’s become confident in it.

You start crying immediately (god damn it, you think to yourself) your heart blooming with joy and your entire body feels like it’s about to explode of pure happiness.

You kiss him, full on the lips with tears streaming down your face and he kisses back, his arms wrapping around you and you realize he’s crying too. With the possibly happiest voice you’ve ever used in your life, you cry out, “Of course I will!” on the beach with Kuroo clapping in the background.

Two years later on that beach, you two become the happiest couple on Earth.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Quiver Dance

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

it’s eleven at night and im just now finishing this fic (started at three), but!! i gotta say this probably one of my best fics. it’s very smooth and everything, at least to me, flows really well! so i hope y’all enjoy it as much as i do!

Word count: 7010

———————

“I still don’t know why we ALL had to get out of the car for a few pieces of paper.” Jane said with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You didn’t have to come.” Aragon reminded her as she knocked on the apartment’s front door. “You could have stayed in and waited for us.”

“Well,” Jane sighed. “I’m out now. Let’s just hurry so we don’t miss the movie.”

“It won’t take long,” Cathy said, then, a moment later, the door opened.

“Ah! There you guys are!” Joan beamed at them. She was clad in grey sweatpants and a light blue T-shirt with a goat on it that said, “You goat to be kidding me.” Her hair wasn’t as tamed as it usually was, with a cowlick sticking awkwardly from the top of her head, and she also didn’t have any makeup on. Large, round rose gold glasses were set on her nose, possibly to try and distract wandering gazes from the deep, dark hollows under her stormy eyes.

“Come in! Come in!” She beckoned them.

Joan’s apartment was rather simple- there was a small laundry room in the front hallway, then the living and dining room and kitchen just through the same corridor. There were four other doors: an extra room, a guest bathroom, the porch/balcony, and then the master bedroom. Most of the drawers, cabinets, end tables, and shelves were bare of decorations and pictures, rather becoming the podiums for small canvases, potted plants, and wooden carvings. A candle that smelled of vanilla and roasted nuts flickered quietly on the kitchen counter.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Cleves observed.

“Oh,” Joan pushed up her glasses, as if to remind herself that she even still had them on. “Yeah. I guess you haven’t seen them before, huh? I usually wear my contacts when out of the house.”

“Did you make all of these?” Cathy asked, gazing around the apartment. “The statues, I mean.”

Joan looks excited that someone noticed the figurines. Her feet shuffle happily for a moment as a blissful smile grows on her lips. “Yes!” She said. “I usually just carve them out of random branches, but sometimes I’ll buy actual logs. Now THAT makes a mess because of all the chips, but bigger statues come out of them!” She waved at a large carving of a throne with intricate swirls and spirals running down the sides. It must have taken forever to scratch away at to make it look so perfect. “I can also do soap! Anyway, this is my favorite.” She held up a dragon made of pale wood. There were a few strings of beads strewn around the neck and wings. “They’re kinda like my friends, I guess. Nobody to talk to so I make my own! They’re better company than you would think.”

“The papers, Joan.” Jane said, snapping her fingers impatiently.

“We have a movie we got tickets for.” Kitty added, although less demanding as the silver queen’s comment.

“Oh! Right! What movie? Also, do you want tea?” Joan said. “Man, I can finally make tea! I never drink any. Caffeine addiction. Haha. Anyway, what kind do you want? Also what color cup? I can only drink tea out of this light blue cup. Don’t know what’s that about.” She laughed.

“Oh, no thank you,” Aragon said politely.

“We don’t have time, Joan. We told you we have plans.” Jane said a lot less politely.

“Really?” Joan said with a wistful look. “It won’t take long. I even have honey!”

“No, sorry.” Cathy said.

Joan frowned and stopped rooting through her kitchen cabinets. She awkwardly rubbed her palms against her sweatpants.

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” She said. “What was I getting again?”

“The papers!” Kitty snapped exasperatedly.

“Oh yeah! Stay here.”

Joan scampered past them and disappeared into the room next to the guest bathroom. She strangely closes the door behind her, so the queens are left unsupervised in the living area of the flat. Almost instantly, Jane impatiently checked her watch, realized she didn’t wear a watch, then snagged out her phone to check the time on that. Kitty took her phone out, too, to try and entertain herself, as it appeared that Joan would take a few moments since they could all hear her rooting around in the extra room loudly. The other four went to inspect the unique decorations filling the place.

“She really made these?” Aragon said more to herself than to the others. She was delicately running her thumb over the spikes of a wooden hedgehog.

“It’s pretty cool,” Cleves admitted, setting down a craggy oak crown. “I’d never have the patience to have this as a hobby, though.”

“Agreed,” Cathy said.

“Really?” Anne looked over at her. “This is too much, but slaving yourself over a whole book isn’t?”

“Writing is one thing,” Cathy said. “Carving little details into wood is a whole different story. One that I’m not willing to write.”

“Nice one.” Cleves appraised.

“God, what’s taking her so long?” Jane growled.

“You can wait a moment,” Aragon said.

“Yeah, being in here isn’t going to poison you or something.” Anne added. Jane rolled her eyes at her.

“I don’t like being late. Also WHAT IS THAT.”

They all turned to see a patchy black and white cat lazily strolling out of the master bedroom. It looked like it had been run over, dismembered, and then put back together with several other feline parts, but it held itself like it was the most pristine lion to ever walk the earth. It glanced over at the queens, meowed at them, then continued on its stroll to the food as water bowls set up by the back door.

“It’s a cat, dumbass.” Anne said, earning a snort from Aragon and then a glare from Jane.

“It’s not funny.” Aragon said quickly after Jane glared at her, too, but it was obvious she wasn’t threatened by the silver queen at all.

“Tea Cake is a cat,” Jane said, referring to their pet. “THAT is an overgrown street rat.”

“Well, one could assume the same about you, but you don’t see us pointing it out.” Anne said deftly, dodging the livid daggers Jane shoots at her as she walks over to the cat.

“Should have stayed in the car.” Aragon shrugged when Jane gave her a ‘are you going to let her talk to me like that?’ look.

“Can we stop fighting?” Kitty asked. She grabbed Jane’s hand and smiled at the woman, essentially letting her know that SHE didn’t think she was an overgrown street rat. Jane smiled back at her.

“Yes, let’s.” Cathy said. She had been skillfully ignoring the bickering by putting all her attention on a watercolor painting of a flock of sheep in a field of yellow and red tulips.

“We’re not-” Anne began, but she was cut off when the door to the extra room burst open and Joan stumbled out like her foot was caught on something.

“I found them!” Joan shouted, waving a folder in the air.

“Took you long enough,” Jane grumbled, taking it from her.

“Sorry,” Joan gave her a sheepish smile. “Kinda lost them in my things.”

“And here I thought you were all about order and tidiness.” Cleves chuckled.

Joan looked a touch embarrassed. “W-well I—” She opened and closed her fists in the air, like she was grasping for floating words to fill her sentence with. “Sometimes things get messy. Everything gets messy! Anyway. I see you’ve met Whatever!”

“What?” Cathy blinked at her.

Joan padded over to the cat Anne had been petting. It looked up at her and rubbed against her knees when she crouched down.

“This is Whatever! I got her from the pound. Could you believe they were about to put her down? I adopted her just in time.” Joan said. “Oh, and her name is Whatever because I couldn’t think of a name so I asked one of the stagehands and they just said ‘whatever.’ And so! The title was born!” She beamed proudly.

“That’s adorable.” Anne said, which made a bright red blush flame on Joan’s face.

“Oh, yeah, cool.” Jane said. “We gotta go.”

“She’s right,” Cleves nodded, glancing at the time set below the TV. “The movie starts in thirty minutes.”

“And the theater is twenty minutes away.” Jane said ruefully.

“We’ll make it,” Aragon said. “Come on, everyone.”

Joan stood up, watching them all bustle towards the front door. As Anne was pulling on her coat from its hook, she saw her open her mouth to say something, but close it after presumably changing her mind. From her angle, the girl didn’t just look lonely, she also looked very sad.

“I think I’m gonna stay.”

The words came flooding out of her mouth before she could even think about what she was saying. The others looked back at her in confusion.

“What?” Cleves tilted her head.

“I’m gonna stay. With Joan.” Anne said again, this time knowing what she wanted.

“We already bought the tickets.” Jane said.

“My wallet’s in the car,” Anne responded smoothly. “Take some money out and buy any snacks with that. It should be enough to pay back the ticket.”

“I’ll stay, too,” Aragon said, and Anne gave her a pleasantly surprised look. Jane, on the other hand, looks quite ruffled. Kitty seemed a bit upset that her cousin wasn’t going.

“But—” Jane closed her mouth, and Anne was sure she was grinding her teeth. “Oh, fine!”

“I’m gonna make you watch the movie with me when it comes out on Amazon, though,” Kitty said to Anne, who laughed and nodded.

“Sounds like a plan!” Anne said. “Have fun!”

The front door closes. Anne gave Aragon a smile before they both turned to Joan, whose eyes were wide and sparkling. It’s clear she has never been chosen over something else before.

“I’ll make the tea!” She said, scrambling for her kettle.

Aragon and Anne walked over and took a seat at two of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. They watched as Joan hurried about the kitchen, filling a teapot with water and then setting it on the heating stove before rooting around for some cups in one of her cabinets.

“This is so nice of you guys to do,” Her muffled voice said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had visitors stay over. Oh, this will be so fun!”

That made Aragon and Anne exchange looks. They knew Joan was lonely, but surely she had other friends to hang out with...

“Oh, no,” Joan said when she’s asked about that. She doesn’t seem bothered by the question, like she had accepted her isolation a long time ago. “It’s a little hard to make friends. Trust me, I’ve tried. People don’t like when random strangers try to strike up conversation with them at the park or on the street, and everyone at the bar either wants to get in your pants or get free drinks off of you. So, uhh...no. No friends. I mean, aside from my carvings! And Whatever!”

Poor lonely girl, Anne thought with a frown. When she looked at her fellow queen, she saw that she had a matching concerned expression.

“I’m sorry.” Aragon said.

“Don’t apologize,” Joan assured her. “No fault of her own. Peter always told me I wasn’t very likable. Which is weird. Why’d he marry me if I wasn’t likable? Seems like the joke’s on him! Haha!” She suddenly pulled back from the cabinet holding three mugs- one light blue, one yellow, and one black. “I tried to stick with your colors, but I don’t have a green cup for some reason. I’ll have to get one. For if you ever come back!”

“Peter is your husband?” Aragon asked.

“WAS my husband.” Joan said. “But yeah. I don’t know WHY we even got married, though. We hated each other. Always fighting. It was a mess.” She whirled around to the stove before she could see the queen’s reaction to her past marriage issues. “I think the water is almost done. That was fast! See, the others could have had some tea before they had to leave. Oh! I’ll get something for you guys to eat, too!”

Joan was going at a million miles a minute. It was obvious she was nervous about Aragon and Anne leaving, so she was doing her best to be hospitable, but also try to get everything she’s ever wanted to do with other people when they were at her house done.

After digging around in her fridge, she produced a small watermelon, then hobbled over to the pantry with it still in her arms and grabbed some crackers. She set both food items on the counter beside the stove, but then almost instantly changed the position of the crackers to be in front of Aragon and Anne. She added a tin of biscuits to their space, too.

“Does watermelon go with tea?” She asked as she was taking out a cutting board and large knife. “Hm. Hopefully it does. I’ll have to get more tea-appropriate snacks soon.”

“Watermelon is good,” Anne assured her, and Joan shot her a gleeful smile.

“So, what movie were you supposed to go watch?” Joan asked, not stopping her process of chopping and peeling and preparing to look over at her guests. “Sorry for making you miss it.”

“No, it’s alright!” Anne quickly said, noticing Joan’s shoulders droop with guilt. “Remember, we offered to stay. We want to be here. Also, it was Frozen 2.”

“You want to be here. With me.” Joan said quietly to herself. Her smile returned. “I’m glad! And, hey, maybe we can watch a movie if you want?”

“That sounds wonderful, Joan.” Aragon said. Joan beamed again, then scrambled over to the screeching kettle and turned off the stove. She picked up a small glass jar sitting beside the salt and pepper shakers and put three tea leaves in each of the cups, then poured the hot water over them. She set the yellow and black cups in front of Aragon and Anne.

“The honey!” She said gleefully, holding up a white jar. She adds two scoops with a tiny spoon to her cup, then offers it to the queens. For some reason, they were staring strangely at their mugs. “What’s wrong?”

“Joan, baby,” Aragon said gently. “That’s not how you make tea.”

“This is just leaf water.” Anne added.

Joan blinked at them over the cup she had to her lips. She placed it back on the counter.

“Oh.” She said. “THAT’S why it always tasted so leafy.”

Anne and Aragon both burst into laughter. Pink dusted Joan’s already-fuchsia cheeks, but she found herself giggling, too.

“You are just too cute.” Anne said, and pink quickly turned to raging red.

“Let me try again,” Joan said. She gathered the queen’s cups and dumped their contents out in the sink, but kept her own. She took another sip as she walked over to the watermelon to finish preparing it, but stumbled slightly.

“Joan?” Anne called out. She watched as the girl reached one hand out to the counter to seemingly brace herself on. “Joan!!”

The cutting board Joan had placed her hand upon flips and Joan’s elbow buckled. Her knees soon followed; the girl was on the ground, her cup of leaf water shattered and spilled out on the floor beside her and the watermelon pieces splattered on her face and torso.

Anne and Aragon are out of there seats in an instant, so fast that Aragon’s stool even clatters to the ground and sends Whatever sprinting across the apartment in shock at the resounding crash it made.

“Joan? Joan, can you hear me?” Anne said, knelt down next to the girl. On the other side, Aragon is feeling her cheeks and forehead through the mess of watermelon juice dripping from her face.

“I don’t think she’s running a fever...” Aragon said grimly. “I think she fainted.”

“Oh god,” Anne murmured. “How long do you think she’s been like this? Sick, I mean. Why else would she just randomly conk out?”

“I— I don’t know.” Aragon said. She suddenly shot to her feet so fast that Anne was slightly startled and snatched a rag from a drawer after opening a closing a few. She wets it with the hot water from the kettle, seeing as anymore tea wouldn’t be made anytime soon, and returned to the fallen music director’s side.

“What are you doing?” Anne asked. “Actually- Don’t answer that. I know now.”

Aragon snorted lightly as she was gently wiping off the juice on Joan’s face. She took a moment to examine her soft features up close- her porcelain skin, the constellation of freckles over her nose, the rose gold glasses she apparently didn’t like wearing in public, the blue-black bags under her eyes. Joan looked so young beneath her, so vulnerable and helpless.

“I don’t think it’s a bug...” She said. “Maybe over exertion? Or sleep deprivation. Poor thing always looks so tired...”

Anne nodded grimly in agreement. She watched as Aragon wiped down Joan’s face in silence for a moment. When she went to speak up again, their patient stirred from her unconsciousness.

“Joan?” Anne said. “Joan, can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“She fainted, dummy.” Aragon said. “She doesn’t have a concussion.”

“She could have hit her head on the way down.” Anne snapped. Then, to Joan, “It was four, by the way.”

Joan moaned weakly in response, a pitiful, dying-baby-lamb sort of noise that wrenched the queen’s heart. Her head lolled back and forth on the floor for a moment, as if she were trying to return feeling in her neck, then her soft, timid, really cute grey eyes fluttered opened. And then she screamed. Aragon and Anne screamed, too.

Joan scuttled backward, her left hand sliding in the pool of leaf water that had accumulated on the floor and just barely missing a sinister shard of light blue glass. She stared at the pair of queens reaching out to her in fear for a moment, then blinked and furrowed her eyebrows. She squinted at them, as if her glasses were suddenly not working.

“Wait— Catherine? Anne?” She looked around. “Am I dreaming still?”

“No, Joan.” Anne said. “You fainted.”

Joan blinked again. She looked at the broken glass and spilled wannabe tea and the leaf floating in that puddle, then at the chunks of watermelon scattered on the floor where she had been laying.

“OH!” She finally said. “Oh right! I was making tea, wasn’t I? Wait, no— I was getting the watermelon!” She cast a mournful glance back at the wasted fruit. “Oh dear. That’s not good.”

“Joan, you fainted.” Aragon said again, this time much more firmly. “Are you alright? Are you sick or hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Joan said. “I mean, my hair is a little messed up, but what else is new? But—yeah. I’m fine. I’m okay.” And yet, she struggles to her feet, so Anne quickly steps over the glass and tea to assist her.

“What happened?” She asked as she was steadying Joan. She swore the girl was trembling slightly beneath her hands.

“Dizzy spell,” Joan said cooly. “They’re normal. I mean— Not normal-normal. They don’t happen every day, 24/7. Just sometimes. Nothing to worry about.”

“That is very worrying.” Anne pointed out.

“Yeah, EXTREMELY worrying!” Aragon added, jumping to her feet.

“Not really.” Joan said. “Do you still want tea?” She turned to the kettle, but Aragon leapt over the sea of glass and leaf water and grabbed her shoulders.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Aragon said firmly, shaking Joan slightly. Joan seemed a little dazzled to be touched by the queen and latched onto her elbows for some sort of grounding. She blinked up at her with those sheep eyes of hers.

“I’m okay.” She said. “See? I just made sure for you. So, how do you make tea properly?”

“Joan.” Aragon tried again. She moved her hands to cup Joan’s cheeks- they’re a little sticky beneath her palms from the juice that had been plastered over them. “I know what you’re trying to do, okay? You’re trying to blow off your own health and need to make sure we’re happy. And I want you to stop. If you’re unwell, you need to tell us. We’re not going to run out on you, alright? We’ll help you.”

Joan just stared at her with wide eyes for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Her cheeks heat up slowly beneath Aragon’s palms; she’s clearly flustered about being called out.

“I’m fine.” She finally said. “I told you. I’m okay.” Then, before anyone can say anything else, she hurriedly sputters out, “Please don’t be mad!”

“We’re not mad.” Anne assured her. “Just worried.”

“Yes,” Aragon nodded, although her mind seemed elsewhere. Her arms drop back to her sides. “I’m glad you’re okay. But PLEASE give us a warning about these dizzy spells next time. You scared the heavens out of me!”

“Good going, Joan!” Anne cried. “She’s not Catholic anymore! Who else will make us go to church every Sunday?!”

Joan giggled and Aragon elbowed Anne playfully.

After cleaning up the mess on the floor, Aragon teaches Joan how to properly make tea (“You had tea bags but never thought to ever maybe put them in the kettle instead of leaves?” “I am not as smart as I make myself out to be.”) while Anne watches and secretly takes pictures. When the chamomile tea is done, Joan still adds several scoops of honey to her cup, apparently thinking the leaf water was better than the properly made drink. Aragon and Anne laugh at this, thinking the exact same thing: Cute.

“Oh! Oh!” Joan perked up excitedly. “Before we watch the movie, can I show you guys my art room?”

“Art room?” Anne echoed curiously.

Joan finished off her tea, set the mug in the sink, and then bounded over to the door she had entered earlier to get the folder. She kept bouncing up and down, waving Aragon and Anne over excitedly, and didn’t stop until they were in front of her. Then, she whirled around and threw open the door.

The room was a jungle of colors—literally. The walls were painted to look like a active rain forest- lush, towering trees with vines that wound around their bodies like earthly scarves, birds every color of the rainbow perching on nimble branches, parrot green and sun yellow and sky blue and bright pink flowers sprouting like starbursts across the forest, a group of capybaras frozen in a forever family portrait, there was even a jaguar lounging up in a tree near the ceiling. And, speaking of the ceiling, it was all dressed up, too, painted to look like a night sky full of glittering silver stars.

But it wasn’t just the walls that were done up- the entire room was very artsy.

Art supplies were tucked into every possible nook and cranny: brushes, pencils and markers and pens, all colors of paint, blank papers, clay for sculpting, wood and glass and metal and beads. A desk covered in wood chips (and a single blunt knife) sat against the wall right below a peeping tawny spider monkey—it seemed to be set up to make it seem like the animal was watching whatever was being made or drawn. A loom was in the corner where a tapestry had already been half finished and then presumably abandoned. Clever little wooden figures with beads or tiny balls of colored clay for eyes were sitting on IKEA shelves that had been painted and carved away by Joan to look like branches and brambles to match the jungle environment. In the far corner, furthest away from the wall with the bathroom and exit door, a strange snarl of metalwork lay patiently on the floor (which was permanently stained by paint), waiting to be worked on again. It was made of copper wire and steel strings and what even looked like salvaged barbed wire. A candle that smelled of freshly picked apples was lit at the table.

“Oh my god,” Anne muttered, taking in the sight. Beside her, Aragon was much too awestruck to comment. “Joan, did you paint all of this?”

“Yup!” Joan puffed her chest out proudly, absolutely radiating with glee and excitement. “I have a LOT of time on my hands when I don’t stress over the show. That’s why I started painting the walls in the first place. To get my mind off of my anxiety from being a music director. Sometimes I like to just come in here and lay on the floor and look at the stars.”

Anne felt a swell of happiness inside of her. Joan had found a really healthy way to cope with her anxiety without any help. It made her so proud.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” Aragon finally said. She carefully touched one of the shelves. “You even carved the shelves!”

“Indeed!” Joan grinned. “Okay, so that’s Fearless.” She pointed to the spider monkey over the desk, then to the family of capybaras. “These are Saber and Silver and their lesbian mums, Copper and Strawberry. That iguana up on that branch is Talen-Jei. The birds are Jade, Winter, Onyx, Changbai, Mischief, Mayhem, Boto, Coconut, Thrush, Pyrite, Alba, Arid, Ermine, Dazzling, Princess, Queenie, Quartz, Zebbie, Sora, Luo, AND Bebe!” She spun around to gesture to a kinkajou that had been painted to look like it was standing on the door frame. “That’s Pompeii. And that is Sepia.” She nods as a hulking gorilla near the loom, and then an elephant peering through the thicket. “That’s Tiny. And the jaguar is SheBeast!”

“You named the animals,” Anne said. “That is so cute!”

“What’s that?” Aragon asked, looking at the pile of metal in the corner. Joan’s eyes widened and she snatched a sheet that was bundled under the window. She quickly threw it over the mess.

“Don’t look! It’s not ready yet!” She turned to them after making sure the metal was completely concealed. “It’s going to be a sculpture for the show. To put in the lobby. But that’s all I can tell you!”

Anne and Aragon exchanged smiles.

“I can’t wait,” Aragon said to Joan, who claps her hands happily.

“I’m glad! It’s gonna he super cool, I promise!” She looked around, then grabbed an extra easel she had folded against the wall and set it up next to the one that was already standing. “Wanna paint? Can we paint together?”

“I don’t see why not,” Anne said.

Joan made a happy squealing sound and grabbed three canvases. She set two up on the easels, then picked out a large selection of paints and brushes and placed them on a standup table between the two of them. After picking out a few colors and four brushes for herself, she flopped down onto a beanbag right by the window and immediately got to work. Anne and Aragon observed her for a moment- she almost looked the same way she did when she was doing MD work, but significantly more happy and relaxed.

“I don’t know how you expect us to top any of this,” Aragon said, making a wide gesture to the painted walls with both arms. Joan giggled.

“That’s okay,” She said, then got back to painting.

Anne picked up a random paintbrush- one with a thin tip- then dipped it into the black paint and began to paint...something. She wasn’t quite sure yet. All she knew is that it had a very round head. At least, she thinks the thing now on her canvas was a head.

“How did you do it?” Aragon asked. She was still trying to decide what paintbrush she wanted to use. “Do the walls like this, I mean.”

“Well, first I drew on them with pencil.” Joan said, skillfully talking and painting at the same time without missing a beat. “That took me a few days. Once the sketches were finished, I painted over them. Now THAT took me two weeks. The ceiling only took me a day and several hours into the night only because I had to constantly move around the chair I was on.” She paused. “Spent two hours at the local home department store picking out thirty cans of paint and I didn’t even think to buy a ladder.”

“THIRTY?!” Aragon shot her a wide-eyed look.

Joan laughed. “Yup! I spent my entire work check on supplies. I barely scraped enough left over money to buy food!” She laughed again, but Anne and Aragon just looked concerned at that.

“You have to eat, honey.” Anne said.

Joan sighed heavily and stabbed her brush into a nearby jar of blue paint.

“I know, I know,” She said. “I lost A LOT of weight during that month when I was working on all this. I don’t think I even have it all back...”

“How much do you weigh?” Aragon asked.

“If you tell me your weight, I’ll tell you mine.” Joan said, then laughed. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I weighed 104, I think? And I weigh, I dunno, 112, 114 now?” She shrugged as if that was the normal weight for a girl her age.

Anne and Aragon exchanged worried looks over their canvases. Joan didn’t see because she was too invested in whatever she was making on her own.

“Joan,” Anne finally said after they painted in silence for a while. “What was your childhood like?”

Joan looked up, startled. She blinked at the queen for a moment before she realized she was dripping cerulean paint all over her pants. She hissed softly and swiped at the splatters, realized she just made the stains worse by smearing it, then gave up. She looked back up at Anne with a frown.

“Why?” She asked suspiciously.

“Just curious.” Anne holds her hands up, and a blob of green goes flying from her paintbrush. “I knew most of the backgrounds of my workers. But not you.”

Joan was like a locked diary with a missing key, and Anne so desperately wanted to open her up and read through her memories and thoughts and feelings. She knew Aragon would read over her shoulder as she did so.

“I don’t remember the names of my parents.” Joan said, turning her attention back to her canvas. “But they worked for Thomas Cromwell. Can’t remember what they did exactly. It doesn’t matter, though. Like I care about them. They’re just slippery weasels that never gave a shit about me or my brother.”

“What do you mean?” Aragon asked.

“They left.” Joan said bitterly. Her eyes looked very dark when she glanced over the top of her canvas at Aragon. “I was ten? Eleven? Doesn’t matter. They ran off and left me and John alone. Never saw them again.”

“Oh... I’m sorry, Joan.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re not my mum or dad, so I don’t want to hear it from you.” Joan said. “Anyway. John and I wandered the street for a while. We hopped from house to house where other family members lived until I wound up at court.” She shrugged. “It’s not very eventful. None of history remembers it. Hell, I barely do. It’s just—not important.”

A solemn look casts over her eyes, turning them from an ocean grey-green shade to a dark hurricane color. She sighed and shook her head.

“Anyway. Umm. That’s it.” She looked a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Like I said, not important.”

Anne and Aragon frowned at each other. Joan noticed it this time because she was washing off her brush to switch colors, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply looked back down at her canvas and started adding small red details with a thin brush.

“What about you?” She spoke again. “Aragon, didn’t you fight a battle while pregnant?”

Aragon smirked, looking pleased with herself. “Indeed I did.” She said. She didn’t get to tell the story, however, because Anne suddenly made a weird, woeful noise in front of her.

Joan set her canvas on the floor and got up to go see what the green queen had done, and Aragon could see that she had painted a ewe with the head of a screaming woman being eaten by wasps. She shivered.

“What’s this?” Joan asked as politely as possible. Aragon joined them in front of Anne’s easel and gawked at the mess of black and green on the canvas.

“Is it a scorpion?” She guessed.

“Monkey?” Joan tried.

“I think it’s supposed to be a cat?” Anne said, scratching her head.

Aragon laughed loudly. “You don’t even know!”

“Okay, Miss I-Know-How-To-Paint! Let’s see what you made!”

“Gladly!”

Aragon led them over to her easel and showed them the crown-wearing lioness she had painted. She smirked proudly.

“Damnit, that is good.” Anne muttered.

“Told you!” Aragon said.

“I guess your only talents aren’t singing and being religious, after all.

“You— Shut up!”

“G-guys...?”

Aragon and Anne stopped their playful bickering to look at Joan, who was suddenly very worryingly pale. She had one hand pressed to her temple and the other outstretched like she was trying to keep her balance. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. She stumbled backwards and then began to keel forward. Aragon leapt forward as fast as lightning to catch her, and Anne was close behind.

“Joan? Joan, what’s wrong?” Aragon said.

Joan doesn’t answer, just makes a strangled noise. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, clutching at her head.

“Joan?” Anne tried. She set a hand on the girl’s side and realized she was trembling in exhaustion and pain. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“M-my head,” Joan gasped.

“Cathy has headaches sometimes,” Anne said, as if that would help.

“Yeah, but at least she doesn’t fall on the floor like this.” Aragon said. She set one hand on Joan’s head and the other on her shoulder. “Joan, baby? Can we do anything to help?”

Joan didn’t answer, but her hand did shoot out and grab onto one of Anne’s. She laced their fingers together and then pressed them back to her temple, with her hand against the skin. She dug her knuckles in. The position was a little awkward, but she was too deep in a pain-daze to realize and Anne didn’t really care as long as Joan was content with it.

“Joan, it’s Catherine and Anne.” Aragon said, thinking that this may have been some kind of PTSD episode. “There’s nobody here who’s going to hurt you. You’re safe, I promise.”

“No,” Joan wept. Her voice was raspy and watery. “Ow ow ow ow...!”

She writhed for a moment and then balled up even tighter. She pressed her temples harder, like she was trying to hold the headache at bay. A loud sob escaped her lips.

They all sit on the floor for a long time in total helplessness. Aragon and Anne murmur to Joan, trying to reassure her, while she cries against the hardwood floor. Then, all of a sudden, she speaks in the most frail voice the queens have ever heard come out of a human being.

“Anne,” She croaked. “Anne?”

“I’m right here, darling.” Anne squeezed Joan’s hand and gently touched her face with her free one.

“Can you—go make me a cup of coffee?”

Anne is almost startled into laughing. “Joan, this hardly seems like the time for-“

“JUST DO IT!!” Joan shrieked.

Anne and Aragon both jumped, not used to being yelled at, especially by a lady in waiting. Anne nodded quickly, then scrambled out of the room.

Joan takes a few deep breaths, but they do little to aid the state she’s in. She rolled over until she was lying flat on her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her eyes were like arctic pools.

“O-one, t-two, th-three, f-four...”

Aragon realized she was counting the stars painted on the ceiling. She then wondered if this room hadn’t just been made for fun or out of boredom, but for the purpose of being a safe haven for Joan’s anxiety. She also wondered if Joan would lie on the floor before it was finished and just cry herself into unconsciousness or do something else to cope.

“S-seventeen— Why isn’t it working?” Joan sobbed miserably. She pounded her fists against the ground and scrunched her eyes shut. Tears fell in little streams of melted silver down her temples.

“What do you see, Joan?” Aragon asked softly. She lays next to the girl.

“Pain.” Joan answered, just as soft.

“What does that look like?”

“It’s really bright.” Joan whispered. “It just—flashes. In my head. There’s— canvas. Give me a canvas.”

“Joan—”

“GIVE IT TO ME!” Joan howled and Aragon grabbed the closest canvas to her, along with a few paints.

Joan barely had the strength to paint, but the end result is starbursts of silver and needles of black and flashes of white and whorls of jet and stars of stone and streaks of ash and flames of slate all on a charcoal background. It was a mishmash of pure madness, and Aragon swore her own head started to hurt just looking at the mess of a painting.

“It hurts,” Joan forced out through gritted teeth. She dropped her paintbrush and grabbed her head, arching her spine as if she had been struck by lightning. “Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...”

Aragon laid down next to her again. “Think about rain?” She echoed.

“Th-the rain—it helps me think. I try to put all the voices I hear into each droplet and focus on my own thoughts.” Joan stammered weakly. “I-it’s what I do during the show. I-it’s so loud—I have to! I’m sorry...”

“Shh,” Aragon hushed her gently. “I understand. I’m not offended. Just...think about the rain. Shall I name some things?” Joan nodded. “Alright… The smell of rain, the sound of it hitting the rooftop and windows, droplets blowing in the wind, thunder, lightning…”

“Mist,” Joan whispered.

“Mist, that’s right. Good girl.”

As Aragon began to list things off again, Joan felt the queen slip her hand into one of her own and then heard Anne enter again, but she’s already submerged herself into a midnight rainstorm.

Twenty minutes soon pass. Joan finally opened her eyes (she hadn’t even realized they were open) and took in a shaky breath. Anne and Aragon both look at her.

“Joan?” Anne gently touched her shoulder. “Darling? Are you with us?”

“I-I think so,” Joan whispered weakly. “I’m with you...” She had to close her eyes again, clearly not completely recovered from whatever had washed over her, but soon opened them again and tried to sit up. Aragon assists her. Anne passed her the cup of coffee after she was situated (she even had a fluffy blanket around her shoulders to try and tame the shivers wracking through her body; Anne had grabbed it from the living room when she was making the coffee).

“Joan, I don’t want to push you, baby, but we need to know what just happened.” Aragon said gently.

Joan nodded and stared dejectedly into her cup of coffee. She took a sip, not caring that it was scalding, then began hoarsely, “I thought it had to do with my caffeine addiction at first. If I didn’t drink coffee, then I would get really dizzy and have these bad headaches. But then it started happening even with three cups. I don’t know what it is. It’s not a panic attack—maybe an anxiety attack? I don’t know.”

“Is that why you fainted earlier?” Anne asked.

Joan nodded again. “Yes.” Her face crumpled and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m s-sorry for lying. I-I didn’t want you guys to l-leave. I know you said you wouldn’t, b-but you never know. I never have visitors. I’m so l-lonely. I-I didn’t want to ruin my chances at f-finally having friends...” She dipped her head and sobbed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why it happens. I-I’m just—messed up.”

At that, Anne and Aragon both leap forward and wrap that crying girl in their arms. She practically melts in their touch, now sobbing harder.

“If you think this is going to make us think any different of you, then you’re wrong,” Aragon said and Anne nodded. “We want to help you. So, whenever you’re ready, tell us more about this. Let us know what to look for and what’s the best way to comfort you.”

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “Thank you so much...”

It was so sad to know such an amazing girl didn’t regularly get the care she needed, but Anne and Aragon both wanted to change that. That’s why they were there when nobody else was.

It took a few more minutes for Joan to fully calm down, but she was eventually completely relaxed in the arms of two protective queens. She looked up at them blearily and they smiled at her lovingly.

“Pretty girl,” Aragon cooed, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I do believe we were promised a movie.” Anne said after she kissed Joan’s other temple (and turned the girl into a blushing puddle in their arms).

“Y-you still wanna do that?” Joan asked shyly.

“Of course!” Anne said and Aragon nodded eagerly. Joan smiled.

“I’m— That makes me really happy.” The girl said.

With the help of Anne and Aragon, Joan climbed to her feet. They all walk out of the art room, but not without Anne taking one last look at her canvas and exclaiming, “IT WAS A GREYHOUND!!”

Aragon and Joan burst out into laughter.

[taexual]

HOLIC - 31 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angst + fluff + strong language + mild sexual themes aka the whole package

words: 8.3k (oh wow)

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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Your morning started an hour early because your phone’s incessant vibrating under your pillow made it feel as though an earthquake had started right in your room. Whining in a manner that resembled the terror-stricken screech of a pterodactyl far more than it resembled a sound any human would make, you pulled your phone out from under your pillow and squinted your eyes to check the time before you checked what had happened.

It was five in the morning. You were more than ready to kill the reason why your phone was blowing up but then you noticed that it was Jaebum. The text messages from him were coming too fast for you to read them, however, and as you turned the chat with him on and began to reply – hoping to ask what his last wish was before you killed him – he must have noticed the three dots, and called you immediately.

Now growing concerned, you picked his call up and cleared your throat before actually speaking.

“He—”

“Jesus, you will never believe this,” Jaebum started before you even managed to get a word out. He sounded out of breath as if he’d been running while texting you. “They called me. They fucking called me! They said they—”

“They?” you repeated, your voice groggy. “Who—”

“Wait, were you sleeping?” he asked, realizing suddenly. “Oh, fuck, it’s—I’m sorry. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Yes,” you said, the exhaustion turning you into the least pleasant person possible. Jaebum paused, sensing you were going to continue. You did, “but you already woke me up, so tell me what happened.”

He debated hanging up and calling you later – when you sounded less dismissive, perhaps – but he realized he couldn’t really keep this to himself any longer – hence the countless text messages he’d sent you.

“My supervisor called,” Jaebum said. You were still too tired to understand why that was a big deal. “He has a night show, so his sleeping schedule is all over the place—anyway. He called to tell me that his team liked it. They liked my song.”

“They—oh, shit!” you sat up in bed, the news waking you up as well as an electric current would. “Jaebum, that’s amazing!”

“God, I know!” his enthusiasm was evident through the phone call and, all of a sudden, you didn’t care about sleep anymore. You found yourself wishing he’d told you this in real life – although, perhaps not so early – so you could have seen the smile on his face. “He said he doesn’t mind playing it on our station but he doesn’t think I should play it on my show – because that’s not fair – so he sent it Cato – he’s the nephew of my boss, so, naturally, his show is at five, right when everyone gets into their cars and turns their radios on as they drive home from work –  and Cato’s going to play it on his show. Today. He—i-it’s happening.”

“Today?!” your voice was a whole octave higher and you weren’t sure if Jaebum could understand what you were saying anymore. “That is fantastic, I’m so happy to hear that!”

“Yeah!” Jaebum sounded like he was seconds away from jumping up and down and, once again, you hated that you couldn’t physically see him in that moment. “So, listen, we have to celebrate. Cancel your plans tonight. I already called Mark. He said he’ll kill me for waking him up this early after we completely empty every drink at his bar.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you said, still giddy. “I’ll join in. But not today, though. Today is all about you. I really can’t believe this.”

“I know,” you could hear his excitement in his voice and it filled your chest with incredible amounts of joy. “I wouldn’t have submitted the song without you. Thank you.”

Your smile widened after hearing this but you shook your head even if he couldn’t see you.

“No, it’s all you,” you told him, sincere. “But I did say your song was amazing, didn’t I? Repeatedly, if I remember correctly. Good to know my taste is universal.”

Jaebum laughed – the sound making your heart beat even faster – before saying, “you know Jackson is going to get jealous that he’d tried to convince me to do it for so long and to no avail, while you did it in just a few days, right?”

“He won’t get jealous,” you disagreed, not trying to act like you knew Jackson better than Jaebum did but knowing that there was no way this was going to be the case. “He won’t care. He’ll just be happy this is happening for you. I am happy, too. Truly. You deserve this.”

The silence on the other end of the call would have made you think he’d hung up on you but you could hear his soft breaths so you knew he was stilll on the line. It killed you not to know what he was thinking, though.

“Thank you,” he ended up repeating. “You have no idea how much you’ve done for me.”

The sincerity in his voice was an indication that he wasn’t just thanking you for helping him out with the song. He was grateful for everything. And he’d meant it when he said you had no idea about any of it because if you had, you wouldn’t have been struggling to breathe all of a sudden because his voice was so gentle and so different to yesterday when he’d told you he wasn’t interested in dating.

“I’ll text you later,” Jaebum started to speak just when your face fell at the memory. “But find a free moment at five, would you?”

“I will,” you assured him, your heart full of warm emotion despite the bitter disappointment of yesterday slowly creeping in. “Beware, though, all of my text messages from that point onward will have more exclamation points than actual words.”

He chuckled at that, making you smile and strengthening your fight with yourself as you tried to keep thinking straight. Only when the call finished were you able to finally exhale, some of the wistful excitement leaving your body along with your breath.

There was still quite some time before you had to wake up to get ready for work but you already knew you weren’t going to be sleeping anymore. The excitement of knowing that Jaebum was just one step away from achieving success had filled your bloodstream with enough adrenaline to last the whole day and the sudden disappointment that followed when you recalled his confession – which, essentially, firmly locked the entrance gates to an actual, real relationship you’d thought you’ve been approaching with Jaebum – only seemed to strengthen the deadly amount of epinephrine inside of you.

You fell back onto your pillow, face-down. Screaming seemed to fit your mood – the pillow would have muffled the sound – but you didn‘t feel like screaming. Your desperate need to be with Jaebum didn‘t manifest itself in an aggressive way. Instead of wanting to yell and throw things around because, as it turned out, even after all this time, you still didn‘t understand him, you just wanted to sigh, groan, and... give up, really.

You‘d decided some time ago that you weren‘t going to care about the lack of official labels but, clearly, some part of you had thought that the label would come... eventually. That is, you thought that fooling around with each other as roommates was just one state that you would, sooner or later, move on from and, consequently, turn into something more. But, then again, you’ve already moved on from being just roommates. You already were something more.

And, for the love of all things holy, now you knew you needed the damn label to go with it.

Kissing Jaebum without knowing what would happen next was one thing – the ignorance was, oh, so blissful – but kissing him while knowing that he was never going to want anything official with you was an entirely different one. The first instance was pathetically promising. The second one was just pathetic.

Realizing that, ever since you‘d moved here, you‘d always hovered in this tiny—oddly comfortable—space between promising and pathetic, you turned back around and focused your eyes on the ceiling instead. You‘d reached a decision – well, your heart reached it for you – that was as neutral as you thought it to be possible.

You‘d wait.

You didn‘t even know that Jaebum had considered starting a relationship with you when he’d first met you, and he confessed it after some mild prodding from you. And, similarly, you didn‘t know that he‘d changed his mind about this and was now, apparently, not really interested in any relationship, but he confessed that, too. Although, frankly, you‘d have preferred it if he hadn‘t. Ignorance wasn‘t just blissful. It was also comfortable.

So, now you were going to wait. Maybe – your poor hopeful heart whispered – you‘d misunderstood something. Maybe Jaebum had meant something else and he was just waiting for the right moment to make himself clear. Again.

Not pressuring him into admitting something wasn‘t a tactic you‘ve tried before because you were generally a very I-need-this-now sort of person – which, of course, wasn‘t a very good trait but you‘d have been lying if you said you‘d been working to get rid of it – but this was bigger than anything you‘ve dealt with before. This wasn‘t a surprisingly abusive ex-girlfriend and this wasn‘t a purposefully secretive hobby of creating unbelievably good music.

This wasn‘t even you and Jaebum. This was you-and-Jaebum. As an item. As one item.

So, you were going to wait and focus on his music because that‘s what he needed you do to right now. He needed you to be his roommate and his friend. And that’s what you were going to be – or try to be – the whole night tonight.

Tonight, you were going to wait.

After having a semi-decent day at work – with just the right amount of actual working involved so you didn‘t have to spend the whole day wallowing in your utter confusion; but, then again, no day that involved communicating with snobby attitudes and overly arrogant customers was truly a decent day – you nearly lost all of your patience and even debated quitting when right at the end of your shift – and about twenty minutes until the radio show which would play Jaebum‘s song was supposed to start – a lady, that had brought her offspring with her to the gallery, had turned away for “one second,” and the unsupervised child proceeded to use a crayon he‘d snuck in somehow – not that there was a warning against crayons at the gallery but you‘d figured it would have been a given – to paint all over the walls of the first floor.

At that point, everyone was already tired and excited about closing up so, by the time you noticed the surprising neon red stripe running below the paintings exhibited on the walls of the gallery, there was already no point in stopping the child. His mother – on the phone with someone now – noticed the decorated walls at about the same time as you did and, once your eyes met, you thought you could see multiple emotions pass on the woman‘s face but remorse wasn‘t one of them.

She was shocked and, most likely, embarrassed. But she didn‘t feel like this was her fault. People that came to this gallery rarely did, so, straightening your posture once she took a step in your direction, you were prepared to listen to her excuse that was, really, only meant to restore her dignity and not actually explain why she‘d thought leaving her child alone was a good idea.

As it turned out, you were only partially right as the first words that passed her lips when she reached you were, “is this going to cost much?” followed by, “and how long is this going to take? I have somewhere to be in fifteen minutes.”

It was going to cost much – although, she was going to have to take this up with your supervisor, Eva – but it wasn’t about the money. Not that she’d ever understand it – clearly, she, just like everyone else in her position, was the kind of rich person that assumed money solved everything. But you couldn’t very well wipe the walls with money. And someone was going to have to wipe the fresh layer of crayon away.

“I’m sorry,” was what Eva told you when you gave her your best version of the puppy dog eyes after the woman had left – and taken her devil of a child with her; you thought he even snuck his tongue out at you on his way out. “You were covering this floor. Did you have plans tonight?”

There were eight minutes left until the radio show and Eva didn’t sound like she was going to excuse you from fixing this mess just because you’d made plans. She looked ready to give you a friendly pat on the shoulder and a pitiful look because you were covering this floor with two other girls – a real honor to cover the main floor of the gallery but you’d have traded it for anything – so, therefore, you were supposed to supervise the stray child. And now all three of you were going to pay by staying after work.

You were so angry – and even swore that if you’d ever have children, you would never let them use anything as unexpectedly dangerous as crayons – that, as soon as you started to clean the wall, you no longer felt like listening to the radio show at all. But then, choosing to make rational instead of emotional decisions, you groaned and pulled your earphones out from your pocket, plugging them into your phone. Your shift had, technically, just ended so you didn’t worry too much about being caught using your phone.

The radio show was just starting and the host, Cato, as Jaebum had told you, was introducing himself. You had no doubt he was going to play a few of the more popular songs before getting to the new ones, so you took this time to calm yourself down.

Jaebum had texted you before, checking if you’d make it to Mark’s bar by six-thirty tonight but, by the looks of this, you were only going to be there at eight the earliest. For some reason, however, the frustration you’d felt after seeing the child draw on the walls of the gallery had merged with the frustration you’ve been feeling ever since Jaebum had told you he wasn’t interested in a relationship, and thus, you suddenly didn’t feel like warning him that you were going to be running very late.

The bitter part of your mind told you that he just wouldn’t care anyway – and why would he? He didn’t want a relationship with you so why did it matter if his roommate wasn’t going to be there, celebrating with him? You wanted to show him you weren’t going to let him use your weaknesses against you and kiss you whenever he pleased – not that you minded, honestly, but this was your dignity at stake – and then claim he wasn’t interested in a relationship. You might have been dying to have him close to you at all times, but you had some self-respect, too.

But then you heard it. The first chords of “Don’t Touch Me” played in your earphones and, all of a sudden, your hand was wiping the wall of the gallery completely reflexively, because your mind had been transported back to Jackson’s studio when you’d first heard the song.

Listening to it now felt just as ethereal except now you knew you weren’t the only person hearing Jaebum’s voice as he sang his heart out. Now you were sharing the magical experience of his music with other listeners, some of which had undoubtedly written down the name of the song so they could look up the artist later. Jaebum’s song was no longer something that only a handful of people knew about – it was out there for the whole world to hear now.

People never think they take anything for granted until it’s taken away from them and you realized just how personal—how intimate—it had felt to be a part of the selected few who knew about this remarkable part of Jaebum. You bit your lip, realizing that anyone could listen to his music now. It didn’t make the song feel any less exceptional, not at all. But it did make you feel a lot less special.

So, getting your phone out, you texted Jaebum back because, even though he may not have wanted you in the way that you wanted him, the dread of wasting the bond you’ve created with him was too great. You were still, officially, just roommates and it hurt—and frustrated you, too—to think that you’d never be anything more but you didn’t think your self-respect – or, now that you thought back on it, perhaps it was your aggravation – was worth more than what you had with him.

You still wanted to know Jaebum. You still wanted him close. But maybe, in order to appease to your wishes and to your dignity, it was time you stopped kissing him. Maybe, your decision to wait included a pause on every physical activity that involved you and him.

When you got to Mark’s bar, nearly everyone was already drunk. Jackson greeted you at the door – he was truly just as excited about this as you and Jaebum were – and nearly spilled his drink all over your top when he leaned in for a hug. Affection was, obviously, not a foreign concept to him and it only seemed to intensify when he was drunk.

The number of people you didn’t recognize here didn’t surprise you – mostly because you weren’t sure if they were all Jaebum’s friends or if they were just random bar-goers who’d joined in after they saw that Jaebum was celebrating – but, when you caught the sight of Kiera – by all means, your best friend – talking to Mark by the bar, you stopped short.

She noticed you almost immediately and, after hopping off the stool excitedly, approached you with her arms outstretched.

“Hi!” she shrieked, always loud when she was drunk. “You’re finally here!”

“I am,” you replied, hugging her back, still surprised—but not disappointed—to see her here. “And you’re here, too.”

“Yes! Mark called me and told me you and Jackson had kicked Jaebum’s ass and got him to play his song on the radio,” she revealed, pulling you towards the bar by your hand. “I listened to it and, Jesus Christ, what has he been doing all this time?! The song is amazing.”

“It is,” you nodded, unable to resist a smile. Hearing her praise Jaebum made you feel even prouder of him. “So, hey, Mark called you, huh?”

Kiera rolled her eyes, giving the aforementioned bartender a nod – Mark’s smile seemed to widen when he saw that she was back at the bar – and then turning back to look at you and your smirk.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned. “I came because I was looking for a reason to get drunk.”

“You’re not that big on drinking,” you pointed out, the teasing grin not leaving your features.

“Fine. Then I came because I was excited to meet the creator of such a phenomenal song.”

You were basically the Cheshire cat now. “You’ve met him before.”

Kiera rolled her eyes. “You really want me to admit that I only came because I missed my best friend, don’t you?”

She threw an arm over your shoulders and you groaned, genuinely impressed—and annoyed—by her ability to avoid the topics she didn’t want—or wasn’t ready—to talk about. You were going to drop this, though, and just allow her to talk about something that she was more comfortable with but then Mark brought you and her drinks, and Kiera’s entire face lit up. You truly couldn’t help yourself.

“So, it’s me you’ve missed, yeah?” you asked her, hiding your smile behind your cocktail glass.

“Yes,” Kiera said with a straight face. You really could have learned a thing or two about avoiding uncomfortable topics from her because, somehow, your group of friends always chose you to tease. “I haven’t seen you in too long, I couldn’t miss the opportunity.”

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed, taking a sip and instantly feeling the alcohol hit your head. Mark must have used three parts vodka and one part cranberry juice when making this instead of the other way around. “Wow, this is hard—uh, right. And h-how did you know I was going to be here? I was late but I could have just never shown up.”

Kiera almost sighed, your hypothetical situation not sounding realistic in the slightest.

“Of course you were going to be here,” she said, “because Jaebum is here.”

You took another sip, enjoying the taste more this time, which could have only meant that the alcohol was doing its’ job properly.

“What?” you asked her, raising your eyebrows. “Are you implying I follow him wherever he goes?”

“No. I’m saying you follow each other,” Kiera replied, finishing her drink in one big gulp. She might not have gone out to drink very often, but she still knew how to. “It’s been impossible for any of us to see you without getting a glimpse of Jaebum, too.”

You shook your head, finishing your cocktail as well. “That’s not true. Hyojin and I went to our café the other day and—”

“—and then Jaebum called you, and you ran home to him,” Kiera finished for you.

“I—” you stopped, your stomach clenching. Your eyes were now on your empty glass on the bartop. “I didn’t run.”

Your friend had a victorious smile on but you weren’t looking at her.

“I wasn’t there,” she said, “but, trust me, you ran.”

“Okay, I don’t like where this is going,” you waved your hands around before covering your face. Kiera took this moment to wave Mark over just as you added, “let’s go back to me teasing you about Mark.”

She paused, hoping the bartender didn’t hear it but, just like always, she regained her balance quickly.

“Or,” Kiera started, “how about you go find your boy? I’ve seen him circle the bar three times before you got here and either he really wants to pee and can’t find the bathroom – which isn’t likely since, according to Mark, Jaebum has been here, at least, a hundred times – or he’s looking for you.”

Your heart rate picked up at the sound of that. You could tell that your entire body was on fire just imagining Jaebum waiting for you – your face, especially; your flustered state was probably obvious and visible from three galaxies away – and you did not want this to be the state that he saw you in for the first time today.

“He’s not my boy,” you said in a small voice.

“Oh, honey,” Kiera sighed, her hands on her hips. She sounded oddly motherly when she said, “he is.”

You shook your head, not particularly eager to inform her of Jaebum’s confession about the first night you’ve met and then the dismissal of your developing relationship that had followed at the ice cream store.

“No—” you started but your friend wasn’t going to have it.

“You may not have admitted it to yourselves yet but please don’t think the rest of us are as oblivious as you two are, yeah?” she said sternly. “Now go. He’s waited long enough.”

You huffed, stepping off the bar stool per her order and deciding to add one last, “you only want me gone so you can go back to talking to Mark,” before you walked away.

Kiera laughed – not defending herself this time – and watched you disappear deeper into the crowd as you looked for Jaebum.

You found him at the very back of the bar, lounging on one of the couches in a private booth, Jackson and four other guys you’ve never seen before surrounding him. Jaebum looked cheerful – a bright smile adorned his features and made your stomach do cartwheels – and intoxicated just like everyone else here. His cheeks were rosy and he looked visibly relaxed, except his eyes kept drifting away from his friends as he scanned the club.

You could have passed out right then and there when his eyes landed on you and you saw him stand up immediately. His friends all turned to look but Jackson was the only one who understood why Jaebum was suddenly leaving the table mid-conversation.

“You’re here!” was the first thing Jaebum said to you once he stopped close enough for you to hear him, his friends’ eyes following him. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

He’d grabbed your hand – as if that was the most natural thing to do – and lead you to his booth where Jackson was sitting with a shit-eating grin on his face, and the other four guys looked pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, that’s Jackson, you know him already,” Jaebum began right away as one of his friends stood up to let you and Jaebum sit down on the couch next to each other. The same friend debated standing to give you two more space but then he decided to sit down next to you, after all – which prompted Jaebum to unconsciously pull you closer to him. “The one next to you is Jinyoung, he must be my oldest friend.”

The boy next to you scoffed. “Nice way to make me sound like I’m eighty.”

“I mean I’ve known him the longest,” Jaebum clarified, leaning back in his seat and rolling his eyes. “The one across from you is Yugyeom, he’s basically a child so we’re not really sure if he can even drink legally—”

“Hey!” came Yugyeom’s protest.

“—and the one next to him is BamBam,” Jaebum continued, “but he’s pissed because he has to be up early tomorrow and I refuse to care. Youngjae is also looking glum because his dog had some sort of an emergency today – everything’s fine now, though – but wait until he’s had a couple of drinks, you’ll love him. And, yeah. These guys here, along with Mark at the bar, are all my friends. The ones that matter, anyway.”

You nodded, giving the boys at the table a smile. You realized that these had to be the people Jaebum was talking about at the ice cream store yesterday – the friends that stuck with him throughout his relationship with Suji and after. The real ones.

They all looked welcoming enough but meeting new people was always a stressful experience. Knowing that these guys cared about Jaebum probably as much as you did, however, made you relax for one quick moment until your mind conjured up a scenario where his friends absolutely hated the very thought of you, and Jaebum moved out because he valued the opinion of his friends too much.

But then you took a deep breath and returned to the decision that you’d made this morning – you were going to worry about one thing at a time. Tonight was about Jaebum’s music. His friends' potential hatred for you could be handled tomorrow.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you settled on the basic response. “I’d say Jaebum told me so much about you but, honestly, he’s not much of a talker.”

Yugyeom was the first to laugh as he nodded eagerly, agreeing. “We weren’t aware he even had a roommate until a few days ago when Jackson had let it slip.”

That’s right, you were his roommate. Although, based on how close you were sitting to each other right now, one could have assumed differently.

You swallowed, reminding yourself that you’d decided you weren’t going to give in to your impulses anymore – at least not until you’ve reached a decision what your relationship with each other was – and tuned back in to the conversation his friends were having – it was BamBam, this time, ranting about how Jaebum never told them anything until the very last minute.

Jaebum kept rolling his eyes and sending soft threats their way each time his friends said something he’d have rather kept quiet about, but you could tell that these were his people. He was completely himself around them and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched them interact. It felt important to be in the presence of his closest circle of friends; it felt like you mattered to him just as much as the rest of them did.

As the night progressed, the boys all expressed their support, making it clear that they were just as proud of Jaebum as you were, all while still not ceasing to tease him about the smallest things. The waitress had stopped by your booth multiple times, and slowly, you felt yourself give in to the alcohol as a fog started to form in your mind and your mood kept lifting with every joke that Jackson cracked.

A few more drinks later, your table seemed to split into two worlds. There were the rest of the boys, getting louder with each glass that they’ve emptied, and there were you and Jaebum, seemingly lost to the rest of the world as you cuddled close to each other, his hand still on your waist and your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Why were you late?” he asked quietly but you were so close to him, you were able to hear him even through the sound of his friends’ laughter.

“A catastrophe at the gallery,” you replied with a sigh, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of Jaebum’s cardigan that had come to rest on your thigh when you two sat down. “A kid got loose and decided to decorate the pale walls with a red crayon.”

“Oh, shit,” Jaebum replied but you could tell the image had made him smile. “Whoever decided to give kids crayons was a real asshole.”

“Tell me about it,” you sighed. “I had to go around, cleaning that mess and now I can’t even feel my legs anymore.”

For someone as drunk as him, he truly reacted quickly and as soon as you’d said that, Jaebum was suddenly lifting your legs up and dropping them on his lap, completely ignorant to the raised eyebrows on the faces of the boys around you.

“Why did you wear heels?” he asked you, one of his hands remaining on your waist while he placed his other one on your legs, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on your thigh.

“Because I wanted to look nice,” you replied, leaning against him because not leaning against him was suddenly too hard.

“You always look nice,” Jaebum replied, his quiet voice managing to drown out the loud noises of the bar.

The two of you would have never noticed that the rest of the boys had gotten up and left if it weren’t for Jackson who’d patted Jaebum on the back on his way out of the booth. And even though it was just you two sitting at the table now, you remained pressed tightly against each other.

Somehow, you’d let go of Jaebum’s cardigan and found your fingertips tracing the veins on Jaebum’s hand instead, as he’d stilled, letting his hand rest on your thigh. Your feather-light touch and the warmth of your body pressed against his only seemed to amplify the effect of the alcohol and Jaebum suddenly couldn’t handle having you so close to him and not doing anything about it.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked, turning his hand palm up so he could take your hand into his instead.

You raised your head to look at him. “When I texted your ad?”

“No,” he replied, intertwining your fingers. “In real life.”

“When you tried to kick me out of the apartment?”

“Ah,” he chuckled, surprised that your memory worked this well even after all of these drinks. “No. Before that.”

“Before—” you frowned and then realized what he’d been talking about. The fateful one-night-stand. “Oh.”

Jaebum could tell that you’ve remembered as he nodded, watching your reaction. “Yeah.”

“You know I remember,” you told him then, your eyes on his. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Yeah, but you always focus on what happened after,” he said. “But do you ever think about the night itself?”

It was already warm in the club but his question only seemed to make you feel hotter. The intense look in his eyes wasn’t helping much, either. Although intoxicated, there was still a certain power to his gaze, and you found yourself looking away for just a moment so you could find a way to reply.

The night you’ve met always lingered in the back of your mind but you never focused on it, not wanting it to further speed up the process of falling for him. You’ve already had enough on your plate as it was, and reminiscing about how his skin had felt like pressed against yours was only going to complicate everything even more.

“W-well, I’ve been sort of busy trying to figure out what’s going on with you and me at the moment,” you admitted. “But have you, uh… thought about it?”

His response seemed to come out in a breath that caused shivers to run down your spine, “all the time.”

You were afraid to inhale – let alone move – in case you’d scare him off from continuing and Jaebum – seemingly afraid of the same thing – tightened his grip on you by pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling him and then wrapping his arms around your waist protectively.

You watched him, completely helpless and lost in the darkness – and the warmth, the lust, the love hiding there – inside of his eyes.

“You know, after all this time, I’ve finally managed to convince myself that you’re not the kind of person who would completely overcome someone’s life,” he said, the past doubts and insecurities sticking their necks out for the briefest of moments as Jaebum moved one of his hands to your face, no longer able to resist not touching your lips with the tips of his fingers. “But I’ve been wrong.”

You couldn’t find your voice. “W-what?”

“You have taken over my life completely,” he confessed, his eyes following the movements of his fingers as they gently brushed against your lower lip. “You weren’t even trying and you’re just everywhere. In every corner of my mind. In every part of my world. I can’t escape you.”

“Do you…” you started to say, your throat drying up, “do you want to?”

“No,” he shook his hand, pulling his hand away from your face and bringing it back to your waist. “God, no. It drives me crazy when I can’t stop thinking about you but I-I can’t imagine myself not doing that anymore.”

At that point, you were certain that the sound of both of your hearts banging against your ribcages – ready to explode in one big fire – was heard across the entire bar, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as you whispered, “you never told me you thought about me.”

“You never tell me what you’re thinking about, either,” Jaebum replied, the corners of his lips lifting. “We’re not the kind of people who share our deepest desires with each other.”

“Deepest desires,” you repeated, tasting the words on your tongue and making Jaebum’s smile widen. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, straightening in his seat until his chest was pressed against yours. “They run deep.”

“How deep?” you asked shakily, your breath mixing with his.

“Very deep,” Jaebum replied, finally allowing himself to lower his eyes to your lips. He’d never thought he’d have this much self-control even if staying away from you was starting to get simply impossible. “But I feel like they’re rushing to the surface too fast for me to stop them.”

The distance between your lips was virtually non-existent now but the unexpected surge of adrenaline that had erupted into your bloodstream at the prospect of him kissing you again suddenly reminded you of the decision you’d made earlier today, before all the alcohol and all the touching. You pressed a hand on his chest.

“Jaebum,” a desperate whisper left your lips. “N-no.”

He pulled back, confusion taking over his features. “No?”

You shook your head, your heart hurting with each step that you took in the opposite decision of what you’d truly wanted. But you knew you needed to do this. You’ve allowed your heart to make decisions for you long enough, it was about time you made decisions with your head.

“No,” you repeated. “I don’t think we should do this.”

“Y-you don’t?” Jaebum was obviously surprised to hear this, his eyes blinking in confusion before he leaned back in his seat, putting more distance between you and him. “Okay. Okay, then we won’t do anything.”

He looked like you’d slapped him across the face and you bit your lip, your heart now beyond ready to claw out of your chest. “It’s not because I don’t want to…”

He frowned, the familiar coldness returning to his eyes. He’d started to shut himself off from you again, yet he still asked, “why, then?”

“Because of what you’d said,” you replied, wishing for this conversation to be over before it even started, or, at least, wishing you weren’t sitting on his lap when you talked about this because, aside from not being able to think clearly when he was so close to you, the position also didn’t allow you both many opportunities to stand up and leave if all of this got too much.

Jaebum, however, despite being confused, didn’t share the same mindset and was not even planning on letting go of you until he understood what you were getting at. The rejection stung but if there was a chance he was still going to kiss you at the end of the night, he was willing to clear up everything you needed him to.

“What did I say?” he asked, a weird vibrating sound accompanying his question. It could have been a text message on one of your phones but neither of you cared about that right now.

“You said you don’t want a relationship,” you told him, your eyes not leaving his.

Jaebum didn’t seem to recollect the exact moment he’d told you this as his eyebrows furrowed deeper, so you took a breath – the first one since you sat down in this booth with him – and reminded him.

“That day at the ice cream store,” you said. “I asked you why you weren’t going to ask the waitress out and—”

“I remember,” he cut you off, then. His heart had started to race again as he realized that this might have been the reason why you looked so distant when the two of you had walked out of the store that day. “I didn’t mean to say I didn’t want a relationship.”

“What?” you didn’t get it. “You said you weren’t interested in dating.”

“I said I didn’t want to date anyone else,” he repeated before adding a very quick but very necessary, “that’s not you.”

It was only in passing that you’d considered misunderstanding him but now that he’s confirmed you’ve misinterpreted his words, it was very hard to swallow all of a sudden. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Clearing your throat, you tried to keep your eyes on his but his gaze had warmed up and the iciness you’d seen form inside of it before had melted now that you understood what had gone down between you two at the store.

“You clearly have problems expressing yourself,” you stated.

Jaebum was smirking as his eyes followed the movement of your lips when you spoke. “You’re clearly very dense.”

Silence followed when neither of you managed to find the next words, both too focused on each other to think about what to say. Although neither of you moved, the distance between you – that had grown so inexplicably large when you refused to let him kiss you – seemed to decrease with each breath that your neglected lungs produced.

“I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you,” Jaebum revealed, his entire heart hidden in these words.

You realized that you were anxious. The uncertainty wasn’t a problem before but now that you’ve stepped over the line and acknowledged what you’d been doing, you knew you couldn’t back away. You’ve thought you’d focus on his music but that wasn’t what Jaebum was doing, so you couldn’t wait to have this conversation anymore. Now was your only chance to escape the gloomy state of 'unknown.’

“I—” you started to say.

Jaebum shook his head; he was through with talking. “Tell me you don’t want me to.”

“I-I can’t tell you that,” you replied but the same concerned expression did not leave your features.

“Well, then what is it?” Jaebum asked, no longer afraid to sound desperate. “What do you need me to do? Do you need the label?”

“No, I—I don’t know,” you were breathing much faster now. “I don’t think we should keep kissing each other when we don’t really know what we’re doing.”

It felt good to bring your thoughts into being. It felt good to finally acknowledge it. But you hadn’t expected it to also feel terrifying as Jaebum spent one long moment, watching your eyes instead of replying.

“We’re going to kiss,” he said, then, “that’s what we’re going to be doing.”

“And after?”

“Well, kiss again, hopefully.”

You closed your eyes, the demanding tone of your voice matching the desperation in his. “But what does it mean?”

Jaebum was losing it. His oxygen supply was already short when you were this close and his craving for you was just wretched, at his point. It was tearing him apart at the seams; he’d never thought anticipation could ever be so strong.

“Does it have to mean something?” he asked, his voice exasperated.

“Yeah, actually,” you spoke. “But if it doesn’t mean anything to you, I—”

You’d looked away from him for the first time that night – thoughts of standing up and walking away slowly spreading to your mind – and that was enough for Jaebum to pull you closer to him until your eyes were on him and your chests were pressed against each other again, allowing your hearts to beat the same rhythm. He wasn’t going to let you leave.

“Fuck. No. It means everything to me. Okay?” Jaebum said, his chest rising each time yours fell and falling each time yours rose. “I’ll give you anything, any label you need, anything you need, I just—fuck.”

His face was so close to yours now, you could almost feel his lips brush against yours with each word that he spoke. You wondered if this was what hell felt like – having something you want right at the tip of your fingers but being forced to resist it.

“Jaebum—”

“Tell me to leave you alone and I’ll do it. Tell me what you want from me, and I’ll give you all of it,” he pleaded, “just… talk to me. Please tell me what you need.”

“I…” it only took you a second to find the words because there wasn’t much that you needed in that moment, or in general. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” Jaebum exhaled against your lips. “You already have me.”

And in a climax of your and his desperations mixing together, your lips finally touched. Your rapid breaths only seemed to grow heavier each time your lips connected in a frantic kiss, your hands holding onto each other as if one of you was going to disappear if the other had let go. As if one of you was going to pull away and say something else.

But there was nothing else that was left to say. Not in words, at least. So, you let your lips do the talking, his tongue transmitting all of his feelings for you as he tasted the inside of your mouth, nearly suffocating from his own longing. Kissing was supposed to put an end to your desperation, it was supposed to finally satisfy your need to have each other close, and yet it wasn’t enough. You were pressed against each other but it wasn’t close enough.

Every bit of your body that wasn’t touching his was screaming and even when you leaned into him harder, your bodies seemingly merging together, it still didn’t seem to be enough. Every time he pulled away just slightly to inhale, your mouth burned, aching to have his lips pressed against yours again.

Your movements were fluid – granted, you’ve had practice – and you never once interrupted each other by moving your hands the wrong way or clashing your teeth against each other. You kissed like you were reading each other’s minds and, as your tongues toyed with each other, only deepening the kiss, it truly felt like you were finally revealing your deepest secrets to each other. And they didn’t need to be spoken aloud anymore because now you’ve learned how to talk without using words.

You thought you’d been standing at the gates of hell when Jaebum’s lips were so close to yours and yet they weren’t touching you but now, as you kissed him back, you knew you’ve transcended every divine place and had created your own heaven in the back of Mark’s club, seated on Jaebum’s lap, his mouth on yours.

Suddenly, however, you felt him still against you as a loud tap was heard against the leather of the couch next to you.

“Nice going you two,” a familiar voice spoke up, and you and Jaebum pulled away from each other, exchanging a look and then turning your heads to catch Jackson’s grinning face. “You owe Kiera fifty bucks, by the way. She’d just told us about your bet.”

You couldn’t remember any bets. Actually, you could barely remember the existence of anything when your lips were still swollen from Jaebum’s kisses and his eyes, when you turned to look at him, possessed nothing but passion.

“Thanks,” Jaebum finally acknowledged his friend, clearing his throat. “Jackson.”

“I came to pick my phone up,” he added, leaning down to pick his phone up from the couch opposite yours – that explained the vibrating sound you’ve heard before – and then giving you another teasing grin. “Not that you’ll need me, but I’ll be by the bar. Have fun!”

Your face was in your hands by the tame Jackson left and Jaebum sighed, pulling your palms away from your cheeks.

“God,” you shook your head as soon as his hands gripped your wrists, not letting you hide your face from him. “We’re—”

“At a bar, yeah,” Jaebum nodded, permanently amused by your flustered state. “I’m really regretting not celebrating at our apartment.”

You exhaled slowly, letting your hands drop to your sides and watching his hands follow, a part of him always touching a part of you.

“Well,” you started, “we can always celebrate later.”

His breath hitched just for a moment. “Fuck. Yeah, we can.”

He leaned into you before you could react properly, his lips returning to the place they belonged – right between yours – in a slow but steady manner. You kissed him back – you always kissed him back – but, when you pulled away to inhale a moment later, you started to speak before he could prolong the kiss.

“Maybe we should slow down?” you said but it didn’t sound like a statement. You weren’t waiting for his approval, at that point; you were waiting for his permission because if he’d said no, you knew you would have done just about anything he wanted.

“Yeah,” Jaebum said, surprising you. “Maybe.”

“I don’t want to, though,” you added, biting your lip now. You didn’t want to stay away from him but, at the same time, you didn’t want the confessions of tonight to signify a gunshot, starting a mere sprint. You didn’t want this to be a sprint. You wanted this to be a marathon – one that you’d spend every day of your near future running. “But we live together.”

Jaebum nodded. “We do.”

“So, we should probably take it slow,” you decided.

“Yes,” he said, his responses lacking the vocabulary.

You smiled at that. “Are you just going to agree with everything I say?”

“Yes,” he admitted, shameless.

“Are you hoping that will allow you to kiss me again?”

“Absolutely.”

He closed the distance between you as soon as he heard you chuckle, but this time, he pulled away after one quick peck – a short reminder that this was something that he could do now.

“Are you still tired?” he asked.

Truthfully, you’ve never felt less tired in your life but you were able to recognize that this state was temporary. Once the high of kissing Jaebum would fade, you’d go right back to exhaustion.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly.

“Should we go home?” he seemed to take the role of asking questions now.

You weren’t sure about that, either, though.

“I don’t want to. I like it here,” you told him, your hips pressed firmly against his as you returned your hands to his chest – the beating of his heart sounding just as hypnotizing as his voice in his first song had sounded. “Right here.”

“Oh, I like it right here, too,” Jaebum replied, a smile spreading across his face as his hands found their way around your waist again. “But I’d like it more if fewer people were involved.”

You agreed and yet you refrained from expressing your wish to leave because wanting Jaebum all for yourself seemed selfish on an occasion like this.

“It’s your night, though,” you said tentatively. “We’re celebrating your song.”

He wasn’t catching up. “What’s your point?”

“You can’t leave,” you said. “All these people—”

“I appreciate them coming,” Jaebum nodded, his eyes on you just like they had been from the moment he’d laid his eyes on you tonight. “But I only need you.”

The feelings that his words had provoked rushed to the surface before you could stop them and you were the one pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips this time. You nearly collapsed when you felt his lips stretch into a smile as he responded to you.

“We should go socialize,” you said after pulling away. “Well, you should. I’m going to wash my face with some cold water.”

“Oh, no, no,” Jaebum disagreed, helping you relocate yourself from his lap onto the couch next to him. The cold that engulfed your bodies when you were no longer pressed against each other was so surprising, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. “If I have to walk around, talking to people while that’s the last thing I want to do, you’re doing the same.”

“They’re your friends,” you reminded him.

“And I love them,” he nodded, standing up and helping you stand with him by holding your hand. “And I know they’ll understand so I’m going to be embracing my egotistic side tonight. It is my night, after all.”

“Hmm,” you were curious. “And what is that supposed to imply?”

“It’s supposed to imply that I might find myself in the bathroom of the bar in the next few minutes,” he replied, “and I’m not going to feel bad about it.”

You loved the mischievous glint in his eye. “And what are you planning on doing in that bathroom?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Jaebum replied, his lips by your ear as he guided you out of the booth, “because you’ll be right there with me.”

   chapter directory

[tony-starkrogers]

rec week day five

For the Cap-IM rec week 2019 day five: Fix-It Friday! @cap-ironman

There are so many good fix-its out there - this list is divided into categories to make it easier if you’re looking for a specific type of fix-it. Be sure to go show these writers some comments and kudos love!

CACW FIX-ITS

Last Train Home by erde (T, 10.9k)

Steve writes letters to Tony that he never sends. By the time he hands them to their rightful owner, Tony has had a brush with death, has retired as a superhero, and now has a small town workshop of his very own. But it's okay, Steve has gone into retirement too.

Over Sea, Under Stars by vorkosigan (T, 36.6k)

Tony gets the phone, but he never uses it and he never intends to. Or, he doesn’t until Steve starts texting him, asking strange questions about medication and mental health, which is when Tony gets worried.

(A texting fix-it that grew beyond all proportion. Deals with depression and anxiety quite a lot. There is even some plot in there somewhere.)

If I were a Bell by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (E, 4.2k)

Officially, Tony hasn't seen Steve since the Sokovia Accords were ratified. Unofficially, Steve is a sneaky bastard who keeps taking risks to see Tony whenever he wants.

Dear Tony, by sirona (T, 5.9k)

Once the dust after what no one is referring to as "The Break-up" has settled, Steve starts writing and doesn't seem to know how to stop.

Even My Phone Misses Your Call by rainbowninja167 (E, 10.8k)

Steve makes it all the way to Ohio before conceding that the post-Chitauri road trip might’ve been a mistake.

Or, ten times Steve has to call Tony to come pick him up.

An Infinite Number Of Monkeys At Typewriters (Or, Steve and Tony Finally Get It Right) by JenTheSweetie (M, 18.6k)

Tony blinked up at the face staring down at him. This was impossible. This was definitely 100% not possible, he had not just started giving a good morning handy to -

“Steve?”

After the events of Civil War, Tony and Steve wake up in bed next to each other in an alternate universe. It goes about as well as you'd expect it to.

Like a Postcard Phrase by isaksara (T, 8.6k)

How to say ��wish you were here’ without actually saying so, as done by Captain Steve Rogers.

IW FIX-ITS

The Future is Yet in Your Power by @festiveferret (T, 14.9K

"Now." Wong leaned back in his chair. "What would you do to save this world from Thanos' attack? What would you sacrifice?"

"Anything," Steve said. "Anything at all."

Wong considered him for a moment, expression unreadable. "There's one thing, maybe."

Recognize Fate (A Dramedy of Manners) by vorkosigan (E, 25.4k)

During the horror that was the Infinity War, Tony has somehow managed to fall in love with Steve. No, really, his timing's always been stellar, in all things. He would like to pursue his feelings, he would; only, this doesn't mesh so well with his other resolution: Steve must never ever know.

It's been a year since the victory, and the time has come to celebrate. Everyone is about to meet again at a big gala.

live wire by spqr (M, 7.8k)

The marks are a welcome distraction. The media fixates on them, the mystery of them, because it's a lot less daunting to think about big thumbprints on your back or your side or your thigh than to think about how the planet's population just dropped from 7 to 3.5 billion overnight.

(as a side effect of Thanos’ culling, everyone who’s left gets a soulmark)

Lost With You (Might Be All I Need) by ann2who (E, 22k)

Tony and Steve fall through a portal just after defeating Thanos and his army. Stranded in another dimension, the two have to finally face what happened—and what could have been.

The Future Is Ours (Whether We Want It Or Not) by ann2who (M, 30k)

After a hit from the Time Stone, Steve switches places with his future self.

when i run out of road, you bring me home by quidhitch (M, 18.4k)

“Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.

A New Way For Us by ann2who (M, 24.4k)

They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

ENDGAME FIX-ITS

Five Seconds by @elcorhamletlive (unrated, 3k)

From the moment Steve suits up, he knows what he’ll do.

brave new world by @nasafic (T, 2.7k)

Steve visits Peggy first. But he doesn't stay.

And Time Can Do So Much by JenTheSweetie (M, 11.1k)

"I really shouldn’t be talking to a figment of my imagination,” Steve said. “Sam would be reading me the riot act. I can hear him now. Therapy works wonders, you know.”“Sounds like Wilson,” Tony agreed. “And therapy does work wonders. You might want to look into it, once it becomes a thing in a couple of years.”“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said.A few years after Steve moved permanently back in time, he started having conversations with Tony again.

Something Beautiful by Annie D (scaramouche) (T, 5.2k)

In one universe sideways, it’s 2012 and the Avengers have just defeated Loki and the Chitauri. Steve Rogers, who has been out of the ice for almost ten years, wonders if his retaking the shield for this event was a one-off, or if he’s ready to keep it again. It depends on Tony.

Same old story. by spqr (T, 7.4k)

“We’re toasting our regrets,” Tony explains. “Your turn."“Oh,” Steve says.It takes him a long minute to think of something. Or, more likely, it takes him a long moment to work up the courage. But then he turns and raises his bottle to Tony. Looks him dead in the eyes, a sad, sort of wistful smile on his face, and says, “You.”

The God of Solid Life Advice by kehinki (T, 1.5k)

It's 2012. Steve is just informed by Loki that Bucky's alive.Loki also tells him some other things.

Symmetry Breaking by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (E, 10.8k)

After the Battle of New York, Steve rode off on his motorbike. That's how it went the first time.This time he rides back, all the way to Stark Tower, where he asks Tony for help.

The Butterfly Effect by @itsallavengers (T, 20.5k)

While fighting with Loki, Steve Rogers from 2012 hears the two simple words: "Bucky's alive."And the whole universe ripples with the aftershocks.

616 FIX-ITS

Yours, Steve by soniclipstick (veriscence) (T, 8.3k)

Tony has read the news, he’s seen footage of the infighting and the arrest and Steve’s bloody body on the courthouse steps. He might not remember, but he understands why Steve can barely look him in the eye anymore.But there’s a ring on the chain of a set of dog tags that have no business being in Tony’s safe. And it fits his finger perfectly.

Your Name on Every Wall by @sineala (T, 17.8k)

The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

Highest fall you'll ever grace by @laireshi (T, 5.2k)

“You’ll probably want these back,” Tony says at last, and it hurts almost physically to pull the dog tags over his head and offer them to Steve. But they never really belonged to Tony, did they?

Steve seems to hesitate for a second, but then he takes his dog tags with a weird expression. “Yeah,” he says. “They’re mine.”

Double Time by @sineala (E, 123.3k)

Cassino, Italy, December 1943. Special Agent Tony Stark, former Marvels adventurer, is sent to investigate a Cosmic Cube found by the Invaders -- and it's the perfect opportunity for him to rekindle his secret romance with Steve Rogers. But when Hydra attempts to steal the Cube, an inadvertent wish for help leads to the appearance of a Tony from the future of another world: Director Stark of SHIELD. This Tony is a man with a lot on his mind. He refuses to tell them anything about the future, but he seems to know much more than he should about Captain America. And something's happened that's clearly killing him inside, but he's not talking. When Director Stark's failed attempt to return home leads to the unexpected appearance of another visitor from his universe, all the lies come undone. Now there are two wars to fight, and the second one could ruin all of them.

Transmission by laireshi (T, 29.1k)

The incursions are stopped. Steve hopes for things to go back to normal. Instead, he finds himself stranded in an alternate universe with Tony.

Getting home won't be easy. There are too many things they haven't told each other, too many arguments they've never solved.

Now, with just each other for company, they might have to face them all—especially as they seem to be telepathically bonded, and can't keep anything unsaid anymore.

AVENGERS ASSEMBLE FIX-IT

Moments by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark (G, 5.4k) (avengers assemble)

After being trapped in a pocket dimension, Tony tries to find his way home - and ends up lost in the multiverse.

[lucacangettathisass]

how the light gets in (ch. 8)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN

TAGGING: @mountainhymn if you would like to be added to the tag list just lmk!

NOTES: so sorry for the slow update! ive been doing some full on hours at work (my manager literally told me that im doing full time hours despite being part time lmao rip) so that’s been leaving me a little drained lmao but hey at least we got there!

more mentions of low self esteem, those are gonna be a lot more prevalent from here on out actually.

on another note, i’ve been wondering if i should rewrite this as an oc fic rather than a reader one. thoughts? i might not even do it, but im curious to hear what you guys think.

anyways, hope you all enjoy! and dont forget, likes are nice but reblogs are what motivate creators the most!

p.s. pls check out waking up slow by mountainhymn!!!! it is so wonderful im still crying

“Well, it really all started with my momma.” You felt yourself begin to fidget and made an effort to stand completely still. “She got a job working for a wealthy Russian widow, Mrs Zamolodchikova.”

Mr Morgan let out a low whistle. “Now that’s a name.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “A lot of Russian names are like that. As I was saying, she hired my momma to be a maid when I was still very young. Mrs Zamolodchikova treated us very well, we even lived in a little cottage she had on her land.”

Despite all the years that had passed, you still thought of that cottage fondly. It had been small and not impressive by any means, but it had been your home for most of your childhood. You had a lot of good memories of it.

“I...I lost my momma when I was seven.” Even now, twelve years later, it hurt to say. Your mother had been your whole world, everything began and ended with her, and it had never once occurred to you when you were a child, that you would one day have to face the world without her. She loved you too much to do that to you. And then it happened anyway.

You had never experienced a heart break like it before, or since.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Mr Matthews said gently.

“It’s alright.” You assured him, trying to speak around the lump that always formed in your throat whenever you thought about losing your mother. “She had been ill for as long as I could remember, it was only a matter of time.”

“I imagine your aunt and uncle took you in?”

“They wanted to, but Mrs Zamolodchikova stepped in. She said that she saw it as her Christian duty to take me in as a ward, and that’s what I became.” It had stunned you at the time to learn that Mrs Zamolodchikova cared for you that much. You would always be grateful for her kindness, it had changed your life. “She had no children of her own, so I think she wanted me to fill that gap.”

“That was very kind of her.” Mr Matthews sounded surprised, and you supposed that it made sense. You couldn’t imagine that he had come across many people willing to take in the child of an employee, particularly among the rich. You certainly had never seen such a thing in your time among them.

You nodded in agreement. “She taught me etiquette and how to behave in upper class circles, and as I got older I became her companion. That was how I met Mr Cornwall.”

A spark appeared in Mr Van Der Linde’s eyes, and you knew that you really had his full interest now. “How did that come about?”

“He was looking for investors in his business, he was just starting out you see, and he needed some capital.”

“So he went to Mrs Zamolodchikova?” Mr Van Der Linde asked. “She must’ve been rather rich.”

“Exceedingly so.” You said. “Her family is very old Russian money, and when she came to America with her husband, her wealth only grew, even after he died. I imagine Mr Cornwall thought that if he could convince her to invest, he would have an easy time of building his empire.”

“Did he?” Mr Van Der Linde’s eyes sparkled with a kind of devious curiosity, the kind most often found in children. “Convince her to invest that is.”

“I’m afraid not. Mrs Zamolodchikova found him rather...disagreeable.” A part of you still cringed on the inside just thinking about that meeting. It had started off well, and Mr Cornwall had certainly been polite enough, but once his true character came out, it all started to go downhill rather rapidly.

“In what way?”

You hesitated slightly. “Well, I mean, one doesn’t wish to disparage others when they don’t have the opportunity to defend themselves.”

A chuckle came from Mr Van Der Linde, and you even saw a corner of Mr Morgan’s mouth twitch.

“We just want your honest opinion, that’s all.” Mr Matthews assured you. “No need to be disparaging.”

You paused, trying to think of the right way to phrase it. “Mr Cornwall...well, Mrs Zamolodchikova and I found him to be rather...brusque and arrogant. When Mrs Zamolodchikova turned down his request, he got rather upset and he seemed to take it as a personal affront.”

“She must’ve grown to regret that.” Mr Van Der Linde mused.

“Not at all. Mrs Zamolodchikova was happy for him of course, but she was also happy she rejected him. She said she couldn’t imagine being in business with someone so...tasteless.”

“Tasteless in what way?” Mr Matthews asked.

“Well he was...very new money.” When you saw the looks of confusion on the mens’ faces, you tried to think of a better way to phrase it. “He was something of a show off, and a little gaudy. He wore a lot of gold, I imagine to try and impress, but it came off as vain and rather insecure. Mrs Zamolodchikova was very critical of that kind of thing, and when she saw how self aggrandizing he became after his success, she grew to dislike him even more.”

Mr Van Der Linde nodded slowly, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “It sounds like you’ve lead a rather interesting life.”

“I suppose you could say that.” Your eyes roamed over the two older men again. “I imagine that wasn’t the kind of information you wanted, my apologies Mr Van Der Linde.”

Despite your fears, the black haired man smiled and waved a hand. “It’s fine Miss [Last name]. I was just curious, that’s all. Javier, why don’t you walk her back to where she’s staying?”

“Sure thing boss.”

You turned to leave with Mr Escuella, but you hesitated just as he put a hand on the door knob. “Wait.” All eyes were back on you, and you felt yourself flush, but you felt that you needed to get this out. “I just-I just wanted to add that Mr Cornwall is a very powerful man, and in my opinion, and in the opinion of mutual acquaintances that he and I share, he is lead more by pride and ego than wisdom. He doesn’t take insults lightly and can be rather harsh.” You were very careful and deliberate with your words, not wanting to seem like you knew better, but still wanting to convey your feelings of apprehension.

Mr Van Der Linde raised an eyebrow, and you got the feeling that he understood what you were trying to say. “Duly noted Miss.”

You nodded, and turned back to Mr Escuella, this time actually following him outside.

“You must’ve lived a pretty good life for a while.”

You shrugged and felt yourself blush heavily. “I suppose.” It always somewhat embarrassed you, knowing how different your life had been from other people, especially those who were born into the same class as yourself. “I honestly just think I got lucky.” You looked down at your feet. “Don’t feel so lucky now though.”

A heavy silence hung between you two, and you had to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from crying.

“Sorry.” You said softly. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my woes.”

“It’s ok.” Mr Escuella assured you, his voice kind again. “Considering everything you’ve been through, I’d say you have a right to let your feelings out.”

You looked at Mr Escuella in surprise. You hadn’t really thought about it like that. “You’re very kind.” You said sincerely. “Sadie might not think so but I certainly do.”

That brought a bright smile to Mr Escuella’s face, which made you smile in turn. You always enjoyed making people smile, it made you feel good, and you felt that it proved that you were useful and worth something for once.

“You’re a sweet kid.” Mr Escuella’s eyes were shining, although you couldn’t hazard a guess as to why. “Don’t let anyone beat that out of you, ok?”

“I-Ok.” You weren’t sure how else you should respond, being so unused to compliments from strangers. You watched as he held the door to the house with the other women open. “Are you not coming in?”

“Nah.” He smiled. “You stay warm ok?”

“Of course, and you as well Mr Escuella.” You went inside, and no sooner was the door closed that you were practically swarmed by Miss Jones, Miss Gaskill, and Miss Jackson.

“What did they want?”

“You weren’t gone for very long, did everything go alright?”

“Are you allowed to say?”

You felt yourself flush as you tried to keep track of who was asking which question. “It was nothing special.” You said. “They just wanted to know how I knew Mr Cornwall.”

Of course they all also wanted to know, and so you told them what you had told Mr Van Der Linde, Mr Matthews, Mr Morgan, and Mr Escuella-omitting your warning at the end.

Much like the men, they were stunned to hear your story.

“So you grew up pretty well to do.” Miss Jones said, in a tone that sounded impressed and envious.

“I-Well, yes, I suppose.” The embarrassment from earlier had returned. “I was extremely privileged.”

“What was it like?” Miss Gaskill asked, sounding wistful. “Being in that world?”

You paused, trying to think of a good way to describe it.

“When I was a little girl, it was dazzling.” You confessed. “All those men and women in their finery...it looked like an entirely different world. Like a fairy tale.”

“Oh yeah?” Miss Jackson raised a brow. “Meet any prince charmings?”

You laughed. “I met some well to do gentlemen if that’s what you mean.”

“I think she means suitors.” Miss Gaskill said with a giggle, and an eager look on her face. “Well, did you?”

“Oh!” A scorching heat unlike any of the others from before overcame you, and you felt your throat dry up. “I-Well-no.” You stammered, looking askance out of embarrassment.

“Really?”

You looked up and saw Miss Roberts looking at you with surprise. “You mean none of them tried to…” She trailed off, leaving you to fill in the blank.

“Not at all.” You said, your flush worsening. “After all, I was just a maid’s daughter.”

And therein lies the rub.

No matter how much you learned or how you dressed or how you behaved, everyone knew that you were just the daughter of a maid who Mrs Zamolodchikova had taken pity on. Most of them had been polite enough, but that boundary had always been there, and always would be. You had grown accustomed to it, the way one would grow accustomed to a permanent limp. And it left you with what you imagined would be the same level of alienation. It was one of the many unfortunate side effects of being born as yourself, and one you had learned how to deal and navigate the world with.

But it would always be a fairy tale to you. Beautiful, grand, never within your reach no matter how well you knew it. And you would always be that little girl that chased after it with every breath in her chest.

[angrylizardjacket]

And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5486 words. Okay wow. Please bare with me, this is a long one and also a bit of a different one. Written in the style of a Rolling Stone article. Finished it at 7am. Prompt & support from the lovely @ginghampearlsnsweettea

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

Warning: Minor character death, in both senses, it’s a baby, it’s not graphic it’s just mentioned, but just thought I should let you know.

And All The Queen’s Men: how the lines blurred between Queen and and the Queen of Jazz Rock.

An article almost two years in the making, after their last tour, which I was invited along to in order to write the initial article, the rock sensation Queen split, a decision, I am lead to be believe, was instigated by front man Freddie Mercury, and though Giselle Jones had continued to make music, even before her very public, on-stage breakdown, her lawyers had me keep the article to myself. Now, with the band’s reunion, and Live Aid having been a massive success with both powerhouse musical names coming back into the public eye, I’ve invited them back to my office for one last interview, but mostly to beg them to let me publish this article.

Which, obviously, they allowed.

It’s 1985, and with them all sitting in front of me, I feel a sense of deja vu. There are some changes, of course, Roger Taylor’s hair is shorter, Giselle Jones is wearing jeans and a sweater rather than her well-known cocktail dress, but John Deacon’s still smiling at me, Brian’s looking about the room, perhaps seeing if anything’s changed, and Freddie Mercury’s draped casually on the left of the only non-Queen member of the bunch. 

But before I get into the past two years, maybe I should take you back a bit, to when Giselle and Queen began collaborating.

Giselle Jones began in the late sixties as the front-woman of a swing band in a thirties theme pub known as Modern Glamour. Tall, elegant, with a voice like honey, she had a small following of regulars that frequented the pub, but had kept her passion from music from her family, claiming she was merely a waitress at the establishment, since her father was an executive at EMI, and she didn’t want to seem like the subject of nepotism.

However, one fateful day, her father brings music industry giant to the pub for lunch, hoping to catch Giselle at work and introduce her, but as you know, they both got a lot more than they bargained for. Foster sees potential in her, and offers her a contract if she’s willing to modernise her act, and as we all know, she does.

When Giselle releases her first album in 1970, Velvet Roses, which would be the first and only “Jazz” record to hit the Top 40 charts for that year, Queen are still playing pub gigs around London, though they’re looking at recording their first album, which would eventually get EMI’s attention, but that’s still not for a while. At this point, they’re the biggest fish in a very small uni-pub pond, and they need the means to grow. So out goes the band’s van, for one night in a recording studio.

“Like, in retrospect, of course it was the right decision.” Taylor leans against the back of the sofa he’s sitting on in my office in 1982, voice contemplative and fingers locked together as he looks into the past. “But I was twenty-two at the time, selling my van was a big deal.”

“A big enough deal that you wrote a song about it.” Giselle adds, sitting beside him in the middle of the sofa. Deacon hides a smile though May doesn’t hide his snort of laughter. 

The smirked remark is at odds with her look. While the boys are all in various states of brightly patterned shirts and jeans, looking casual and comfortable; Giselle wears white, sequinned, off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her figure and hits the floor, a slit in the thigh where her leg crosses, dark skin a stunning contrast to both the white fabric of her dress, and the leather of my sofa. Hands folded in over her knee, there’s not a singular hair out of place where she’s got it slicked back; I can’t look at her directly, she’s so focused and well put-together that it’s like staring at the sun.

The contrast has always been apparent in their various works, though Mercury has, in the past, cited her as an early inspiration for his desire to add a certain classical gravitas to rock and roll, and though she hasn’t publicly stated anything, the amount of covers Giselle has performed lived could fill an album. And now, here they are, about leave for a double-billed tour of the US, which I have been asked to join.

But their connection goes back much further than this, all the way back to 1975, to the release of the smash-hit single Bohemian Rhapsody That very same year, Giselle releases her fifth single, Dinner and a Show, a lyrically dissonant, heart pumping anthem that’s a metaphor for the way any type of review fuelled her, since it meant people were talking about her work. 

You serve yourself on a platter; your putrid delights, / yet how can I refrain? / You don’t come to flatter, you don’t want to go / so come on baby, / don’t you know? / You’re treating me to dinner and a show.

Giselle’s usually silky performance is turned into a masterclass of vocal gymnastics as she slides easily from the rough intensity of rock and roll, to the smooth purr of jazz as she sings about eating critics for breakfast.

They say a free mind makes the meat so tender / now you’re on the menu and I’m a big spender

The song itself comes as a response to her former manager about how her “aggressive” move to music that more stylistically rock and roll was alienating older audiences, though Foster, still her producer at the time, was pushing for her to skew to a younger audience, and it seemed as though he had gotten his way.

The real change, however, was the B-Side of the record. After speaking to Jim “Miami” Beach, Queen’s lawyer, regarding potentially covering one of the band’s songs, Giselle reveals that she was eventually told to just ask them directly.

“I gave Miami a letter that basically explained that I’d like to cover one of their songs for my new album,” Giselle gives me a thin smile, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong, even though I’m assured by Brian that her public persona “is just like that sometimes”. 

“- and I thought it was a joke! I said ‘yeah, sure, what’s the worst that could happen’.” Mercury laughs, leaning forward elbows on his knees and eyes shinning with amusement. “I did not believe for one second that Giselle, Giselle-” repeating her name for emphasis, his hand comes to quickly rest on hers where she still has them perfectly still on her knee, a moment of solidarity, “wanted anything to do with us. Hand Held Heart had been at the top of the US charts for almost three whole weeks the year before.” Letting out a long, wistful sigh, Mercury sits back, still grinning, though he’s got this far away look on his face now. 

“So we’d been stuck on a farm, recording A Night At The Opera for weeks with no outside communications, ” May fills in where Mercury’s faded into his own memories, and Taylor slings arm around Giselle where she’s actually relaxed somewhat, hands now in her lap. Curiously, she doesn’t shrug him off. “And when we get back, it turns out that she’s put a jazz cover of Jesus, yeah, that song from our first album, on the B-Side of her newest single.”

“Freddie practically had a heart attack.” Deacon adds, patting Mercury’s shoulder fondly.

In her own way, she was continuing the trend that Dinner and a Show had started, and that seven-inch single would bestow upon Giselle the title of Queen of Jazz Rock. It hadn’t been the first time she had acknowledged the band publicly, by the time she had released the single, her public persona had gained enough traction that, a few months prior to her recording of the cover, a reporter had asked if Killer Queen, Queen’s biggest hit at the time, had been written about her. The question had been caught on camera by the reporter after one of her tour stops in the Midwest of America; the footage is a favourite of fans, including myself, of the way she doesn’t even turn, simply calls over her shoulder, ‘they should be so lucky’, and she gets into her waiting car.

“I never took offence,” Mercury tells me, both in 1982, and 1985, as I bring it up both times to consolidate the origins of their musical partnership.

“You wouldn’t, you were all starry-eyed for her back then.” Taylor leans back to address Mercury behind Giselle’s head, but only when he says it the first time, in 1982. 

“It was a bit of a dig at us,” Deacon agrees with the drummer, nodding before shrugging. “A lot of good came out of it, though.” The others seem to agree, but Giselle herself has stayed quiet. For the first time since the interview started, she looks away from me, gaze dipping as she seems inclined to speak, though she takes her time to weigh up her words before she says them, wondering exactly what will and will not be printed.

“It was a bit of s**t thing to say. I was twenty-four and I panicked, I had to keep up my... this persona.” She gestures now to herself, breaking the entire physicality as she lets herself lean back, and I feel like I can breathe, seeing her act so human. Adjusting, she lets herself rest of the slightest of diagonals, shoulder to shoulder with Taylor’s arm still around her, now with Mercury petting her knee in solidarity.

Once in the tour bus, the difference between Giselle Jones, the woman, and Giselle, the singer and personality, becomes almost jarring to see. As soon as we get into the bus, she strips off the gown she was wearing, I turn away, though the others don’t seem to be bothered by it, May takes the dress to a waiting assistant by the door, and when I turn back, she’s in a pair of sweat pants and Taylor is tossing her shirt several sizes too big for her. For the first time since I’ve learned about her, Giselle looks comfortable, looks approachable and, for lack of a better word, non-robotic, taking a hairbrush from a drawer and flopping onto one of the beds as she brushes out the gel, apparently not bothering with a shower just yet.

“I showered this morning.” She seems to have caught my confused look, and explains herself. With her guard lowered in the familiar situation, her natural voice shines through, a rich, yet feminine alto, reminiscent of her singing voice. It adds to the list of things that add character to her beyond what her “persona” could ever convey. Or perhaps that’s the point.

The bus itself is almost too small for the five performers, and I’m certain it won’t fit me, but Giselle and I watch as they cram a blow up bed onto the kitchen table. It looks stable, and for the opportunity to experience living in such close quarters with such big names, I’d take anything.

“Sorry, darling, Paul takes the only spare bed.” Mercury informs me as I shimmy up onto the bed to test if it would hold. I had thought that the vehicle was at capacity, though it does make sense that the band’s day-to-day manager, Paul Prenter, would be travelling with them. That being said, I hadn’t realised there was even a spare bed, there was only five, perhaps none of them had wanted to be subjected to the blow up bed and decided to share instead.

When we finally get on the road, I get to finally see their true dynamics emerge. We all know the Queen dynamics by now, brotherly yet volatile, at times. I had worried for Giselle at times, the concept of living with four men (five if you count Prenter, who Giselle does not seem to, when I ask her about it, though I don’t think that’s a subject I should pry about, judging by the look on Taylor’s face where I can see him lounging at the back of the bus). However, I should have not have been worried; first of all, despite the youthfulness of their appearances, performances, and spirit, these are all men in their 30s, Giselle herself being 31 at the time of writing (1982), and they all have experience living with women, and with each other.

“First tour was a nightmare.” Deacon’s joined me on the blowup bed, is sipping tea as we travel along. “We learned real quick how disgusting close quarters can be.” He’s a quiet soul, but observant, and honestly I really enjoy his company. Anyone who can weather over a decade of rock and roll and come out as calm as him deserves some sort of recognition. “It’s much better now. Mostly.” He smiles like it’s an inside joke, but won’t elaborate. Giselle and Taylor refuse to clarify what he means by that, May just laughs when I ask him, directing me back to ask Taylor and Giselle, and Mercury calls them all gossips.

It’s something about the tour lifestyle that must bring out the childishness in them all, which comes out strongly during dinner. They shove my blowup bed into the sleeping quarters when dinner is served, and the five of us manage to cram into the tiny booth the bus allows. May, Deacon and Giselle are in charge of cooking dinner, sausages, potatoes, and peas, since apparently Prenter and Mercury have taken lunch duties, and Roger has put himself in charge of getting coffee and tea for everyone in the morning.

“We should really eat breakfast.” Giselle muses through half a mouthful of food.

“I do!” Deacon, next to me, comes back with, pouring some more peas onto his plate.

“You just eat cereal from the box, Deaky, that’s not breakfast.” Taylor counters him, which just causes the rest of the table to devolve into an argument about what counts as breakfast. Prenter, who has joined us for the meal, looks like he’d rather be napping or still driving, and makes quiet work of his meal.

Roger Taylor goes to sleep after me, and wakes up before I do, and I’m not sure how he does it. Or where he sleeps, the other beds seem taken. He wakes me up on the first morning by shoving my bed, which slides a few centimeters, but isn’t about to fall off it’s perch.

“You want coffee?” I’m barely functioning at this point, and his question baffles me. “Tea? Coffee? Deaky’s cereal? We got some left over sausages.” He lists off, probably due to my clear confusion, he seems exasperated, even though he’s definitely wearing pyjamas too. He’s still scowling a little when I tell him how I like my coffee, but he doesn’t complain, and it tastes exactly like I like it when he hands it over. The bus is stationary, so he can put the cups by the bedsides of those they are for, but interestingly enough he joins me on the table/bed. 

I know the origin story of Queen, I think everyone does at this point, so I ask him instead about the subject of my article; how Queen got involved with Giselle.

“You wanna know how I met Giselle?” It’s not exactly what I asked, but he’s already thinking about it, looking past me to the sleeping quarters with a frown. He plays absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, and with the ring attached to it. “I thought everyone knew about that, the whole thing where we hated each other from the start?” When I ask if it was true, he actually laughs, though it’s more a snort of derision, if I’m being honest. “Of course not. Mostly.” They all seem to like that word, I hadn’t taken them all to be vague.

“I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” Giselle will clarify for me later that day, joining me as I take a smoke break at one of our bathroom stops, not that there isn’t a toilet on the bus, they just try to avoid using it as much as possible. She doesn’t smoke, claims she never has, but enjoys the company, while the boys are buying snacks at the gas station. I ask when it was, she gives me another thin smile, but not like it had been in the office. Here it’s the punctuation to an earlier joke rather than a judgement.

She tells me about how she actually met them all, recording her second album, after her 1972 performance on Top of the Pops, you know the one. It had cemented Giselle’s now iconic aesthetic of an off the shoulder, floor length sequinned gown, silk gloves, and bold red lipstick, dark hair falling victory curls, the whole look reminiscent of an old Hollywood star, though there was red glitter trailing from her lips, and on her gloves in a theatrical fabrication of blood. It had been a look inspired by her musical roots, and the theatricality of the then-popular glam rock, a movement which would inspire many of Mercury’s tour looks also.

She was twenty-one at the time, still “developing her persona”, when she found that the in-house recording equipment at EMI was being used by the then-still quite unknown Queen. Or rather, according to Giselle, just Taylor.

“He was packing up the last of his equipment, and he makes a pass at me, thinks I’m an intern.” We can see the boys leaving the gas station, Taylor himself heading the pack. “So yeah, told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” She laughs, seems to hold the memory quite dear. “That b******d has the gall to look me in the eyes and ask who I am.”

“Did he know who you were?” When I look at her, she’s still smiling, tipping her head to the side as the boys draw close. She seems to be paying attention to me, but not a lot.

“Yeah, told me later he was just pissed I didn’t throw myself at him. That’s why I said that, ‘they should be so lucky’ thing, actually, that motherf****r right there.” The way she says it, raising her finger to point at him, makes me think it’s a story she’s told before, one that he knows about.

“You talking about me?” Taylor yells, and Giselle is quick to answer that she is. “Don’t spill all my secrets.” It sounds like an order, but his smile says it’s not, it’s weirdly playful, a dynamic I didn’t expect from them, especially considering their history. I raise the point. She laughs at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Prenter calls for everyone on the bus, and Giselle doesn’t think to clarify once we’re back on board. 

The tour, I should have mentioned earlier, is a double feature; Queen is promoting their album Hot Space, while Giselle is promoting her own, The Bend Before the Break. When I ask her about the album itself, she talks happily about a few of the songs, however when I bring up my personal favourites, Ache and Heaven Sent, she turns very quiet.

I will end up watching most of her performances, and to this day, I have never seen something as raw and spiritual as Giselle performing Ache.

The lights dim as the joyful Meant to Be finishes. On the studio recording, a double bass starts the song, long, grieving and angry notes that pick up in tempo as it’s joined by drums and a piano, and finally, her voice, low, bitter and seductive in equal measure. Here, there’s silence, as she gently croons the open lines, face illuminated by only a single gold light, as swirling red and purple lights move about the stage. 

While saying you were sorry, / you burned me from the outside, in. / Now I’m calloused all over, / And too tired to feel the sting. / But I feel the ache, / feel the ache / feel the ache. / I’ll still let you back in.

She plays the piano herself for this song, a skill, I later learn Mercury had taught her many years ago. It’s a song that tugs at your gut, gets you thinking about how you keep people in your life who aren’t the best for you. She ends the last chorus with a long, mournful wail that you feel in your bones. 

I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet as when she finishes Ache, the penultimate song of her set list, unless you count encores.

The final song of the night is always Heaven Sent, a bright, headbanging anthem with the musical gravitas of a full jazz band. It was her single from the album, it topped most charts. You know the one. The radio won’t stop playing it.

Divinity with a neon glow / it hung above his head, / promoting his next show. / Didn’t even try to find my light, / just the darkness he’d bestow. / Heaven sent me the Morningstar.

“I was cheated on.” Was all she will say about the songs.

The others steer clear of those songs as well, when talking about the album, as well as the titular song, The Bend Before the Break, though Giselle claims she has moved on from the feelings associated in all three songs.

“I wrote them first on the album, I’ve moved on.”

Each of the boys seems very protective of Giselle at times, though Taylor is by far the worst. If I’m being honest, was weird to me, they’d been at each other’s throats publicly and professionally for almost a full decade after Giselle’s initial comment, however the vitriol had died down in the past few years, so I enquire about that about halfway through the six week tour. 

“We set them up.” May is the first to answer, sipping tea with myself, Deacon and Mercury. Since both Giselle and Taylor adjourned to the sleeping quarters. I ask him what he means.

“They tell it better.” Mercury interjects, but May argues that they’re asleep anyways so it’s not like it matters. Deacon agrees with Mercury, but quiet enough that May ignores him.

“So by ‘79, we’ve collaborated together, us and ‘Zelle, I mean,” the nickname is mostly used by May and Taylor, though Deacon uses it on occasion, “a couple of times, and we love her, right boys? We love her-” looking around, both Mercury and Deacon are nodding along, responding to a story they’d both heard before, though it was interesting for my first time hearing it, “but Rog is about ready to stab her with his drumsticks, but that’s just how he is.”

“Threatened to stab me once.” Deacon adds the unnerving information with complete serenity, focused on his cup.

“Me a couple of times.” Mercury shakes his head, as if it were some schoolboy prank rather than a stabbing threat.

“Like I said, just how he is. So we decide to send them to a place where they can bond over complaining about everything else, apart from each other.” I asked how it worked out for them and I watch as their faces fall. This terrible blind date idea must have gone horribly. “They hate the restaurant, which is good, but he goes to leave and bumps the table, spilling beer all over her dress, which is bad,” well, obviously. He pays me no mind, “and she elbows him in the face when she’s putting her jacket on - still don’t know how that one happened - but he still says he’ll take her home because it’s late, except-”

“To preface,” Deacon jumps in here, adding a little more milk to his tea, “she hates I’m In Love With My Car.” The song? Deacon nods. “Rog wrote it.” I can connect the dots, but I’m still confused as to how that lead to them being friends.

“Friends.” Mercury actually laughs into his cup.

“He takes her home anyways, she tells him the song’s s**t bu the sentiment wasn’t far off.” May finishes, shrugging.

“It was a real nice car.” Deacon shrugged, before looking straight at me. “And she still hates the song to this day.” There’s an air of finality to his words that is entirely unwarranted. That isn’t the point of the story; how are they friends now? Did they hook up in his car? Is that what they’re implying, I feel like such a gossip asking these questions.

“Did they ho- ? Yeah, of course.” May laughs, and though it clears some things up, I’m still rather confused. It’s probably reading on my face, because it looks like something else is dawning on him. “You know they’re married, right?”

No. No I did not know. Now I feel like an idiot.

I wonder if The Bend Before the Break is about Taylor? I can sense I’ve touched a nerve when I ask, and Mercury abruptly changes the subject, though the air still doesn’t feel right. When I head back through the sleeping area to get a new pen from my luggage, I catch a glimpse of Giselle napping in her bunk, Taylor too, asleep with his arm around her. She’s even wearing a wedding ring. I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner. The chain with the ring around Taylor’s neck makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

For the next four days I feel like I’m being shunned, I’m the last to be told about dinner and have to eat the leftovers, Giselle barely says two words to me, Taylor just keeps glowering, and someone let the air out of my bed on the second night. It’s childish, but it’s in line with what I expect from them, regarding this sort of issue, I’m just glad Taylor hasn’t poured my coffee on me in my sleep, or spat in it. He just didn’t make it, which I suppose is probably the safest option for me.

The only apology I can think of is to offer to buy them all drinks, but it works well enough, and the next morning I wake to a fresh cup of coffee, and a very hungover Taylor. At least he’s dedicated to his job.

The rest of the tour passes without further incident. I still stand by Ache as one of my favourite musical performances of the decade, though I don’t mention it to Giselle, and now that I know the dynamic between her and Taylor, I can’t stop seeing it. Honestly, readers, they’re all over each other, which is expected from a man of Taylor’s reputation, but it’s still a little jarring to see the two of them so cozy. I must have been blind not to see it before.

When we part ways, Giselle is a little stiff with me.

“You brought up some feelings that I just... hadn’t actually dealt with at the time, which f******d me up.” She tells me in retrospect, sitting in my office with the rest of the boys in 1985. Live Aid was a few weeks ago, and since they all returned to the spotlight, I asked if they wanted to come and reflect on the past few years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that Giselle still swears like a sailor.

“A lot’s happened in the past few years.” Taylor’s still very protective of her, and after everything that’s conspired, at least from what I know, it’s warranted. We talk about the band splitting, how it had hurt the band as a whole, and even Giselle, who was at the time seeing a counsellor with Taylor. I’m hesitant to broach the topic of their relationship, though they seem like a solid until now, sitting before me, holding hands and leaning against one another.

I ask if Giselle’s breakdown was due to the band splitting, though I’m hesitant if I’ll get a response. Her smile is sad, which is mirrored by the rest of the band. I can guess her response before she says it.

“No.”

You all know the moment I’m talking about, the last concert for her last album, as of this publication, Finally, Sunlight where she had receive pleas from the audience for an encore. When she came back out, part of her makeup had been smudged around her eyes, and you can hear her sniffle over the microphone. (”I’m so sorry, I lost someone close to me, I thought I could keep it together for one night.” Dabbing at her eyes, she sits at the piano and laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “But I’ve got five more minutes left in me, let’s go, Atlanta.”) The song she plays is Somebody to Love, a slow, soulful cover, and the audience is almost unanimous in their raised lighters and slow swaying. As she goes on, she just starts crying harder, missing notes, hands shaking; the extended ‘Looooord’ before the chanting becomes a desperate wail, a plea to the heavens, and she collapses onto the piano, sobbing audibly as the instruments all come to uncertain halt and lighters go down in confusion.

From the crowd, a single voice begins to chant ‘Find me somebody to love. / Find me somebody to love.’ and a single voice turns to a theatre, full to the brim, as they sing when she can’t, still crying against the piano. Lighters go up, and together the audience and the band finishes the song where words have failed her. It was televised locally on the night, and still brings me to tears when I watch it now.

“We lost our daughter.” 

For those of you reading this who are shocked, I am too. Sitting there like a fool, not saying anything. 

“I was on tour, and Rog was at home with her,” even now, Giselle is getting a little teary-eyed, not that I blame her. Both Taylor and Mercury have an arm around her, and May has a hand on her shoulder, Deacon sitting on the back of the sofa right behind her. A unit. A family. “I wanted to go home, she was getting really sick, and I know he was doing everything he could, but I just- I wanted to be there... but my label threatened to sue me for... millions.” It sounds like it’s hard to say, and she’s wiping a tear from her eyes. I offer her the tissues on my desk. “But I should have gone home. I should have been there by her side, I should have done more.” Taylor whispers something to her and she leans against him, taking comfort in him.

“I had to call her, tell her that... that she’d passed. The day of the show. She’d been so upset for week, ‘Zelle that is, and everything just-” Taylor manages to get a great handle on his emotions, despite his misty eyes and shaking hands. “We’re alright now though, see? Nothing can tear us apart.” Though his voice does drop, so I think he’s saying it more for Giselle’s benefit. I give them all time to collect themselves, stop to get hot drinks for everyone, and everyone finally seems happy enough to answer when I ask what’s next for them.

“Music, of course.” Mercury says, now holding what was Giselle’s free hand. The rest of the gathered musicians agree. I ask if we’ll be hearing any sort of collaboration between Queen and the Queen of Jazz Rock. Taylor snickers, pulling Giselle close.

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” He ignores the rest of the men’s shouts of disgust, as well as his wife’s own gagging noise, which I can see on her face she regrets as she covers her mouth with caution, before giving the okay. 

“No, we’re okay, we’re good.” She assures everyone, before looking at me. “What he meant to say is that I’m pregnant.” She clarifies. Taylor is still grinning. 

“Don’t be gross, Rog.” May calls from the other side of the sofa, and Taylor has the gall to look accosted.

“What’s next for me, after everything that’s happened, is family.” Giselle says over the sounds of her husband’s indignant huffs, though his expression turns soft at her words, and they ignore the ‘boo’s of everyone else as they kiss.

“Could you be less gross around company?” Deacon asks, still mild-mannered as ever. This seems to be the cue for the interview to end, as Taylor of Giselle-

“It’s Giselle Taylor, by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t corrected you earlier.” She corrects me now, as [Roger] Taylor leads her out of the door. The rest of the band seem mildly exasperated at their antics, but still ready to answer my questions. After everything that’s happened, I’m a little overwhelmed, I’m not sure where to go from here.

Perhaps my next article will be on Live Aid.